Page 51 of Judged by Him

“I understand.” Andrea paused, pursed her lips. “How did you come to be what you are, though? Did you just wake up one morning and find yourself doing bondage and everything? I’m sorry. I don’t want you to think of the stuff you don’t want to. But when you were younger, how did it all start?”

The only way to keep Andrea from harping on about her kinky lifestyle was to feed her some background and context, perhaps provide an insight into her early years as a submissive. She had generally enjoyed her awakening. Most of her early Dominants had been friendly, helpful, and fun to be with, even when they punished her or attempted to stretch her limits. She could happily reminisce about a few of them with a smile.

Gemma began with a brief rundown of her sexual awakening, nothing detailed, only that she liked men who knew what they were doing and took the lead. She described her first job, the day her employer, a second-hand bookstore owner, threatened to fire her and she had agreed to be spanked. How easily it all happened, as if the story had been ripped from a fantastical spanking story. Then she recounted the natural progression from small scenes to spending weekends as his submissive.

“He was such a sweet gentleman, Andrea. Never raised his voice, even when I broke one of his rules. There was no sex for ages.”

Andrea raised an eyebrow.

Gemma had found it all sensual and erotic. The older man had been exactly what a wayward young woman, on the brink of being promiscuous, needed in her life. He took away the sex and made her think about behaviour and attitudes, not just regarding the men, but her self-esteem and appearance. He insisted she have her hair done regularly, nails manicured, and banned junk food. She cooked for him to prove she could make healthy well-balanced meals.

Deportment had been crucial to his sensibilities. Appropriate postures and positions had been drummed into the young submissive. “Keep your shoulders back. Men want to see pert breasts, not bony shoulder blades!”

Everything—how to kneel, stand, or present her body for inspection—came under his control. There had been no sexual acts during the initial stages, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t found it erotic. Nudity or barely dressed had been the norm, and she would walk around his house with books balanced on her head to improve her posture. Whatever fell off her head then had to be memorised—a random page or paragraph for him. The bookseller knew she had an excellent memorising system, and he had put it to good use.

Ironing had been a typical exercise. His shirts and trousers had required perfect creases along the seams and nowhere else. While she ironed, she had to count back from a thousand. Her wandering mind, conscious of her nudity, lost count, and a spanking would be her punishment.

“You must try harder!” he had admonished from his seat next to the ironing board.

Why had Gemma done it? The question was all over Andrea’s expressive face. There had been no tangible rewards at first. No orgasms or other sexual delights to hold out for. It had been purely about domination and control. His tone had been perfect—fatherly, caring, firm, and demanding. Within a few weeks, she had gone from a sex-obsessed young woman to an elegant, well-presented one who spoke with respect and thought of somebody other than herself.

The counting made no sense at the time. Trying to iron and do a mental task at the same time had no basis for sexual service. Later, as the weeks progressed, when he spanked her and made her count aloud, she would dismiss the pain by mentally ironing. Seeing numbers in one part of her head while putting beautiful

lines of creases on virtual shirts. Gemma had understood. After learning reams of poetry or pages of his favourite novels, she found the verses very useful. Jason would laugh at her as she explained she was recounting a poem while he inflicted his particular brand of sadism.

She didn’t use the word sadism, it wasn’t suitable for Andrea to hear. Gemma paused. Perhaps she was revealing too much information. She didn’t want Andrea to know Jason would be making her howl while recalling poems.

The one-sided conversation moved on as Gemma spoke of the other approach. A Dominant who wants the sub to focus on him and nothing else—their voice and an instant response. It meant obedience without hesitation, and not drifting off. Gemma faltered a little as she skipped around issues of humiliation. Instead, she remembered the positive element—a good Dominant, in return for submission, offered protection and care, and with the domination, she spoke of release and fulfilment. Andrea looked bemused but said nothing.

Gemma giggled a little at some of her reminiscences. Sex with her first Dom hadn’t been the best. He had been nearly thirty years older than her and past his prime. What he had taught her was to be willing and ready for him. After six months of celibacy, the longest in her sexual life, she had been glad of the attention. They’d had sex once a week, and he’d made her beg for it every time. By the time she left him, he had taught her not only to be obedient but to want to obey. Her undisciplined thoughts had been conditioned to please others and not herself.

Humour slipped into her recount. How she could set a table blindfolded, iron perfectly, cook, make beds to hospital standards, wait patiently and show humility in her deportment—a list of achievement she proudly provided. From Gemma’s perspective, she had been given the best foundations she could have asked for because what she did next could have gone so wrong.

Her first Master hadn’t been into sexual training or abilities, and one weekend, he told Gemma it was time to move on, for her to seek out others. Before she left him, she had to write essays, all properly researched and well written. One on BDSM then her limits, the purpose of safe-words, and how to ensure her safety. Although an outsider in the local BDSM community, he had enough connections to send Gemma to the right parties and provide her with suitable contacts for the next steps.

She remained intensely grateful to the now deceased Dominant. Without him, she suspected she wouldn’t have had the confidence or self-belief. After the bookseller moved out of her life, it had been a whirlwind of parties, clubs, and one-off type fetish events. Initially, she never went anywhere new without a chaperone or another sub or Dom she had befriended or trusted. Her day-to-day friends remained vanilla and unconnected to her other life. She kept those parts of her separate, especially her family.

Andrea had sat entranced throughout her recollections. “You did all this while holding down a day job!” she marvelled.

“If I met somebody online, in a chat room or forum, I would only agree to meet with him in a public place. If I went back to their houses, I would arrange for someone to ring my mobile at a specified time or I would leave contact details. I put these safeguards in place. I would always discuss limits, agree on safe-words and duration of play. I don’t think I would have done any of that without the wisdom my first Master had installed in my brain.”

Even after she had ceased to be his sub, he had contacted Gemma with the names of people to follow up with her training. A string of people to work on bondage, oral sex, and then anal.

“How quickly did you learn?” asked Andrea.

“The anal? Oh, an hour was all it took,” Gemma replied.

“An hour!”

How to explain it was about pleasing another and not about her. The positions to learn, the hygiene and preparations. It had taken several sessions to enjoy the act without pain. By then, she had been a sub for a couple of years and played around at many parties, one nighters or quick scenes at clubs. Her mission had been to find a Dominant she could have a steady routine with or committed times for play—private sessions conducted in a home environment.

Gemma had loved the idea of turning up on a doorstep and immediately being a man’s submissive until sent home. A mere handful had been her most serious relationships. She had never fallen in love with any of them. The sex had been endearing and varied—nothing arduous or unpleasant. They had all been professional men and busy lives. None of them had an interest in romantic liaisons, proper dating, or having a girlfriend. Gemma had been their pleasure toy and had stayed with them as long the mutual need had been present.

“Long term commitments in Dom and sub relationships are unusual. A good Dom will constantly be searching for inspiration or new ideas, but most, once they’ve used you sufficiently, would rather have different girls under their thumb. I was doing fine, until I made a bad choice....” Her mind was like a piece of driftwood heading towards a waterfall.

“No. Stop.” Andrea sat up quickly and reached over to touch Gemma’s arm.

Her reverie broke.

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