The Count of Monte CristoChapter 58 M Noirtier de Villefort
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School For Submissives free porn video
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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