Ascent into Submission

By Pat Harvey

At age thirty-seven, Karen Black faces a challenge: join in the sex games at the company retreat or see her husbands career ruined. Then she is offered an alternative, and she begins a journey into the shadowy, secretive realm of erotic power exchange: dominance and submission, bondage and discipline, and the transformation of sensual pain into unimaginable ecstasy.

Freed of inhibitions through her voluntary surrender to a man less than half her age, Karens latent sexuality and saucy personality blossom as she passes through phases of increasing self-realization. Her path is not always easy, but as Karen bonds with her master, she accepts and mostly enjoys her consensual participation in sexual and sadomasochistic activities.

The original Kinsey reports established that a significant percentage of the American population participates in or fantasizes about bondage, spanking, or other forms of power-based sex play.

Both educational and arousing, this candid journal describes the reality of a modern-day dominant/submissive lifestyle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514488591

Pat Harvey

Pat Harvey is the pseudonym of a former information technology practitioner, instructor, and manager who spent much of the last three decades based in the DC metro area managing complex new-business proposals for major global services companies. Lending reality to his writing of erotica, Pat Harvey has been a party to erotic power exchange relationships, ranging from casual to committed, since 1986. He is a long-time member of Black Rose, a DC educational, support, and social organization for people involved in both the psychological (dominance and submission) and the physical (BDSM) aspects of such relationships. He is also a former director of the Baltimore Educational and Social Society, an organization that had, prior to and during his tenure, a similar charter and goals, and one of the earliest members of The Crucible, a DC dungeon. He and his long-time submissive now reside in Nevada.

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Contents

Dedication

Chapter I     My Journey Begins

Chapter II     Steven Takes Control

Chapter III     Transitions

Chapter IV     Meeting Paul and Barbara

Chapter V     Different Strokes

Chapter VI     Stirring the Mix

Chapter VII     Depths and Heights

Chapter VIII     Graduation Presents

Chapter IX     Vacation Games

Chapter X     Passing a Test

Chapter XI     Lessons in Responsibility

Chapter XII     A Holiday Party

Chapter XIII     Playing with Rachel

Chapter XIV     Moving On

Author’s Afterword

Dedication

I respectfully dedicate this work to all who have joined me at various times and places throughout my personal journey into the power-exchange lifestyle and to those organizations that have helped me learn over the years; to my earliest first readers in the online Erotica Writers Workshop for their insightful and constructive feedback; and, always and forever, to the love and light of my life, my precious b.

Chapter I

My Journey Begins

I met Steven in the summer of 1991, and in less than seventy-two hours he changed me completely. He was, at that time, less than half my age, but I willingly surrendered control of myself and my life to him.

On the morning of the day we met, I was accompanying Bill, my husband, to a corporate retreat for managers and the adult members of their families. Bill’s company had a two-tier management structure: those who were in and those who were on the way out. He had reached that crossroads after only three years with the company, and the invitation to the retreat, which was effectively a summons, marked that event. Nestled at the center of a forty-acre, heavily-wooded property, the retreat facility was a converted hunting lodge at which the company insiders held quarterly get-togethers that usually lasted a week.

The retreat was a major subject of the lower-echelon rumor mill. I had heard rumors about the wild parties and bawdy games that went on there. Having met many of the company insiders, what I knew about them lent credibility to the rumors. It wasn’t hard for me to picture Bill’s supervisor, Greg Miller, and his exotic, uninhibited wife, Cassandra, doing the things I’d heard about.

At the top of the heap was the company owner’s wife, Helen Cummings. The retreat was actually Helen’s thing; Randolph Cummings made only rare appearances. Helen was a rich bitch with more power than she needed. In her early forties and twenty years younger than her husband, she still had her sexy figure and dressed to flaunt it. Rarely seen without an entourage of executive wives, Helen strutted and flirted with the air of a spoiled woman accustomed to getting her way. Whenever I was in her presence, I felt like a gerbil in a python’s cage. Helen intimidated me and delighted in my discomfort; she never missed an opportunity to embarrass me with a lurid comment about my body or by telling a vulgar story in mixed company.

I knew how terribly important the summons to the retreat was for Bill’s career, and I wanted to be supportive; I’d been brought up to believe that a wife’s place was to follow her husband’s lead. Despite my concerns about the rumors, I wanted to relax and have a good time at the retreat. Bill tried to soothe my anxieties, because being able to advance meant a lot to him. Those who failed to pass the retreat muster did not last long at the company, if they returned to work at all. This fact, more than anything else, spawned the rumors that the retreat was a test.

All that wouldn’t have been so bad, but Bill seemed to lose interest in having sex with me several months before the invitation to the retreat arrived. We’d had a fairly active sex life, with enough variety to keep us both interested, and I had begun to suspect he was having an office affair. I didn’t really enjoy masturbating; it gave me temporary relief but also a feeling of emptiness, and soon afterward I’d be worse off than before. I was very horny by the time we left for the retreat.

*

After turning off the last stretch of paved highway, we traveled a couple of miles down a winding, tree-lined dirt road until it opened into a clearing. A sprawling, two-story rustic clubhouse occupied the center, with twenty small cabins circling it along the tree line. Bill checked us in and got our cabin assignment.

As we drove around the area looking for number nine, the sexually oriented nature of the retreat became apparent. On each of the heavy wooden cabin doors was an explicit relief carving of a couple making love. Behind the clubhouse was a small pond with a fountain. I’m sure you’ve seen the little-boy-peeing statue; this one was no little boy, and he wasn’t peeing. The statue was of a ten-foot Greek god sporting a massive erection being held in a tight fist and angled down at a woman lying naked at his feet. Water erupted in pulsing jets from the bulbous crown of his penis and splashed off the reclining Venus, one with arms who was using her hands to lewdly expose her vagina as a target. I took one long look at this piece and groaned, sinking low in my seat and covering my face. My horniness warred with my sense of propriety.

I turned to Bill and told him I didn’t know how I could stay at the retreat. He appeared on the verge of panic, and he tried desperately to calm me. I knew deep inside that we weren’t going back, but despite my concerns for Bill’s career I couldn’t see going forward either.

After struggling with my conflicting thoughts, I finally agreed to try. Number nine was just beyond this vulgar display; Bill parked, and we got out of the car. He led me into the cabin, and we just stood, staring; the cabin was nothing more than a bedroom. A king-size bed with no headboard or footboard sat in the middle of the room beneath a mirrored ceiling. A clothes rack and dresser, three chairs, and a small table were the only other furnishings. There was no water, no toilet, and no closet; and the five large windows, one to either side of the door and one in each of the other walls, were uncovered. It was like being in a wood-framed terrarium. We looked at each other and at the people who were walking between the clubhouse and the pool, passing along either side of the cabin and showing bare breasts and dangling penises through their unbelted short robes. Some of them grinned and waved to us.

I asked Bill if he still wanted to stay, and he gave me a look that was part embarrassment and part worry. He reminded me that not only did he love his job, we needed his job, and he said we’d just have to make the best of it.

I peered out one of the side windows and saw a light pole with the lamp aimed at our window; I wasn’t surprised to find that the other side of the cabin had a similar arrangement. I told Bill we wouldn’t be getting much sleep anyway, because the place would be lit up at night and there wasn’t a way to hang anything over the windows even if we had something. He confirmed my appraisal and spotted another pair of lamp posts behind the cabin.

On a hunch, I looked under the bed and found a chamber pot. I also found several trays of sex paraphernalia: dildos, body oils, and some other things I knew nothing about. There were also a few slick pornographic magazines. I straightened up and told Bill to look under the bed. He knelt and did so, then looked up at me, his face pale. But, after a brief hesitation, he shrugged his shoulders, then pulled out a couple of the magazines and spread them on the floor.

Bill opened one and started turning the pages, and I looked over his shoulder at a centerfold showing a naked woman getting creamed in the face by a circle of spurting cocks. She was drenched and trying to catch flying jets of semen in her mouth while stuffing her pussy with a huge black dildo. Bill, obviously trying to demonstrate some level of acceptance of our situation, began matter-of-factly pointing out details, adding to my discomfort. My hormones were raging.

I asked Bill how he thought we should handle the situation. His response was blunt; he said we should just ignore our unease and proceed. I told him I wanted to gather up those magazines and other things and lock them in the trunk of our car, but he said that wasn’t permitted. He told me that when he’d checked in he was directed to neither remove anything from the cabin nor hang anything over the windows.

I thought briefly about what Bill had said. We were clearly going to be required to exhibit ourselves for the other people at the retreat. I asked if there were any more rules I should know, and he reeled them off. The pool was bathing-suits optional, and there would be mandatory daily gatherings in the clubhouse for meetings and meals at two o’clock and eight o’clock. Breakfast would be served from six until noon as a buffet. Then, almost as an afterthought, he told me I was to check in with Helen at her office, upstairs over the clubhouse.

My heart skipped several beats when I heard that. Bill saw the look on my face, and I assured him, with confidence I didn’t really feel, that I’d be okay. I decided to get that meeting over with right away and went in search of the office.

As I passed by the fountain, I stopped to consider the scene. I looked at the cock shooting jets of water and marveled at its detail; it was thick, and I couldn’t help wondering what such an instrument would feel like. Bill’s six-incher wasn’t the only penis I’d had; I’d been married before, and I hadn’t been a virgin when I married the first time. But I could count the number of men I’d had sex with on the fingers of one hand, and none of them had such impressive equipment. My sex-starved pussy cried out for it, and I moved on before I made a noticeable wet spot on my shorts.

*

The clubhouse was sumptuously decorated with lewd paintings and statuary. Several young staff members in brief attire waited on the scantily clad company managers and their spouses; I recognized some of the people I passed on the way up to see Helen. I knocked timidly and was admitted by a topless maid dressed in heels, fishnet stockings, and a brief apron. I followed her provocative, undulating, naked behind into Helen’s private office, which was decorated to reflect her interest in horses. There were pictures on the walls, ribbons and trophies in a display case, and items of equestrian attire and equipment lying around.

Helen was sitting back in a huge leather chair, letting a beautiful young girl paint her toenails. Both of them were naked. The maid led me around the desk and stood me behind the kneeling girl. I looked down at Helen’s completely shaved vulva and forced my startled eyes up past her siliconed breasts to her smiling face. In a voice heavily laden with innuendo, she opened the exchange by telling me how much she had been looking forward to playing with me.

That sounded ominous, and my expression must have conveyed my feelings. Her tone became stern as she told me she would come straight to the point. I’d had a chance to look around, she said, and should have figured out that the retreat wasn’t a church summer camp. Then she asked if I knew that my behavior at the retreat would determine whether Bill had any future with the company. I hedged a bit in my reply, and Helen immediately quashed any hopes I still harbored about the retreat being a kind of bad dream that would somehow go away. If I didn’t go along with her plans for me, Bill would not continue to advance within the company, and he’d never get a decent job anywhere else with the lousy reference he’d get. The retreat, she told me nastily, was mostly a test for me; she wasn’t worried about Bill. Then she abruptly changed the subject.

When was the last time you got a good fuck from him, Karen?

I don’t think that’s any of your business.

She spoke more forcefully. I didn’t ask what you thought, Miss Prim-and-Proper. I asked you a question, and I expect an answer.

I recoiled and lied. Two weeks ago.

That’s pathetic. It’s also not true. The fact is, Bill hasn’t serviced your pussy in over three months; he’s been preparing you for the retreat. Cassandra has been taking good care of your hubby.

Bill’s complicity was a bigger shock than his infidelity. I listened, outwardly stoic, as Helen went on to tell me she was sure I’d been a faithful wife, but she was going to change that. She knew I was on the pill and therefore couldn’t get pregnant, so I was not to balk at anything or show any resistance or false modesty. She made the consequences of failing to cooperate sound even more dire, if that was possible, than she had earlier in the conversation, and then she asked me whether she had made herself sufficiently clear.

Her power, over Bill’s future and therefore over me, was overwhelming. While I knew that theoretically I could turn away and walk out of her office, the terrible financial and psychological struggle Bill and I would face was too horrifying to contemplate. A sense of helplessness flowed through me, and I nodded.

Helen smiled and gently kicked away the young girl. She placed her left leg on her desk and hung the right over the armrest of her chair; her bald pussy yawned at me. I’m not convinced you completely understand yet. You’re thirty-seven years old, Karen dear; have you ever licked a pussy? I shook my head, unable to speak through my fear and outrage. Well, you will lick plenty of them this week. Kneel and press that pretty face between my legs.

Trembling, I moved forward and settled awkwardly onto my knees. I stared at her gaping vagina and slowly brought my face into it. Her warm wet musk filled my nose as her vaginal membranes sealed themselves to my face. My mouth was completely enveloped by her fleshy labia as I looked nervously up her torso over her pubic mound. I had been raised to love, honor, and obey my husband, but I had never experienced any kind of sex with another woman. As I licked tentatively at her, she signaled to the young girl standing behind me. Then I felt hands reach around my hips and begin working at my shorts, loosening them and pulling them and my panties down my legs.

From what Helen had already told me, I knew better than to lift my face or say anything as the girl worked my clothes free of my feet. Then I was shocked bolt upright by a sharp, stinging pain across my ass cheeks. I cried out, and I caught Helen’s glare as my head snapped up and I saw, out of the corner of my eye, that the girl was holding one of Helen’s riding crops. Without saying a word, Helen’s look told me I had better put my mouth back where it had been, and I knew what was at stake; I immediately reapplied my mouth to her pussy, sucking and licking earnestly. The cruel rod of the crop struck me repeatedly while Helen languished and ground her pussy in my face. The girl applied over a dozen smart strokes on my ass and thighs.

Then Helen ordered me to open my legs. Slowly, reluctantly, I moved my knees apart, and the girl brought the crop on an upswing right between my thighs. She didn’t swing all that hard, but the searing pain made me scream and roll to the floor in a fetal ball, clutching my crotch. I was certain that Helen would carry out her threats, so after a few seconds I forced myself to scramble back between her legs and resume slavishly licking. The pain was severe, but mixed with it was another, disconcerting feeling, a real twinge of horniness.

I wasn’t completely ignorant of the kinkier side of sex, and rough play with my nipples always turned me on. I’d heard of people deriving pleasure from real pain, but I never understood it. I began to understand it then, at least a little. To demonstrate my abject surrender to Helen, and also, I must admit, to explore that strange new sensation, I moved my knees out wide and tilted my pelvis as though inviting another stroke to my pussy.

Apparently my actions pleased Helen, because she smiled and said, You learn quickly. I was going to have Stephanie give you a few more strokes, but you’ve earned a reprieve and a reward. Stephanie, lick Karen’s pussy for her.

I didn’t understand my sudden sense of disappointment, but I tried hard not to let it show. I pulled Helen’s pussy lips apart with my fingers and sucked on her large clit, and I nearly died when that girl’s mouth touched my fevered and tortured sex. The feeling was exquisite, and I slowly rotated my hips in her face in an effort to increase the pleasure I was feeling. Stephanie obviously had a lot of experience, and she brought me to a climax before I was able to bring Helen off. Helen finally had a small orgasm, and I remained to lick the juices from her pussy until she told me to stop.

I stood up on wobbly legs, wearing only my blouse. Stephanie handed me my shorts, but she kept my panties, and Helen gave me additional instructions. Bras and panties were not allowed at the retreat. Bill would be sleeping elsewhere, and Helen would be sending her son to share the bed in the cabin with me. We were both to sleep nude, and if young Steven wanted to get sexual with me in any way, I was expected to be accommodating. Helen warned me that people would be watching and the cabin was wired for sound, so I should be careful what I said.

I respectfully agreed to comply and pulled my shorts on. Then I backed away from her, scared but with my head spinning. My mind was already wrestling with thoughts about the past hour and attempting to reconcile the erotic feelings that continued to well up inside me with the way I’d always thought about pain. As I turned to pass through the door, Helen called out, asking if I had brought a tube top along. I told her I had, and she continued, Wear it tonight at dinner. Karen, I’m not really into administering punishment; that was just to make sure you know how serious I am about your participation in the week’s activities. This is supposed to be a fun retreat, so don’t do anything to get me angry.

The maid escorted me downstairs, and I hurriedly left the clubhouse.

*

A thousand conflicting thoughts and emotions whirled through my head as I walked back to our cabin. My whole life was being turned topsy-turvy, and the price I was going to have to personally pay for Bill’s future success would be high indeed. That made me nervous, but by the time I got back to the cabin I had calmed down somewhat.

I met Bill at the car as I walked up the path. He looked at me and said, Honey, are you all right? You look like you’ve been crying.

I have been. Helen had me whipped with a riding crop, but I’ll be all right.

That does it! he exclaimed. "We’re getting out of here right now. Fuck the damn job!"

Bill had always been a gentle man, and his language took me by surprise. But a part of me, the part that cared about our future financial security and emotional stability, panicked. I reached out, placed my hand on his arm, and said, No, let’s see this through. We’ve gone this far, and you were right; we need your job. I can deal with whatever Helen’s agenda is.

Bill studied me with great curiosity, trying to read me. I tried to figure out where that last statement had come from, and then I realized it wasn’t Helen’s threats that were making me want to stay, and it wasn’t Bill’s job either. It was Helen and what she was doing. My life had mostly been boring and predictable, and in a strange way Helen had awakened in me an erotic self I’d been loath to consider even in the solitude of my own thoughts. I suddenly knew that I wanted more; I wanted Helen, or somebody, to force changes in me. I