Eve: Portrait of a Submissive by Steve Maser
2012 National Leather Association International Writing Honorable Mention! Pauline Reage Novel Award
“When she finally did move in with him, he first had her sign a paper, in the form of a contract, under which she agreed to become his slave, to surrender all her rights to him, and to obey him unconditionally; furthermore she agreed in advance to submit to any punishment he might care to inflict in the event of disobedience.”
In the spring of 1975 Eve Sloan, a twenty-two year old college dropout, was living in a shabby tenement apartment in New York’s East Village, workings days as a clerk in a bookstore while her nights were occupied with casual sex, drugs and writing bad poetry. One day in a Soho gallery she is accosted by Roger Nettles, a wealthy venture capitalist, with whom she ends up having sex in her apartment. Roger, an experienced dominant, quickly sizes her up as a born submissive and proceeds to introduce her to spanking and bondage, to which she responds enthusiastically. Increasingly dissatisfied with her aimless existence while experiencing ecstatic pleasures unknown before, she accepts his offer to come live with him as his slave, agreeing to accept a life of total dependence in which she has no rights of her own but an absolute obligation to submit to all of her Master’s desires.
As the live-in companion of a wealthy man she is forced to abandon her bohemian ways and is thrust awkwardly into fashionable society, where she becomes known as a great beauty. In the course of her three-year odyssey she encounters a variety of colorful characters—the university professor who teaches history by day and conducts sadomasochistic orgies by night, a dominatrix doctor, a rock drummer with a spanking fetish, a fashion photographer she poses for and who lusts after her, the slave girl with the fragile ego whom she befriends and tries to protect, and Olympia, Roger’s former lover and now bitter business rival, who guesses her secret life and uses it to torment her. Eve’s adventures include being a guest at a dinner party of sadomasochists in which the maid is caned, participating in a spanking party and in a terrifying orgy with two other slave girls.
But she finds her greatest pleasures when alone with her Master in his luxury apartment, in his bed, or over his knee, or bound naked to a cross or a bench in the room he has turned into his own private dungeon. In time though, even these pleasures are not enough, for what she craves most of all is to be truly loved by her moody work-obsessed Master. When she comes to feel neglected, she is finally driven to rebel, provoking a crisis that will end up changing her life forever.
Features numerous scenes of spanking with hand, belt, paddle, hairbrush and cane, bondage, anal and oral sex and group sex.
Next Wednesday evening at eight o’clock she stood in front of the door of his apartment. He had called her Sunday evening, and after asking her how she was, invited her to come this evening. Actually it seemed more like an order. He had also asked for her shoe size, which struck her as odd. Perhaps he intended some gift.
It was a warm evening and she was dressed in a similar manner to last Saturday. During the subway ride uptown she had felt mounting trepidation. A few days ago he had done things to her that in retrospect were embarrassing, even humiliating. She recalled her overwrought state beforehand, and that she had been drinking, and had also been stoned. But she was sober now. As he opened the door and said hello, she had trouble meeting his gaze. He gave her a light kiss on the forehead, took her hand and led her into the living room. After seating himself on the sofa he didn’t invite her to sit down, but instead told her to sit on the floor. Without a demur she sat down on her knees in front of him. Strangely enough it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Then he began asking her a series of questions.
“Did you have a good time last Saturday?”
“I didn’t mean the dinner.”
“Yes, I know.”
“So how did you like your first spanking?”
Eve blushed, and swallowed hard. She found herself unable to answer.
“Maybe I was wrong, and it wasn’t your first?” She looked up. He was smiling warmly, and she began to feel more at ease.
“No. It was ... okay. I mean ... I liked it.”
“How did it make you feel?”
“How did it make me feel?”
“Yes, how did it make you feel?”
“Uh, I dunno.”
“Think. Try to come up with one word to describe it.”
She paused to think. How could she describe the complex of sensations it had aroused in her in one word? Then it came to her.
“It made me feel ... powerless.”
He nodded. “And did you like that?”
After a brief pause she said “Yes.”
“Do you remember when I tied you up?”
“Did you like that?”
“Good. You’re familiar with the terms sadism and masochism?”
“Of course.” Her stomach muscles began to tighten.
“What do they mean?”
She felt like she was in a classroom, in a course on psychology. “It’s when people get sexual pleasure out of pain.”
“It’s when people derive sexual gratification from inflicting, or suffering, pain or humiliation,” he said, correcting her.
At the reference to humiliation, Eve turned red. His bluntness startled her. She had never thought of herself as a masochist before.
“It’s long been one of my passions,” he continued. “I’ve introduced a number of other women to it. I sensed from the first time we met that you were the kind of woman who would be open to it. Would you like to learn more about it?”
She failed to respond, so he went on. “You’re nervous. That’s understandable. You’ve had these desires for a long time, maybe you weren’t always aware of them, but they’ve been there, waiting to come out. Are you interested in learning more, in exploring it?”
“I dunno .... I guess so.”
“Remember, this is all voluntary activity. You can stop at any time. You’re not a prisoner here. Only I hope you’ll give it a chance and not run away the first time things become a bit difficult. We’ll take it slowly. Okay?”
“Good. Now I want you to take off all your clothes and leave them here on the sofa.”
After a brief hesitation she took her blouse and pulled it over her head. She stood up and took off her sandals, skirt and panties, which he told her to put on a chair. Then he arose and told her to follow him, which she did, conscious of having crossed some invisible Rubicon. They entered his bedroom which looked exactly like it did the Friday of the concert, except that the bedspread and blanket had been removed from the bed. He pointed to some items of clothing there, all of them black, which stood out against the white sheets: fishnet stockings, a garter belt, and stiletto heels. “Put those on,” he said, “and stand in front of the mirror.”
She did as he ordered, and walked over to the standing mirror, somewhat unsteadily as she was not accustomed to heels this high; she rarely wore heels at all. Viewing herself, she noticed how the black stockings and garter belt neatly outlined her thighs and pubic area in a distinctly erotic fashion. Her backside must be similarly highlighted. I look like a stripper, she thought. Is that his fantasy? It seemed rather banal.
“What do you think?” he asked.
She shrugged her shoulders.
“I think you look like a little whore. So I’m going to treat you like a whore.”
She reddened, her face contracting into a frown. He noticed this and said, “You don’t like that?”
“I plan on using your body to serve me and my needs, and you will learn to like it. Do you remember when I said you were submissive?”
“You didn’t like that either, but that is what you are. It’s your nature. Probably you were born that way. It is in submission that you will find true happiness. Now I want you to bend over and put your hands on the wall.”
She did so and waited anxiously. She heard him walking around and a drawer being opened. Then she felt his finger in her ass. He’s entering private property again, but whose? She pictured a sign reading, “Under New Management.” He took his finger out, then back in again, only this time she felt something creamy inside her. She turned her head; he had changed into a dressing gown and was holding a small glass jar. He put down the jar and removed his finger. Then he held something up for her to see, a smooth black cylindrical object rounded at one end like a bullet and resting on a flat base.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“It’s a kind of dildo. I want to open up that tight ass of yours so I can use it. Any objections?”
Nervously she shook her head. He inserted it all the way in until she felt the base rubbing against her cheeks. It wasn’t as wide as Roger’s erect penis. It wasn’t painful, merely uncomfortable. It felt hard and metallic and her muscles instinctively tightened around it as if wanting to expel the alien thing. It made her feel helpless and violated. Perhaps that was what he wanted her to feel.
He spoke again.“Turn around and get down on all fours and come to me.” By now he was sitting on the side of the bed. She went down on her hands and knees and crawled over to him. His dressing gown was open exposing his erect cock.
“I want you to suck my cock now,” he said. “I can tell you haven’t had a lot of experience in that area, but you’ll get better. In the future I plan to make full use of all three of your holes.”
Again Eve flushed. It was true she did not have much experience with fellatio, something her previous lovers, many of them one night stands, had not often requested. Still, she was not happy being reminded of her inadequacies as a lover, nor was she accustomed to being addressed with such coarseness. But she quickly cast these feelings aside. She liked kneeling in front of him. He was to her the epitome of manliness and she received his cock in her mouth like a sacred object she was privileged to possess. He coached her in how to use her tongue and her lips to achieve the right degree of pressure and felt her efforts rewarded as it grew even bigger and harder. Next he told her to use her hand as well. She took the base in her left hand and sucked the head, like a lollipop. How little my hand looks around this big, round thing, she thought. His breathing grew more agitated and this evidence of his excitement pleased her. Suddenly he grabbed her hair, pulled back her head and ejaculated, splattering white liquid over her face.
No one had ever done that to her before; it seemed deliberately rude and contemptuous. He was unapologetic. “Now, go to the bathroom and clean yourself up and don’t dawdle,” he said. “Walk on all fours.”
She turned around and crawled out of the bedroom. When she reached the bathroom she stood up, tottering on the high heels. She went to the sink and washed the cum off her face. Underneath it her face was red. After drying it off she turned to the side, twisting her neck so she could view her ass in the mirror. The base of the dildo was sticking out. She put her hand in back to feel it. Her mouth suddenly felt very dry and she drank a glass of water. Then she remembered that she wasn’t supposed to dawdle and quickly sank to her knees again and crawled back into the bedroom, where he remained seated as before.
“Now, I want you to climb onto the bed and lay across my lap,” he said. Swiftly she arose, hastening to obey his order.
“You’re off to a good start,” he said as she settled herself over his thighs. “I think you’re going to make a good little whore. I’m going to reward you by giving you a spanking. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” she said. It was funny how last Saturday he had described the spanking as a punishment, but now he called it a reward. So which was it? Could it be both? He removed the dildo, and involuntarily she flexed her sphincter several times, like someone jiggling a door to test the lock. It was extraordinary how powerless it had made her feel, how much under his control, to have this thing inside her which her muscles fought against but which she was forbidden to remove. His removing it emphasized his power over her just as much as when he inserted it. That is what it was all about, the humiliation of being powerless. And now as his hand rained blows on her tender cheeks, the pain reinforced the message of his power and control. The delicious stinging sensation transported her back to those first ecstatic moments last Saturday, lying across his lap in her dim candlelit room. Slowly the pressure built, increasing by imperceptible steps, second by second, minute by minute, and with it her pleasure grew until the pain began to approach the borderline between pain-as-pleasure and the truly unbearable. At that point resistance stirred within her; she began to squirm, and in response he seized her left wrist and pressed it into the small of her back, crushing her incipient rebellion. The message was clear—he and he alone would decide how long her punishment went on, and how much pain he would inflict, for her feeble strength was no match for his. She struggled a little, not in hope of success but just to induce a further demonstration of his power and her weakness, and he responded by tightening his grip on her wrist and increasing the force of his blows. And it was just at that point, as she fully grasped her helplessness, that her passion surged and she began to shake violently all over, her passion engulfing her like an ocean wave. At the very apex of her passion the blows from his hand reached their maximum force; she surrendered herself to the pain and wave upon wave of pleasure washed over her, almost drowning her in it. Then he stopped and she began to subside. It was over now, and she lay there panting, breathing in her own feminine odor which hung heavily in the air, like the acrid smell of smoke after an explosion. Her muscles began to relax and grow limp; she lay there feeling utterly broken and tamed.
Suddenly she felt an urgent need to pee; she requested permission to go to the bathroom, which he granted. She stood up on wobbly legs, then went down again on all fours even though he hadn’t told her to do so. Anyway it was easier than walking on those heels. But this time he followed her as if she were his pet dog. He continued to follow her even after she entered the bathroom. Reaching the toilet she stood up and turned around and looked up at him.
“Can I have some privacy please?” she asked.
“Sit down on the toilet.”
His tone brooked no argument and she sat down, wincing as her battered ass met the seat. She sat there awkwardly, unable to relieve herself until finally the pressure overcame her and her bladder relaxed; the piss poured out of its hole forming a stream between her thighs, breaching one last barrier of shame. This is it, she thought. He has turned me into a tame animal. When she was done, she got up and flushed the toilet. Her face was burning but she felt curiously lightheaded. She followed him out the bathroom door and back into his bedroom.
She reached his bed after almost stumbling twice, and he told her to lie on her back. Just like the last time he tied her spreadeagled to the bed; as an added refinement he blindfolded her. She heard him remove his robe and felt his weight as he climbed on top of her and entered her. What she experienced now surpassed in intensity all the previous occasions. And she understood why—it was because now he had totally mastered her, and with this realization she experienced the bliss of total surrender. All sense of time was lost in what seemed one long orgasm. Towards the end of that long night, she heard her saying to herself a silent prayer:
Yes, fuck me. Please fuck me. Fuck your little whore. Tie me up, spank me, degrade me, treat me like a whore. I’ll be your whore, I’ll be your slave, only let me feel like this, let me feel this pleasure, this joy, this ecstasy, and I’ll obey you, I’ll do anything for you, only give this to me, let it go on and on and on and on like this, forever, and ever and ever, to the end of time.