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Contract Of Submission (Wanda Mearer)

Contract Of Submission by Wanda Mearer

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    • Average 3.8 from 6 ratings

Julia Weston is an aspiring young barrister, efficient in Court, a submissive in her fantasies. She has no idea that the senior partner in her chambers knows this and has contrived a way to make her sign a 'Contract of Submission', putting her totally under his dominance.

For Julia, it is every fantasy come true! Her dress, hair, make-up, posture; everything is ordered by her new Master, with her training carried out by his other trusted submissive, who is quick to discipline and equally quick to use the new slave sexually!

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 1 / 2018

No. words: 57700

Style: Male Dom - M/F, Sex Slavery / Training

Available Formats: MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle


Chapter One

It had been a perfectly awful week and I was glad Friday had finally arrived. The intense pressure I was having to work under was really beginning to get me down.
In the fast few months, much of my time and effort had gone into providing enough money for my parents in order for them to continue to prepare their defence in an American court. They had gone on a ’once in a lifetime’ holiday to Florida, only to have been involved in a terrible accident. Dad had swerved to avoid a dog and, for some unexplained reason, had completely lost control of the car which had then skidded across the road and bounced over the curb, hitting a little girl cycling on the pavement. She had subsequently died from her injuries. A test showed there was nothing wrong with the car. The State Police concluded the accident was his fault and had subsequently charged him with causing death by careless driving. The trial date was now less than two months away and I was becoming increasingly concerned as to what might happen to them.
It is ironic, I said to myself, here I am, a very competent barrister, a junior partner no less, in one of the most respected chambers at Lincoln’s Inn, yet I’m powerless to help my parents when they need me most. I had been refused permission to act for them in America so all I could do is work every hour possible in order to provide the necessary funds which, of late, seem to be becoming a never-ending drain on my resources. As a result, my social life has all but disappeared, I had not had a relationship for months and my sex life consisted of using either my fingers or my friendly vibrator to satisfy my increasingly frequent waves of frustrated desires, always provided, of course, I could be bothered. My energy levels of late seemed to be getting less and less.
I gave myself a long hard stare in the mirror, thinking ‘What’s gone wrong, Julia Weston? You don’t look that bad.’ I am 35 years old, with shoulder length dark brown hair, fairly attractive it has been said, 5 feet 7 inches tall and, with decent clothes, could show off my figure to its best advantage. I usually complain of being a size 14 top on a size 12 bottom. My bust is a firm 36C, waist around 24 and 34 hips. At least I know I have good legs but today, my calves were aching because of having to wear flat sensible shoes all week and for some reason my bra had been rubbing my nipples, making them feel sore. I hate having to wear one but the dress code in my chambers is very strict. Blouse buttoned to the neck, dark fitted suits, flat shoes (actually quite useful when running between court cases), hair either plaited or fastened up in a bun and the minimum of make-up and jewellery. Sometimes, when I felt frustrated or rebellious I allowed myself the pleasure of wearing stockings and suspender belt but no panties. I suppose it’s my childish way of putting two fingers up to authority and anyway I enjoy the sensation. After all, there was no-one close to me who could possibly find out and tell me off. I sighed. If only ...
I had recently finished ‘The Story of O’ and found it one of the most erotic novels I had ever read. I felt a definite affinity with her situation of being completely dominated and I found even just thinking about it very exciting. Since reading it I had tended, while masturbating, to fantasise about having my very own Sir Stephen as a Master and how he would bend me to his will.
As I stood in front of the mirror. I began to rub my mound through my skirt, letting the fingers of my left hand prescribe small circles which slowly descended towards my clitoris. Several times I had sat in court rubbing myself, using my gown to hide what I was doing. I love to feel my sex getting wetter especially as there is nothing I can do about it at the time because anything more would make me squirm and that would be too noticeable. Even a crusty old judge would take notice of a lowly barrister thrusting her hips against her fingers. I smiled at the thought.
Suddenly the door opened. I spun round both in surprise and anger, ready to remind whoever it was of the courtesy of knocking and waiting before entering. When I saw it was in fact the senior partner, I just stood there, feeling my face going red and hoping he had not noticed what my fingers had been doing. For some reason, I clasped my hands behind my back. Perhaps it was because this was the man I had used as the model for my very own personal Sir Stephen.
“Miss Weston, I have just had Marcus Weatherby on the phone. Apparently his solicitors are still waiting for your opinions in regard to his case. May I ask why the delay?”
James Frobisher had an intimidating presence. He was six foot two or three, allegedly in his mid-fifties yet with a lean body many a thirty-year-old would be pleased with. He was known to be fanatical about polo and played a quite lot of squash. For some reason he had never married and, in fact, very little was known of his personal life except that he had a large house in Hampstead. Personally I find his eyes fascinating. They seem able to change colour from icy blue when he is angry to a much deeper softer blue, the infrequent times when I had seen him smile.
I felt somewhat easier as I went over to my desk and looked at my notes.
“As you instructed, I sent my clerk with my assessments and recommendations over to Kinston and Shelbie’s office just before lunch, James. I suspect they will by now have had an opportunity to draw their conclusions. The plaintiffs will have a hard time attempting to prove liability with the evidence they have so far produced.”
I realised at once something was wrong. His eyes had gone quite cold.
“Surely you mean Jenkins and Willoughby, Miss Weston. Kinston and Shelbie are engaged by the other side in this matter. I sincerely hope you have not given the case details to them.”
For a moment, I thought I was going to faint. I could feel the blood drain from my face and there was a rushing noise in my ears. Somehow I managed to press the intercom.
“Jenny, who did you deliver the Weatherby papers to?”
I could hear her shuffling some papers. “To Messrs Kinston and Shelbie, Miss Weston, at the address you wrote on the document bag. I have it here. Do you wish to check it?”
I could feel his eyes boring into me and could not bring myself to look up. I spluttered, “No thanks, Jenny,” and switched off the intercom.
He was obviously very angry. “This is a very serious matter, Miss Weston. How on earth could you make such a mistake?”
I forced myself to look at him and could feel the tears forming in my eyes. “I cannot imagine, James. I have been under a lot of pressure lately. I must have misunderstood you and written out the wrong delivery details. I’m so very sorry. What can I do to rectify the matter?”
“Nothing! Your actions may well have placed these chambers in a very serious situation. It is now quite likely Weatherby could easily lose a case he is expecting to win. Also, if he were to find out the reasons why, these chambers could be sued out of existence and the partners’ reputations, especially yours, probably ruined. I do not think saying sorry will be enough. Leave this matter with me and be in my office at six.” His unblinking eyes held me. I could almost feel their anger and contempt. He turned abruptly and left my office.
For the rest of the afternoon. I could neither work nor think properly. All I did was worry about losing my job. If that happened and in view of the reasons why, I would never get another position in any other chambers. I would have no income and my parents would certainly suffer as a result of my stupidity. They had made many sacrifices so that I could become a barrister. Now I had let them down. I just sat at my desk, refusing all calls and crying most of the time.

Promptly at six, I knocked on the door and meekly waited for permission to enter. Hearing “Enter” I opened the door and went inside. James was sitting behind his enormous Edwardian desk. I went to sit down but he said, “No. You will remain standing.
“Miss Weston, your mistake is more than sufficient to justify my removing you from the partnership without any form of notice or compensation and that I am obliged to report this matter to the Bar. Such actions will certainly end what was a promising career. What have you to say in your defence?”
“You are aware of the situation in regard to my parents, Sir?” Why did I call him ‘Sir’? “and the efforts I have been making to ensure they receive the best possible legal assistance? I have been under severe strain for many weeks now and, whilst not using it as an excuse, the never-ending pressures on me were obviously instrumental in causing the error.”
Tears were filling my eyes, blurring his face. “Sir, I beg you not to take such drastic action even though you are justified in saying it is warranted. I desperately need my job and the income it brings. If I am reported, I’ll never get another position again. My parents and I will suffer out of all proportion to the one mistake I’ve made. I will do everything in my power to help you minimise the damage I have caused. Please, James, I’ll do absolutely anything!”
I stood in front of him, tears rolling down my face, sobbing,.
“Control yourself. Miss Weston. As it happens, there is a means of containing the damage you have done but it requires your total acceptance and willingness to comply with all the conditions. It would mean, should you agree, that your future here would continue and your parents’ current circumstance would be unaffected as a result.”
With an effort, I stopped crying. “Whatever is required of me, Sir, I will undertake without hesitation. No matter how much additional work I have to take on, I will do it properly and to the best of my professional abilities and absolutely promise you I will never ever make such a mistake again.”
“I have no intention of exacting any form of retribution from you by increasing your work load. I will expect you to continue to perform your duties as before. What is required of you has nothing to do with your work in these chambers. Simply put, Miss Weston, if you wish for me to recover the situation caused by your carelessness, you must agree, unconditionally, to becoming my personal property at all times you are not working. It is as simple as that.”
What he had just said did not make any sense to me. “I’m afraid I don’t understand you. Sir. How can I become your personal property?”
He opened a drawer and took out some papers. Pushing them across the desk towards me he said “This is a contract, Miss Weston, quite unlike any you will ever have seen before, I suspect. You will take it away and digest its contents which are quite clear in their intent. If you choose to accept the conditions without reservation, you will come to my house tomorrow morning at ten, having made suitable arrangements to allow you to stay over the weekend. If the terms of the contract are unacceptable to you. You will come to the chambers on Monday in order to hand over all your outstanding cases. Do I make myself clear?”
I picked up the papers and read the heading. ‘Contract of Submission. I looked across the desk at him. His expression gave nothing away. “You want to control me? I am to be your personal woman? You want me for sex, is that it?”
“There is nothing to be served by discussing this matter any further at this stage, Miss Weston. I suggest you go home and seriously consider what I have said and all the implications of your mistake. The choices confronting you are yours to freely make. Good night, Miss Weston.”
I was obviously dismissed so, without replying, I turned and quickly left his office.


This is an excellent book on slave training. Reminds me of how I trained a few young ladies. 5 out of 5 (Chicago)

Way to wordy, flowery, sow, stilted, disappointing, boring 2 out of 5

Good read. Would have given a 5 if there hadn’t had so many missing words, words out of order, incorrect words, and spelling errors. Author needs to use a spell/grammar check software. 4 out of 5 (AD)

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interesting ideas


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