Submissives Anonymous Center

"I think I really hit rock bottom when I let my partner... my 'ex' partner give me away as a gift," she emphasized that ex in a low voice. "Consenting to being taken by three at once, and even now... even months later, I still feel it was wonderful for me..."

As she spoke, Greta was clinging with her hands to the edge of the seat; her deep blue eyes kept darting to those of the other women, sitting in a circle, only to return to the tips of her sneakers.

"Because when I sink my fingers inside myself, and I feel someone else's gaze glued 'there', judging me... like a slut, I just can't stop anymore."

Having arrived in the small room just over half an hour ago, after starting off by saying: "My name is Greta, and I am a submissive exhibitionist," she had begun confessing to total strangers how much pleasure she got out of humiliating herself.

As was obvious would happen, after all, given the place and her own determination to be there. And almost everything would have been normal, were it not--as she recounted her shame at displaying herself filled with fingers--for the spasms between her thighs, which were soaking her panties more and more.

Squeezing her legs together, she cast yet another glance around to catch her breath. A sparse room, four gray walls and a whiteboard in a corner, a notice board with announcements. And the four women, of course, including Margareth--the tall blonde one with the sweet look--the person in charge of the Submissives Anonymous Center.

She squeezed her thighs tighter, but as she resumed her story, she contracted in an even stronger spasm, relentlessly soaking the crotch of her jeans.

*

An hour later, sitting on the tram, Greta distractedly watched the city--first the street enclosed between ancient buildings, then the tree-lined avenues with the evening traffic--parade past the glass.

She focused her gaze on her reflection and offered herself a small smile.

She had remained undecided for days about whether or not to attend the meeting, after discovering the Center by chance in a Telegram chat.

She had looked into it, also via chat, and the comment of a certain Sarah--someone who reached orgasm only by having her buttocks whipped--had convinced her to make contact.

And in fact, it hadn't been all that bad. She had shared her story, explained herself, and partly felt a sense of relief. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Or, much more simply, she feared... was it just yet another opportunity to show herself off in public, dirty as she was? Greta huffed in annoyance, turning back to look at the street.

She reached the front door quickly, went up the stairs just as fast, and rushed into the bathroom. She emptied her bladder with a sigh, her jeans pulled down tight around her ankles; as always, she imagined them locked in stocks. She stayed sitting on the toilet for a few moments, reading her notifications. Mom. A colleague from the office about the next morning's meeting. Instagram.

She slipped off her jeans, then her panties--they were sticky. She brought them to her nose, inhaling deeply. They smelled of musk and something sharper. She dropped everything into the bin under the sink. Half-naked, she moved to the kitchen for a glass of milk and two cookies; then she turned off the light.

*

She lay tossing and turning naked between the sheets, in the twilight.

She saw herself back at the Center, feeling the wetness spreading between her thighs. Re-living telling them about Eleanor and the other two women. About that hotel room, and about her, Greta, naked on all fours on the bed. Her torso and face pressed onto the mattress, her thighs spread and her ass in the air, showing her glistening slit and her anus. The three of them had taken turns licking her cunt, and especially her sphincter.

Eleanor had started. Spreading her buttocks with her hands, she had licked it for a long time; before pushing the tip of her tongue inside, forcing it. She had responded with a louder groan.

Only to feel, afterwards, the tongue of the first stranger slide warm into her crack, widening it, sucking it; and sweep back up wide against her anus, cleaning every inch, and drop down again. Dripping under the eyes of Eleanor and the two women, she had whimpered like a bitch in heat. Being seen dripping all over herself had made her push her sphincter against the woman's tongue, clawing at the bedspread. All around was her own musky scent.

When that other one still, after sniffing her between her buttocks, had simply shoved two fingers into her hole, moving them around inside: Greta was hit by a violent orgasm that made her collapse onto the mattress, trembling.

Reliving the night of the gift, Greta was squeezing her nipple, twisting it; sobbing, she twisted it again, harder. With her other hand she slid down, between her thighs, into her sticky cunt.

She pushed one finger into the viscous heat, added another--continuing to twist her nipple, with pain shooting all through her--beginning to fuck herself with two fingers. Her middle and ring fingers sinking into her pleasure, pulling back and sinking in again and again and again with wet squelching sounds.

Groaning between the sheets, her thighs spread wide, her back by now arched, Greta added a third finger, stretching herself open. Sinking in and sinking in and sinking in, dripping over her fingers increasingly soaked; feeling the sheet getting wet beneath her buttocks as she whimpered.

Her smell was everywhere again.

* * *

The following week, at the end of the meeting, Margareth told Greta to wait. She joined her after a few minutes, having finished saying goodbye to the last participant as well.

"Would you like a coffee?" Margareth entered the kitchenette before Greta had even finished nodding 'yes'.

"Come on, let's sit down," she said returning, pointing her to a chair. Then she remained silent, sipping her coffee. With the warm cup squeezed between her hands, Greta looked at her quizzically.

"I've thought long and hard about this," Margareth began. "And I want to tell you loud and clear. If you really want to get rid of that sense of shame mixed with excitement, there is a solution. But you have to trust me."

Greta gave another nod of 'yes', adjusting herself in her chair.

"You need to masturbate in front of--"

"Masturbate in front of--"

"Wait, let me finish. You should masturbate in front of me."

Greta began shaking her head.

"Out of the question," she began repeating almost to herself, holding back a nervous laugh.

"I don't fancy you, I mean I'm not sexually attracted to you. And that way you'd get some 'practice' in public," Margareth insisted. "Focusing only on your physical pleasure, and not on the shame. To break the cycle of arousal shame arousal."

"Sounds like bullshit to me," Greta kept shaking her head.

"Forgive me, but what do you have to lose? Think it over, and next week you let me know what you've decided."

*

She stayed with Margareth stuck in her head the whole time on the tram, with the city passing behind the glass as if invisible. She kept thinking about her words as she reached the front door, as she went up the stairs, as she stayed under the warm spray much longer than usual.

Coming out of the shower, she wiped the foggy mirror with her forearm, rubbing it with the sleeve of her white terrycloth bathrobe. Only to stand there looking at herself, bathrobe open, her mind still glued to the proposal of the person in charge of the Center.

She dropped her gaze to her nipples, such a pale pink, so delicate that she had always found it morbidly arousing. She touched them lightly with her fingertips; they were rock hard. Remembering how Eleanor used to suck on them for a long time, before squeezing them between index finger and thumb, and twisting them maliciously.

With a wet spasm, Greta took them between her fingers. And twisted them sharply, groaning loudly.

*

The next morning, opening her eyes, the words from the previous evening were her first thought. The proposal, she had to admit, made sense in its own way, even if it wasn't easy to focus on.

If degrading herself was what made her enjoy it, she pondered again, doing it in front of a disinterested person like Margareth: couldn't it really channel her attention solely toward physical pleasure? Instead of overflowing into shame that, in that case, maybe had no reason to be there?

And, again, could repeating it multiple times really make sense? So as to numb that exquisite shame of hers in humiliating herself, making it no longer so exciting?

The week passed between work at the agency, the gym, the supermarket, with her mind returning relentlessly to the increasingly imminent appointment.

Because Greta, as she had realized right from the start, was going to do it.

* * *

The meeting ended at the usual time, but when the others left the Center saying goodbye, Greta stayed behind. Having closed the door, Margareth turned to look at her.

"So, have you decided? Are you ready to try?"

Greta inhaled deeply, and nodded a 'yes'.

"Good, I'm very proud of you," Margareth said and smiled at her.

She suggested going into the small office, and stepping inside she pointed to the old leather sofa. "You can use that one, if you want." The sofa was against the opposite wall, black and worn. Looking at it, Greta wondered if what was about to happen had already occurred there. Margareth waited for her to sit on the edge, then pulled the armchair from behind the small desk to set herself up in front.

Without ever looking up, after a few moments Greta kicked off her sneakers, slipped off her green cotton sweater; then took off her jeans too. She stood there wearing only her panties and bra. And looking the other woman in the eyes at last, she removed those too. She was completely naked, her nipples instantly turgid.

Then everything happened quite quickly.

She found herself on the sofa, her thighs spread wide and her heels planted in the cushion, her cunt full of fingers. Repeating inside herself 'I am not obscene', listening to her body, keeping her gaze stubbornly lowered. Raising it only now and then, barely, to see if Margareth was still there watching her.

But feeling the shame rise each time, she would lower it again immediately.

Focusing on the wet and by now uncontrolled spasms, focusing on the dense heat dripping between her fingers, as she sank her middle and ring fingers into her burning hot crack. The two fingers sank in, only to re-emerge instantly viscous and glistening.

Greta groaned hoarsely, a thick thread dripping onto the sofa. She felt scorching hot, sweaty, her hair stuck in strands to her neck, and all around was her musky scent. Pushing back 'that' thought, that 'I am a dirty slut' always ready to detonate. Knowing full well that, by doing so, she would come against her hand.

"Lick your fingers," Margareth ordered.

The statement froze Greta mid-action with a sudden spasm, but she managed to contain it. She brought her dirty fingers to her lips, sucked them; then went back down with broken breath.

Only when she shoved her middle finger into her sphincter, groaning loudly, did Margareth say: "That's enough for today."

Confused and frustrated at once, Greta pulled back her hand; ashamed, she fished her panties from the pile, slipping them on immediately. Then she dressed quickly without ever looking at Margareth. Only before putting on her shoes as well did she ask for a couple of Kleenex to wipe her fingers.

It was then that, in a casual tone, as she pushed the armchair back behind the desk, Margareth said: "If you managed to do it in front of the entire group, you would get over everything much faster."

* * *

The week passed in a flash. Greta returned to the Center, took part in the meeting, waited for the room to empty. Only to find herself naked again, inside Margareth's office, her fingers dirty with a creamy pleasure, and the other woman watching her fuck herself.

She could see herself bent over, her mouth pressed against the back of the sofa. With her thighs spread wide and her ass high; with her hand reaching from the front pushing her fingers into her wet crack. Groaning, Greta sank them to the root, her fingers re-emerging and sinking in again into the viscous, dripping fluid.

"Use this," Margareth ordered suddenly.

Greta paused, turning her head back. Reaching out from the armchair, the woman was handing her a huge flesh-colored dildo. She grabbed it with heavy breathing, bending over again immediately, but only had time to push the tip inside herself.

"Not there. In your ass."

Greta clenched her jaw, struck by a dirty spasm in her lower abdomen. She slid the dildo along her crack, rising onto her knees, and brought it to her mouth. Beginning to lick it from the molded testicles and along the entire shaft, then sucking its head with wet sounds. Then she brought it back down coated in saliva.

She placed it against her hole, lowering herself onto it. She spread her thighs wider, continuing to press; the tip slipped in, barely forcing its way. Groaning, she pushed further, dilating her sphincter, penetrating it, as her internal walls gave way. Then, gasping, she felt herself filled all at once. With the huge dick now buried deep between her buttocks, she let out a long groan, trembling.

So degraded, with her ass open obscenely under the other woman's gaze, Greta barely held back the shame. But catching her breath, hands planted on the cushion, head bowed, she began pulling off and riding down on the dildo again. Whimpering like a bitch, breaking herself without mercy while feeling her cunt dripping.

"You really are a slut," Margareth exclaimed, laughing.

Overwhelmed, Greta felt her mind shut off abruptly; a spasm radiating from her cunt all along her body, the wave rising, filling her with dense heat, pressing her from inside, before squirting suddenly between her thighs.

* * *

After another two weeks, October arrived.

Naked and kneeling on the dusty floor of the office, with her buttocks pressed against her heels, Greta was awaiting an order from Margareth. The woman was eyeing her up from the sofa with a lazy smile, her legs crossed, her foot dangling.

Behind her shoulders, standing at the door, was Zoe with wide eyes. She had been invited to attend a 'special session', as Margareth called those extra afternoons; and next time it could be her turn. Because they, the women who came to the center, if they wanted, could truly become her young slaves.

"Lick," Margareth ordered.

Greta unlaced her shoe; a fleshy foot emerged, the nails painted a brazen red; the person in charge of the Center curled and spread her toes, smiling. The foot was warm and soft, the skin smooth. Without taking her eyes off the other woman's, Greta brought it slowly to her mouth.

Her tongue pressed against the rougher heel, sweeping up wide along the sweaty sole. Gathering its sharp flavor from the entire day trapped in sneakers. She moved up further, continuing to clean every inch of it with her tongue, up and up to the tip; pushing her nose between her toes.

The raw odor penetrated her nostrils. With half-closed eyes, she inhaled even harder, her heart beating like crazy. Sniffing and sniffing again between the smallest ones, where the smell lingered relentlessly.

She slipped the tip of her tongue into the space by the pinky toe, licking, cleaning, gathering its taste, then sucking on it for a long time. Overcome by a filthy spasm, as she realized how much it reminded her of a nipple.

She moved on to the neighboring toes, from one to the other, licking and sucking in the gaps, her gaze back on Margareth who nodded in silence. She reached the big toe, pushing her entire tongue between the two toes, separating them. Then wrapping her lips tightly around it, sucking it like a small dick, saliva at the corners of her mouth.

The previous time had been the turn of Pilar, a beautiful Mexican girl. Margareth had kept whipping her until orgasm, while she gasped on the floor. Afterwards, getting back up, Pilar had thanked her through tears.

Leaving the cleaned foot, Greta freed the second one from its shoe as well. With Margareth stretching her toes out again, spreading them maliciously. She pushed it against Greta's cheek, pressing her sole into it, squishing her spread toes against her nose. Greta took it in her hands to begin cleaning again.

Running her tongue over the sweaty skin once more, Greta was shot through with a tremor. Because, once she was done with the feet, Margareth had promised her, she would sodomize her with Zoe present.

And, Greta was certain, it would be wonderful.