Fifty Shades of Submission by Loris James Read Free Book Online Page B

Before commencing, Aunt Sophia darts a brief look up at the one-way mirrored window to the room next door. I am certain there is somebody behind that window, watching our every session. Someone who is enthralled and excited by torture and the pain.
    Aunt Sophia grabs my penis roughly and clips a short chain to the penis ring on the tip. She pulls my penis back by its chain so that it is pointing at my navel and clips the other end of the chain to my left nipple ring. She attaches another chain from my penis to my right nipple so that my penis is securely harnessed and dragged up and away from my testicles.
    Aunt Sophia turns to her steel table laid out with her various and ingenious instruments of torture. She picks up a wooden paddle that looks somewhat like a flat wooden spoon. I brace myself for the ball-bashing that I know is coming.
    The blows fr om the paddle to my testicles are sharp and measured to induce the maximum pain. I heave and scream, my throaty bellows muffled by the gag.
     
     
     

Chapter Eleven
     
    Later, I went back to my room, undressed, turned out the lights, and fell on my bed, exhausted.  The darkness around me was cold and oppressive. I felt drained from retelling the story of Aunt Sophia. I felt confused about the depth and violence of my feelings for Saskia. I fell asleep almost immediately. My dreams were filled with torrid scenes of being chased through a dark forest. I was naked and could feel the pine needles and soft twigs underfoot as I fled. Saskia and my stepmother and Aunt Sophia took turns in pursuing and tormenting me.
    I awoke abruptly in the dead of night.
    There was a sharp knock at my window and I got up sleepily and opened it, forgetting that I was naked. Saskia peered at me through the cold window pane. She was dressed in her long fur coat, just as I had seen her the first time. I went to open the door for her and she seemed taken aback as I stood in the doorway, my body bathed in silvery moonlight. Her eyes travelled to my nipple rings, then down to my penis and settled on the thick silver ring affixed to the tip of my cock. It glinted in the moonlight like a jewel.
    For a moment she was silent, then she seemed to regain her composure. “You’re beautiful,” she murmured at last.
    Her compliment made me uncomfortable . She came in and sat down on the side of my rumpled bed while I pulled on my jeans. I did not turn on the lights but rather opened the curtains so that silvery moonlight streamed through the foggy window panes and bathed the room with an eerie light.
    "Your story disturbed me so much I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “I’ve been tossing and turning for hours. Come and sit with me." She patted the bed next to her.
    "In a moment, " I said.
    I crouched by the fireplace and got a small fire going. It added a warm, comforting glow to the room.
    " Winter is truly setting in," she said, "the nights are becoming very cold. Forgive me, but I won’t take off my coat until the room is warm."
    I sat down beside her and put my arm around her and kissed her pale neck. She did not pull away or offer any resistance, which pleased me immensely.
    " Tell me, I can see that you enjoy women dressed in furs - is that because of your step Aunt Sophia?"
    I shrugged. "Fur is luxurious and symbolic. Throughout history fur symbolised wealth and power and beauty. Of course in modern times it is forbidden, as it should be. Killing animals for the sake of fashion is barbarous. But in centuries past Monarchs and the privileged nobility have worn fur as a kind of uniform. A luxurious shield not only against the elements, but also society. Fur has always represented power and wealth and tyranny. "
    Saskia looked at me carefully. “ I think you associate fur with something entirely different."
    I nodded. "I have always been attracted to suffering – probably because that’s all I’ve ever really known. Nothing intensifies my passion more than domination and cruelty, and especially the