English Submission Ch 01

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.