BDSM Library - School for Submissives

School for Submissives

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Synopsis: A wife admits herself to a clinic for weight loss and attitude adjustment, involving "mortification of the flesh".

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."


  




    















































































































































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