Spirit of Submission Read online

  Spirit of Submission

  By JJ Argus

  Copyright 2016

  Electronic edition

  JJ Argus has written more than 250 novels, and been published in hardcover, softcover, and innumerable magazines and digests. This work is the result of the long, hard effort and creativity of the author. Please do not post or resell it without permission.

  This story is a work of fiction. All characters are over eighteen.

  Chapter One

  It was impossible not to be impressed by the Rutherford House. Spirit Harper, who had chosen the name 'Spirit' for herself, and afterward refused to acknowledge any other, did her level best, however.

  Her eyes, liberally darkened with thick black eyeliner, never widened perceptibly, and her eyelids, draped heavily in mascara, showed no inclination to separate in appreciation at the luxury and gleaming opulence on display. Not that her parents were exactly poor, but there was a difference between well-off and well-heeled, and her parents home certainly never boasted a twenty foot high chandelier in the foyer.

  She was dressed, as her normal habit, in black, with just a smattering of blood red. She wore a tight, black, midriff baring t-shirt under a see-through red mesh tank top, and a pair of very tight, thin black cotton trousers with a large red skull belt buckle cinched in tightly about six inches below her belly button.

  The trousers were low enough to display not merely her slender hip bones but a small amount of cleavage in the rear, where the pants squeezed her firm round bottom so tightly together.. For added effect, one thin string of her red lace thong projected coyly up along her hip just above the belt.

  Her black hair was untidily projecting up and out in several directions, with heavy bangs cutting diagonally across her forehead and all but blinding her in one eye, and she wore a black bondage collar around her throat with a metal plaque in the center which said “slave”.

  She had a small, delicate nose over a small mouth with full lips darkened black, and a black skull ring a half inch back from the tip of her tongue so it would be quite clearly visible whenever she opened her mouth. A half dozen or so black and red bands circled each wrist, a few made to look like barbed wire, a few others like small skulls, and her fingernails were painted black.

  For all of that, or perhaps, despite it, Spirit was an attractive young woman, with a pretty, freshly scrubbed look to her face when it wasn't covered in makeup. Her body was lithe and yet curvaceous, and her breasts were high and firm yet just shy of voluptuous. The flesh on her visible belly was firm and toned and milk white, as unblemished and unmarred as the skin on her face. Her bottom had been drawing eyes -- and comments for years, which infuriated her, yet she refused to hide or disguise its eye pleasing curves out of sheer, dogged stubbornness.

  Her boyfriend David, was not exactly the apple of his parents eyes. A high school dropout, a decadent, alcoholic party animal, he had been dragging home one disreputable looking girl after another since he’d hit puberty.

  Spirit’s introduction to the family had ended at a frosty dinner when, tired of the snippy looks from David’s perfectly dressed and coiffed older sister, Spirit had asked the woman if she’d ever had sex with another girl, and then gone on to inform her of the benefits and pleasure to be had with a little girl on girl playtime.

  *

  David Rutherford the Fourth was a young man with a perpetual smile on his rarely sober face, a welcoming greeting to all, and nary a thought in the world but his own immediate pleasure. He indulged in anything it was within his power to indulge in, be it women, alcohol, drugs, fast cars or wild partying. He was smart enough to be witty in his insolent and mocking behavior towards most of those around him, but his intelligence was a rarely used thing. He had not, to his or anyone elses knowledge, ever had a productive day in his life except insofar as seducing women was concerned.

  In that regard he was quite successful. He was cocky, confident, handsome, amusing, and an excellent provider of cocaine, alcohol, marijuana, ecstasy, or whatever other drug of choice his dates might desire. His selfishness made him something less than an expert lover, but he was fun to party with nevertheless.

  Despite his family’s wealth and place in the community, Spirit’s parents had been as welcoming of their relationship as David’s, but since she didn’t live at home any more they needed to experience, what David termed “hard nipple weather” around them quite a bit less than they did at his family’s country home where he continued to reside. Then again, the country home, with seventeen bedrooms, was large enough they need not actually encounter the family too often.

  Or so he had promised. Spirit was far from certain, and filled with surly doubt. Still, after losing her job at a bar for kicking a groping customer in the groin she had to live somewhere. And most of the homes of her friends already had more than enough residents in the form of rats, mice and cockroaches.

  “Why the fuck would I leave?” he had answered her. “It’s got a theater, a huge pool, bowling alley, tennis courts, golf course, and acres and acres of trees, ponds and meadows. It’s like paradise on fucking earth.”

  “Oh like you give a shit about all that,” she sniffed. “You in a pool? You golfing? Give me a fucking break, Davie. You stay there because the fucking servants feed you and clean your clothes, and pick up all the shit you leave lying around your room.”

  “They even pick up the shit I leave in the toilet,” he retorted with a smirk, “Or would if it didn’t flush. But they clean the toilet, and shower, and vacuum the rugs, which is more than you do, lazy slut.”

  “I’m not your mother,” she said. “You can pick the fuck up after yourself. And you can clean the fucking toilet floor too when you‘re too drunk to aim straight.”

  “But here I don’t have to,” he said smugly.

  “No, you just have to put up with your shitty family. Your suck faced father and your ice queen mother and bitch sisters. Does anyone in your house ever fuck? I mean, were you and your sisters born in a test tube or something? I can’t imagine your mother ever spreading her legs and doing the dirty. As for your father, the whole idea is impossible to imagine. How can you fuck in a three piece suit?”

  “As many psychological problems as I have, my dear, I try not to imagine my parents fucking,” he said. “And it would probably be better for your mental health if you didn’t try either.”

  “Your sister is even more of an ice maiden than your mother. I bet she’s a virgin.”

  “She’s twenty six. That’s a bit old for a virgin in this day and age and she does have a failed marriage in her background somewhere so I’d guess the only virgin would be Carey, and I’m not all sure of her.

  “She’s what, seventeen? And she’s pretty. You think she’s still a virgin?”

  “Eighteen, and as much of an innocent as I’ve met over the age of ten in all my travels. If the girl wasn’t such a brainy little nerd I’d think she was retarded. But who knows?

  They went up a winding, marble staircase wide enough for a car, and Spirit rattled the many rings on her hand along the brass hand rails as she climbed, careless of the noise.

  Life was boring, and then you died. That was her motto. That was why she stayed with Davie. He might be a completely unreliable jerk, but at least he was never boring.

  She hung around him because he was fun and handsome and because it pissed off her parents. She had no illusions about permanency. She’d stick around as long as she felt like it, until she found something or someone better, or he did. Or maybe she’d die of some kind of overdose tomorrow. Who knew?

  Life was dull, mundane, without purpose. All they were doing on this earth was polluting it and fucking it up for all the animals. No doubt soon everyone would die and then the e
arth would become a paradise.

  * * *

  Unbefuckinglievable

  That’s the word which came to David Rothman’s mind as he watched his son and girlfriend slouching up the stairs, his stairs, in what was a veritable mansion he had bought with his own money which he got through hard work, brains, skill and luck.

  You sweated and worked your ass off and fight to succeed and build up a fortune and for what? So you can raise a dumbass, spoiled little punk who took it all for granted, thought he could saunter through life on someone else’s money, and hadn’t an ounce of desire to ever work.

  And any hope for the following generation seemed pretty painfully slim given his son’s predilection for bimbos and alcohol. Even assuming he was physically capable of fathering a child on one of the moral reprobates he usually dated, it would probably come out as dumb as a post given the limited brain cells active in the mother - and the few left that hadn’t been drowned by alcohol in the father.

  Not that this latest “find” was stupid. No, now that they’d gotten used to him bringing him blondes that made his wife’s idiot poodle seem smart he’d brought home this… this… superficial, pseudo sophisticate goth girl who only got animated when talking about death. She was sharp tongued, if not sharp witted - which he could see given the little slut had a big tongue ring she insisted on displaying at every opportunity.

  There was Angela and Caroline, of course. Both his girls had turned out far better than his idiot son. But any children they might have would not bear the Rutherford name. It infuriated him. Half the time he wanted to strange the little bastard, and if it weren’t for his wife he would have thrown him out on his ass years ago.

  At twenty-five there was little chance he was going to ‘grow up” any time soon, despite what his wife insisted. And going around with this little twit of a girl, who rolled her eyes so much he’d like to smack her across the face, was only another indication of his juvenile mindset.

  * * *

  Spirit was feeling kind of horny, and kind of sulky. Davie had stripped her as soon as they’d gotten to his suite, and they’d made out enough to get her hot. Then, because he was such a lazy bastard and his preferred position was him lying on his back doing fuck all, she’d mounted him.

  Spirit absolutely loved the feel of a big cock inside her, a big, slick hard cock stretching her out as she rode up and down. She was a slim-hipped girl and prided herself - secretly, for it wouldn’t do to admit she cared about anything so mundane - in having a firm, athletic body. Riding a hard cock was heaven, and she’d been not that far from climax when he’d come and then - as usual, gone completely limp.

  With other guys, that would have embarrassed them, and they’d have done their best to make it up to her with their tongues and fingers. Not Davie. Davie didn’t really give a shit about anyone else’s pleasure. Disgusted, she’d climbed off him, and put on her underwear while telling him just what a limp-dicked alcoholic loser he was.

  “Oh shut the fuck up,” he groaned.

  “Sure, as soon as you give me some money to buy a big dildo. I can see I’ll need one since my boyfriend is such a boozehead that he can’t keep it up more than two minutes.”

  “Bitch.”

  “Asshole.”

  “Slut.”

  “Faggot!”

  “Let me show you another feature of this room,” he growled, surging up from the bed.

  Spirit was not a large girl by any means. She was only five foot five and weighed little more than a hundred and twenty pounds. David easily caught her up over his shoulder and, ignoring her curses, Careyd her out onto the balcony and threw her bodily off.

  “Maybe I can get some fucking sleep now,” he muttered as he went back inside.

  * * *

  A feminine scream followed by a tremendous splash of water shocked David out of his concentration on the stock quotes. He was sitting on a chaise lounge under a long, overhanging roof, a `78 Piegnut in a chilled glass sitting on the nearby table. The sudden shriek brought him shooting out of the chair just in time to see a body hit the pool and tremendous splash of water spray out to all sides.

  Fortunately he was well back from the edge of the pool, but, startled, he started forward as a small black head came to the surface, cursing sulfurous.

  And then Gwendolyn - who insisted she be called “Spirit” swam to the edge of the pool, and climbed breathlessly out, glaring at him.

  Either she’d already washed her face or her makeup was very water soluble. This was the first time he’d seen her without all that black crap on, and felt himself surprised at just how pretty she was. More, she was wearing a tiny black bra and even tinier black thong, and her now slick, dripping body was displayed in a way which, despite himself, made David’s cock pulse with unaccustomed interest.

  The bra was not meant to be wet, and was sagging under her large breasts, revealing a generous amount of cleavage, and only through steely determination did he maintain the slight frown on his otherwise bland face as the girl glared at him.

  “Your son is an asshole!” she shouted.

  “Well what do you want me to do about it?” he demanded with a sniff. “You’re the one who chose him.”

  “Well if you’d kicked his ass when he was younger he might not be such a loser now!” she snapped.

  “Most likely the same could be said to your parents,” he retorted. “No doubt if they’d tanned your bare bottom when younger you might have turned out better, as well.”

  She stuck her chin out pugnaciously, then spun to show him her bare bottom, with nothing but a thin black lace slipping between her buttocks, and slapped her wet bottom sharply before marching past him and into the house.

  His eyes followed her, his mind spinning with unaccustomed frustration. He wanted to bend the little bitch over and show her just how painful a spanking could be! That was what the bitch needed! And he imagined her kicking and squealing and sobbing and begging him to stop as he brought his hand down across that small but shapely backside.

  At the same time he wanted to bend her over and do something considerably different, and his cock, half hard within his trousers, certainly agreed, for the mere thought of it made it harden further.

  He sat down, muttering under his breath, but could not seem to draw his mind away from that soft, pale female flesh. He might think precious little of her as a person, as a responsible adult, even as a woman, but he certainly appreciated physical beauty. And she had that, all right, in spades.

  His son didn’t deserve to have that beautiful girl in his bed, he thought to himself. What had he ever done to deserve it? Meanwhile he, with his millions, was married to a fifty year old woman who was sixty pounds overweight and had no interest in sex whatsoever. A number of men in his position hired high priced escorts or even maintained mistresses, but David had never seriously entertained the thought - until now.

  * * *

  Spirit was not as angry as she let on. In fact, she’d found it rather neat - after she’d landed safely - to have been thrown off a balcony into a pool. She was only a little embarrassed at David’s father seeing her in her lingerie. It pretty much covered what a bikini would anyway, and plenty of people had seen her naked or partially naked before in some of the drunken or drugged sex she’d had at parties. And even though he hadn’t seemed to react in any way she could tell he had noticed all right.

  He thought she was hot. The old pervert! She thought about telling Davie triumphantly, maybe taunting him with it. But she had no place else to go right now, and if Davie did something dumb he’d get them both kicked out of this place. She might not be willing to let on that she was impressed by it, but she was. It was a gorgeous place, and the thought of living here for a while was way cool. It wasn’t like the old geezer was any threat after all. If he gave her any trouble she’d knee him in the balls. That’d make him sorry!

  Davie was out cold when she got back to their room, and she looked at him with contempt, then sighed and wandered out
onto the balcony. With a sniff, she slipped out of her wet lingerie and stood leaning on the railing naked, a little smirk on her face as she imagined the old man coming out from underneath and seeing her like this. He was probably still down there, she knew, maybe thinking about her. If you only knew, old man, that you could walk out to the pool a few feet and see me NAKED!

  Probably make his tiny, old wrinkled pecker explode, she thought with a sneer.

  She lay down on a chaise lounge. She couldn’t stay long in the sun, for her pale skin didn’t like the sun, but she could let the hot sun dry her off. And besides, it was cool being naked out of doors. She certainly didn’t get much opportunity for that downtown.

  Hands behind her head, she looked out on the beautifully landscaped grounds and thought how lucky Davie was to be able to grow up and live in a place like this. Granted, his parents were assholes, but then, so were hers. So were a lot of people's parents. This place was a sweet deal!

  She let her hands come down and slide along her damp skin, enjoying the tactile sensation of her soft flesh against her fingers. She casually kneaded her breasts, then plucked at the nipples, thinking again about Davie's old man. He was probably just underneath her now, she thought with a grin. She let her legs slide apart and ran a hand down to her smooth pussy, fingers stroking along the tight, narrow slit. Old man would love to get at this, she thought smugly.

  Then she thought of Davie passed out behind her and made a face. The old man would probably do a better job of fucking her than his louse of a son! He could hardly do much worse.

  She was twenty-one and loved sex. So how had she come to be hooked up with a guy who sucked so badly in bed? She let herself ponder that unhappily as she rolled her hard, pebbly pink nipples between her thumbs and forefingers. She got a lot of free pot out of it, and ecstasy, and hash, and sometimes cocaine. That was why. Then again, she mused, maybe if I was getting done properly I wouldn't need drugs to make me high.