2 comments/ 50278 views/ 5 favorites Confessions of a Teenage Submissive By: unculbact UNE FILLE FOULLE Had you seen me then, you wouldn’t have likely thought anything of it. To the casual observer, I was similar to the majority of Cleveland’s teenage populace. I had a clique of friends, with whom I was constantly seen in the halls of my school, as well as at various weekend parties. I participated in extracurriculars such as Drama Club, Swim Team and AFS, while somehow managing to maintain a 3.5 G.P.A. I had silly, shallow relationships with boys whom I didn’t like in the slightest, which is not altogether unusual for a high school student. However, for me, these "boyfriends" were merely decoys -- bandages to cover up the deep bruise of truth. My entire life at that point was in fact an elaborate facade. The quiet and sensitive young woman known by my classmates, friends, teachers and family went through quite a transformation when she was out of sight from her community. One could go so far as to say that I led a double life. After my activities during the week, and after the normal parties on the weekends, I entered into the world of bizarre experience, where I engaged in some activities that might very well shock many of my peers’ sensibilities. The diversions partaken in by my dark side weren’t the typical teenage rebellious shit. Sure, I went to some raves, got drunk and/or high as a form of escape, and engaged in thoughtless sex. Every teenager experiments with those things at one time or another. I went a step further, though, and a great deal of my teenage years have been spent involved in a chain of relationships which were kinky, fetishist and, more often than not, just plain sick. Many of these sordid affairs blend together now in my somewhat overcrowded mind, but there are a few that stand out. There was breast-man Terry, and Marc the bondage badass. There was Anthony, who had what must have been a record-setting collection of sex toys. Then, in a stranger category yet, there was Ray. Ray and I had first met in quite a different way from my usual. I had never, before him, actually gotten involved in real life with someone I’d initially spoken to online. The idea, to me, seemed a last resort for reclusive cyber-geeks. However, Ray intrigued me. He worked as a professional actor in addition to his dual day jobs of hypnotist and motivational speaker. At the age of 34, he was successful and single, if not the best looking man around. What impressed me above all was his intelligence, creativity, and unique sense of humor. As it turned out, not only did Ray also live in Cleveland, he lived a scant twenty minutes drive from my house! When the man proposed that we meet for dinner one night, I naturally agreed. Online, Ray had come across as virile, and showed an eagerness to try new things, yet there was one kinky quirk which he had concealed from me. It came up during our first date. For Ray, hypnosis was not merely a profession, but a supposedly powerful tool for amusement and pleasure as well. He admitted to getting off on the power rush, and insisted that hypnosis increased the enjoyment of his partners too. I was interested and excited by the possibilities this concept presented. Odd as it may seem, the idea of giving up control appealed to me -- it had inspired a couple of my previous liaisons. This led me to concur when Ray asked if I’d let him hypnotize me. I have a feeling that, had I said no, he would have tried regardless. We set up a time for it to happen, just a few days later at his place. Unfortunately, it so happened that either I was a lousy subject, or Ray was hypnotically inept. In any case, I tried, and I’m sure he tried, but nothing happened. My state of awareness never wavered. I didn’t let Ray in on this, however, not wanting to disappoint him. My background as an actor served me quite well in feigning an altered state of consciousness. Every suggestion Ray made, sexual or not, was followed perfectly and delivered with lots of finesse. I had him convinced --- strange, considering he had had far more acting experience than me! Then again, how many teen girls can actually orgasm on command without having been hypnotized first? One night while Ray had me "under", he began suggesting that I felt a need to dress in black vinyl and leather. He described for me how wonderful it would feel to have a collar around my neck. He then firmly told me that I’d accept when he invited me to a Fetish Ball that was happening at a club called Tyr, and that I’d go as his slave. A few minutes later, Ray "woke me up". We had the usual shitty (for me, at least) sex, during which I was called upon to give another Oscar-caliber performance. Just as I was leaving, Ray asked me to go with him to the Fetish Ball he’d mentioned earlier. I had to say yes, or my cover would have been blown. Besides, new and different things have never failed to spark my curiosity. I figured the whole thing might prove to be a cool experience. The Ball was set to begin that Friday at 9:00 in the evening. I showed up at Ray’s Cleveland Heights doorstep at 8:45. As instructed, I arrived clad in a long jacket with nothing underneath, save a bra and underpants. It was a cold and rainy night. I was chilled to the bone -- not only in a physical sense, but in slight apprehension of what the evening’s festivities would bring, and what Ray had in store for me. I was starting to doubt, at this point, the true viability of our relationship. I rang the doorbell, and Ray answered. He smiled, said "Hi sweetie..." in an eerie sort of tone, and wrapped me in his marginally built arms. I knew what was coming next. "Sleep", he commanded. I had been right. I let my body go limp against his and gently closed my eyes. Ray gave me a few suggestions for the night. He then "brought me out" of my "trance" and told me to go change. I entered Ray’s bedroom, where an outfit that looked to me to be tight and whorish lay waiting. It consisted of a low-cut top in black vinyl, adorned only by a silver zipper up the front, and matching short-shorts. I put the outfit on. It fit, but just barely. I looked in the full-length mirror against one wall, and felt a bit sickened. I’m not a particularly thin person, nor was I two years ago. Hesitantly, I went out to show Ray. He smiled devilishly. "Oh, I like it!" he commented. At least someone did. ************* UNE GRANDE BOUM We arrived at Tyr around 9:45. There was no line of any noticeable length. The throng was inside the massive warehouse-cum-goth club, and from the energy and noise levels, it looked like the party was underway. Before I could step out of the car, Ray fastened a spiked collar attached to a leash around my neck. I inwardly felt the seeds of panic but outwardly, I gave the world a dreamy smile befitting of a willing slave bound to her master. When we got near the club entrance the bouncer, who was dressed in fairly normal clothes, gave me an odd look. "May I see your I.D., little girl?" he growled. Intimidated, I whimpered slightly. "H-here", I stammered, holding up my driver's license which had been secured to my collar earlier. The bouncer grunted in response, holding out one beefy hand for our admission/cover. Ray handed it over, and we were allowed to pass through Tyr’s entrance. I was at my first fetish ball! The thought was at once intoxicating and nerve-wrenching. Once inside, it was as if Ray and I had entered a parallel universe. It was no longer rainy, cold and lonely, but instead hot, in every sense of the word, and filled to capacity with bodies clad in vinyl and leather. Some were drinking, others were dancing, and yet more were, well...indulging in their fetishes. "Normal" and "Abnormal" were meaningless labels in here. The main portion of Tyr was quite cavernous, so all around the dance floor, plenty of room was available for various stations and events to be set up, catering to different sexual kinks. The entire space was bathed in a surreal combination of red and black lights. All of this contributed to an atmosphere that was adventurous and exotic, yet an undercurrent of fear permeated the air. Some patron’s fear of the unknown, or perhaps my own fear of what could happen to me at an event such as this. Though it took a few minutes to kick in, I also felt a bit humiliated at being on all fours, scantily clad, and attached by a collar and leash to the hand of a "Master" whose relationship to me was not based on love, but lies. Thankfully, no one seemed to be laughing at me. God knows there were plenty of other collared and leashed individuals in the club. A few Doms and Dominatrices even stopped by to compliment Ray on my outfit as he led me onto the dance floor. I suppose those compliments were meant for me as well, but one can never be certain. As it became progressively more difficult to squeeze through the seething mass of half-dressed humanity on all fours, I meekly -- or as meekly as was possible over the blasting house and nu-metal -- asked Ray to remove the collar. "Why, slave?" he asked, "So you can get away from me? You’re mine!" I took that as a "no". I thought I sensed a touch of malice in his comment, but I decided to ignore it. My hands were stepped on many times, but I dealt with it. We finally came to a space between a gay couple in bondagewear and a black guy dressed as a baby, who was babbling away to his beautiful Dominatrix. Ray yanked on the leash, urging me to stand up. I was relieved, and smiled at him to show my thanks. We freak-danced for awhile. Not being particularly gifted in the area of dance, I followed his lead. Ray must have been doing something right, for before long, a small crowd had formed around us. Ray was obviously enjoying the attention. "Watch this!" he yelled to the audience. He then turned to me with a positively evil expression on his face. Without as much as a word, he took off the collar that bound me to him. I was free! Ray was giving me a break! That’s what I though until he looked at me and spoke a single word -- "Dance!". It was one of his hypnotic suggestions from earlier that evening. I was now faced with a difficult choice: I could do a sexy striptease right on the dance floor as the command required, or I could reveal myself as a complete fraud, in which case Ray would be pretty angry with me. I weighed the pros and cons. Humiliation on one hand, rejection on the other. I’ve never been able to deal with rejection at all, so I chose the striptease. I prayed that someone would stop me before the routine got too far. I began a sexy bump and grind to the heavy beat of the music. My miniature "audience" cheered and hooted. I threw my hair around wildly. I started to unzip my shirt, and was about halfway down, when Ray commanded me to stop. I was relieved. He gestured me over, and re-collared me. A bit later, a Dom with long brown hair approached Ray, and said he was impressed by Ray’s control over me. He asked, and Ray agreed to do a hypnosis demonstration. Ray, myself and five or so interested people came to the abandoned spanking bench, where some of us sat down. I was impressed by the variety of flogging equipment which was scattered about. I could see, at a nearby station, the Foot-Worship Throne, where some truly pathetic men were powdering, massaging and kissing the feet of a rather amused-looking Oriental woman. Across the cavern, I could make out the Wheel of Fortune and the Torture Rack. The girl strapped to the Rack appeared to be in genuine pain. I would have liked to continue on my visual tour of the festivities, but Ray roughly took my head in his hands and demanded my attention. "Watch this" he told his eager disciples, as if bragging. Once again, many sets of eyes were fixed on me, including Ray’s. Once again, I had a feeling I knew what was coming next. "Sleep!". Once again, I was right. I did my usual "hypnotized" crap, slumping down and closing my eyes. The audience gasped. Simpletons. "Now, Rachel" said Ray in a fairly soft voice. "You want to make me happy, right?" "Mmmm-hmmm..." I murmured in response. "Well", he continued, "it would make me very happy to eat you out right now. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?" "Yeah...," I purred, not liking the sound of this. "Well, whenever I, and only I, say the word ‘lick’, you will feel my warm, wet, wonderful tongue on your clit and all around it. It will get you very hot, and wet, but you can’t cum until I give you permission, remember?" "Yeeessss...." "Okay, when I count to three, you will wake up, remembering nothing, but acting on all I’ve said. Okay?" "Yesssss...." "All right. Three...two...one." I opened my eyes to see even more people staring at me then before. "What?" I asked, feigning confusion. Several utterances of "amazing" and similar things swept through the small crowd. "Why are you all looking at me?" I asked. Being observed in this manner was making me panic, and I hoped that Ray would just get the damn humiliation display over with. My wish was soon to be granted. Ray turned towards me at that point, and nonchalantly said "lick". I knew now that this kind of humiliation was not something I was strong enough to take. However, I was stuck at this point. I gave a wonderful performance in the following three minutes, moaning in mock-pleasure, my hips swaying and bucking wildly as if I was really enjoying myself. I began to caress my nether-regions, and muttered a wonderful "Oh, yes...." The audience was enraptured, and about half the male members were nearly drooling. Finally, Ray delivered one more command. "Rachel?" "Ah, Ah, Ah!...." "NOW!" "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!" I convulsed wildly and writhed around in rapture, faking the kind of orgasm most people only dream about. I even forced a bit of cum onto the inside seam of my vinyl shorts, not that that was visible from the peanut gallery. The audience leered, laughed, and clapped. I stepped away from my perch and slunk away to the side of the area. A pretty young blonde asked Ray to hypnotize her. He gave her a lecherous look, which she either didn’t notice or enjoyed, and sat on the bench formerly occupied by my own form. Ray immediately launched into the induction which had failed to entrance me a few weeks earlier. Ray was distracted, and had let go of the binding leash upon noticing his newest victim. I ran away, across the massive open space, through the hundreds of dancers, leash dragging along behind me. I finally reached the bathroom, near the bar and entrance area. Once in front of the mirror over the sink, I detached the collar from around my neck. I threw it away in disgust. I really didn’t much want anymore to be part of the Master/Slave lifestyle. I wanted even less to see Ray again. It was time to leave this place and search for something, and perhaps someone, new. I left the club, and began to trudge down the sidewalk, with no real idea of where I was going. The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, and the night was pitchblack, except for the streelights. Had I been a different mood, I may have found it romantic. However, tonight, it just added to my depression. Suddenly, a black car pulled up beside me. The window rolled down, and a Hispanic man leaned his head out. In heavily-accented English, he asked me if I needed a ride, and held the door open. I didn’t decline his offer. Once he had taken me home, the man, whose name was Jose, propositioned me for sex. I figured it was fair payment, and I gave it to him. I was relieved to be doing it honestly for once. Jose wasn’t really into anything too strange, and I found that refreshing. As I saw it, this was my first step on the way to a new lifestyle, a happier life, and possibly even true love. ************* UNE EPILOGUE BREVE Of course, no lifestyle change on this scale ended up happening for me. I withdrew from the fetishist lifestyle, which was a good move for me. I never saw Ray again, and deleted all his calls and e-mails, which was another good thing. Too bad Jose turned out to be a sleaze also. So did Nick, and Michael. To this day, I still havn’t dated many decent guys. More normal, perhaps, but not nicer. All in all though, the Fetish Ball night, as well as my relationship with Ray in general, taught me a few important lessons about relationships. First of all, if a love is to last, a couple must have honesty, utter and complete. Both partners are bound to be miserable if they feel they can’t be themselves. Secondly, fetishist relationships are for the truly disturbed. If someone doesn’t have the fetish in question, they shouldn’t get involved with someone who does. Third and finally, and this applies in any scenario where it might be involved, no one can be hypnotized if, deep down, they don’t really want to be.