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English Submission Ch. 01

By: paerotica



He kissed her on the cheek, very properly, almost coldly as he greeted her at Heathrow airport. "Welcome to London, my slut," he whispered into her ear as his face brushed against hers. "My car is just out front, let's get your things."

The word "slut," which he seemed so determined to use when speaking to her had not yet found a place in her heart, she was hoping their time together might change that as she knew he had a reason for calling her by what she considered to be a very derogatory term. She thought she deserved better and perhaps, she was hoping that she might change his mind about the use of that word, maybe she could sway him to call her his "queen" or his "goddess" or something positive? Was that too much to ask?

She was nervous, highly uncomfortable, out of her element. She felt capable of charming most anyone but she had a feeling that her charms would be falling on deaf ears and blind eyes over the next few days. She felt like she had been disarmed. She was vulnerable and open and more unsure of herself than she ever had been in the past.

"So, slut, how was your trip? I trust you enjoyed the flight over?" 

"Yes, I did...quiet, a little dull and, quite honestly, I was so nervous about meeting you that I couldn't sleep, not that I didn't try. I actually spent much of the flight fantasizing - it took everything I had not to go into the loo to masturbate."

"Good, that makes me proud that you did not succumb to your desires. So, I'd like you to touch yourself now, in front of me."

Immediately she realized her mistake, she should never have opened this door so quickly, so easily unless she was prepared to walk through it and she didn't feel anywhere near ready yet.

"I'd rather not." she hesitated, wondering what to say next. "Sir." "I mean, I just arrived and we haven't spent any real time together. I would just like to get comfortable with you, to get to know you..." her voice trailed off.

He didn't say a word to her, he simply pulled off at the next exit, drove to a quiet road and stopped his car. Mr. J killed the ignition, unbuckled his seat belt, unbuckled P's seat belt and grabbed her by the back of the head, tangling his hands in her hair, to better his grip. 

Before she knew what was happening, she was over his lap and Mr. J was spanking her ass.

"What the hell are you doing?! Stop hitting me!" Mr. J continued to slap her bum, one cheek, than the other, over and over. 

"Take me back to the airport. Right now! This is ridiculous. I just got here! Stop it!!!"

Again, no response from Mr. J. He was bigger and stronger and he just continued with the spankings. 

"Fuck you!" 

He released her and she ungracefully made it back into her seat. He looked at P with disgust and anger.

"My dear slut," (he said with a clenched jaw), "I want you to masturbate for me, now and here. Do it now!" he grabbed her hand, pushed up her dress and put her hand over her pussy. 

"Start playing with yourself or I will tie you up, put you in the trunk and leave you there until you are ready to do what I say."

P slipped her hand inside her panties and began rubbing her clit, sliding her fingers inside for lubrication. Rather than getting back on the road, Mr. J just watched her, stared at her - not in her eyes, not at her face but at her hand and its motion. He reached into the glove box, touching her knee and took out an old pocket knife. 

P realized, for perhaps the 100th time, that this was nuts, absolutely nuts. He could cut her or kill her or do whatever he chose - she had placed herself in his hands, the hands of a dashing Brit who she saw as her last hope. He appeared to be a man who had it all. She had not come across many like him and she knew that he possessed something different. He knew that she needed what he had. He had insisted, since first they met, that she do things his way. She had fought it and fought it hard. When she did, Mr. J would simply walk away until she had calmed herself. But he would always return, tell her how things were going to happen and wait for her to follow his orders. She wasn't sure that she could do it, be a follower, a "slut" (as he called her, his slut) but she had to try. Nothing else had worked, no other man had been able to hold her attention they way that he could.

Mr. J opened the knife, slowly. He ran the blade, softly against her hand, which was still inside her panties. He used the non-sharp side of the knife and made small designs on her skin, up and down her arm. 

"Do not stop doing what playing with your cunt, my slut," he instructed. She did as he said but she was worried, she had not signed up for bloodshed, after all. He reached over, sliding his hand into her panties, he twisted them around his fingers and pulled. He then took his knife and sliced the fabric away from her body, leaving her exposed, naked, her fingers at work in her sopping pussy. 

"My slut," he said again, slowly and very deliberately, "I want you to make yourself cum while I watch."

She continued to play with her clit, dipping her fingers again and again to keep herself lubricated. She was having a difficult time, staying focused on an orgasm when he was staring at her hand on her clit.

"Are you my slut?" He leaned over and whispered into her ear. "You want to be my slut, don't you? You want to turn yourself over to me, giving up complete control. "You want to feel like a dirty, little slut - one for my use, whenever, however, wherever I see fit. Now in my book, that would make you my slut."

He emphasized his point by tearing open her blouse, exposing her breasts, pulling on her nipples, pinching them, watching them grow harder. "You know that you want this. I would even venture that you need this, I mean, why else would a dirty little slut, like yourself, board a plane to London? You're not visiting the museums this week or going to Stonehenge...No, you will be spending your time being trained as my slut. Look at your nipples, they are so hard and erect, you cannot tell me you are not enjoying this, slutttttt." Mr. J brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them before reaching for her tits again, stretching her nipples, then twisting them - his saliva made them that much harder..."Oh, yes, my slut, you are enjoying this, aren't you? Don't deny it, you love this - being forced to do something you would never do in your normal life. But with someone else making you do it, you can become who you truly are, can't you?"

To P's horror, the more that he said the word, the more that he gave her instructions, expecting her to follow his lead, the more that he stared at her, learning her, watching her every move, the more that he took control, the more freedom she felt. Her finger was rubbing wildly, pressing against her clit, working it just the right way, gaining the perfect balance between friction and speed.

Her hips were involuntarily lifting off the seat but Mr. J pushed her hips down. "My slut must learn to satisfy herself wherever and whenever I tell her to do so, with my permission, of course. But she must not let anyone else know what she is doing to herself - she and I will be the only ones who will know by the glazed look in her eyes, the flush of her chest, the blood rushing to her lips and her cheeks. It will be our secret, but not if you begin writhing around the banquette at the restaurant. You must learn how to behave like a lady, in public, but a slut underneath. I am not so concerned with the lady part - I know that was pretty well beaten into you as a child, so now I must break some of those bad habits and allow your inner slut, My inner slut, to emerge."

"Cum." he said as he stared hard at her. "Cum now! You have my permission but only for thirty seconds more, then you must stop playing with your swollen, deliciously-wet pussy, and if you haven't cum, it might be days before I allow you to do this again."

"So, my pretty, sweet, slut - cum or forever hold your peace."

P was rubbing herself furiously, trying to keep her hips straight, trying not to look like her hand was buried deep in her pussy. She was desperate to release this energy. He looked up from her pussy and their eyes met. He held her gaze, counting down, 25 seconds to go....20....10...5, 4, 3, 2, 1. 

"Okay, my pretty little slut, time to drag those wet fingers of yours out of your pussy, lick them clean and pull down your dress, you look a mess." 

Just as he turned to start the car, to dismiss P, she came, she came so hard that she gushed onto his car seat and she knew that would not please him. It did not. 

He slapped her across the face, not hard enough to leave a mark - not a physical one anyway, but an emotional one was left behind.

"I am so sorry, sir, I didn't mean to make a mess in your car. That has never happened before."

He slowly moved his hand onto her neck, pressing her head against the window. He used his other hand to bring a finger to her lips. 

"Shhh, slut...don't you see? I am not angry about the seat of my fucking car, I told you to stop and you didn't listen to me, did you?"

She shook her head, looking down, ashamed. 

"When I tell you to stop what you are doing, what should you do? Obviously, you should stop, you slut! Don't you believe that I know what is best for you, to make you the best dirty whore that you can be, for me? Isn't this about me? It's not about you...if you derive some kind of pleasure from pleasing me, that is a byproduct, but do not think for one small second that I care about your pleasure." he raised his hand again to slap her, she thought and she braced herself, but instead he closed her blouse.

"Okay, get dressed, look presentable, we might run into someone I know," he said, dismissively. 

She could feel the tears well up in her eyes. Jesus, she'd been in England a whole half-hour and he had already spanked her, forced her to masturbate in public, cut off her panties and slapped her face. What could possibly be next? She didn't want to know. 

She looked around for her panties and saw a bit of the silky fabric poking out from his jacket side pocket. Lord god, he was beautiful, the perfect dark suit, the ideal tie, thin, perfectly knotted, and the starched shirt with his monogram on the left side, near his torso...yes, he was near perfect. She lowered the visor mirror and was not at all pleased with what she saw. There was mascara smudged under her eyes, she was flushed and there was a small red mark where his hand had hit her cheekbone. She opened her mouth, widening her jaw, moving it in a circle to evaluate any damage Mr. j might have done. 

He reached over and tenderly took her hand, bringing it to his lips, kissing it, gently sucking on her fingers. It was difficult for her to believe that this is the same man who struck her face only moments before. 

"Yes, my beautiful, novice slut, you and I are going to have a fine time together. I will train you to not disappoint me but if you do, there must be a price to pay, don't you agree? Otherwise, you'd repeat the same mistakes over and over." 

"In fact, I worry about the spankings. I know how much you enjoy them, how wet you get when you feel my hand against your ass, marking it, making your ass my own. What is a master to do? I have to train you and I will do it properly, methodically, otherwise, what is the point? But I sense you are not going to be very easy to break. You might require a little more creativity on my part, we might have to make this up a bit, as we go." 

There was a long pause. "Are you still interested in being my slut, being owned by me, having my marks of ownership on your body - somewhere which is mine and mine alone, are you?" 

Mr. J let go of her hand and ran his hand up her thigh, separating her legs, slipping a finger into her still-wet cunt. 

"Are you or are you not still interested in being my slut, P?"

He began to move his finger inside her and, again, her hips began to move, involuntarily. His fingers reached up to her clit, grasping it, pinching it. 

"Keep still, slut, no matter what. Unless I give you permission to move, to show your desire and your excitement, I need to know that you can keep your cool, that you can hide your passion until I tell you to release it. Understood? You are my slut to do with as I wish, anything else will be dealt with severely and swiftly."

"So, my slut, are we in full agreement? I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do, so this is your final opportunity for me to drive you right back to Heathrow and put you on a plane back to New York. You now know what the coming days might hold. If you agree to stay, knowing that this is what you need and want, the word 'no' will be null and void. It will mean absolutely nothing to me. If you cry, if you beg, if you scream, be aware that I will not hear you, I will only be focused on my own pleasure, what you can do for me - - how I can train you, how I can make you my own. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," P answered, admonishing herself as the words escaped her mouth. She must be truly desperate to find a man worthy of her if this was what she had resorted to. "I want nothing more than to wear your markings of ownership, to be yours, to turn myself over to you to make me the woman you want me to be, the woman you know that I can be...thank you, sir, I need you, please don't take me back to Heathrow, please. I am your slut. I am here to please you and to pleasure you and to service you in whatever way you see fit. Please keep me."

"Of course, my pet," he answered, again taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. He kissed it softly, running his tongue in small circles around her palm, tasting her juices. 

When they finally arrived at his home, he opened the car door, took her bag, held out his hand for her to take...but it was only seconds before crossing over the threshold of his home that P felt his hands around her waist. She could feel his excitement, the hardness of his cock, as he pushed himself against her bum.

"Be very sure, my slut, that once you cross through my door, there will be no turning back. I am going to place this collar around your neck, for now, merely for my own 'guiding' purposes. If you please me, wholly and completely give yourself to me, I will present you with the collar I believe you deserve. This one has a hook in the front," he says, as his hand reaches around to fit the collar, snugly, around her throat. "I will be better able to control you with it, to chain you, to put you on a leash, to push you, to pull you, to force your head into places which have been previously unknown to you. Understood? Nod yes or no."

She nodded, "Yes, sir, I understand, I am yours to train."

He walked around in front of her, carrying her bags and using his foot, he slid the front door open, put down her bags and stepped back out to "assist" her into the house.

English Submission Ch. 02



"I cannot breathe with this collar on," P complained as she made her way up the staircase. When she met Mr. J's eyes, she averted her own. He looked so angry and exhausted by her push and pull behavior that she thought they both needed some space from each other.

"Oh, for god's sake, my slut, the collar means nothing to me. Its purpose is to remind you that you belong to me, your master - each time you turn your head, look in the mirror, touch your face, it will be there to refresh your memory that you no longer belong to yourself, you belong to me. Consider it a token of my ownership. You now belong to me - all of you...your mind, your spirit, your pleasure, your holes." he punctuated this final statement by slipping his hand up her dress and sliding his unlubricated finger up her bum. 

P made every effort to escape. Mr. J was hurting her and while she longed to be submissive to his desires, she felt this was more punishment than was necessary.

"Still yourself, now," he said. She stopped her attempted climb up the stairs. She didn't know where the stairs led but it had to be preferable to having Mr. J's probing digit up her bum. 

"You are hurting me, sir," P confessed.

"Again, I ask you to still yourself, open yourself up to me. Relax and breathe," he instructed. He pushed her, face down, onto the stairs, positioning her body so that her ass was high in the air as she knelt on the stairs. With her torso and head on the upper stairs. his feet slowly pushed her knees apart and P could hear him suck on his finger, she hoped for lubrication. Her bar for what she wished had certainly been lowered since her arrival.

Mr. J untied P's hands and instructed her to reach back and spread the cheeks of her ass apart for him. She didn't think that she could be further humiliated but she was wrong, she was crossing into new territory with Mr. J. She felt like a nothing, like a cheap whore. Mr. J slid his finger into her, easily. The pain was excruciating and she gasped. 

"Be quiet and still until I am done." Mr. J knelt behind her and began to lick and suck at her swollen, very wet pussy. He removed his finger from her bum and inserted his thumb, further stretching her. The combination of pain and pleasure was almost more than she could take. Her face felt cool against the old, worn wooden steps, her knees ached from kneeling on the hard wood but oh, what he was doing to her pussy, she could scarcely believe. He was so talented and good at this, her every thought was on keeping his tongue in her cunt. 

She struggled to not move her hips, she tried to contain her emotions, in front of him, until granted permission. She stayed as still as she possibly could until he had derived the pleasure or the control he wished to gain by exciting her, sexually - through the pain in her arse and the desire in her pussy. After what felt like an eternity of keeping her sounds of excitement to herself, she could stand it no longer. She began to groan, to cry out, as his tongue made its way from her clit inside her wetness. She was beside herself, he was a master, indeed.

Her moans grew louder, her hips began to push against his mouth, his lips, his tongue and as she neared the orgasm from him that she had so longed for - for so long - he pulled himself away from her, slowly extracting his thumb. 

Her hips fell against the stairs, exhausted, humiliated, and tired. He was cruel and her only thought now was to get into a bed and go to sleep. Would he allow it? Would he allow her anything that she wished? 

Tears began to run down her cheeks, puddling on the floor but she dare not let him know it. 

"Get up the stairs, slut. You are in the first room on the right. Bathe, nap, do whatever it is you need to do," he instructed. "You have not yet earned the right to sleep in my room, in my bed."

She slowly raised herself to her feet and climbed the stairs, holding tight to the banister, her head held high, her shoulders back, her steps sure and steady. She wanted to at least give the appearance of not being broken.

As P entered the bedroom, her heart lifted when she saw that it was covered in white roses and lilies. He had remembered these were her favorites. This brought a smile to her face.

"Thank you, sir," she commented, reaching up to kiss his lips. He moved his face to the side just enough that her kiss barely landed on his cheek. He then turned around, without saying a word to her and shut the door behind him.

"I will see you in an hour, please do not keep me waiting. We have plans for the evening," he said, off-handedly through the thick wooden door.

Her eyes ached, her ass had been punished and she wanted nothing more than a bath and a nap. She ran the bath as hot as possible.

As she lowered her body into the water, the steam rose around her and she laid back in the tub. The water scalded the "marks" of ownership which Mr. J had left. The soap, lilac and lavender, felt silky on her skin. It relaxed her. She realized that this was the first time she had taken a deep breath in hours. She breathed deeply, in and out, slowly.

When the water was cold, P got out of the bath feeling each drop of water fall away from her body. As she wrapped the big white towel around her body, she caught a glimpse of her bottom in the mirror. She was horrified, it was covered in marks and welts, and much of those were turning black and blue - and purple! Jesus, he was an animal!

P laid on the bed, face-down, trying to avoid any further pain and the second her eyes closed, sleep overtook her. Blessed sleep! She needed this, a rest, a respite. 

She awakened with a start, reaching for the clock, quite sure that she had been asleep for much longer than an hour. She sat up in bed, wincing in pain as her bruises rubbed against the bedspread. She saw a tray on the table, with hot tea and toast. She was starving, true, but she wondered where Mr. J was and why her dinner was in her room and he was not. 

It was the middle of the night, according to her watch. Clearly, she had missed dinner. She felt foolish, unworldly, she knew better than to close her eyes when traveling overseas. One must stay awake until ten or eleven pm, in order to wake the next day feeling refreshed and on "away" time.

She climbed off the bed and heard a clanking noise, her ankle was attached to something, but she couldn't imagine what. There was a cuff around her ankle, wide and metal, like a handcuff only larger and lined, so as not to mark her skin...it was linked to a chain, a chain which was locked to the bedpost! 

"You cannot be serious!," she said out loud to no one. 

He was mad! Totally nuts! She tried to pull it off of the bedpost, to devise a way to escape. She determined it was just long enough for her to get into the loo, the tub, and around her bedroom but it would not allow her outside the room. Her hand went to her neck but her collar was gone. She had failed to earn even that and now she was chained to the bed. P felt sick to her stomach. None of this was good.

She searched for something, anything that would allow her freedom, a knife, a file, a key but there was nothing within her reach. Mr. J had been thorough, she had to give him that. She was not a slave, she would not put up with this crap. She would call the police and report him. They would want to know of this. Of course, her cellphone was gone as well. She was trapped. 

She drank some tea, ate the toast, feeling like Cinderella and with nothing else to do, she went back to bed. The anger was so great inside her, of course, that sleep completely eluded her. She was on some odd time, sleeping during the day, awake at night - a nocturnal creature. She opened the windows, thinking she might scream for help but then recalled that the house sat in the middle of nowhere in the countryside of England. There was nowhere to run, no one to hear.

There was only one book in the room, and it sat on her bedside table. P began reading the immense History of England.

While P enjoyed history, she was not sure that the book would be able to hold her attention, under the circumstances. She had written a paper about the Tudors, at some point in her illustrious career as a student. Some of it came back to her as she read about Henry VIII. What a selfish, mad wanker he was but as she read, she also began to understand more about submission, about loyalty, and about trusting. (Of course, this trust had cost a few women their heads and she liked hers right where it was, thank you very much but the concept was intriguing, nonetheless.) 

The inexplicable control each lady turned over to the men in their lives was remarkable to her. No questions asked, no pushing, no challenging...she began to understand and empathize with these women and the men who held their love close to their hearts. And they, in turn, treated the ladies like the queens that they were, in many cases. P started to see what difficult lives these men had, the decisions they had to make, the wars they fought, the tensions and the stress they were under. She understood how these alpha men could long for a woman who was there to please them, to support them, to be theirs, for pleasure, for care, for everything that they needed. A woman with whom they could let down their guard, no airs, no pretensions. These women were allowed to see a part of these men that no one else could. By being submissive, they were granted the keys to the kingdom.

It was all so simple and yet, P was not at all sure that it applied in today's world. After all, she had choices, she had rights, it wasn't 200 years ago, thankfully. 

P finally was able to fall asleep when she heard the birds chirping outside the window. She found herself dreaming of castles and gowns, ladies in waiting and one particular king. At 9am sharp, Mr. J came into her room, carrying another fresh pot of tea and some breakfast. 

"How did you sleep, dear slut?," he asked, completely ignoring the fact that he had chained and shackled her to the bed. P held up the chain and scoffed, "how do you think I slept?"

"We missed you at dinner but you chose to sleep instead of going out with me, despite the plans I had made. It was a pity, you missed a lovely, jovial evening. I didn't want you running away and possibly risk losing you to the woods, so I made sure you wouldn't scurry off while I was out. I am sure you understand...it was only out of my concern for you that I put you in 'lockdown.'"

He was mocking her and she knew it. She would not allow him to get under her skin. She smiled, warmly, and asked if he had the key so that she could leave her room, go outside for awhile, get some fresh air. 

"Noooo, not yet, I think it's best you stay home bound for a bit longer. That way I will know where you are at all times and you will be at my disposal, whenever I want to use you, I will know exactly where to find you. It's so simple, really, don't you agree, my slut?"

She lunged for him, causing him to pull away, quickly, just out of reach. She felt like an animal, a caged animal. He excused himself, politely, and shut the door behind him. P was furious, fuming. Mr. J was kookier than she had ever imagined. Shitfuck! How was she going to get out of this one?

She sat with her back against the door and began to weep. She had been such a fool to come here, what had gotten into her? This man was a fantasy, not a reality and he was proving it to her over and over. She deserved this, she supposed, for coming to England to see a man she hardly knew but she had to figure out a way to survive.

P moved to the table after a very long session of self-flagellation. She tried to enjoy her tea and her breakfast and she continued to read the book about England. She continued on her journey through British history. She couldn't help but be curious about these women and what made them tick. Did this type of loyalty and respect really make a relationship work? And if it did, how?

P didn't remember closing her eyes but she woke up to an inch under her chin. When she tried to scratch it, her hand couldn't reach her face...she was tied, spread-eagled, to the four posts of the bed. Mr. J was sitting over her, tickling her chin.

"I thought you might be a bit hungry, so I brought you something to eat," he said, smiling. In her face was his cock, literally, sitting on her cheek. P turned her head, quickly, to avoid having to do something she was not yet prepared to do. 

"Let's see what you've got, slut, and if I like it, I might let you go out with me tonight. With some constraints in place, of course but it might be that you just need to stay in and study. Study submission, study how to open your throat so that my cock can slide into it easily, effortlessly, study gratitude , and how to show me that you want to please me. That's an awful lot to learn, slut, so I think it's best to start at the very beginning."

"Open your mouth, very wide, for me." P forced her head to the side but Mr. J was undaunted. He took her chin in his left hand and with his right, he slapped her face. "Do as I say and don't make me tell you twice or there will be hell to pay. I am tired of your games, I am tired of your back and forth yo-yo attitude. You said you wanted into my life and now is your chance. Be assured that you will not be given another one."

"Now open your fucking mouth or get out." P opened her mouth and she willed her throat to open to accommodate his large cock. It felt as though he was shoving the entire shaft in before giving her a chance to adjust to the size of it. 

He grabbed her head, wrapping his fingers in her hair and began to force her face up and down on his cock. She was gagging and choking, tears were running down her cheeks. She was defenseless but he didn't seem to care, he was enjoying this, the control, this abuse. 

"Wider, slut, open your throat wider so that I can slide my cock all the way in, slowly, down your throat." With these words, he slowed down his movements, giving her a chance to think about what she needed to do to survive this. She tried to relax, to breathe deeply, through her nose but she was, in reality, terrified. He slapped her face again, on both cheeks, repeatedly, hard enough to shock her, her eyes opened wide with horror. He could not have moved more slowly, painfully slow. Each inch of his cock made its way down her throat. P would not have thought it possible but she did it, he did it, they did it.

He began to rock his hips back and forth, sliding in and out, and suddenly, P felt the wetness between her legs. It was apparent that she was pleasing him and this excited her. She didn't expect it, nor did she know why or how this had happened but it did and she felt grateful to her body for allowing her some pleasure. 



English Submission Ch. 03



P was growing very weary of being stuck in her room. While this might be the most memorable trip of her life, she was hardly having the time of her life. She had finally come to accept that she was, quite literally, trapped inside Mr. J's house. She was completely at his mercy and this was growing old very quickly. When Mr. J next entered her room, she tried to charm him. She hoped he might let down his guard enough that she could escape. At the very least, she thought she would be able to cajole him into unlocking the cuff around her ankle.

"I am bored out of my mind. You have certainly found the best possible way to torture me, death by boredom! Sir, could you please take me out just long enough to feel the sun on my face, please?" she cooed in a flirty way, hoping this might melt his cold heart, though she wasn't at all sure that he even had one. She was beginning to doubt, very much, that he did.

"Of course, my slut," (he watched her wince again, and came to the realization that she was still not truly prepared to receive his training), "I will take you outside and let you walk around the yard. You can enjoy the flowers, lie in the grass but you will have to stay chained up, of course. I can't have you running away, as I have said."

"No," P protested, using a very different voice than she had used previously. She felt like Sybil, with multiple personalities. He was making her crazy! "I will not leave your house wearing a chain around my ankle, like a common dog. Fuck you! Fuck you!" she screamed at him, as she threw herself upon the bed, like a child, angry and frustrated. He was breaking her down in a way she had never considered he might. "This is bullshit, you know that, don't you?" she demanded.

"Using that kind of language a) will get you nowhere with me and b) demeans only you. I know that your vocabulary is much more expansive than that, my slut. Raise the bar, please, at least when in my presence."

Mr. J grabbed P by the hips, pulled her towards him, face-down and she began to kick at him. He wrapped her legs around his hips, his cock was pressed against her bum. He rubbed himself against her heat and she felt him grow harder with each passing second. He lifted her skirt, ran his fingers along her ass, inside her lips, gently caressing. He then began to land blows onto her arse. She tried, with all her might, to escape his hands and his strength. 

P screamed, he was hurting her. Before there had been something erotic about the spankings. These felt different, more like she was being punished. She gave into the pain, for the first time, perhaps. She surrendered, she gave up.

Mr. J threw her legs back onto the bed when he felt her surrender to him. He left her body askew and confused and closed the door behind him. She buried her face in her pillow and cried herself to sleep, again. It seemed that was all she had done since she arrived. This was hardly turning out to be the romantic get-together she had envisioned.

When she awoke, she wondered what time it was but her clock was gone and her Cartier watch was missing from her wrist as well. She didn't know what day or what time it was. Mr. J was trying to make her lose her mind but it wouldn't be that easy. She was a survivor and much tougher than some Brit with nice looks. She wrapped the chain around her arm and walked into the bathroom with as much dignity as possible. She began to run another hot bath. 

P tried, in earnest, to remove the cuff from her ankle, using the soapy water and the metal spigot from the tub. She was overwhelmed with frustration and was determined to get out of Mr. J's prison. There was no use, the cuff was not coming off without half of her ankle coming off with it.

When she went back into her room, she found another tray of food awaiting her. There was fresh fruit, salad, bread and cheese, and of course, the requisite British pot of tea. She was grateful for the sustenance and she couldn't help but melt a bit when she saw the single white rose across the tray. 

She sat down to eat as she realized that she was absolutely famished but more than that, she was bored, bored out of her mind. She plucked the petals off the rose, one by one, reciting that old favorite, "he loves me, he loves me not." The last petal came off with "he loves me." "HA!," she said aloud, to no one.

P had finished the book detailing the history of England. She'd read all about the rulers, the mistresses, and the wives. She had to admit a certain fascination with the way the rulers' women bowed to their every wish, how they were completely subservient to their men. Of course, not pleasing these men could result in their losing their lives - along with their heads. She was interested in learning how these women were able to completely surrender to the men.

As she ate, she searched the room for something to do, something to read, anything to distract her. She'd never been this bored and this was true punishment for her, having no information to take in, nothing with which to write, nothing to read. That was when her eye saw that there was a new book on her bedside table. The history book was gone and there was a copy of Shakespeare's "The Taming of the Shrew." She laughed out loud when she saw this. Quite the message he was attempting to send her, she thought to herself. 

P had, of course, had read this before, seen it on stage and on the screen, but she'd never had an opportunity to read it with a specific man in mind. She quickly turned to Act Five, to Katherine's speech. The one she gives after being tamed. P remembered it well. 

"Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
Thy head, thy sovereign, one that cares for thee,
And for thy maintence commits his body
To painful labor both by sea and land,
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
Whilst though liest warm at home, secure and safe,
And craves no other tribute at thy hands
But love, fair looks, and true obedience-
Too little payment for so great a debt.
Such duty as the subject owes the prince,
Even such a woman oweth to her husband;
And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour,
And not obedient to his honest will,
What is she but a foul contending rebel
And graceless traitor to her loving lord?
I am ashamed that women are so simple
To offer war where they should kneel for peace,
Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway
When they are bound to serve, love, and obey."

Mr. J came in to find P asleep in the chair, the book opened on her lap. He smiled to himself, pleased that she finally seemed to be gaining some insight into what he desired. He knew, in his heart, that she was capable of submitting to him. He knew what she needed as well as what she wanted. They had gone round and round for well over a year. The push and pull of her desires. She tried to fight it, her need to be independent and strong driving against her greater need to turn herself over to a man, to please him, to be his and his alone. She wanted nothing more than to find a man to whom she could surrender. He knew this and understood it and her in a way he had not known another but she did not yet know, he feared, what it truly meant to surrender to him. He also knew that she was pushing him, pushing him away, pushing him to his maximum threshold to find out if he truly was the man she had been seeking.

When she opened her eyes, he was standing over her. She smiled when she saw his face, and he thought, for a moment, that she was finally ready to take the final step, for him and for them. He was winning this battle, she had to admit it to herself, she would do most anything, at this point to get out of here but she would not submit herself completely. She would act as if she had given into him, until she could escape. But she would not, could not, go along with what he wanted. As much as she understood that women did, during history, she was certainly not one of those women. 

"May I ask what time it is, sir?" she asked Mr. J?

"You most certainly may, my slut. It is half-past six - that would be p.m., just to be clear...would you care to dine with me tonight?" he asked.

"May I, sir?" she asked, grateful for the opportunity to have some company.

"Yes, I would very much enjoy your company. I am delighted. I will come by your room at eight," he smiled, leaning in to kiss her. She raised her lips to meet his, hungry for his tenderness, his passion. He kissed her forehead and closed the door behind him. A single tear ran down her cheek. She was miserable, unfucked, unloved, and trapped. Could it be any worse?

P dressed for dinner, eager to look her best for him, she took great care in picking out her clothes for the evening, applying her makeup...at 7.55, she examined herself in the mirror and was pleased. She sat on the edge of her bed and she waited. Eight pm came and went. Then 8.05, 8.15, 8.30...finally there was a knock on the door. She called, "come in," as she rearranged herself so that she looked perfect for him, but "he" wasn't at the door. Instead, a maid came into her room. 

"What? Where's Mr. J?" 

"Mr. J asked me to let you know that he cannot dine with you tonight, he sends his apologies."

"You cannot be serious!," P responded. "Are you fucking kidding me? I am being held prisoner here, did you know that? He has me chained to the bed. By the way, as long as you are here. May I ask you if I am just one of many? Does he do this regularly?" The maid stood motionless and emotionless. It was impossible to garner an answer from her expression. There was none. P continued, "How much would I need to pay you to set me free? I have money, I will pay you if you just let me go...please, please help me, please," P's head fell against the bed. She was frustrated beyond belief. 

"Have a good night, ma'am," the maid responded before shutting the door.

"Fuck me!!!!" P screamed after the closed door. "Will somebody please get me the hell out of here?"

She laid down on the bed, the chain wrapped around her legs, her body, and she stared up at the ceiling. When the bedroom door swung open, she didn't know how long it had been. Time was becoming somewhat irrelevant. The only thing that mattered to her now were the visits Mr. J made to her room. 

Mr. J stood in the doorway, wearing only his dress shirt and his boxer shorts, taking the cufflinks out of his cuffs. "I am sorry about dinner tonight, I understand you looked wonderful. Something came up and I couldn't miss it. I knew you would understand. Oh, my dear slut, look at you, you did understand. You simply made yourself comfortable until I could return, just as I suspected you would." He was so obviously trying to bait her but he was surprised by her answer.

"Yes, of course I understand. Your needs come before mine and if they change, I will accept whatever you choose to give me," P smiled sweetly at Mr. J. She was too tired to fight with him any longer. She felt like a prisoner of war, not of love. She was exhausted. He walked over to the bed, spread her out, widely. He took each limb and using velcro straps, attached her to the four bedposts. When she was in a spread-eagled position on the bed, he made his way around again, stretching her just a little more. He didn't want her to fight him and he wanted her holes, all of them, easily accessible to him.

He climbed on top of her, teasing her, pinching and pulling at her nipples, his hand slipped in between her legs and he found her dry. He had found that she was always wet, always ready for him and this was unexpected. He looked into her face and saw apathy. Her spirit was gone. Taking her life force, her sexual energy was not his goal, he wanted to create just the opposite.

He removed the restraints, one by one, slowly, rubbing her skin where the cuffs had marked her skin...he also removed the metal cuff from around her ankle. She heard the chain fall away but she didn't make a run for it. She didn't care anymore, she didn't care what he did to her, how miserable he made her, she would just live inside herself, with her thoughts. This part of her he could not reach, these would be her secrets. 

He pulled her, gently, off the bed and he held her hand as he led her through the hallway to his bedroom. He helped her to the chaise, in front of the fire, wrapping a pale blue cashmere throw around her shoulders. He went into the bathroom to run a hot bath for her. He lovingly removed her clothes and guided her into the tub. P soaked in it for a few moments before he began to wash her. He started with her hair, pouring water over her head, as she titled her head back. Next he soaped up his hands, cleaning her shoulders, her hands, her neck, her breasts. His soapy hands next found her clit and her pussy. He could feel her coming back to life again as she began to respond to his touch. She smiled at him, "thank you, sir, very much."

"I fear that I have taken this too far," he said. "I wanted you tamed, dear, not dead."

She laughed, for the first time since she had landed in England. He wrapped a towel around her, dried her body and pulled the covers up over her when she crawled into his bed. He laid down next to her, only he stayed on top of the covers, his arm draped around her shoulders and they both slept well through the night. 

When he awoke in the morning, she was gone. He couldn't believe it. She had seemed to acquiesce last night but part of what intrigued him so much about this woman, the reason he had flown her to England, after all, was her strenght. "Damn, I was such a fool to fall for that act," he thought to himself. "Dammit to hell, where is she?"

She was nowhere to be found in the house and his car was gone! She had actually stolen his car! Mr. J went out to the barn, took out the old jeep and tried to figure out where she might be. He used his cell to call the local police department telling them that his car had been "borrowed" and that he was concerned that the driver might not be well. He pretended to be concerned for her safety.

"Please just call me if you find her or my car," he asked. He had donated enough to the local police organization that they should all be out now searching for his car and for the woman who had taken it.

He drove around town, up and down the streets, wondering if she had made her way back to London already. She could be on a flight out of England by now.

His phone rang. "Mr. J, Officer Martin here, we have found your car and your American friend. I think you might be right. She doesn't seem well, in the least. She spouting all kinds of accusations about you and well, sir, we're not quite sure what to do with her. Do you want to press charges?"

"Do you have an empty cell? One that would be safe for her?," Mr. J asked, smiling to himself. He would show her, now, who was boss.

"Sure, we could put her in a cell by herself. How long do you want us to hold her? She's a feisty one, that's for sure."

"Yes, that she is and I might need your help in teaching her a lesson. I will be back in touch when I think she is ready to see me again," Mr. J answered. "And I promise to make it worth your while, Officer Martin." 

"Thank you, sir," the Officer responded but Mr. J had already hung up. 

This just beat all, P said to herself when she was escorted into a jail cell. A jail cell! How far was he willing to go?, she wondered. She went into it, head held high, shoulders back but telling anyone who would listen that Mr. J was nuts! Did they know that he locks women up in his house? Women he hardly knows? He woos them, promising them something entirely different from what he delivers! He chains them up in his house! For all they know, he is running some kind of slavery ring! Don't they want to look into this? When she came to the part about his not fucking her, however, she lost some of her credibility with the officers. After all, who would not have their way with this woman if given the chance, they laughed amongst themselves. Clearly she was a crazy American who had made her way to Mr. J's home. After this bit of information, the police turned a deaf ear to the nutty American in jail cell #4.

She begged for something to read, anything. She needed something to do. She realized that while he had fed her, he was starving her in the ways that she needed most - intellectually, emotionally and sexually. 

The night came and went and P acted as if she wasn't at all bothered to be in the jail. After all, at least here, she wasn't chained to a bed, waiting to be used by Mr. J. There were people to whom she could talk, things to distract her from her situation. 

Morning came and morning went. Afternoon came and afternoon went and again, another night and another morning. 

When Mr. J arrived, finally, to get her out of jail, he did so wearing his dark suit and a blue shirt, perfectly pressed, of course. He wore no tie but he did carry a briefcase. P jumped up when she saw him. She was thrilled that he was there. She was, if she admitted it to herself, beginning to worry that he wouldn't return. She had missed him and the few kindnesses he had shown her. P was even beginning to forget all of the horrible things that he had done to her. But most of all, she missed his hands touching her. She needed to feel his touch, to succumb to his desires. Oddly enough, that was where her joy stemmed from. 

Yes, she could finally see that she longed for his touch. She needed to taste him, to feel his lips on her mouth. She yearned to feel his mouth on her body, all over her body. 

Mr. J was brought to her cell by an officer. After her cell door was opened, Mr. J asked the officer to leave them alone, handing him some cash. Mr. J entered her cell, closed the door behind him, and grabbed her by the hair, dragging her over to the bed which sat in the corner. She was across his lap before she knew what was happening.

"Pull down your panties," he instructed. 

"I will not, not here," she pleaded.

He pulled out a pair of handcuffs, slapping them on her wrists, overtaking her with his strength. P was kicking and she began to scream for help but her panties were off her bum and in her mouth before she could fight it. 

Mr. J moved his head right next to her ear and whispered into her ear, angrily. "You are to shut up, to take your punishment like the slut that you are. You are, from here on in, to do what I say, without argument, without as a much as a whimper. You are not, I repeat, you are NOT to embarrass me in anyway. Do I make myself clear?"

P immediately felt foolish, she had pushed him past his limit, and she took the spanking she knew that she deserved.

After beating her bum, bright red, leaving his marks on her skin, he helped her to her feet. He ordered her to her knees and he placed his cock in front of her. "Now, take me into your mouth and pleasure me, the way that I have instructed you to do. You will do it quietly and without a fight. Understood?"

With her hands still cuffed behind her back, P opened her mouth, leaned into his crotch, and used her tongue to bring his semi-erect cock into her mouth. She sucked greedily, her excitement growing as he grew harder and harder. She reveled in the power she felt, his cock in her mouth, sucking and licking his balls. He lifted his cock, grabbed her head and pushed her face into his balls, "Suck them," he ordered. 

P did as told, she licked as creatively as possible - quick tongue thrusts, small pecks of her tongue, followed by long, flat strokes, running from his ass to the tip of his penis. She then encircled the head with her tongue, providing an abundance of saliva, she rammed her head against his cock, trying desperately to please him. 

As his excitement grew, he took her head in both of his hands and she shoved his cock as far down her throat as possible. "Now open your throat and swallow me," he directed her. She did as told and she found a new skill with his cock, in her mouth and down her throat. She "clicked" with him, she was able to read his desires, to satisfy him, even when she thought it wasn't physically possible. With him, she realized, nothing was impossible. 




English Submission Ch. 03



Mr. J was pumping himself into her face, harder and faster. She tried to take him silently but she was gagging and tears were running down her face, onto her neck, between her breasts. He held her face firmly into his crotch, using her face as a fucktoy but rather than fighting it, this time, she reveled in her power to please him.

His hips pushed against her, one last time, and she felt him climax, felt the cum run down her throat and she swallowed him, happily, pleased. He cried out, silently, arching his back, he thought he might be losing consciousness but he refocused his energy and kept his grasp on her head. She began to clean him up, as his cock withdrew from her mouth. She licked underneath his cock and around his balls. P ran her tongue again, from his ass to the tip of his cock. Her tongue caused him to shudder, over and over. She didn't want him to leave her mouth. She wanted to pleasure him as no one ever had before her. 

After putting his cock back in his boxers, zipping himself up and straightening his clothes, he walked behind P and unlocked her cuffs. He instructed her to stand and to follow him, without incident, out of the jail. 

P did exactly as he said. He held the car door open for her and shut it without looking at her. She had gone too far, but what had he expected? He had treated her like an animal after all!

He did not speak on the way back to his house and when they arrived, he opened the door but did not meet her eyes as he spoke to her.

"I don't care what you do, from this point forward. I will be happy to take you to the airport whenever you like. This has been a colossal failure and I think it best you go home." 

"Oh, sir, we've hardly treated each other as we should. After all, you caged me, chained me, and had me arrested. How have I disappointed you? I mean, I know full well the ways that you have disappointed me."

He dragged her into the house by her arm, causing her to almost fall on the path.

"Get your things together, I am taking you back to London tonight. It can't happen soon enough for me, do you understand? You claim that you want to submit, to be my slave and my queen but yet you refuse to actually give yourself to me."

As they crossed the threshold of his front door, he let go of her arm, pushing her up the stairs, and yelled, "Please, please, just get the hell out of my house and out of my life! I don't blame you, in the least. I tried to take you somewhere that you claimed you wanted to go. I have tried everything imaginable to make you see that this is a multi-dimensional relationship. It does not operate on one level. It is emotional and physical and intellectual. I want to own you, like I have wanted no other woman but you have won. You have won yourself out of what could have been a magical thing. The failure lies, however, as much with me as it does with you!" 

She heard the rocks under his tires as he sped out of the driveway. 

She began to pack her bags when the envelope caught her eye. She must not have seen it before, it was just under the bedskirt, "p" was written on the front of the ivory envelope, in his handwriting. Her hands were shaking as she opened it.

"My dearest slut,

When you arrived last night, I wanted nothing more than to take you into my arms, to hold you, to caress you and to make you mine but it became clear that you would need more than that. You deserve better. You are a woman who needs to be treated like a queen as well as my slut. 

I understand that about you, perhaps better than you do yourself. I hope that you will learn to submit to me in the way that I desire, in the way that you desire. There is a necklace in the bedside table drawer. You will know, when you see it, why it has such meaning to me. You will understand why this gift, unlike any other, will tell me that you want me the way that I want you when I see it around your neck.

When you feel that you are ready - and not a moment before, as I don't want to force you into something that isn't right for either of us - please take this necklace, put it on and let me treat you the way you long to be treated. 

I fear that others in your life, other men, have abused their privilege with you. They have not understood that you deserved to be cherished and worshipped - while being reminded, periodically, of your place. You need both sides of this coin, of that I am sure.

I will await your decision and I will know, when I see the necklace around your neck, that you desire what I desire.

With great hope and desire,

Mr. J"

She folded the letter and put it back into the envelope. She had been so foolish. She had acted like a spoilt child and that is exactly the way that he had treated her. She had set the stage for this disaster.

She had no one to blame but herself. If he never spoke to her again or touched her, she wouldn't blame him. He deserved better and she intended to demonstrate that to him. 

Now she just needed a plan.

To be continued...