Pathways to Submission: Sally
Copyright© 2023 by Rachael Jane
Chapter 28: Freya’s Studio
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 28: Freya’s Studio - Sally is a young woman looking for a new job. A chance meeting on a crowded bus introduces her to Penelope, a professional dominatrix. Penelope needs an assistant, and although Sally is naturally submissive and not ideal what Penelope wants, she asks Sally to call her. Sally is soon in Penelope's thrall.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Consensual Reluctant Slavery Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction DomSub FemaleDom Humiliation Light Bond Interracial Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Illustrated
The stairwell smells faintly of polished wood and old plaster as I climb toward the top level. Freya’s floor always feels different from the middle level where Mistress Penelope and I live ... lighter somehow, as if the air is thinner and easier to breathe. Maybe it’s because Freya keeps her windows open even when it’s cold, or maybe it’s because she radiates a softness that seems to seep into the walls around her. Despite the open windows, her apartment always has a faint smell of linseed oil and artist’s paints.
My right arm aches from the morning session in the dungeon. Mistress Penelope pushed me hard today, and I’m proud of how I handled the new client. I’m not sure what pleasure J obtained from being flogged, but that’s what she wanted. Mistress Penelope had me deliver the flogging while she kept up a steady dialogue with J. I must have done well enough as J has booked another session for next week.
I climb the last few stairs with a flutter of anticipation that has nothing to do with work. Freya’s door is painted a pale blue, chipped at the edges. A tiny brass number 9 sits crookedly above the peephole. I knock softly.
The door opens almost immediately, as if she’s been waiting behind it. Freya stands there barefoot, her hair pulled into a messy bun, streaks of cobalt and ochre smeared across her forearms and the smock she wears while painting. Her eyes brighten when she sees me.
“Sally,” she says, breathless, like my name is a surprise she’s delighted to receive.
I don’t insist that Sally calls me ‘Domina’ all the time. It’s a difference in style between Mistress Penelope and me with our respective submissive. These days I would never dare to address Mistress Penelope as simply Penelope.
“Hi,” I say, smiling despite the fatigue tugging at my shoulders. “Busy day?”
She steps aside to let me in. “Always. But better now.”
Her apartment is warm, cluttered, and alive. Canvases lean against the walls, some finished, some half‑formed. Brushes sit in jars, and the faint scent of linseed oil mixes with the smell of fresh coffee. It’s chaotic in a way that Mistress Penelope would never tolerate, but I love it. It feels like stepping into someone’s mind ... it’s messy, creative, and honest.
Freya closes the door behind me. “I’m glad you came.”
“I’m glad I could come,” I say, and I mean it.
Mistress Penelope only allows me a limited amount of time each week to spend time with Freya. It’s a delicate balancing act to keep our three-way relationship harmonious.
Freya leads me into the larger of the apartment’s two bedrooms. It’s the one that she uses as a studio. Her largest canvas stands on an easel near the window. It’s a wash of deep reds and smoky greys, partially completed shapes emerging like ghosts in the mist. She picks up a brush, then hesitates.
“I’m stuck,” she admits. “I’ve been staring at this for hours.”
I walk closer, studying the painting. “It’s beautiful.”
She laughs softly. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.”
She sets the brush down and turns to me. “Would you ... would you pose for me again, Domina? Just for a few minutes. I think it might help.”
I nod. “Of course.”
Freya always switches to calling me Domina when she’s nervous, or asking for a favour she feels that she has no right to request. I don’t mind posing for her, although I’m unsure how it helps her.
She gestures toward a small stool near the window. I sit, adjusting my posture. Freya steps back, eyes narrowing in concentration. She studies me the way Mistress Penelope studies a client bound to one of the dungeon frames. However, Freya’s gaze feels different. It’s softer and unmistakeably curious. Like she’s trying to understand not just my shape but my thoughts.
“Turn your head slightly,” she says. “Yes, like that.”
I hold still. The sunlight catches the edge of the canvas and warms my cheek. Freya picks up a sketchbook and begins sketching, her movements quick and fluid. I watch her hands, the way her fingers dance across the page. She’s beautiful when she works ... so focused and alive, almost glowing.
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