Spirit of Submission Read online

  His wife irritated him at times, but she, at least, shared many of his interests and was an intelligent woman. He could spend time with her, talk to her about serious issues. He couldn’t imagine doing anything like that with Davie’s little slut.

  How many men had had her, he wondered. The little slut seemed willing to submit to anyone who cared to take her on. Was that why she was with his son? Or was it his money? Whichever it was, he recognized that there would be serious trouble if the slut let slip what had happened.

  His wife would kill him and his son would probably never speak to him again - not that the latter was looking like all that much of a concern at the moment. Still, there was still at least some chance the boy would grow up - eventually.

  It was a damned good thing he was a drunk at the moment, though, or he might have heard them in the back yard. He’d have to be a lot more careful. His wife slept in another room facing the front, and slept like the dead, so there was little worry there.

  But there were his daughters to consider, as well. He was lucky they were early sleepers. Carey’s room wasn’t even all that far away from the pool. He was a fool not to have thought of that, but then, he hadn’t been thinking with his big head, but with his little one.

  It was a big house, fortunately, but he couldn’t be sure none of his family would show up in any of the rooms at any given time, or at least, that they mightn’t see him sneaking into a spare bedroom with his son’s girlfriend. He didn’t want to do anything so grotty as to go and rent a room at a hotel, either.

  Then he had a thought: the wine cellar. It was huge, for the previous owner hadn’t known what else to do with the basement space, and he was a lover of wine. But Dave was a beer man, and his wife didn’t drink. So he hadn’t seen any purpose to the place.

  If he’d needed the room for something he would have had it redone, but really, the house was a lot bigger than he needed. He’d bought it as much for status as comfort. So he’d left the wine cellar alone. It was isolated, and had a very sturdy lock given the value of the contents which had once resided there.

  The door to the cellar stairs was near the west door. He opened it, flicked on the lights, and went down the stairs, encouraged to see the light dust on each of the stairs. He’d have to sweep that off, of course, if he started using the place.

  The cellar stairs were old and stone, from the original building which had occupied this site. It was steep, and descended a good twenty feet to reach the rough stone floor below. The wine cellar was through a separate door to the left of the stairs, but now that he was here he reconsidered. The basement was old, gloomy, dimly lit. The original stonework was on the walls in places, a century and a half old. The place looked like, and he’d said it before, a fucking dungeon.

  And it was clear the little slut got off on being tied up, on being helpless. What would a place like this do to her mind?

  He glanced up the stairs. The door was old and thick, and it locked, too, if he could find the key. The stairway was long and narrow. It would take a hell of a lot of noise to make it up there. If he bought a few things, a few chains and such, would it scare the piss out of her, or make her cream in her tight little jeans?

  He checked in the wine cellar. It was quite different from the rest of the basement; well-lit, with gleaming hardwood floors, rich oak panels and long rows of built-in shelves for bottles. A folded up air mattress kept in one of the cupboards would do if he wanted his comfort, but then, he’d never really been a man who needed comfort.

  * * *

  Spirit felt alive with her own sexuality, smug, cocky, coy, and flirty. She was delighted in her daring, in what she’d done and had done to her. It had, at times, been rough and scary, but God had it ever been hot! She was just unhappy she couldn’t tell anyone. Even her girlfriends wouldn’t be able to keep from blabbing this one!

  Fucking her boyfriend’s father!? That was going wild even for her! And that was without even considering what kind of sex it had been, how rough and nasty and kinky. He had fucked her with a gun! She could still see it, could still feel it on her tongue, between her lips as she sucked, as she imagined it going off.

  “Well, aren’t we up early?”

  The words weren’t odd, but the tone was, given who uttered them. They were said in a sort of sarcastic, catty tone which she’d come to be familiar with. Davie’s mother was a bitch, after all, and his older sister was worse. But the person who gave her disapproving look as she slouched into the room was his younger sister Carey, and Spirit hadn’t really ever had any trouble with the girl, who often struck her as little more than a happy puppy as compared to the growling bitches.

  “Early bird gets the worm and all that shit,” she replied offhandedly, pouring herself some coffee.

  “And what does the late bird get?” the blonde said with a strange look on her face.

  Spirit was not nearly as dumb as some people seemed to think she was. In fact, she was actually quite intelligent. That sort of comment coming the morning after that incredible time out back the previous night - morning, from someone whose window, she now recalled, overlooked the back yard, instantly put her on her guard.

  “The late bird gets all sorts of goodies,” she said casually, eying the blonde carefully.

  What did the bitch know? What had she seen? Wouldn’t it all have been past her bedtime?

  The girl came closer, leaning forward against the counter next to her, looking at her intently.

  “Goodies can be bad for you,” she said. “Goodies can make you sick.”

  “Depends on what kind of goodie,” she replied. “And some goodies are worth getting sick for.”

  She leaned in and let her be-ringed tongue slide along her lower lip as her fingers caressed the girl's shoulder and upper arm. “Little girl,” she breathed.

  “D-don't touch me!” Carey said uncomfortably.

  Spirit's smile deepened. “What's the matter? Most people enjoy human contact. They find it... comforting,” she said, sliding her hand along the girl's chest above her breasts then up along the side of her throat. “Some people like to touch me. Wouldn't you like me to … touch you... little girl?” she asked softly.

  She leaned in enough to press her breasts into Carey's as her eyes lit with mischievous daring. The blonde girl's uneasiness delighted her and she let her breasts pillow out against her and then grind herself lightly into her chest.

  “Get away from me!” Carey said in irritation, shoving her back.

  Spirit laughed in delight. “What's the matter? Don't you want to be friends?”

  “I think you're too friendly, Gwendolyn Thompson!” Carey snapped.

  “Don't call me that. Call me Spirit,” Spirit demanded.

  “Phht, now who's being the child?” Carey sniffed.

  “If I put you over my knee, little girl, we'll see who bawls like a child,” Spirit snapped.

  “Ha,” Carey sniffed, walking away.

  Little bitch, Spirit thought in irritation. Then she smiled thinly. And wouldn't Rutherford be pissed off if she seduced his precious baby! If he found out she was having a lesbian affair!

  Maybe she could take pictures, let him find them. Oh that would all be deliciously exciting, and piss the old bastard off to no end. He might take a real whip to Spirit's back for that!

  She went back upstairs with her coffee and examined Davie still asleep in the bed. He really was getting to be a bore. Drugs were fun, but you couldn't let them control you or you turned into nothing but mush. Davie was weak-minded, nothing at all like his old man.

  She went into the bathroom and examined herself. She'd let her hair go straight for that pig-tail thing at the dinner the other night. It was much softer, this way, and she thought David would probably find her more attractive with it straight. It wasn't cut to be that way, so it sort of hung loosely to just above her collar, looking like an odd little bob, though with heavy bangs.

  She didn't put on lipstick or rouge or eyeliner, but wore a sheer gre
en, button-down blouse with a high collar. The only parts of it which weren't see-through were the pockets over her breasts. They didn't completely cover her breasts, however, for they were still mostly bare from the sides. She tucked the shirt into a very tight pair of faded, low slung jeans which accentuated her shapely bottom. The way the crotch dug into her pussy made her throb down there given the bubbling heat which was gripping her.

  She left the room and went searching through the public parts of the house, wondering if the old man was out by the pool under the balcony again. That proved empty, as did the dining room, den and library. She walked – slouched really – from room to room as casually as she could, sipping on the coffee and looking jaded. She came upon Carey again in the foyer and the girl frowned.

  “Shouldn't you be wearing a bra?”

  “Why?”

  The girl looked a little flustered. “Because... and that shirt...”

  “My breasts are nice and firm, so I don't need a bra. See?”

  With that she gripped the girl's wrist quite suddenly, and drew her hand up to press against her left breast through the thin material.

  Carey gasped and jerked her hand back and Spirit giggled lightly as she passed on into the side hall. She followed it along, checking the sun room, then found him in the gym. She leaned against the door sipping coffee as he worked with one of the machines. He didn't look all that old, she thought to herself. And in the T-shirt he was wearing she could see how powerfully built he was, how thick and muscular his arm and shoulders were.

  She eyed his hands, so large and strong looking as they worked the bar of the machine, pulling it up and down. Those big hands could probably go completely around her middle, she thought with a little shimmer of heat.

  “Must be sad to be old,” she said as he noticed her. “You have to work with gym equipment because you never move enough to keep your body fit.”

  “You do a lot of moving, do you?” he said as he continued to pump the bar.

  “I'm out dancing every night,” she said. “And it's real dancing. Not that shit you old people do, so it takes lots of energy. You won't get fat dancing like I dance.”

  “Probably get pregnant dancing like you dance,” he said with a grunt, lifting the bar again and again. “The way guys grind themselves into you so hard on the dance floor.”

  “Some guy fucked me once at a dance,” she said with a smirk.

  “I wouldn't be surprised. Probably some guy fucked you once doing just about anything and everything from eating breakfast to riding the bus.”

  “You saying I'm a whore?” she demanded, scowling.

  He snorted and stood up, wiping the sweat off his face. “A whore is a professional, I think. You're just a slut.”

  “And what does that make you, old man? Eh? You like sluts, do you!?”

  She had come further into the room, glaring at him as she raised her voice.

  He turned abruptly and grabbed her by the scruff of the neck, yanking her around so the coffee spilled.

  “Hey! You're tearing my shirt, asshole!”

  “You call this a shirt?”

  He shoved her backwards into a narrow hallway which had showers and a sauna, opened the door to the sauna, and shoved her inside, then closed it behind her. He looked around, then picked up a bar and blocked the door closed before turning up the heat.

  Then he went back to his exercise.

  “Hey! You asshole! Bastard! Motherfucker!” Spirit shouted through the thick wooden door.

  There was a small glass window but it was of very thick glass, and she kicked angrily at the door even as the steam began to spill into the room from the upper vents.

  She glared around her. The room was like a largish closet, except with a pair of wooden benches facing each other and some large green plants scattered around. What did the old man think he was doing locking her in here? She'd get all sweaty, she supposed. Was she supposed to take her clothes off? Would he come and do her then? She felt a little thrum of excitement at the thought, but was determined not to give in.

  Who did that bastard think he was calling her a slut!? Like he hadn't practically attacked her two nights in a row! Him and his buddy!

  Fuck it was hot in here!

  And it wasn't exactly a dry heat either! She was already sweating heavily, and could feel her hair, which she'd carefully brushed out, matting against the sides of her face and forehead.

  She kicked at the door again, and then again, before sitting down, glaring. He couldn't keep her in here long, not at this temperature.

  Could he?

  It took very little time until her shirt was plastered against her sweating body. She unbuttoned it, gasping for breath, glaring at the window in the door defiantly. So what if he saw her tits. He’d seen everything she had, and then some.

  She lay back, the steam making it impossible to even see the door any more, breathing in shallow breaths. She stripped off the shirt, then, grunting with effort, undid her jeans and shoved them off, pushing off her shoes as well until she was naked. It felt strangely erotic to be nude with the steam floating around her like it was. She’d never been in a sauna before, and she found that, aside from the heat, it was kind of neat.

  She was soaking wet, though she had no clue whether it was sweat or steam. Her hair was matted against her skull and she groaned as the heat rolled over her. She’d never experienced this kind of heat before. It was like being in a hot shower, only it was the air itself that was hot!

  She ran her hands slowly, lightly up her body, over the rounded curves of her breasts, then let her hands slide back behind her, laying along the bench, legs spread so that one left was up across the backrest and the other hung over, her foot on the tiled floor.

  The thought of him coming in and seeing her like this made her pussy throb, but the heat was increasingly robbing her of energy, and for a time she just lay there, chest rising and falling slowly, tiredly. Every little motion made her sweat and her brain felt like it was cooking in her skull.

  * * *

  Rutherford examined the dial on the sauna. It was up to 175 degrees, but she was young and healthy – presumably, so he doubted she was in much danger unless he left her in there too long. He liked high temperatures in the sauna himself. It was quite relaxing. He suspected that about now the smart mouthed little brat was feeling quite relaxed indeed.

  He grinned and turned the steam off then flushed the air inside. This sauna had a feature which allowed the hot, steamy air to be sucked away through an outside exhaust rather than pouring out into the house after use, and the temperature inside dropped quickly as the steam which obscured the window faded away.

  His cock pulsed at the sight of her there, seemingly barely conscious and spread out naked before him. Jesus, but she had a body on her! At least she hadn't gone in for tattoos. He wondered why not. Not that everyone who had a tattoo was a slut, but generally speaking every slut got tattoos, particularly the 'tramp stamp' across their lower backs. Dave considered tattoos akin to graffiti, and had no idea why women wanted to graffiti their bodies.

  Men, on the other hand, well, who gives a shit about their bodies?

  He opened the door and stepped inside. It was still hot, but not debilitating so, and he sat down on the edge of the bench next to where the girl was sprawled. Her eyes looked up at him glassily and he grinned down at her.

  “Enjoying the heat, slut?”

  His hand slid along her warm, slick body, and in between her legs. She moaned weakly, and tried to sit up. He shook his head, gripped her hair behind her neck and jerked her head up and back, pleased by the little pain sound she let out as her body arched.

  His fingers slipped easily into her pussy as his thumb rubbed skillfully across her clitoris. Her eyes fluttered as though she were drunk.

  “B-bastard!' she gasped in a low, dazed voice.

  He pulled more sharply on her hair and she whimpered in pain, then he bent and began to suck on her hard little nipple, chewing on the f
lesh around it, his tongue stroking and twirling as he thrust three fingers into her naked little pussy, pumping them in and out, twisting and turning them as his thumb worked over her clit.

  He was pleased when she came. She was such a responsive little slut! His cock pulsed as she writhed and gurgled in pleasure, her hips bucking up against him helplessly, weakly, grinding away at his pumping fingers as he let the pad of his thumb work over her clit.

  “Hot little slut,” he said, mouthing her other nipple.

  * * *

  Spirit moaned weakly, overwhelmed by the heat, robbed of energy, her mind felt hazy. Yet with the newly cool air she actually trembled as energy began to surge through her again. It was so much easier to breath, and the air was so much more refreshing!

  But she felt indignant at him for his arrogance, the way he loomed over her, smirking, the way he pawed at her so intimately, ignoring her wishes. That indignation quickly turned to inner heat, though, and despite a sense of aggravation she gave herself to the heat and pleasure and sensual touch of his fingers, moaning and writhing under his touch as an orgasm tore through her and set her mind spinning and burning in helpless pleasure.

  She groaned weakly, dazedly, as he pulled at her hair, as his strong hands turned her on the bench. Then he was raising her legs up, pushing them back, and she stared up between her legs as she felt him entering her. She couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but moan as his cock sank deep into her belly and he forced her ankles back over the backrest, bending her in two, crushing her beneath him as he started thrusting down into her aching belly.

  He was neither gentle nor patient. He jammed her ankles down painfully, raising her bottom high as his hips slapped down against her. His strong hands worked their way down her legs until they gripped her slender ankles, then he jammed them down and back behind her head, quite literally, forcing her feet to touch behind her neck as his hips worked like a machine, pounding himself into her with fast, relentless strokes.

  Oh God, was all she could think as his hips slammed down, as his cock speared her, impaled her, skewered her, again and again and again, until pain and pleasure twined themselves around her mind and her consciousness faded into a feverish dream of heat and passion that threw her into another massive mind-blowing orgasm.