English Submission

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.