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.
