Pathways to Submission: Sally
Copyright© 2023 by Rachael Jane
Chapter 30: Freya In Need
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 30: Freya In Need - 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
A week later I make one of my regular late-afternoon visits to Freya’s apartment. The moment I enter I can tell that it feels different. Usually it’s warm and humming with energy ... paintbrushes clinking in jars and music drifting from her speakers. Today, though, the atmosphere feels heavy, like the room itself is in mourning.
Freya sits on the floor near her easel, knees drawn up to her chest, her hair falling loose around her face. She doesn’t look up when I close the door behind me.
“Freya?” I ask gently.
She lifts her head. Her eyes are red around the edges, not from crying but from exhaustion.
“I can’t do it,” she says. “I’ve been trying all morning. Nothing works.”
I walk toward her slowly, as if approaching a frightened animal. “What happened?”
She gestures weakly toward the canvas she has been working on. It’s a swirl of muted colours, shapes that don’t quite connect.
“The gallery wants more pieces for the spring showcase. They said my last series was ‘promising’, but implied I needed to do better for them to continue promoting my work. I promised them better work, but I can’t get anything right. Every brush stroke feels wrong.”
I kneel beside her. “It’s not wrong.”
“It is,” she insists, voice cracking. “I keep starting over, but I keep ruining it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
I reach out and touch her arm lightly. Her skin is cool, her muscles tense. “Nothing’s wrong with you.”
She shakes her head, burying her face in her hands. “I’m failing, Domina.”
Her words hits me harder than I expect. I feel a sense of deja vu. I’ve felt that same fear ... back when I lost my job at Trammers; back when I first started working for Mistress Penelope and I worried that I’d never be good enough. I know what it feels like to think you’re disappointing everyone around you.
I sit beside her, close enough that our shoulders touch. “You’re not failing,” I say softly. “You’re just overwhelmed.”
She peeks at me through her fingers. “I don’t know how to fix it.”
“You don’t have to fix it alone.”
She lowers her hands slowly, her expression fragile. “Domina ... will you help me?”
I nod without hesitation. “Of course.”
Her breath shudders out, like she’s been holding it for hours.
Freya shifts closer, her knee brushing against mine. She looks at me with an uncertain expression that I’ve seen before. It’s the look she gives me when she wants guidance but she’s afraid to ask for it.
“I need you to tell me what to do, Domina,” she whispers.
The words settle into my chest like a warm weight. I’ve felt this dynamic growing between us, but hearing her say it out aloud makes it real; makes it something I can respond to instead of guessing.
I take her hand gently, threading my fingers through hers. “Okay,” I say. “Let’s start simple.”
She nods, eyes wide, waiting.
“Stand up,” I say softly.
She rises immediately, her movements slow but obedient. She looks down at me, breathing shallowly, waiting for my next instruction.
“Come here,” I say, pointing to the spot directly in front of me. “Kneel. Hands on head.”
She obeys. She steps closer, stopping just inches away before kneeling. I can smell the faint citrus of her shampoo, the ever-present scent of paint on her skin.
“Look at me.”
She lifts her gaze. Her eyes are glassy, vulnerable, but steady.
“You’re not failing,” I tell her. “You’re scared. And that’s okay. But you’re going to do as I command. Understand?”
“Yes, Domina.”
“Breathe slowly,” I say. “Deep breaths.”
I watch as Freya takes several deep breaths. They seem to calm her.
“Good,” I say. “Now stand up and remove your clothes.”
She initially looks as though she might baulk at removing her clothes with the room’s curtains wide open. But moments later, she complies.
“Find a fresh canvas and set it up ready to paint.”
Freya selects a spare canvas and sets it up by a stool near to the window. She collects her paints and brushes, and positions them ready for use. Once done, she stands with her hands resting on her thighs, waiting for more.
I stand and walk behind her, placing my hands gently on her shoulders. She relaxes under my touch, her posture softening.
“You’re going to paint, Freya,” I say. “Not for the gallery. Not for anyone else. Just for yourself.”
She nods slowly.
“And you’re going to start with one colour. The one that feels right.”