Author’s note: Sorry this chapter took so long to complete. I edit as I go, so that slows me down some, and I try to write every day, but life gets in the way sometimes. I’d like to thank everyone who reads my stuff. Feedback is always appreciated! Once more, I’d like to dedicated this chapter to Lady B, my best booster and critic. – W.M.
Submissive in Surrey
Chapter 3: The Ugly Voice
Almost as soon as Myf left the room, I started worrying. She’d asked to submit to me for the day; and Jan, her actual Mistress, had sanctioned the idea, but none of that means that I had any qualifications for the role of dominant. I thought that sending her away just as I was getting her hot and Bothered was a clever move – treat ’em means, keep ’em keen as the saying went – but what if it wasn’t? What if I’d hurt her instead?
Normal people have an inner critic. They will attempt some undertaking, whether artistic,literary or otherwise, and the critic will consider whether it’s worth continuing with. That’s healthy. Reasonable. I had that too, but my inner critic had teeth. I sometimes thought of it as the Ugly Voice; and while my consciousness mind knew it was anything but reasonable, it still influenced me. It fed my anxiety. It made me second-guess my decisions, like this one. When it was at its worst, and I was tired or weak, it made me think I was hopeless, worthless, useless.
I sipped the tea that Myf had made for me. It was tepid. Sitting around wasn’t going to fix anything. Action was the cure for anxiety, I knew. Muttering a curse, I left the sitting room and headed for the kitchen, trying to cram the Ugly Voice back into its box as I walked.
Myf was there, of course – I’d sent her There to make lunch, and besides, I had a feeling that the kitchen was her sanctum, a safe place to retreat to when she was hurt. She had her back to me, but wasn’t moving. The leash attached to hercollar was hanging down over her shoulder, like the tail of a frightened puppy. I saw her shoulders tremble and knew she was fighting off a cloudburst.
I made no attempt to be stealthy. Myf knew I was in the room but made no attempt to say or do anything. I felt I had one chance to make this right.
I whispered in her ear. “All good things come to those who wait.”
It was transformative. Myf turned to me, the smile I liked so much reappearing, belying the single tear that ran down her cheek. “Annette… Miss? “Y-you still want to…?”
By way of answer, I seized the end of her lean. “I told you to keep this on, didn’t I? You’re not getting away from me that easily, my Angel.”
She gave out a little squeal and fell into her role easily. “No Miss, of course Not! What would Miss like for lunch?”
I continued to hold the end of the leash. “Well, it wasn’t all that long ago you made breakfast. How about you just make us each a sandwich and we can go for a walk? It’s nice out, you can show me the grounds.”
“Oh, yes, Miss, great idea! I’d love to show you.”
“Okay, it’s settled then. But swap out those heels and hose for some sensible shoes. I’m not having you break your ankles outside, or punch holes in the turf.” I thought for a moment. “Also, can you tell me where Jan keeps her car keys?”
Myf looked perplexed. “But Mistress took the Bentley to London with her.”
“Not what I’m after,” I answered.
…
It was sunny outside, but there were clouds gathering. I knew the weather could change abruptly so kept one eye on it. Myf led me around the more picturesque parts of the gardens surrounding Jan’s mansion, and I marvelled at the simple understated beauty and tranquility all around me. Of course, I was slightly distracted by the fact that my guide was still wearing a stereotypical French maid outfit and that I was holding the end of her leanh.
Yeah, “slightly.” Let’s go withthat. It was only a crumbling sense of propriety, and that top-ten hit, my self-loathing, that was keeping me from accepting what she was so freely offering. Myf was spoken for. No matter what she or Jan had to say about it. “Sharing” was okay, Jan said. “Cheating” wasn’t. And the Ugly Voice was telling me I wasn’t good enough for either of them. But still, Myf was making the offer, and she was so pretty and so sweet, and I was lonely, and refusing her would hurt her, and… I groaned out loud. Myf asked if I was all right. I said “Yeah, fine.”
We passed a lovely marble fountain and encountered a wall of green that rose higher than my head. “A hedge?” I asked, perceptive as always.
Myf grinned. “A hedge maze. Let’s go in and get lost.”
Of course, we didn’t get lost. Myf had to have been familiar with the place, and I wondered how difficult one could make a hedge maze anyway. She ended up leading me to the centre of the maze, where there sat a benchmark and table. Myf started to open the basket she was carrying and suggested that we have our lunch.
I soon understood that asking Myf to make a sandwich was interpreted somewhat differently by her. She unfolded a tablecloth, then laid out a couple of plates, sandwiches, cake, plastic cups and a flask of tea. At this point, I wouldn’t have been too surprised to see a candelabra on the table as well!
“Myf, really… this is too much”, I said with a hint of a stammer.
She had an answer ready. “Nothing is too much for my Miss,” she said with pride. What could I say to that?
“Thank you,” was my answer, as we started eating.
…
After a time, I sat back, replaced and relaxed, and closed my eyes for a moment. I opened them again a minute later as I felt my shoes being removed.
“Myf, what’re you do… ohh.” Her fingers were working on the soles of my feet and it felt tremendous. Among her other skills, Myf had picked up the art of reflexology massage, or so it seemed.
“Just relax, Miss,” was her cheerful rejoinder.
“Oh… okay…” I saw. Her hands were stronger than she looked and hit all the right places. It was easy to lay back and relax while she worked her magic. After what seemed like a long time, the mass went from deep muscle probing to a much softer and more sensitive touch.
What the hell, I thought, in for a penny…
“Myf…”
“Yes, Miss?”
“You can go higher.”
Almost at once, her hands started working my calves; and then, after a few minutes, my thighs. It had been a long time since someone touched me like that. It was now much more arousing than relaxing. I showed softly. My hand reached down and tousled Myf’s hair and she mewed happily.
“Take them off me, ” I muttered, and Myf needed no further prompting. She removed my skirt and pulled my panties down and looked at me as I parted my legs a little.
I didn’t order her. I couldn’t. Instead, Ipleased.
“Myf, please…”
Without hesitation, she kissed my mound and I shuddered at her gentle, intimate touch. “Oh, Miss, it took you long enough”, she teased. “I was starting to think you didn’t like me…”
She stopped talking then as her tongue had better things to do. Much, much better. Good Lord, where did Jan find this girl? And where could I get one? Maybe it was because I was at the end of a post-Flic drought, but Myf was so good I was paralysed.
Her hands gentle on my hips, soft, warm and loving. Her tonguetip, tiny and flickering like the wing of a hummingbird, teasing up and down each of my labia, then her lips, offering tiny suctions to the area around my clip, but never enough to escalate things quickly. Then, her hands moved and I feel her thumbs holding me open and her tongue diving in, exploring my vag and finding nothing but delighted nerve endings.
I shuddered. I moaned. I even tried to talk. “Ffffffffuuuuuccckkk, Myf…”
Her sweetlittle head bobbed up and she made eye contact for a moment. “What was that? ‘Fuck me, Myf?’ I could, I s’pose, if I’d packed a stick-on.” God damn it, her expression told me she knew exactly what she was doing to me, and she was enjoying it! I asked myself again, where did Jan find this woman? I thought she was sweet and innocent but she only looked that way.
Then her head bobbed back down and I couldn’t think straight any more as all my neural real estate was consumed with pleasure. We joke about men having two brains and only enough blood to operate one of them at a time, but at that moment I could swear it was true for women as well!
I throw my head back and my toes curled. My fists opened and closed. It was unbelievable just how skilled Myf was. It was like she had a road map of my nervous system and made it her life’s work to study it! And yet, she was dragging it out. She must have known how needy and desperate I was, but she didn’t go in for the kill. Instead, shedrew her head away from me while keeping me on a rolling boil with her fingers. She made eye contact with me once more and said one word.
“Well?”
I couldn’t think. Couldn’t figure out what she was expecting, but didn’t want to say nothing. She was waiting for me to say something, and the implied threat was there as her maddening fingerprint-dance on my most sensitive spots had slowed almost to a stop.
I couldn’t think. I had to just talk.
” – please, Myf – “
She told; a disappointed sight, I thought. “You’re going to have to plead better than that, Netty…”
I heard myself utter a moan that emerged from the pit of my being. “PLEASE, Myf, ohhh God, please, I need to cum so bad – “
Her fingers drummed a little faster, increasing my heat maddeningly, but not quite enough. Then she grinned and to me it looked sinister, almost. “I’ll make you a deal, Netty. You give me your cigarettes right now. You don’t get to smoke today. And I’ll let you cum. Otherwis I stop right now.”
“Fffuck, Myf, I don’t have them! I don’t! They’re in the house… PLEASE, Myf…”
“You promise to give me them? Yes or no?”
I was in tears. I’d have promised my soul at that point. “I promise! I promise!”
“Good.” And with that she dived back in and started giving my clip the attention it was craving, her tongue and lips pulsing in tandem and coaxing my body to respond in a desperate mindless frenzy. I shook; I swore; I shuddered; and finally I felt the electric surge ripped from my spine, through my clip, and I screamed as pulse after orgasmic pulse emerged and completely removed any reason.
As the shocks ended and the aftershocks began, I lay back and let it all course through me. Myf moved up and embedded me and I tasted my own spending on her soft lips.
A few silent moments passed between us before Myf spoke. “I think Mistress was right about you, Netty.”
I was still trying to catch my breath. “What… what d’you mean…?”
“I think you naturally lean towards submissive. I was waiting for you to order me to make you cum, but you pleased instead..” She slowly unclipped the lean from her collar. “Shame. This is yours now,” she added, looping the end of the lean around my neck and passing the end through the loop to form a makeshift collar.
The implication was like a slap in the face. “Myf, I failed you… you wanted me to…”
Her gentle fingers caresed my cheek. “Shh, it’s all right, Netty. It’s okay. You’re not sure about anything, I know. Maybe you’ll get another chance. And… got to admit, it is kind of fun to be on this side. Now get dressed. The lean stays on.”
As I dressed with trembling hands, Myf observed, “So you’re a natural ginger, I see.”
“Ranga,” I countered.
“What…? Ranger? What does that mean?”
“Not ‘ranger’. Ranga. Rhymes with hangar. Australian name for a redhead. Short for ‘orangutan’.”
Myf laughed. “I love it! Never knew I’d enjoyhaving a rangeamazon sub so much. Now knee for a moment.”
I was unsure at whether I liked being called an amazon so much, but I knelt anyway. I soon learned why as Myf brought her lips up to my ear and whispered: “Next time you cum, it’ll be when I order you to.” She bade me to stand and then asked. “So why did you want the car keys?”
“Ah, well… you see, Jan mentioned last night that her Mini might not be roadworthy. I thought… well, I wanted to thank her, and you too of course, for everything, by taking a look and fixing what I could.”
Myf dropped the end of the improved lean. “You can fix cars?”
“We-ll… I wouldn’t say that much, but I’ve picked up a few things, living on the farm. I can do a grease and oil change, test and gap spark plugs, simple things like that. If I can’t get her running I might at least be able to tell Jan what’s needed.”
Myf grinned and said, “Okay then, we’re just girls again until I grab the leash. Let’s go have a lookand maybe I can help?”
Of course I agreed, so we set off for the garage. As we walked, I asked Myf why Jan didn’t take her along on her London trip.
“Well, sometimes she does, but I have cookery school tomorrow, so I couldn’t go this time, plus you were here and we couldn’t leave you alone, could we?”
“I’m relieved that I’m not the only thing keeping you apart. It’s obvious how the two of you feel about each other.” My tone was light, but then a darker thought infiltrated my mind. “Wait… just how often does Jan leave you like this?”
Myf’s tone made me immediately regret the question. “Too often,” she replied. “But how can I be upset about it? I asked her once why she works so hard. She said, ‘Everyone should be able to see.’ She even donates her fees to a charity that works to perform eye surgeries in third world nations. You’d probably know it, it was started by an Australian doctor.”
I nodded slowly. “The Fred Hollows Foundation.” Pieces were coming together in my mind. “You must get awfully lonely. I know what that’s like. But, Myf…”
“What, Netty?”
“I… you shouldn’t get attached to me. I’m bad news. I hurt people I care about. And anyway, I won’t be around after Jan gets my stitches out.” I didn’t elaborate on that; there was no point burdening her with my probably getting evidenced and a very uncertain future afterwards.
“Maybe. I don’t think you’re bad news. But anyway, a wise man once said: ‘If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with.’”
I had the garage door open before my memory turned up the name of the wise man in question. “Stephen Stills,” I muttered to no one in particular.
A little external light found its way into the cavenous garage. I soon found the light switches to supplement it. To one side, dark and gleaming, was Jan’s motorbike. Along the opposite wall was a long workbench with tool kits and a vise, and near that was my objective, the Mini Cooper S in burnt orange with racing stripes, but looking dusty and neglected.
I stood in thought for a moment as I decided how best to proceed, then climbed into the driver’s seat and tried to turn the engine over. The battery seemed to have at least some charge; the starter motor was turning over, but as I feared, the engine wouldn’t catch.
“Look around. Let’s see if we can find a service manual for ‘Coop’, Here.” Myf started looking at once, while I raised the hood of the little car. Inside I saw pretty much what I expected: an east-west engine driving the front wheels, not an uncommon sight in modern vehicles, but a tremendous space-saving innovation when Alec Issigonis designed the first Mini in 1959.
After taking a moment to marvel at how someone shoehorned a retrofitted catalytic converter into the car, I started work by checking the fluid levels. Or was about to, till Myf interrupted me. “Here’s the manual, Netty. I also found this for you.” She held out a set of coveralls, obviously used but only a little greasy. Seeing the wisdom in not filtering up my clothes, I donned the coveralls, finding them a little too big for me. I put two and two together and asked Myf, “Was there a mechanic or chauffeur here before? This has to be a man’s.”
“I don’t know, Netty. Before I came here, maybe?”
“Yeah, that’s weird,” I mused. “Big place like this, wealthy owner – why aren’t there more servants? There must be a story behind this, Myf. Weren’t you ever curious about it?”
Myf Shook her head. It seemed she lacked my curiosity or my suspicious nature. I resolved to ask Jan when I got the chance.
I removed the splitk and checked the oil. The level was low, but not critically so, but the oil was black. It needed a change. As I worked, I kept up easy conversation with Myf, who was shining a shop light into the engine compartment. “So if this car’s out of action, what do you drive to cookery school?”
“I can’t drive, Netty. If Mistress can’t give me a lift I ride my bike into town.”
“What?” My experience as an Australian girl and, let’s face it, my prejudices, were aroused by this admission. “I was driving ’round the farm from age twelve. I got my license at seventeen. Haven’t you learned?”
“Mistress tried, but she was pretty, um, nervous?”
“I get it.” I did, indeed. My mind’s eye conjured up a vision of my father in the passenger seat, zero confidence in his daughter, his hand hovering over the handbrake lever, stressed out. “It’s a really useful skill. You should get your license.” I left it at that.
The worksshop was well-equipped with tools. I easily found a spark plug socket and matching ratchet handle and soon had the spark plugs out. My suspicions were confirmed; the plugs were all but I got them as near as I could to the correct gaps, but they would need to be replaced as soon as possible.
After an hour or so, with Myf praising my “cleverness” as I worked, I had a catalog of Coop’s problems. As it was, she could be driven for short distances, but she needed an oil change, new plugs, and a new fan belt, as the current one was on its last legs. Finally, I’d found a grease gun, and it was loaded, so I found the locations of the car’s grease nipples in the manual and set-to.
“You know Myf, lubricating a car is like satisfying a woman: it’s a good start if you can find the nipples.”
There were a lot of things I liked about Myf. Not the least of them was that she laughed at my lame jokes.
…
Back in the house, I started to feel that I’d overdone it. A small but sharp pain in my back made me think that I’d put too much strain on at least one of my stitched wounds; but before I could think about that, Myf’s hand was holding the leash, and she said, “Ciggies. Now. Bet you thought I’d forget, eh?”
I could have argued. I could have cajoled, talked my way out of it, but the truth was, I was curious to see what Myfwould do with some power. And even though I was craving a smoke, another consideration entered my head. My supply was very limited and I had no funds to buy more, so a little involuntary ration might actually be worthwhile. Given that, I decided to be a good girl.
“Yes Miss. I…”
“Mistress. You call me Mistress.” Myf pulled on the leash, half-choking me by way of punctuation.
“But… but… you called me ‘Miss’ before…”
“I already have a Mistress. Now you have one too.”
I inhaled sharply and my womb seemed to do a little backflip. I slowly sank to my knees, not sure how much of it was playing. “Yes… Mistress.”
This was definitely a welcome move from me as far as Myf was concerned. She gasped, “Oh… Netty,” and leaned down to kiss my forehead. “So where are they?”
“In my bedroom, Mistress Myfanwy,” was my answer. I liked the allocation and apparently, so did she.
“Damnit, this is fucking amazing,” Myf said, breaking characterfor a moment. “I never knew this side could feel so good.”
“I never heard you swear before… Mistress.”
Myf’s face shone. “Say it again.”
I remember what her tongue did to me. The memory made it easy. “I submit to you, Mistress.”
“You just hold that thought, Netty. I’ll take you up on that soon enough. For now, just go and bring me the cigarettes.”
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