Submission. Various

      Best in Show

      Rose de Fer

      I fidget, fussing with the hem of my dress as the car glides to a stop before an imposing Victorian house. The driver opens my door and I glance nervously up at him. He hasn’t said a word throughout the drive and I can make out no expression behind his mirrored sunglasses. He merely waits for me to get out. I take a deep breath and step down on to the gravel. It’s the last time I’ll be allowed to walk upright for a while and I can’t fight the powerful fear that threatens to make my legs buckle. The driver returns to the car and immediately pulls away, disappearing down the long winding drive. I am alone.

      Slowly I make my way to the porch where a folded note bearing my name – Saskia – lies on the doormat. With trembling fingers I fumble it open.

      ‘Undress,’ it says. ‘Scratch on the door when you are ready.’

      I glance behind me. Fields and woodland stretch away into the chilly mist, but there is no one around, no one to watch as a frightened young woman strips naked outside a stately home. I’m not the first either. A small basket contains various items of clothing. Two pairs of shoes – sexy red stilettos and silver ballet flats – stand neatly to one side.

      I know I mustn’t delay so I quickly slip out of my dress, fold it neatly and add it to the basket. I unlace my strappy black sandals and place them next to the ballet flats. The tiled porch chills my bare feet. I hesitate only a moment before unhooking my bra and peeling my knickers off. I drop my lacy underthings into the basket and, stomach fluttering, I sink to my knees on the rough hessian doormat. I close my eyes, count to three and scratch gently at the large oak door.

      Soon I hear the sharp taps of approaching footsteps. My heart gives a startled leap as the door opens and I look up into the face of a stranger. The man is immaculately dressed in a soft grey suit and shiny black shoes. He has a kind, handsome face and he smiles at me as he reaches down to ruffle my hair.

      ‘Good girl,’ he says, holding the door open. ‘Come on, in you come.’

      I creep inside on all fours, peering around curiously at the unfamiliar surroundings. The hallway is opulent and elegant. A high stained-glass window casts its image on the marble floor, staining my hands with reflected colours.

      I hear the door close and then the man is crouching in front of me. He holds a thin strip of red leather in his hands and I realise he must be the handler. I obediently lift my head so he can fasten the collar around my neck. There is the soft jingle of a metal tag and I feel its chill against my throat. The collar is a strange comfort. It crystallises my position more than any other single step in the elaborate ritual. It instantly suffuses me with warmth and security, inducing a powerful feeling of submission.

      As the man clips a lead to my collar I lower my head. He gives the lead a gentle tug and I follow him down the corridor and into a room towards the back of the house. The low murmur of male voices grows louder as we approach. I hesitate in the doorway, peering in.

      We’ve come to what looks like a ballroom, although the room is obviously not used for dancing. The floor is covered with thick, luxurious Oriental rugs that cushion my knees as I am led inside. A huge space has been cleared in the middle, bounded by a semicircle of chairs. A show ring. Some of the men are seated and several others stand off to one side, talking amongst themselves. A fire roars warmly in the hearth along the near wall and two women, naked like me, kneel before it.

      ‘Saskia.’

      I look up in response to the familiar and cherished voice of my master and I find myself quivering with happiness as he emerges from the group and comes towards me. I kneel up to reach him, placing my palms against his legs as he strokes my face tenderly.

      ‘Who’s a good girl?’ he says. ‘Is my little pet going to make me proud today?’

      I nod my head, pawing gently at him with one hand. He smiles indulgently at my puppyish behaviour before unclipping my lead. Then he reaches into his pocket to withdraw a morsel of chocolate. I nibble the treat from his hand while he scratches me roughly behind the ears. If I had a tail I would wag it.

      He points towards the fireplace then and tells me to join the others. I leave his side reluctantly and make my way across the plush carpet to where the other two women kneel, watching me.

      One is a lithe golden blonde with cropped hair and full breasts. She looks to be in her mid-thirties, like me. She offers me a sunny smile and I shyly return it. The tag on her collar says PHOEBE. The other girl seems extremely self-conscious, although I can’t see why. She’s the prettiest of us, with long black hair, olive skin and striking blue eyes. A petite, almost boyish figure. She

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