School for Submissives

"Doctor, you've got to help me.  It's my wife."

"Art, you know I'm semi-retired.  I'm not taking new

patients, except at the free clinic."

"But you are the only doctor who can help me."

"Why do you say that?"

"I've heard you run a school for submissives."

"That's scandalous.  Who told you that?"

"I swore I wouldn't tell."

"So what's wrong with your wife?"

"I want her more submissive.  I've got a virgin, when I

want a whore.  She is frigid, doesn't have any

enthusiasm for sex.  And, furthermore, she's gaining

weight."

"It's easier to find a submissive wife than it is to make

one.  Can't you find a more suitable woman?"

"No, I've got to stay married to this one."

"Well, as Sherlock Holmes might say, it's an interesting

case.  If I take it, it could get expensive.  I certainly can't

bill your health insurance.  Can you pay cash, off  the

books?"

"Yes, money is no problem."

"Tell me more."

Days later, Art brought his wife to the doctor's home.

As directed, she was wearing a black mask, which

covered her whole face, except for her nostrils and

mouth.  She was of medium height, looking taller in

high heels, and her black dress was perhaps a size 12.

"Eve, do you know why you are here?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"You have filled out a medical history questionnaire, so

I assume you are here voluntarily?"

"Yes, I know if I am to please my husband I need to lose

weight.  I'm willing to check into your clinic for as long

as it takes."

"You agree to wear the mask at all times?"

"Yes, Art explained to me that this may be an

embarrassing experience.  If I never see you, and you

never see me, then we won't recognize each other.  If we

should meet in town, neither of us need be

embarrassed."

"Exactly so.  I am a medical doctor, and Nurse is very

experienced, so whatever we ask you to do, you must

not be embarrassed or ashamed.  It's purely

professional.  You will be given a special diet and

medication, and colonic cleansing, and you will be

required to exercise, to burn off calories.  You consent

to that?"  Eve nodded agreement.  "Very well, Nurse

will take you into another room.  She'll draw some

blood for the lab and prepare you for an examination."

When the doctor entered, Eve was standing naked, but

for her mask, with Nurse holding her arm.  "Doctor, I

have weighed her and taken  her blood pressure."

"Alright, Eve, take a deep breath."  She felt the

stethoscope on her chest and did as she was told, as the

doctor listened front and back.  Then nurse helped her

onto the examining table and put her feet in the stirrups.

"We need to check your breasts for lumps."  She

submitted to having her breasts examined.  Then the

doctor used his gloved fingers to part her outer labia and

palpate her clitoris.  Eve tensed but tried to be still.  He

slid a finger, then two, into her vagina and pressed on

her cervix.  Then he hooked them behind her pubic bone

and felt for the G-spot. He mentally noted that she was

unresponsive to either clitoral or vaginal stimulation.

"When was your last menstrual period?"

"It started about a week ago and ended, for sure,

yesterday.  My periods are very regular."

"When did you last have sexual relations with your

husband?"

"Is that significant?"

"Yes."

"About two days before my period."

"Did you enjoy it?"

She hesitated.  "I'm always happy when he expresses

love for me."

"I assume he put his penis inside you.  Did you enjoy

having it there?  Were there pleasurable sensations?"

Eve seemed about to cry.  "No."

"What did you feel about it?"

"I've never refused Art when he wanted sexual relations,

but afterward I feel as if I have sinned.  Are you through

examining me, Doctor?  Can I get down off this table?"

"Yes, of course, Eve.  Nurse will help you to a chair."

She did.  Nurse brought Eve some water and several

pills and capsules to swallow , which she did.  Then

there were injections, including estrogen and

testosterone and thyroxin, to "tune up" her metabolism

and stimulate her libido.  Eve sat, uncomfortable at

being naked.

"Now, Eve, tell me about why you feel you have

sinned."

"I'd rather not.  Is it really important?"

"OK, tell me why you are gaining weight, and why you

do not enjoy sex, both of which are abnormal for a

woman like you.  Do you think that perhaps your weight

gain is related to your feeling uncomfortable with your

marriage?"

"Really, I love Art.  He's a wonderful husband.  I vowed

to love, honor, and obey.  I honored him by giving him

my body, and I obey whenever he wants marital

relations, but I just don't feel right."

"And you feel a little better when you eat, right?"

"I suppose so."

"Well, now, tell me about your childhood and

upbringing, about your schooling."

"I had a happy childhood.  I was raised Catholic, went to

St. Mary's elementary and later St. Teresa's high school.

When my mother died, my father sent me to a girls'

boarding school, a finishing school in Switzerland."

"At St. Mary's, you were taught by nun's?"  Eve nodded,

sitting very upright, naked on her chair, knees pressed

together.  "What did the nuns tell you about sin?"

"When I was about seven, Sister Ursula took me into the

church, where there was a huge crucifix.  She pointed

out the bloody hands and said that because of my sins, I

had driven in the nails.  And because of my sins, I was

responsible for the crown of thorns.  I tried very hard not

to sin."

"But, by suffering, Jesus Christ took away your sin.

Though His suffering, God can forgive your sins."

"Yes."   

"But sometimes you misbehaved in school.  What did

the nuns do then?"

"Sister Ursula would hit me with a ruler.  The other nuns

would have some other punishment.  Like they would

draw a circle on the chalk board and make me stand on

tip-toe  with my nose pressed against the board in the

circle.  The muscles in my legs would cramp, and I

really suffered."

"But then your misbehavior was forgiven, right?"

"Yes.  And I tried very hard not to misbehave again, but

there was always something which merited

punishment." 

"You suffered, and you were forgiven.  Hold onto that

thought.  Tell me about the boarding school. "

"Well, we took the usual courses for the International

Baccalaureate Diploma, but mostly it was how to be a

good wife.  We studied languages, cooking, sewing,

domestic management, music, drawing, dancing,

deportment, all that stuff.  And, of course, religion.  It

was very strict.  We could never go in another girl's

room, and we could only watch TV in the common

room, under supervision.  We could only leave the

school grounds in a group of three or more, and usually

with a chaperone, like to the theater or something.  We

weren't allowed to date men."

"So did you see any men?"

"The dancing master was about sixty, and the priest was,

too.  There were some male grounds keepers, but we

weren't supposed to talk to them."

"Did you finish the school and get your diploma?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"My father had a heart attack, not fatal but a warning.

He sent for me to come home immediately.  He told me

I must marry  as soon as possible, so that if he was going

to die he would know I was provided for.  Father was

president of his company.  Ever since I was a girl, Father

had given me stock in his business, and put some in

trust, to avoid inheritance taxes.  He appointed Art to be

president, but he knew that when he died I would own a

majority of the stock.  So he arranged our marriage, and

made me promise to keep Art as president when I

inherited.  Of course, I did what Father wanted.  As

Christ is the head of His church, so the husband and

father is head of his family.  I obeyed my father and

married Art, just in time, before Father died. But every

time Art makes love to me, I feel like a sinner.  I feel

guilty that we had a civil marriage ceremony,  not a

sacramental one.  In the eyes of the church, if we are not

married by a priest, it's not a valid marriage.  We are

living in sin."

"Why weren't you married by a priest?"

"Art isn't a Catholic.  I'm not sure he's even a Christian.

The priest said that if we were going to get married, we

would both have to attend classes for about a year, and

then get permission from the bishop.  He said that if I

fornicate  with Art, without the sacrament of marriage, I

will go to hell.  But there wasn't time.  I am burdened

with sin."

"God forgives sinners.  When was the last time you went

to confession and took communion?"

"Not since before our marriage.  I can't get squared with

God.  I'm so ashamed.  I must accept Art as my

husband, my lord and master.   The first duty of a wife,

according to St. Peter, is to fear her husband, and her

second duty is constant obedience and subjection.  I

must willingly grant him the use of my body, but then

how can I confess and be repentant about it?"

"There's the old story about the prostitute who said, 'for

years I lived a life of shame.' 'And then you gave it up?'

'No, I got over feeling ashamed.'  Couldn't you get over

feeling ashamed?"

"I don't think so.  I'm afraid I'm going to hell."

"Christ suffered for your sins, so you can go to heaven."

"Only the priest can give absolution."

"There is another way.  If you suffer, it can wash away

your sin.  Have you ever heard of mortification of the

flesh?"

"Of course I have.  Origen, one of the early church

fathers, advocated it."

"Self denial...ultimately leads to salvation.  During the

plague, good Christians paraded in the streets, flogging

themselves, for forgiveness.  Even today, Shia Muslims

do the same thing.  Saint Jerome was famous for his

severe penances in the desert.  St. Dominic Loricatus

subjected himself to 300,000 lashes over six days.  St.

Francis of Assisi fasted and flagellated himself and wore

a hair shirt.  St. Catherine of Sienna scourged herself

three times daily.  St. Thomas More wore a hairshirt, as

did the queen, Catherine of Aragon.  St. Ignatius of

Loyola was praised as being 'constant in the practice of

corporal penance.'  The list goes on and on, even up to

the present day.  St. Josemaria Escriva' and Mother

Theresa of Calcutta used the celice and discipline,

flogging, as a means of doing penance.  A celice, as you

probably know, is a tight binding.  The catechism of the

Catholic Church states, 'Spirtual progress entails the

ascesis and mortification that gradually lead to living in

the peace and joy of the Beatitudes.'  Pope John XXII

spoke of our being moved by God's grace to impose

upon ourselves some voluntary sufferings and

deprivations.  Pope Paul VI said, 'The necessity of

mortification of the flesh stands clearly revealed...'  Pain

is a sanctified and redeeming human experience.  Even

the present pope is quoted as saying, 'Suffering is the

inner side of love.'  He says pain is used by God to

negate evil and sin."

"Doctor, are you suggesting I should practice

mortification of the flesh?"

"Don't  you want to please God?"

"Yes, I'll do it.  But how?"

"Traditionally, the discipline involved flagellation,

whipping yourself, perhaps a celice, a hairshirt, fasting,

and other deprivations, like sleeping on the floor.  The

point of the exercise is to cause discomfort, suffering,

preferably intense pain.  The discomfort you will

experience while trying to lose weight, going hungry,

exercising to exhaustion, can be considered

means to the end of atoning for your sins.  If you want to

practice self-flagellation, we can provide you with

whips, but I cannot let you draw blood, as the saints did.

Similarly, a metal celice might do permanent damage,

but you can achieve a similar effect by pinching

yourself.  Hairshirts were made of horse hair, which

pricked and itched when worn next to the skin, but horse

hair is hard to come by.  If you wish, we can provide you

with uncomfortable garments, later, perhaps.  You have

nothing else to do here, so I suggest that you devote

yourself, 24/7, to reducing your weight and improving

your soul through penance and prayer."

"Yes. That makes sense."

"You want Nurse and me to guide you in your

mortification of the flesh?"

"Yes, please."

Nurse took Eve by the hand.  "Come into the next room.

It is a large room, full of equipment, so we have roped

off a corner of it for you.  Stay within the rope, and you

won't get lost.  Here, now, duck under the rope.  If you

follow the rope, you will come to a bidet, a toilet, a

wash basin, and a bath.  Since you will be wearing your

mask, you don't want to shower, but you must stay

clean, so you will bathe in a hot tub.  The water

recirculates, so you want to keep it clean.  Always use

the bidet after using the toilet and before you bathe.

You will be spending a lot of time on the stationary

bicycle, working up a sweat, so you will want to bathe

often.  Questions?"

"What will I wear?"

"Unless you need additional discomfort, nothing.  It is

warm enough in here to sleep in the nude.  If you follow

the rope in the other direction, you will find a mat to

sleep on, unless you prefer the hard floor.  Beyond that

is the exercise bicycle.  I'll show you the bicycle later.

For now, we need to get started with your colonic

cleansing."

"What does that involve?"

"Just what it sounds like.  We flush out the toxins and

clean your insides.  Princess Diana had daily treatments.

They cost her two thousand pounds a year, but I suppose

they helped her stay slim."

The doctor added: "Recent experiments with mice might

explain why so many, particularly women, benefit from

colonic cleansing.  Mice are naturally coprophagic; they

eat shit.  When they are fed feces from fat humans, they

get fat.  When they eat feces from thin humans, the mice

do not get fat.  It seems fat people have a different

distribution of microbes in their gut as compared to thin

people.  Many do not realize that there are more

nonhuman cells, bacteria and such, inside them than

there are human cells in their bodies.  It  may well be

that gaining weight, as you have, relates to the microbes

in your gut, so flushing you out may help.  The FDA

doesn't see it that way, of course."

"At any rate, Eve, you are going to have periodic enemas

to cleanse your bowels, and you will be taking laxatives,

so you will have to have them frequently,"said the nurse.

"I will administer the first few, and then you will have to

give them to yourself.  Let me guide you.  You will

straddle the toilet and bend over at the waist."  She

parted Eve's lower cheeks with one hand and slipped a

lubricated nozzle into the anal opening. "You can refill

the enema bag from the wash basin to your left.  This

first one will be hot and soapy."

"Oh!" said Eve, "I've had this done before.  At the

boarding school, if you reported sick to the school nurse,

you always got an enema.  That's why girls tried not to

see the nurse."

"You don't like them?"

"No. Messy.  Humiliating.  Sometimes painful."

"Consider it mortification of the flesh."  She let soapy

water flood into Eve's rectum, only a quart.  "Hold it in"

Nurse removed the nozzle. " Now, bend your knees so

you are sitting on the toilet and expel it."  Eve complied.

"Now, we'll refill the bag with clear water.  I'll help you

do it yourself."  Eve complied with the instructions, but,

after two quarts, she was gasping and unable to hold it

in.  "OK, let it go.  Then do it again."  When the water

had drained, Nurse showed Eve how to insert a

suppository and then to use the bidet, beside the toilet,

first directing a stream of water at her anus, then at her

vulva.

The stream of water, fluttering the inner lips and

flooding her vagina, made Eve very uncomfortable.

"Cleanliness is next to godliness, and every discomfort

counts.  Pain is love.  Now, I'll show you the exercise

bike."

    

The stationary bike was set up with a step-stool next to

it, so Eve could mount the saddle and pedal for exercise,

holding handlebars to steady herself.  The saddle was

not the usual more or less triangular bicycle seat.  It was

soft and the size and shape of a large banana, so Eve's

weight was supported by pressure between her legs.  She

pedaled for several minutes, working up a sweat, but she

said, "I must get off.  I'm leaking, down there."  Nurse

assisted her with another enema, a quickie, and made

her insert another suppository, pushing it well up inside

her.  "This will help the leakage problem,"said Nurse.

"It's an anal obturator, vulgarly known as a butt plug."

She slipped the lubricated hard rubber plug into Eve's

anus, so her muscles clamped down on the narrow waist

of the plug and held it in.  "From now on, you will use

this after you have inserted the suppository.  Now, don't

forget the bidet.  And wash your hands."

This time, back on the bike, Eve said, "It feels so

strange.  The seat keeps pushing it into me, and when I

pedal it jiggles inside me."

"No pain, no gain.  Discomfort is redeeming.  It is

pleasing to God and reduces your sin." 

Eve pedaled on until she was tired, and she protested, "I

feel as if I have to pass gas,  and I can't."  Nurse allowed

her to dismount and attend to her rituals at the toilet and

bidet.  While Eve was so occupied, and of course she

was unable to see, Nurse readjusted the seat and

handlebars.  When Eve again mounted the bike, there

was less pressure on the butt plug but more against

Eve's vulva, the "banana" pressing between the labia.

With the handlebars lower, Eve hand to lean forward,

and that accentuated the pressure against her sex. "Oh,

this feels very different."

Eve pedaled on, encouraged by Nurse, until her legs

were rubbery, and she had to rest.  She sat on her mat,

breathing heavily.  The doctor came in and said, "Here

is your first meal.  I will control how much you get, but

of course, you can drink all the water you want.  Just

don't forget to use the bidet after you urinate."  The food

was liquid, like baby formula, and it was served in a

baby bottle, so Eve had to suck it through a rubber

nipple.  "It's high in protein, low in carbohydrate, to

help you lose weight."

When she had drained the bottle, the doctor said, "Now,

about the discipline, the mortification of the flesh,

traditionally, the whip, the celice, and the hair shirt.  Are

you ready to inflict pain upon your body?"

"I thought I was doing that already.  Pedaling to

exhaustion, the enemas, that awful butt plug."

"Awful?"

"Well, mildly uncomfortable."

"The whole object of mortification is discomfort, even

pain.  Only through self-inflicted suffering can you atone

for your sins.  If the plug is only mildly uncomfortable,

you shall have a bigger one.  Alright.  First the whip.

There is a table there with various instruments on it.  I

suggest you start with the flogger."  It was a handle

about the length of her forearm, with leather tails

extending from it.  "Go ahead, lash yourself with it."

Eve tried to flog herself, swinging  her arm across her

chest so that the leather tails flew over her shoulder and

struck her back.  "It doesn't hurt that much, really.

Perhaps if you beat me with it..."

"The pain should be self-inflicted, or perhaps as a gift

from your husband.  You will have plenty of time to

experiment, to learn how to make it hurt.  For one thing,

you can work on your lower body, not your back.  You

will also find other implements there on the table, a

leather strap, a cane, a hair brush.  Next is the celice, a

tight binding.  On a limb, if it is tight enough to hurt

properly it will be tight enough to do damage.  Some

Christians used a tight rope around the waist.  The

problem is a possibility for a strangulated intestine, but

after your intestines are cleaned out, perhaps a waist

cincher or corset would be useful.  In the meantime, you

can simulate a binding of your breasts.  I want you to

spend your idle time squeezing your breasts and

pinching your nipples until it hurts, until they are so

tender and sore you cannot take your mind off them.

Discomfort, suffering, is the path to redemption.  Lastly,

the hair shirt.  This will have to do.  Nurse will help you

put it on."  The garment was basically a burlap sack,

with holes for her arms and neck, long enough to reach

part way to her knees.  The fabric was coarse and

scratchy, and to make things worse there was a

checkerboard pattern of metal rivets in the cloth, so any

pressure pressed the metal into her flesh.  "This may be

too uncomfortable to sleep in, though you should try,

and you will want to remove it to wash, and remove it or

hike it up when you are on the toilet or the bidet or if

you are whipping yourself.  Let me see you squeeze your

breasts."

Eve tried to squeeze her breasts through the fabric,

which all but drew blood with the metal rivets pressed

into her tender flesh.  Nurse pulled the sack up over

Eve's breasts and showed her how to make a C with her

fingers and bring her hands together to compress the

breast, first one, then the other.  Already, the hormone

shots were making Eve's breasts more tender.  After

hours of kneading and twisting and pinching, Eve's

breasts would be exquisitely sensitive.

And so the day went on, a mind numbing sequence of

colonic cleansing, pedaling the exercise bike with the

burlap pulled up so that the seat could snuggle against

the labia, liquid meals, sessions of self-flagellation.  It

seemed the strap and the hair brush, applied below the

waist, were most effective, except for those times when

Eve could bear to beat her ever more tender breasts,

which was so painful she would cry out and tears would

flow.  Sleeping, even on her mat, was difficult when

wearing the studded sack, and in the morning there were

bloody spots, so Nurse forbade her to sleep in the sack.

Doctor recommended that she stay naked, until a better

solution was found.  Eve was allowed to bathe, but there

were no towels to dry off with.  Nurse gave her a set of

tweezers and told her she must pull out any hairs in her

arm pits and every hair below her waist.  It took Eve

hours to pull out each pubic hair, painfully, one at a

time, and she was sure the effort atoned for a lot of sins.

As time passed, and Eve had no way of telling time, Eve

became aware of her changing body.  The sensitive

breasts were an obvious novelty, and when she teased

her nipples, rubbing her palm against them, they

instantly sprang erect, and she felt little twinges or

tingles between her legs.  When she exercised on the

bike, it seemed that she could go less and less time

before she shuddered in some sort of paroxysm and

nearly fell off as waves of exhaustion followed.  She

would have to use the bidet, to wash off her sweaty

thighs, and then she had to mount up and repeat the

experience.  It was not painful, but Nurse insisted she

must ride 20 miles before she was allowed to sleep, and

it seemed to Eve that her endurance was less each time.

The cycling, and the pressure between her legs, were

almost like a drug, and when, afterward, she whipped

herself below the waist, the pain was not intense enough

to make her feel beatified.

Later, the burlap dress was replaced with more

sophisticated torments which she could wear

continuously.  The doctor told her Art would be visiting

and instructed her to address her husband as My Lord,

and to ask him to fuck her.

"I never use that word!"

"Do you want to please your husband, your lord and

master?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then do as I say."

Finally, Art arrived, and the doctor let him observe Eve

on the surveillance camera.  She was astride the bidet,

her knees spread, a jet of water fluttering her hairless

labia. She had a dreamy expression on her face, and she

was pinching her nipples.  "Do you think she will be

responsive enough for you?" said the doctor.  "Why

don't you slip out of your clothes and pay her a visit?"

When he entered the room -- the lights were on, of

course, though Eve could see nothing -- Art saw what he

had missed on the surveillance camera.  She was

kneeling, apparently at prayer, but she was wearing a

strapless bra, skin colored, and too tight.  It was made of

rubber and the cups had cut-outs to expose her nipples.

From the bottom of the bra to her waist was a lace-up

corset, also colored "nude", Victorian style, except it

had a zipper in front.  Her hips and buttocks were

exposed, but in front was a busk, an extension from her

waist to her pubic bone.  While it flattened her tummy,

the major function was to make it impossible to bend at

the waist or slump in a chair.   "Eve," said Art.

"My Lord, you have come to me."  She got to her feet,

steadying herself with a hand on a small table.

"Yes."

She turned toward his voice.  "Please, My Lord, I want

you to fuck me."  Art had never heard her use that word.

"First, My Lord, would you please hurt me?  I need real

pain." She felt on the table among the implements there

and found the cane, which she held out for her husband.

She bent over the table, embracing it, pressing her

breasts  against the top, standing with her knees pressed

together and on tiptoe to better present her rump to him.

He could see then the large pink butt plug which pressed

her cheeks apart and the puffy hairless labia below,

trapped between her thighs.  Experimentally, he slashed

the air with the cane, and with each swishing sound she

seemed to go rigid. Then, swinging horizontally,  he

stuck her across both buttocks.  "Ah!  Yes, " she cried.

Pink welts appeared where the cane had hit.  A second

stroke produced another welt, parallel below the first.

"Aaah! Yes.  Hurt me, My Lord."  He put stripes across

her ass in a neat progression down her rump until the

blow  which also stuck her puffy labia, a blow which

caused a howl of pain and a spray of vaginal secretions.

"Now, My Lord, please have your way with me."  She

parted her legs in a vee. 

Art guided the end of his penis between the slick, pink

labia as she embraced the table.  Then he grabbed her

hips with  his hands and thrust his shaft deep into her

vagina.  "Thank you, My Lord."  He pulled part way out

and then thrust hard again and again, mashing her beaten

buttocks with each thrust.  She was gasping, and he

could feel each movement of her vaginal muscles.  He

got to that point of exquisite sensitivity, and with three

quick, short thrusts he ejaculated, flooding the fundus of

her sheath.  She made an animal sound, something

between a groan and a sigh, and her knees gave out, but

he caught her before she could fall and held her, pressed

against the table, still inside her as the aftershocks in her

vagina squeezed his softened penis.

After some minutes, she seemed to revive, and she used

her arms to push herself erect, her pelvis rotating and

expelling Art's member.  "That was incredible," he said.

"You are magnificent!"

"Thank you, My Lord."

He unhooked the bra   she called it her celice --- and

unzipped the corset, so they could bathe together in the

hot tub.  He couldn't keep his hand off her.  When they

got out he asked the doctor if he couldn't take her home

now.  He was thoroughly satisfied with her

transformation.  The nurse brought her clothes.

"Please, My Lord, help me to dress."  She insisted he

hook the bra as tightly as possible, so the flesh of her

breasts bulged through the holes, the nipples constantly

erect like gum drops.  When she had stepped into the

corset and used both hands to zip the front, she asked

him to tighten the laces even more.

"That must be very uncomfortable," he said.

"That is the point.  It is part of the discipline.  Do you

like the way I look, My Lord?"

"Yes. You are beautiful.  You have curves."  And then,

"Your dress no longer fits you.  But no matter.  I'm

taking you home, and I'll take it off you then and fuck

you cross-eyed."

"As you wish, My Lord.  I shall look forward to it.  I feel

closer to God, now that I appreciate how a wife should

obey and submit."