The Submission of Mary Pt. 01
Keywords: The, 01, of, Submission, Mary, Pt.,
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"Opening Remarks: To those of you who have followed the Submission of Mary, you likely know I have not worked on the novel for some time now. Well, that hiatus is over. Currently I have rewritten 80% of the novel, while adding new sections to it. I will be releasing the new version now over time. You will also notice that the old version is no longer on Literotica. I would ask those of you who have enjoyed the story in the past to please read it again and to provide me with feedback about the new revisions. I have literally received over 200 comments and emails about this story and I am grateful for each and every one, even though at times I was not able to respond to all of them.
If you are looking for a constant stream of sex and smut, this story is not for you. There are some very hot scenes throughout the novel, but this story, while meant to arouse, is a story about the discovery of the lifestyle set in a fictional setting.
This story is fiction but is no doubt influenced by my own experiences, knowledge, and exploration of BDSM. Any resemblance to anyone is purely coincidental. The story is copyrighted 2005 to Zen."
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Chapter One
Mary's father traveled frequently when she was growing up. He was a sales manager for a chain of home improvement centers. A thin, unassuming man, he tended to keep to himself. He was well read and liked to talk politics, a passion Mary learned from him. Unfortunately, their politics were as different as their genders. Still, he was a good father, a fair man, who despite his subdued nature had a force about him. Those who knew him well might call his strength a quiet one. He was never one to him complain about anything although occasionally his eyes failed to hide his emotions. Mary knew he felt pain and sorrow, but he was not inclined to share them with her, perhaps with anyone.
Mary hated him being away so often, and she sensed he disliked it too. He spoke philosophically about travel. He said a traveler learns things about life through being a stranger in a place others call home. You feel less restricted by convention, he told Mary once, because as a stranger you don't know the norms of where you are and consequently exist on the edge of things. She was 13 at the time and didn't really understand, but Mary figured her father was offering some insight into why he and her mother separated she being quite straight-laced, in need of predictability, and impatient with solitude. There were other reasons, of course, but Mary did not figure them out until later in life. Despite their difficulties, Mary came to understand the challenges her mother faced living with her father. His death some years later could not hide the secrets he held on to so tightly while alive.
There was a constant power struggle between Mary's parents but rarely a clear victor. Mary swore to herself that her relationships would be free of battles for control. She was naοve of course. At that young age Mary had no idea what liberty from power struggles would actually look like; she could not fathom the travels I would undertake.
As Mary grew into a woman, she quickly learned the disadvantages of her gender. While never one to bore another with the typical banter about a female's travails, Mary invested many years seeking justice for women, especially those abused and otherwise mistreated by men. Her interest in justice was accompanied by a deep distrust of the male gender and eventually like many feminists or at least those who call themselves feminists she painted all men with the same dark brush stroke.
Given her disposition toward men, her transformation -- which is the best word to describe it was unexpected to say the least. A friend told her once that the best discoveries are those that are not sought. In Mary's case, this was the absolute truth. If you asked her, Mary might say that her journey was rooted in her need to understand her father's death or, more accurately, understand his life, but if you pressed her, she would admit that would be too simple an explanation and far from true. Mary's venture into the shadowy world she came to love and crave was, she believed, little more than serendipity. But it was in that happy accident that Mary came to understand her father and eventually herself.
Her transformation never meant that Mary's life as a feminist was wrong or even misguided. Her biggest mistake was losing balance and not listening to the yearnings inside of her. She had convinced herself that the last thing she wanted was a man to have any power or control over her. Mary ended up living the irony of that statement for some time and did so gladly. Throughout the course of events she came to a whole new understanding of power, of gender, and most importantly how to live in the world truly herself.
Mary was one of the few heterosexual women in her community of friends, much to their chagrin. Many of her feminist counterparts were attracted to her on many levels, and it irked them to no end that she went home each day to a man. It made no difference that it was a man they liked and respected. The thought of this strong woman opening her legs for a man seemed pornographic to them. Even though Mary fully understood the politics of sex and how risky it was to give in to a man, she could not imagine foregoing sex with the opposite gender. She needed and often craved the force of a man inside of her, filling her, dripping sweat on her face as he released himself and then fell, his weight delicious against her flesh. Mary enjoyed with short-lived bouts of guilt -- being held down and taken hard while digging her nails into her lover's legs, side, or back. The best sex for her was about being fucked. Its appeal was highest when it was raw, messy, and noisy enough to spawn gossip in the neighborhood.
One of Mary's favorite fantasies was to be used for a man's gratification and then, when he was spent, being left to watch him roll over and leave her wanting more. Of course, she kept that to herself. Fantasies are fantasies, she told herself, but for years she could not admit that her desires lived only a short distance from her fantasies. Mary wanted more than wet dreams and dark secrets. Such fantasies always had their counterpoint, however. She often dreamt of being in control, but differently from what she was accustomed. She sought a release from the power she had because much of it was expressed as resistance to the power of men. Her complicated mind was visited by images of men cooking for her, cleaning her house, kneeling down and putting on her shoes. Sexually, they existed solely for her pleasure -- their own needs being unimportant, inconsequential.
In these fantasies Mary was dressed like royalty, although not in the stifled fashions of the Queen Mother. She was decked out in a long, slinky black dress whose hem stopped just short of spiked boots. Hair tied tightly back, Mary had the poise of the consummate gambler: an unreadable yet compelling face and a demeanor that was magnetic and dangerous. This fantasy world was inhabited by strong, intelligent men who yielded to her whims and desires. Sometimes there were dozens of them -- her minions whose existence was solely to appease and amuse. There were jesters and musicians, poets and philosophers, tailors and hairdressers all of them courtside just waiting for a word or gesture of instruction from Mary. There was sex of course in this revelry, but it took place on the edge of morality or so she thought. Men would crawl to her and then service her libido with their mouths. Others would be tied to beds and posts and be made to thank her for each stroke of the whip that she wielded so adeptly.
This fantasy was more infrequent than others; Mary wanted it that way. All she was doing was acting like a man except that she had the parts of a woman. At least that is how Mary figured things back then. She found herself vehemently resisting her fantasies because all of them conflicted with who she was -- who she thought she was -- as a woman, as a feminist.
Most of Mary's male partners were only interested in their own gratification. Self-centeredness would one day be discovered to be a genetic trait of the male species that was Mary's theory. The men she bedded always left her wanting, but they didn't seem to do so in the right way. The men she had sex with lost their appeal as soon as they orgasmed. They lacked something magical that Mary craved but could not fully articulate, something that was simultaneously frightening and joyful.
Such desires tormented Mary. Her politics and libido were locked in a battle that spun her head on a regular basis. As things evolved, Mary's politics were easier to practice than finding that special man who could deliver on what she wanted. What was the point, she asked herself, of seeking something that was little more than a fantasy, perhaps a sick fantasy (according to others)? Mary knew intuitively that her resignation fed her dislike of men; it fueled her politics. Even so, Mary couldn't give up men altogether as many of her sisters had. Despite her frustrations, having one in the bedroom remained more attractive than sleeping alone or with a woman.
Chapter Two
It was a couple days after Mary's 25th birthday that her father died. He had been separated from my mother for several years and living in a small condo that over looked the North Saskatchewan River. Mary spent a fair amount of time at his place; she found solace there, not having to worry about talking.
The view from his living room window was incredible. They enjoyed many evenings sitting together just looking out over the winding blue path of the river, saying little except for the occasional comment about the chaotic beauty of nature, the tranquil power of water, the graceful movement of clouds. Mary's father, Frank, was not one for physical contact, but during these times he would seem to forget himself and put his arm around his daughter.
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Keywords: The, 01, of, Submission, Mary, Pt.,