The Psychology of Submission

Author's note: I spent a lot of time this one, and it is mainly inspired by own views of submission (which im not quite sure if other people share). It is long, yes, but I feel that it has more of a realistic feel to it. It is very psychological (it that it delves into the thought-processes of a submissive) so if you're expecting clothes to be ripped off of hulking bodies this might not be for you.

Are you like Bri? Respond in the comment section below.

P.s. I'll continue the story if I see that people like it.

************

"Home," as I could say, was the furthest away it had ever been from me. I had moved away a single day more than two weeks ago, yet "yesterday" still felt like the day I had started packing up to leave my childhood house. College for me ended about a year ago, for which I had earned a Bachelor's degree in finance. For the time between graduating and moving out, my parents had been courteous enough to allow me an off-year for self-reflection and preparation for the real world. They were sweet people, and for them I have always been grateful.

My drive up from Rhode Island to northern New Hampshire had been a fairly pleasant one, what with good tunes on the constantly changing radio stations, and the magnificent rusting of summer leaves to fall to provide me with entertainment and comfort. The further north I advanced in this unusually bitter autumn, the more snow I encountered on my relatively short journey; soon enough, my car looked more like a rather lumpy powdered doughnut than a feasible means of transportation.

When I arrived at my destination, a small, modest town, on the edge of a smaller, affluent town, I did well to quickly acclimate to my new living space: a two bedroom two bathroom apartment. My parents had been kind enough to pay for movers, so all I had to do was unbox my belongings. This process took about a day- I traveled light for a new, fresh start, and at the end of my labor, I admired the apartment. It was quaint, yes, but I enjoyed quaint. It sat on the second floor of the complex so that on warmer days I could relax outside in the cool cross-breeze and nap or read. The inside of the apartments was a tad boring though, if I had any complaint. The floor was covered in a plain white tile, and the walls were painted with a plain white paint. To make up for this, the kitchen came adorned with a granite island and matching counter-tops. There were certainly worse apartments up for rent.

The next night, after a day of relaxation, I decided to go and try out a local bar some ten minutes a car ride away. Upon arrival, I was a bit confused at the exterior design of the bar: it sat in its own lot with but a single main entrance, guarded by a short muscular man who looked to be some kind of bouncer. The line for the entrance spanned at least 40 people- 40 women I noticed. The sign hanging directly above the bouncer's head read "L Zone," and it all made sense to me.

I actually laughed when I realized where I had managed to stumble- a lesbian club hundreds of miles away from home. I felt frisky that night; I was confident enough in my own heterosexuality to score a couple of free drinks from other wishful women. Back home, there wasn't a thriving gay population, but many of my closest friends turned out to be lesbians as I found out in college, so I always did my best to keep an open mind concerning these matters. Although, I wasn't entirely sure how I was going to get other women to hit on me, drinks were only free for the gorgeous women.

I wasn't unattractive by any standards, but I was never a model either. I was the kind of girl who went unnoticed by jocks in highschool, and yet was unattainable for those in the chess club. I was... average, it seemed. I stood at 5'4" and was a healthy 125lbs with a flat belly but no abs. I had brown eyes and thin lips, and took great pride in my eyebrows which required a large amount of meticulous upkeep. My hair was a chestnut brown which fell to my shoulders when not usually confined inside a ponytail. My breasts weren't amazing either: just a B cup which made exercising a bit easier for me than for my old busty friends.

On this occasion I did take my hair out of my ponytail. Before I could even think about free martinis I had to first look good enough for the bouncer to let in which was an entirely separate battle.

I stepped out of the car in my blue skinny jeans, knee-high boots, and jacket into the frosty autumn night. Some of my confidence diminished as I approached the line of women. Most of them were not half as butch as I expected them to be. The vast majority I observed wearing hoop earrings and contour, stockings and heals. If I had not known better, and had there been more men (or any men at all), I would have easily thought this place a regular bar. Adding to my reluctance to join the long line, it seemed every girl was accompanied by another, making me the only one alone. Were the free drinks, if they did exist for a girl like me, even worth the stress and mental fortitude at this point? I was starting to doubt it.

I slowly approached the line, shivering a bit from the wind. When I was about 10 meters away from the start of the line, I hit a stride in my gait and assumed a new level of confidence. I could do this, I thought, I'm going to walk into this club, get hit on by a couple of women, enjoy my free drinks, and leave mildly inebriated and very happy. It was all very attainable. But then, the ground seemed to slip from beneath me, yanking my feet out from under me as I fell onto the slushy ground. I fell on my ass in front the entire club, I was humiliated. I picked myself up off the floor slowly so not to hurt my now bruised tailbone and stood motionless in thought. The night was over, the club wasn't worth my troubles. Turning around, I heard a high pitched voice emanating from behind. She had Mexican accent.

"Hey, Icegirl! Where are you going?"

I turned around and responded despairingly. "I'm just going home. It's been a long night, ya know? Just uhm, just wanna relax."

She jogged out of the line towards me, eliminating the necessity to yell across the distance. "You're not leaving are you? The night's just started and you haven't gone in yet."

"It's just that, I don't really know anybody. And I'm here alone."

"Well I'm Sonya. Now you know me. What's your name, Icegirl?"

"Well it's certainly not Icegirl," I said with a giggle. "I'm Bri."

"Nice to meet you, Icegirl." I laughed again, this time a tad bit harder. Sonya was funny it seemed. "It would appear that now you know somebody. Does that change your mind on leaving?"

She was so sweet and I couldn't help but to smile. "Yeah, it does actually." I stared down at my feet to avoid her gaze, when I looked back up, she spoke almost as though she had to break the silence.

"My friends and I are at the front of the line if you wanna join us. The bouncer will let you in. I know him and he'll get it. C'mon, I'll introduce you to them."

The night started then. Her friends seemed nice enough when we entered the club. And I did get my free drinks. But it was really Sonya that stole the show. She was so sweet in every word that she spoke, and she made sure not to abandon me throughout the night. We made conversation about uni and our hobbies. She told me about her poetry and I returned the favor by telling her about how I used to take painting lessons when I was younger. The night was a joyous one. We all departed at half-past midnight, but Sonya and I agreed to see each other again in a more formal setting, one in which neither of us would have to yell to converse. Although... it never occurred to me to tell her that I was straight... that might've complicated things...

------

Four absolutely lazy days past after the night at the club. I applied for a job at a (now) local accounting firm when I was still in Rhode Island, but my interview wasn't until Friday and it was only Tuesday- the day of my "date" with Sonya. I was getting so nervous... and a bit giddy. I don't think she could tell that I wasn't a lesbian, after all, how could she? Maybe I was giving off a certain vibe that wasn't immediately apparent to me but obvious to her. No, I was being silly. There's no way for her to know.

So many thoughts of "what would I talk about?" and "am I leading her on?" clouded my head. A few thoughts were dedicated to the elegant curve of her hips, but those were intrusive, disingenuous.

Over the course of the day I planned out every last detail of the date- at least those details that would be in my control, that is. We were going to a nice french restaurant so I would wear a fitting red dress, the plain one with the medium skirt to show some thigh, but also manage to provoke the imagination. When I get there, and we get our table, it would be disclosure-time: I would tell her that I wasn't a lesbian but she seemed really nice. I was hoping this wouldn't crush her too much, hopefully we could be friends after this. But maybe that was me being naive. If she took that well we could just have small-talk, I would tell her about my move up here and she could tell me more about her poetry (a Latin poet, something about that really turned me on). And at the end of the night, ideally, we would make plans to hang out again, in a less formal environment, like a straight bar for instance.

The butterflies in my stomach had even smaller butterflies in their stomachs I'm sure of. As I was driving to the restaurant I felt as though I would have to pull over just to take a breath. What if I couldn't get out that I was straight? I am the kind of person who would marry and make a life with another woman just out of sheer awkwardness and the inability to disappoint strangers. It was a real issue for me. But I drove along steadily, arriving at the place only five minutes late.

The host had me follow him around some tables to small square table with only two chairs- one of which was already occupied. Sonya got up to greet me with a welcome hug.

"Hi, Bri!" She spoke with what seemed like genuine excitement. Sonya was in a beautiful yet casual white asymmetrical dress. Her hair was straightened so she appeared to have made an equal effort getting ready for this date as I had. This calmed the butterflies inside the stomachs of the butterflies inside my stomach.

I returned the hug and got to my seat. "I cannot express how nervous I was to go out tonight. I even prepared topics to talk about if we run out conversation."

Sonya giggled and my butterflies returned. "Let me hear some of them," she requested.

I straightened up in my chair almost as if I was preparing a monologue. Okay. Uhhh... oh!" I cleared my throat. "So umm, Sonya, what kind of movies do you like to watch? Or I can say 'have you ever owned any pets?'"

"But those are just regular date questions. You gotta try advanced dating questions. The girls love them. Try something along the lines of 'So how much money do you make?', 'This economy, amiright?', or 'have you heard about the word of our lord and savior?' Trust me, it works all the time." She grinned a wide grin and I spat my water back into my glass. Sonya had one of the best senses of humor of anyone in New Hampshire so far. "Oh, you like those, icegirl?"

I smiled back. "Yeah, I do."

The night went on smoothly. Our meals came out rather quick (granted we both ordered salads) and conversation seemed in great supply, even though it didn't adhere to my schedule. I couldn't bring myself to tell her that I had... tricked her, in some aspects. She was far too kind to me for me to betray her like that, so I just kept talking.

If anything went according to my plan, it was her and her poetry. Her words were as though the finest paintings adopted language to express themselves. And I did tell her about my move, for which she offered a hand in unpacking which I declined. After a while, I began to feel safe with her, comfortable within the confines of our discussions. Maybe I began to open up too much to her, but if she was uncomfortable, she didn't show it.

"... I just feel a bit alone, you know?"

"I can't imagine how you must feel right now." She leaned over the table and tucked a dangling strand of hair behind my hair and leaned back again. "If there's anything I can do to help make New Hampshire feel more welcoming just tell me."

"It's not your job, don't worry about me," I chuckled awkwardly, acting like I didn't in fact want some company.

"Well, I do know someone who could help you cope with your anxieties." She reached into her black purse that was leaning on the leg of the table and fished out a business card. "Her name is Alicia Summerwood and she's helped me get through some tough times. I've been seeing her for about two years now, so if you call the number on that card and tell them that Sonya Martinez referred you to them, Alicia might give you special treatment, I'm not sure though."

I looked the card over and then put it in the smaller pocket inside my purse. "Thanks, I'll probably call them sometime tomorrow."

"I hope it's as much use for you as it is for me." She didn't look at me when she said this, opting instead to look down at her empty plate like she was hiding something.

The night didn't last much longer after that discussion. We shared a slice of cheesecake, made later plans, and then went our separate ways. It was only when I was half way back to my apartment when I realized I neglected to mention that I was straight. How stupid was I? Oh well, I could tell her next time, and If that doesn't work out, how bad could a lesbian marriage really be?

------

The next day I did call the card Sonya gave me, and just as she had predicted, Alicia did offer some "special treatment" and agreed to see me as early as tomorrow at four o'clock. I was free until friday so I agreed.

------

The day started out as any other usually does. I ate a normal breakfast, put on a normal outfit (jeans, boots, and a navy tank entombed in a thick winter jacket), and went out to run normal errands, getting canned foods for my unstocked pantry. My appointment with Alicia Summerwood was at five o'clock and by the time I got out of the market, I was left with three hours to lounge. I didn't particularly feel like going back home, and none of my groceries were perishable, so I decided to go to the cinema to waste my extra time.

The movie I watched was what I liked to call a throwaway movie. It sufficed to entertain me as it was playing, and it was substantial, but it was easy to forget after just a short amount of time.

After the film I made my voyage to the address on the card Sonya gave me. If I didn't speed at all I would arrive at the location with only five minutes to spare, enough to make me seem punctual, but not rushing. My trip was uneventful, my radio was blurring a bit so I was forced to distract myself using the New Hampshire scenery which was hardly a sacrifice.

I did arrive a couple minutes early as predicted to find a large white house guarded by gates with a camera for extra safety. The driveway in front of the house was large enough to fit at least ten cars, and the lawn would require an entire team of landscapers to manage. I pressed the guest button at the gate which caused a startling beep which was cut off by the sound of a woman's voice distorted over the outdated speakers.

"Ms. Summerwood will be with you shortly," said the strangely familiar voice as the gates opened allowing me clearance. "The front door is unlocked, please make yourself at home."

I found it a bit strange that I would be allowing myself in, especially after this woman put in the effort of hiring a worker for the sole purpose of speaking over an intercom. Nevertheless I rode through the large black gates and parked my car half-way in the empty driveway and allowed myself in the large house.

As I entered, I noticed first how immaculately spotless the house was for its size, and then I felt sympathy for the people whose jobs it was to clean it. The tiles were white and clean enough to casually look down at your feet and find your reflection staring back up at you. Aside from the cleanliness, as soon as I walked in, the house split into three parts, straight forwards was a spiral staircase leading to a large upstairs, to the right looked to be recreation space, and to the left I thought were rooms of various uses.

Gawking in the foyer, I was found looking like a complete idiot by a woman about fifty with light brown hair that fell a few inches past her shoulders. She wore a black pencil skirt, and a professional jacket with a crimson blouse protected underneath. She didn't particularly look like a threatening woman, but her aura carried a certain essence of authority and dominance and I couldn't help but feel mildly intimidated by her presence.

"You must be Bri," she said. "I'm Alicia," she spoke with a smile. "You can follow me this way if you would please." She quickly turned on her heels and walked down the path to the left. The way she walked almost seemed tactical; she walked with a minor sway as if to command me to follow behind her, and I felt even more compelled to do so.

We walked past some more open spaces like the kitchen and a family room, though she appeared to live alone, before we arrived at a closed white door on the other side of the large house. Alicia looked at me as she opened the door and said "Get comfortable we have a lot to talk about." I can't explain why but this made me nervous. I was already not the best talker and easily ran out of conversation with friends that I was familiar with, what would I talk about with a random woman from a business card?

She walked in with that sway of her's and naturally I did the same, finding a seat on an egg-shell couch opposite of her leather arm chair which she sat on.

"You can relax in here, you know. I won't hurt you." She got back up to remove her jacket and placed it on the back of the chair before sitting down again, revealing the size of her (beautiful) breasts. She looked to be on the larger end of a c cup, or the smaller end of a d. They were large enough that when she sat down, her blouse jiggled a small bit and she had to adjust herself which she did with a surprising amount of dignity.

"So," she started, "Before we begin today is there anything you want to know about me? Anything I should know about you? Comments, concerns?" Her stare made me sink slightly into the couch.

"Uhm... What is it that you actually do? Like, what would you call yourself?" It was a genuine question, I had just assumed Sonya pointed me in the direction of a therapist or a psychiatrist.

She leaned back into her seat. "One might think of me as a... a trainer of sorts." She still met me at the eyes. A trainer? Could she have been more vague? The only conceivable answer that could have been worse was 'a worker' which would have offered only slightly less information.

"So you're like a life coach?" I asked for further clarification, a little offended that Sonya thought I needed such extensive help.

"If it helps you to see me that way then yes, you can call me a life coach." Now I was upset at the intentional vagueness. "Can I ask what you do for a living?" I couldn't see how this was conducive to the dialogue.

"I just moved here not a week ago so I don't actually have a job yet. But I have an interview tomorrow at one of the accounting firms nearby."

"That's interesting," she said as she withdrew a phone from her small handbag. "By any chance, do you know the branch manager's name?" she was now clearly opening some files on her device.

"Yeah. Her name is Julianne Redolph." I answered confused. She was asking me completely irrelevant questions while actively ignoring me on her phone. After some twiddling she put it down.