The Ultimate Submission (Jacqueline's Story)
By Gato Medio


Chapter 1

Villiers-sur-Seine, the place where I was born and grew
up, is a medium-sized town, roughly 50 kilometres
southwest of Paris. Visitors might describe the place as
sleepy; the adult population considers it peaceful, but
most of the younger people would call it outright boring.

The town is not close enough to Paris to be considered a
suburb, but too close to develop a worthwhile cultural
life of its own. In consequence, those who don't have the
means to go to Paris - and that covers most adolescents -
don't have much choice of what to do in their spare time.
There are a few cinemas, an open air swimming pool and a
couple of discos. There is also a park, the Municipal
Park, near the town centre. It tends to get very crowded,
particularly on Sundays, and young people with their
irreverent, noisy behaviour usually feel they're not
welcome. But it has a few benches which are hidden from
the general public's view, and young people are keen to
use this chance for a little privacy. The main drawback
is that the gates are locked at sunset.

My parents belong to the group of people who would call
Villiers peaceful. They would also be quick to point out
that it isn't as peaceful as it used to be. High-speed
train connections and the fact that most people now can
afford a car have brought the town closer to the 'city of
sin'.

Particularly my father was one of those who decry the
decline in moral standards which the closeness to the
capital had brought to our town. His criticism was
specifically aimed at women, mainly from the younger
generations, whose behaviour did not measure up to his
strict standards. The sexual permissiveness of today's
women as manifested in clothes which he considered too
revealing was his prime target. His favourite word for
such women was slut, and he left no doubt that he would
not hesitate to apply this word to me, should he ever
find me guilty of wantonness.

My father always made it clear that my education was a
strain on the family's budget and that he would have to
continue making sacrifices if I were to go on to
university. He never missed an opportunity to point out
that he himself had never been given the chance to study.
But, he then always added, he was quite willing to carry
that burden to provide for my future.

However, if my behaviour indicated that I wasn't taking
my studies seriously, he would stop financing my idleness
and I would have to find a job to earn my own keep. He
used this 'not taking my studies seriously' ruthlessly to
prohibit anything he didn't approve of: listening to the
wrong kind of music, wearing make-up, coming home late,
being dressed 'improperly' and having a boyfriend.

Although I did not agree with my parents' opinions and
the strict control they exercised over me, I had no
choice but to endure it - at least until I would be able
to pay my own way.

I studied hard and never lost sight of my goal to pass
the final exams with flying colours. I did not just want
to achieve the necessary marks to gain entrance to
university, I wanted to be in the top ten percent of my
year in order to qualify for a scholarship and achieve at
least some independence from my parents.

                         -----

My story starts some time in August of the year 2002. We
were in the middle of the summer holidays, the time of
year when I hated Villiers most. The fact that there were
no lessons to attend made it even more obvious that there
is absolutely nothing to do for young people. The only
relief from boredom was the open-air swimming pool.

The town was almost empty. Most people had gone on
holidays to the Atlantic coast or the Cote d'azur. The
girls in my class which hadn't gone away used the small
gardens behind their houses to work on their suntan. Most
of them wouldn't think twice about sunbathing topless;
the more daring ones would look for a spot that was
hidden from the public's view and take off their bikini
bottoms as well to get a seamless tan without any white
patches.

I, on the other hand, didn't even dare to sunbathe in my
bikini in our garden, for fear of incurring the wrath of
my father. Instead, I went to the public swimming pool
but never took off my top because I was too worried that
my father might get to hear about it. Most of my
schoolmates didn't know the reason behind my apparent
prudery and my dedication to my studies. They thought of
me as a prude cram and weren't very interested in making
friends with me.

I don't know if my father's attitude had anything to do
with this, but I noticed that my physical development as
a woman was happening slower than with my class mates.
When the other girls were already proud of their fully
developed breasts and exchanged stories about their first
adventures with boys, my breasts were only two bumps on
my chest and there weren't any boys interested in me.

One day, in the open-air pool, lying belly-down on my
beach towel, I decided to undo the catch of my bikini
top. That way I would at least get an uninterrupted
suntan on my back. I must have dozed off in the warm
sunshine because I didn't notice Thierry, one of my
classmates, approaching. He had seen me lying there and
had gone to fill a plastic bag with water for his idea of
a joke.

I was up like a rocket when the cold water hit my back,
and told Thierry in no uncertain terms to get lost. And,
of course, I forgot all about my bikini top being undone.
When I noticed that my breasts were exposed to his eyes,
I quickly covered myself.

He just laughed at me. "Look around you Jacqueline! There
are plenty of beautiful breasts, waiting for me to look
at them. Why would I want to look at your titties?"

I decided to ignore his insult and returned to the
position I had been in before he arrived without saying a
word. He would probably tell his friends what had
happened and his story would reinforce their opinion that
I was sexually retarded.

But that wasn't my main worry that day. What really made
me uptight were things which I didn't understand that
were happening to me on a physical and emotional level.

The hormonal changes had finally started to happen and
they arrived with a vengeance. I could notice almost
daily that the size of my breasts had expanded a little
more and a few more pubic hairs had grown. I wasn't
completely ignorant; I picked up information here and
there, from books, magazines and the conversations with
other girls. It was no mystery to me when my body started
to change and develop into that of a young woman; the
shaping of my budding breasts, the growth of pubic hair
on my mound, all these things happened the way I had
learned to expect.

What I was completely unprepared for were the feelings
which accompanied these changes. I couldn't concentrate
on anything because I was constantly aroused and couldn't
stop thinking about sex. It disturbed me greatly and I
was convinced that there was something wrong with me. Had
I been religious I would have come to the conclusion that
the devil had taken possession of my body. But, as I
didn't believe in the devil or any other supernatural
power, I tried desperately to find a more rational
explanation. I was convinced that I was the only person
in the world experiencing these sensations and that I
needed professional help.

I didn't have any hope that my mother would be able to
help me. She hadn't even prepared me for my first
menstruation, because the subject was just too
embarrassing for her to talk about. I had to find out
about 'the curse' from other girls.

There wasn't any teacher or doctor I trusted enough to
ask about such a deeply personal matter. The few girls
with whom I had some sort of friendship at school had
gone away for the summer holidays. I felt I was
completely on my own. Then I thought of Charlotte.

-----

[Charlotte]

I had become friends with Charlotte during the relatively
short time when she was my classmate. Charlotte was a
full year older than the rest of us. She should really be
one class ahead but she had been in hospital for a long
time after a car crash - the one in which her mother was
killed. When she returned to school she joined my class
to make up for the lessons she had missed.

I guess what attracted me to Charlotte was that she was
also a bit of an outsider and didn't quite fit in with
the 'normal' pupils. She was a self-proclaimed lesbian
and men-hater. She called herself Charles and wanted
everybody else to also call her by that name. It seems
that I was the only one who did her that favour. We
accepted each other for what we were and this mutual
acceptance turned us into friends.

But then Charlotte moved to another part of town and
transferred to a different school. I missed her company,
but the feeling wasn't strong enough to make me continue
our friendship. Also, with her being a lesbian, I was
worried that I might give the wrong signals if I
continued to see her once she was no longer my classmate.

Charlotte was older than me and in many respects more
experienced, more down to earth. Her body had already
fully developed and she seemed to know a lot about the
female body and sex. I trusted her enough to tell her
about my problem. I was sure she wouldn't laugh at me,
even if I asked stupid questions.

I decided to ask her for advice. I took my courage in
both hands and phoned Charlotte, telling her that I
needed to talk to someone I could trust about my
developing sex drive. She seemed really pleased that I
had contacted her and asked me to come 'round to her
place the next day. Just hearing her cheerful voice on
the phone made me already feel better.

The fact that a girl of her age was living on her own in
her own apartment gave rise to a lot of gossip. Her
father had not waited very long to remarry after his
wife, Charlotte's mother, had been killed in that
accident. What set the tongues wagging was the fact that
his second wife was much younger than him. In fact she
was only a couple of years older than Charlotte.

Many said that her father had raped and sexually abused
Charlotte. Some neighbours believed this had started
already while her mother was still alive; others were
convinced that it was the death of his wife that made him
use his daughter as a substitute. There were even some
who were convinced that the remarriage had resulted in a
'ménage à trois'. All were convinced that it was the
abuse she had suffered from her father which had turned
her into a lesbian and an outspoken critic of everything
male. The story was that she had threatened to go to the
police unless her father allowed her to move out of his
house. He had no choice but to agree and was paying the
rent along with a generous allowance.

Charlotte's version of the story was that she didn't get
along with her step mother. "She's only a few years older
than me. How could I let her act as if she were my mother
and order me around?"

Also, she said, the two were constantly 'at it', often
starting their games right in front of her, before
disappearing into their bedroom. He couldn't keep his
hands off his new wife and she provoked him by walking
around the house with a minimum of clothes on. "I
explained to my father that this environment was not
suitable for bringing up a respectable young lady, and he
eventually saw my point."

Later, when we were intimate friends, I asked Charlotte
if any of these rumours about her and her father were
true.

"These stories," she answered, "are spread by people who
cannot accept that a woman is a lesbian, simply because
she's a lesbian. They need to find some terrible event,
preferably a male misdeed, in order to explain why a
woman doesn't want to be screwed by men."

                         -----

When I arrived at Charlotte's apartment, she asked me
what exactly the problem was and, with some difficulty, I
explained.

"The problem is this: I know that my body is changing
into that of a young woman, but there are some things
happening to me which I don't understand. I'm almost
constantly aroused, my nipples harden for no apparent
reason and I can't stop touching myself. When I do touch
myself, especially my breasts and my sex, it feels so
good that I want more and more. I think there is
something wrong with me."

She seemed a little amused by my worries. "You've come to
the right place. Dr. Charles will cure you in no time.
I'll have to examine you. Take off your clothes, I'll be
with you in a minute," she said, disappearing into her
bedroom.

"All my clothes?" I shouted after her.

"No, silly. Have you never been to a doctor? Keep your
knickers on. You only take off your knickers when the
doctor tells you to."

I took off my clothes, folded them neatly and put them in
a pile on a chair. Charlotte returned, wearing a white
coat, just like a real doctor. I had the impression that
she had taken off the clothes she had been wearing
before.

She looked at me and smiled. "Has anybody told you before
what a pretty girl you are?"

I blushed but didn't know what to say. She took my
shoulders and made me turn around, taking a good look at
me.

"Those woolly knickers spoil the picture," she said
finally. "Did you select them yourself?"

"No," I answered, "my mother buys all my clothes for me.
I don't earn any money yet, so I can't be very
demanding."

"Well, next time ask her to buy something a little more
sexy, something that makes you feel you're a desirable
young woman. For now, it's probably best if you take them
off as well."

The garment in question wasn't actually made of wool;
this was just one of Charlotte's exaggerations that I
would get used to over time. But it was true that the
panties my mother bought for me were completely shapeless
and did nothing to enhance my appearance.

I followed her instructions but felt uneasy about the
whole thing. Of course, there was nothing wrong with
taking off one's clothes for a medical examination, but
Charlotte wasn't really a doctor. Yes, it was usual to
get undressed in front of other girls in the changing
room before and after physical education, but then the
purpose of the exercise was to change as quickly as
possible into another set of clothes and I was never
completely naked for any length of time, although some
girls seemed to enjoy parading their naked beauty in
front of the others.

Charlotte proceeded to 'examine' me, passing her hands
all over my body, and I mean all over my body. The gentle
touch of her fingers on my skin created a very pleasant
sensation and I could feel my nipples harden. It didn't
escape her attention that I was getting excited, so she
cupped one of my breasts in her hand and passed her
fingers over my nipple.

"How does this feel?" she asked.

"Wonderful," I said, "but it also gives me an urge
between my legs that I cannot satisfy."

She quickly put her hand between my legs. "Are you always
this wet?"

I blushed. I felt deeply embarrassed by her question. "I
had a shower just before coming here. But I get wet again
very quickly. Particularly now, when I undressed in front
of you and when you touched me. Is there something wrong
with my body?"

She smiled. "Your body is in perfect working order. It's
just that you're horny as hell. You need some expert
treatment. But for that it's better if you lie down."

Outside there was a storm brewing. Dark rain clouds had
gathered and Charlotte had to switch on the lights even
though it was only mid-afternoon. She showed me to the
bedroom and made me lie on her bed, then she took off her
doctor's coat. Underneath it she only wore a black thong,
a tiny triangle of textile held in place by a few
strings. The nipples on her full, firm breasts seemed to
be just as hard as mine. Looking at her almost naked body
made me feel even more excited.

Charlotte joined me on the bed which was just wide enough
for two people lying close together. She hugged me and
pressed my naked body close to hers. She kissed me while
her hands moved down my back, making my skin tingle with
excitement.

Something inside me told me that it was a very bad thing
to let her touch me like this, that I was in danger of
turning into one of those women which my father called
'slut', but it felt good, oh so good, and I allowed
Charlotte to do with me what she wanted.

Changing position, her mouth moved down my body towards
my breasts and one of her hands found its way between my
legs. As her mouth reached my breast, I let out a deep
moan. My arousal had become unbearable. There was a
desire digging deep in my loins, an ache for which I knew
no remedy.

"Relax," Charlotte said, "don't try to control your
desire. Let the pleasure take control."

I decided to just lie in her arms and to enjoy whatever
she was doing to me - and she seemed to know exactly what
to do. With her mouth still on my breast and her tongue
running gentle circles around my nipple, her hand stroked
my sex, gently prying my lips open and moving her fingers
up and down. Then, when her fingers caressed the little
hard knob between my pussy lips, I could no longer
control myself.

There was thunder and lightning and a ten thousand volt
charge hit me right where Charlotte's fingers were. It
was as if something inside me had exploded, sending wave
after wave of pleasure through my whole body. I heard
myself produce sounds I had never made before. I had
never felt anything like it in my whole life.

It's quite possible that I fainted at this point, if only
for a few seconds. The next thing I remember is that I
opened my eyes, looked at Charlotte and asked, "What
happened?"

She smiled. "It seems that you just experienced your
first ever orgasm. And what a powerful one it was!"

With the rain pouring down outside, Charlotte taught me
many new things about my body, guiding my fingers so that
I would learn how to stimulate myself. Then she talked
about masturbation as a way of releasing the excitement.

She took off her thong and let me watch as she
masturbated, her nimble fingers caressing her body,
opening the crevice of her pussy and stroking her eager
clitoris. Her sensual face, tensing with excitement and
then showing complete relaxation as she reached the
climax, was as beautiful and exciting as her naked body.

All this touching and watching had made me hot again and
she suggested that I put into practice what I had just
learned.

"Masturbate for me, come for me," she told me.

Under her expert eyes I brought myself to another climax,
feeling that this was the happiest day in my life.
Afterwards I covered Charlotte with kisses to show how
grateful I was to her.

When the 'consultation' came to an end and I got ready to
go, I asked Charlotte, "Do you think I'm cured now?"

She laughed. "What you have, my dear, is incurable. It's
called insatiable horniness. But you can alleviate its
effects by repeating today's treatment as often as
necessary. And you still have a lot to learn. So, come by
whenever you feel like."

From this day on I became a frequent visitor to
Charlotte's place. There were many more secrets about
feminine sexuality which she taught me, and some that we
discovered together. She introduced me to the joys of
cunnilingus by giving my pussy the full treatment with
her mouth and then making me eat hers in return.

But her lessons weren't limited to the feminine side of
sex. She showed me a number of magazines and books with
explicit pictures and descriptions. There were muscular
men with enormous erect penises and naked women who were
apparently only too pleased to submit to their every
wish. There were pictures of women licking those huge
penises like ice cream cones or taking them into their
mouths as far as possible, pictures of men sticking their
penises deep into their partners' vaginas, even some
penetrating their anuses.

There were women having sex with two men at the same time
and women whose faces and bodies were splattered with the
men's semen. I was sure these publications had come
straight from hell, but I couldn't help feeling extremely
aroused looking at these pictures and reading the texts
which contained words which I - until then - would have
never dreamt of pronouncing.

After seeing these pictures I frequently caught myself
looking at boys' crotches and wondering what their
penises might look like and whether they were was as big
and hard as the ones I had seen in Charlotte's magazines.
But I didn't only take an interest in the male anatomy. I
also looked at women in a different way and when I saw a
couple hugging or kissing in public I fantasised about
what they might be doing in the privacy of their bedroom.

                         -----

Charlotte kept teasing me about my 'woolly knickers',
saying they made me look like a farmer's girl from two
centuries ago. I had asked my mother to buy me something
more fashionable, reporting that my class mates in the
changing room had been giggling and talking about me
behind my back, but I met with complete incomprehension.
For her, underpants were something you wear but never
look at, let alone allow anybody else to see you in.

My solution to this dilemma was to take off all my
clothes as soon as I arrived at Charlotte's place. She
was very pleased to see that I surrendered myself so
willingly to her and I was happy to escape her jokes. It
took me some time to realise that there was more to it
than that. With my clothes I left behind Sainte
Jacqueline, the boring, well-behaved prude, which did not
have much fun in her life and turned into Jacqueline the
wanton slut, or Slut-lin' as I sometimes called this part
of my personality, out to enjoy herself even if it meant
having to roast in hell for the rest of eternity.

One afternoon, when I arrived at Charlotte's apartment -
she had given me a key so that I could let myself in - I
heard her shout, "I'm in the kitchen."

I undressed as usual and went to meet her. When I got to
the kitchen, I saw a plumber who was bending over the
washing machine. He lifted his head and looked at me with
a broad grin. Charlotte just said, "Ah, that's
Jacqueline, my sex slave."

Unable to utter a word, I covered myself as best I could
and ran to the bedroom, locking the door behind me. I
only agreed to open the door after Charlotte assured me
that the man had left. She was deaf to my complaints that
she should have warned me about the presence of someone
else in the apartment, particularly as this someone else
was a man.

She just said, "Don't be such a prude. Let the poor guy
have some fun too. Looking at you probably was the best
thing that happened to him for a long time. And tonight,
when he has a few drinks with his friends, he's going to
tell them about it - you made his day without even
lifting a finger!" And that closed the subject as far as
she was concerned.

Later that day, after she had feasted her hands and mouth
on my naked body and had allowed me to do the same with
hers, she started thinking aloud.

"You know, when I told that plumber that you were my sex
slave, it was meant as a joke. But I've been thinking
about it, and, in fact, you really are my sex slave. You
get undressed as soon as you arrive to show that you're
permanently available for me, you never dare to deny me
any wish and you do everything I tell you to do."

From this day on, Charlotte decided that I was to be her
sex slave for real. She established a series of rules
which I had to follow: I was to call her Master Charles,
I was to remove all my clothes as soon as I arrived at
her place, I was not allowed to cross my legs in her
presence so that she could always feast her eyes on my
juicy plum, as she put it, and, in general, I was to
follow all her orders without delay. She also ordered me
not to wear a bra unless it was absolutely unavoidable.

The new rules, which I accepted reluctantly - I was never
quite sure how far she would take them - did not
represent any significant change in our relationship. I
continued to spend many afternoons at her place,
indulging in the pleasure of unrestrained lust.

                    To be continued