Nicki Submits Ch. 02


When Nicki awoke the next morning, in that pleasant half state between sleep and full wakefulness, she almost convinced herself that the whole episode had been a dream. Surely she would not have allowed Tom to do those things to her? Then, as she wriggled in bed she felt the residual soreness of her bottom and her hand brushing against her sex encountering the strange, obscene smoothness caused by the complete lack of her pubic hair. As full memory of what she had allowed Tom to do to her returned, Nicki felt deeply ashamed.

Nick had a very conventional upbringing. Although she was an intelligent young lady, probably more forward thinking than a lot of her peers, sexually she was always fairly conservative. She had gone out with boys from age 12 onward, learning to French kiss, eventually allowing one favoured boy to touch her breasts through her blouse and even, once, finger her slit through her school knickers. Aged 14, she lost her virginity to a spotty 16 year old called Darrell, in the school cricket pavilion during the end of term disco. It was over quickly, a couple of minutes of fumbling, a sharp pain which made her cry out briefly, a trickle of blood down her leg, a discarded condom on the grass verge. She was grateful to Darrell, and took him into her mouth, figuring the taste of his salty sperm was the least she could do to repay him for increasing her credibility in class.

She had not been the first of her peer group to lose her virginity, nor the last. Darrell dumped her a few days later, after another couple of blow jobs, and Nicki briefly enjoyed the reputation of ‘school bike’ until Wendy M regained the title after she sucked off the head boy while a line of prefects looked on, clapping and cheering.

Her subsequent sexual encounters were, on the whole, enjoyable. Her relationships were brief; she thought that boys despised her because she gave in too easily. She liked sex, her orgasms were pleasant, but she mistrusted anything that smacked of adventure or perversion. Oral sex was a duty she performed, more out of a feeling that she was expected to use it to keep her boyfriends interested in her than any enjoyment she got from the procedure. She didn’t allow boys to go down on her, thinking that they would find her taste disgusting. When her friends talked about anal sex, Nicki was disgusted and affronted. It was perverse. Against nature. That hole was for one thing, and one thing only. When one of her longer-term boyfriends had suggested she might like to try it, she had given him a flat ‘no’. When he asked again, she dumped him.

When Nicki became an actress, she did become a bit more adventurous; but there were lines, that in her map of the sexual world, could not be crossed.

Now Tom was talking of wanting to ‘stretch her’, presumably she thought, because he had plans to use her anally. He had already humiliated her by shaving her, spanking her and then making her beg him to fuck her. When he had pushed into her tight anus with his forefinger, and deeply buried it in her rectum, she had felt violated. The strength of her response to that humiliation, the mind-blowing sexual Betturkey pleasure she had experienced last night, terrified her. Something had happened to her. She was turning into a monster. She should end this relationship right away. He was a married man, for god’s sake!

Nicki vowed that she would not see Tom again. He had told her to call him when she was ready. She simply wouldn’t call. The pinkness and soreness of her bottom would fade, and gradually, the tangled fuzz of her pubes would regrow. The incident would be forgotten, life would return to normal. For a brief moment, she experienced panic at the prospect of losing her fantasies. But no, she had made the right decision. The wanton, submissive creature she had become last night, was not her.

A few days passed. Stubble was appearing on her nether lips: it itched like an unpleasant memory, a constant reminder of the obscenities that had occurred. It was driving her mad. She considered shaving again, just to get rid of the itch — and the memories – but that, she thought, would be a retrograde step. She tried to ignore it.

Tom had not called round, telephoned or emailed. On Saturday afternoon she went to the local with a girl friend, and saw him standing with a group of men, pints in hand, watching the rugby. There were the usual shouts of encouragement, groans and banter as the game progressed. She was horrified. What would he do when he saw her? What would he say? Would he approach her? She tried to shrink into the furniture, hoping he wouldn’t see her. Of course he did. He simply gave her a friendly wave and smile, and then turned his attention back to the game and his mates. He said nothing to her and she left with her friend before the game ended, relieved but also, strangely disappointed.

Three days later and it was obvious that Nicki was not going to forget, and that her life was no longer and never would be normal, whatever that was. The seed of Tom’s remark, planted deep within her fertile and febrile imagination, grew like some voracious tropical plant — the kind that can grow six inches in a day — leaving her physically overwhelmed with a desire so intense that even feverish masturbation (she had once played with herself six times in one day) could not satisfy her. It was as if her body demanded release, but her mind had realised that her fingers moving, rubbing, tickling, deep within, around and on her aching sex were not the real thing. During the day she felt drugged, her slit wet most of the time, her loins on fire, as if some loathsome Lothario had slipped some evil potion into her drink to allow him to have his wicked way with her. Her self-induced orgasms were intense, but unsatisfying. At night her fevered dreams fragmented into images of herself, usually viewed from above. She would be splayed, wide open, sometimes restrained with ropes or chains, and she could not distinguish if the noises coming from her were exclamations of pain or groans of desire. She awoke exhausted, hungry with desire, aflame, lambent.

When she could bear it no longer, she wrote Tom an email:

Dear Sir

I Betturkey Giriş am ready. What do I need to do?



Before she clicked on the ‘send’ button, she thought about what his response might be and added another line before her closing ‘Love’:

I want you to stretch me. Please, will you stretch my anus, sir?

When she read what she had written she was mortified at her own display of weakness and horrified by her hunger. She sent the email.

It was a further two days before Tom responded — two days that passed with Nicki alternating between bouts of frenzied hope and black despair. Her disgust at her shameless submission made her angry at herself, and her body seemed to deal with the anger by becoming even more shameless in its relentless demands for satisfaction. Was she turning into a sex addict? Her aching clit demanded constant attention, and Nicki was unable to do the slightest mundane, humdrum task without a cascade of disturbingly pornographic images coming to mind. A few months ago, she had been normal, and then that stupid spanking remark had flipped a switch inside her brain, releasing who knows what noxious chemical substances inside her head. Was she sick? Had she released the pervert she had been carrying, unconsciously, inside her mind all these years? Nicki was considering phoning Tom to implore him to see her, when the reply she had been waiting for arrived:


I see you have learned some manners and asked properly. I will agree to your request on the following conditions:

When Nicki read the word ‘agree’ she was almost sick with relief. She hastily read on:

1. From now on it will be your responsibility to keep your pubic area and anus free of hair. You may do this in any way you choose: shaving, a cream hair remover or waxing. Be aware, however, that I do not like stubble and it may be better for you in the long run to be waxed.

2. It is my wish that you are freely available to me at all times. To accommodate this desire, you will, in future, not wear any underwear. Trousers, jeans and shorts will no longer be worn. You may instead, wear a skirt or dress, no longer than just below the knee. You may wear stockings with garters or suspender belt, but no tights. When I order you to lift your skirt, you will do so instantly without complaint or argument. You will wear a dress, blouse or shirt that allows me quick and unfettered access to your breasts.

3. You will purchase from www.bdsmgear.co.uk the Anal Butt Plug Training Kit, comprising of 3 plugs, small, medium and large. You will also need an enema kit, complete with some liquid scented soap solution. I leave the details to you. To make it easier for you, I strongly suggest you get a lubricant of some kind. I recommend a large tube of KY Jelly, which can be purchased inexpensively from the local chemist.

4. Failure to obey me will result in punishment, decided and administered by me. There will be no argument or complaint. The punishment will continue until I am satisfied that you have learned your lesson.

Nicki, you Betturkey Güncel Giriş may fear that I am degrading you. Be aware, that through your own choice, you are actually degrading yourself. I am just the instrument that you choose to use. You may walk away from this at any time. That choice must, of course, be yours to make. Take your time. Be true to yourself, live in the moment. Be Here Now! If you choose to say no, I will understand and this relationship will be terminated, permanently. If you say yes, we will continue to explore your submissive nature to our mutual benefit.

If you agree to these conditions, and when you have all the necessary equipment in your possession, text or email me and I will come over. If I don’t hear from you, I will assume that you have chosen not to continue with our adventure.


Nicki read the email again, scarcely believing her eyes. There was no way on this earth that she could agree to these strictures. She was humiliated and affronted that Tom had even considered that she might. But then she read his penultimate paragraph again. Could he be right? After all, she was the one who wanted, no, needed to be degraded. Was she being handed power, rather than having power taken away from her? If she gave him the right to use her cruelly, then how could she complain when he did so? Nicki was beside herself, battling with these internal contradictions.

Something that had been lurking in the shadows of her mind, like a child playing hide and seek in the dark, sprang back into her consciousness. A few weeks after they first met, Tom had been booked to do a master skills workshop with the performing arts students at the local university. He had asked Nicki to assist him — it would also be a chance for her to get a free workshop session, a bit of cash in hand, and improve her skill set.

She had worked hard at the exercises, enjoying learning new skills and admiring Tom’s teaching and the accessible way he explained some quite difficult concepts. The students were enthralled. During the afternoon session, Tom had talked about utilising processes to ‘be in the moment’ during performance, and was teaching some mindfulness techniques, borrowed from Zen Buddhism, to focus concentration on ‘the now’. She remembered something he had said:

“Only when you are present, in the moment, embracing what is happening to you, right here and now, are you really being yourself. Really being real. Remember this powerful affirmation: Be Here Now!”

Be Here Now! Of course, he was right. She remembered how impossible it would have been for her not to be in the moment when she was being spanked, fingered and fucked. How every sensation on her body was magnified, how very ‘present’ she was. How very much herself. How very, very real.

The prospect that her fevered imaginings could actually take place, that she might soon find herself back in that magical place, the ‘now’, excited her so much that she very nearly climaxed without even touching herself. She closed her eyes, thinking about what he would do to her, how he would humiliate and hurt her, how her body would betray her with her response. She had a moment of almost transcendental illumination: this was what she wanted. This was who she was. This new her was such a radical change from the old Nicki that her past self seemed wraith-like, chimeric, unreal, false. Be Here Now! She had to do it.

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