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.