It Started on the Metro

Thursday morning

The next morning, I rolled over and groaned with pain. Holy shit, my cunt

hurt.

And why was it so damn bright? I sat up, sleepily rubbing my eyes, and had a moment of panic.

This isn't my room. This is

not

my bed. What the—oh. Right. Shit.

I looked down and, sure enough, my thighs were coated with dried cum and juices, the sheets covered in it. I laid back with a sigh.

Damn, that was a crazy night. I don't even think I remember everything that happened.

I sat up again and checked the room before relaxing back onto the cum-covered sheets.

And where is he?

I laid in bed for a minute, debating whether I wanted to get up and face life, or slide back between the covers. Before I could decide, he walked in, looking sexy as fuck with a Captain America t-shirt and worn jeans and a towel slung over his shoulder. "Well, good morning, beautiful."

What a perfect thing to say.

I didn't just beam—I glowed. He grinned and leaned in to kiss my forehead. "Are you excited for the day?"

I smiled back—it was impossible not to, with him so chipper. "I guess I am now, Sir."

"Good. Breakfast is ready. I don't know what you like, so you got the same food I eat. I forgot to ask, any food allergies we haven't discussed?"

I shook my head. "Just the ones you know about, Sir."

"Fantastic. Come eat." As he walked away, his voice drifted back: "And don't you dare shower or get dressed, slut."

Damn.

I wandered into the kitchen to find a big cushiony thing on the floor next to the dining room table and him plating some food onto a plate, and a smaller portion into a shallow bowl. A bowl of orange juice already sat next to the cushiony thing, and a glass of orange juice sat on the table.

Ah, shit.

I swallowed nervously. "You didn't tell me you had a dog, Sir."

"I don't." He turned, bowl in one hand and plate in the other. "Set the table; after last night, you know where things are. Only one setting." I obeyed, trying to focus past my pounding heart and trying not to think.

What will come, will come.

He sat down and smiled at me as I set a place for him, then hooked a finger through the ring to my collar. "You should know that you look beautiful in the morning." He pulled me down to kneel on top of the cushion and kissed the top of my head. "Your food is there, dig in." With no further ado, he did the same.

I stared skeptically at the food in my bowl—it looked like eggs, steak, and cheese, and it smelled delicious. I glanced up to see him watching me with an amused expression. He didn't say anything as our eyes met and I looked back down at the bowls. I tentatively bent down to lap at the orange juice, then pulled back as soon as my tongue touched the liquid, cheeks flaming.

This is humiliating.

I looked up to appeal to him, but his stern look changed my mind and I looked back down again.

Maybe it won't be so bad. But you'd think I'd at least get a straw.

I lapped at the juice again. It tasted good, but did nothing for my thirst. I lapped a bit more.

He does realize that dogs' tongues are built for this? Mine isn't.

Then I felt his fingers gently combing my hair. "That's a good girl; you'll figure it out."

Maybe this isn't so bad.

I lapped at the juice again.

As long as he expects me to finish this today.

I bent down further to slurp at the juice, but was pulled back up by my hair. "No slurping. You can lap it up like a good bitch."

Aaaaand wet. Dammit, I've only been awake for ten minutes!

As if he'd heard my thoughts, he chuckled. I looked up to glare at him, but when I saw his grin, I couldn't help but smile back.

I lapped up some more juice, splashing some on the tile floor in the process, but he didn't seem to mind, aside from a brief warning that I was cleaning the cushion if I got it messy. I nodded and turned my attention to the eggs. How could I eat it without looking... well, stupid? He was still watching me. "Sir, how d'you expect to finish your food if you keep staring at me?"

"Oh, at the rate you're going, I'm not too worried," he replied, eyes dancing.

Should've seen that answer coming.

I sighed and started eating.

We ate in silence, with his free hand occasionally playing with my hair or petting my skin. He finished first, of course, but sat there and let me take my time, smiling encouragingly and running his hands over my body.

I finally finished, licking the crumbs and the last drops of juice. "Very good girl," he praised, the pride evident in his voice. He drew me up to sit on his lap. "How did that feel?"

"It felt really awkward," I confessed. I expected a reprimand, but he simply nodded and let me continue. "I got orange juice everywhere, it took forever, and I feel like I have food all over my face. It was really weird."

He kissed my cheek. "You don't have food anywhere except the floor, little one. I'm very proud of you, good girl. That must have been hard after last night. I promise, it'll get easier. Normally, I'll have you lick up the food you got on the floor, but this was your first time and you did well."

"Is that how I'll always be eating? How come you have me eat like that? Do I have to lick off the floor? Won't that make you not want to kiss me? How come—"

He cut me off. "Relax, little one. We have all weekend. No, that is not how you'll always be eating, but it is how you will for most of this weekend and quite frequently afterwards, so I'd get used to it. I have you eat like that because I enjoy it and it reminds you of your place, pup. Yes, you'll have to lick off the floor, although I may give you one or two more meals to get used to eating like that. We'll see how much you spill and how generous I feel like being. I will always want to kiss you."

To prove his point, his fingers wrapped in my hair and guided my lips to his.

I could maybe get used to this.

Half an hour and a few new hickeys later, I washed dishes again while he worked on his laptop. Once everything was put away, I went to his office and stood there awkwardly. "What now?"

He looked up, his eyes showing obvious pride and lust as they roamed my naked body. "Stand up straighter." I hadn't realized I'd been slouching, but he was right. I let my shoulders fall back and tried not to think about how it made my tits pop out. It was clear that he noticed, though. The corners of his mouth quirked up as he nodded approval. "Good girl. Try to remember that." He looked at his laptop screen and sighed, then back at me. "As much as I'd love to play with you, I think you need time to process and I need to get some work done today. Do you have homework?"

"I

always

have homework."

"Then sit your naked little ass down here and do it."

I sat at his feet and wrote for class while he worked, occasionally playing with my hair or caressing my cheek. We were there a good while, long enough for my mind to wander. I saw that he was immersed in his work and, tilting my screen away a little bit, decided to take a quick Facebook break. I'd been scrolling news feed for only a few minutes before his fingers tightened in my hair.

"That doesn't look like homework, does it?"

I kept my voice casual as I tried to play it off. "Oh, I'm doing a study on the content people ow post on Facebook ow ow Sir ow stop ow," explanations turning to protests as he pulled me up by my hair.

His face was relaxed and friendly even as he tugged painfully on my scalp. "Is that right, slut?"

I responded, "uh huh," through gritted teeth.

I never did know when to quit.

He sighed and swung me over his lap, delivering two hard, fast blows.

"Ah! Fuck! Sir!"

He paused, his voice stern. "Count, slut."

"One! Two! AH three! Ouch four! Sir, please, I'm five! sorry, we've bee—six!—been working a while an—seven!—and eight! Nine! Ten! Ow, Sir, I'm sorry!"

He pulled me off and lowered me down, giving me time to get my knees under me before releasing me entirely. "What did I tell you to do?"

I studied the tile floor, as I felt his disappointed gaze. "Homework."

"Is Facebook homework?"

"No Sir."

"Did I give you permission to take a break? Did you ask?"

I looked up beseechingly. "I didn't know I had to!"

"Now you do. No Facebook until I say otherwise, understood?"

I silently looked back down and nodded. Without warning, he grabbed my chin and forced me to look up at him.

"I told you I'd break you, little one. Remember?" his eyes meeting both of mine in turn. "You can opt out at any time. You know the safeword, and you know that I won't keep you from walking away. But until you do, you are

mine

. Is that understood?"

I nodded and tried to pull away. Both hands grabbed my face in a vise grip and forced me to meet his gaze. "Yes Sir! Yes, I get it! No more Facebook!" He didn't speak or move. I huffed and tried to shove him away. When that didn't work, I tried to push his chair out from under him—anything to get away from those eyes. Neither attempt worked. "I just—ugh!" He still didn't speak or move, staring into me with the same intensity.

The minutes stretched out, each one feeling like an hour. My racing heart slowed and let my brain catch up. Once calmed down, I felt a vague sense of annoyance—at myself, not him—followed by an acute sense of shame. I cleared my throat and shifted my body, my cheeks flushing bright red, and he still didn't move or release me. I met his eyes and understood—at least, I think I did.

"You're going to break me, Sir?"

He nodded.

"Why?"

"You tell me."

He's not using any pet names this time. He must be serious.

"Er, I... um..." I floundered for a quick answer, then made myself slow down. He wasn't releasing me until I gave the right answer, so I might as well take the time to do so. I inhaled and exhaled, thinking about what had gone on in the past two weeks, how he had acted and how I'd responded, and vice versa. I finally came to a conclusion.

"You're breaking me because I can't serve you unless you do. You have to break through my old habits to get me where you want me to be." He nodded slightly, but his grip didn't change.

There must be more.

"Um... because I want to be broken, deep down?"

He raised an eyebrow.

Okay, maybe not. Or maybe not quite.

My thoughts turned to the night before, to what that complete and total submission had felt like. "Because I need to be broken to submit, and I need to submit to feel fulfilled as a person and as your sub. I've submitted before, but I've never done it this deeply. So you have to break through the things that keep me from doing it. Like procrastinating, because you want me to do good in school, but also because you're showing me that you control how I spend my time."

He nodded, his eyes softening, and his grip softened but didn't release completely.

He wants me to keep going.

"Which is really weird because I'm not used to having to ask permission, but at the same time... I don't know, it's nice to know that I have to give over total control. To know you'll accept nothing less. But it's hard. It's really hard, Sir."

The sternness evaporated and he nodded, his thumbs caressing my cheeks before he released me. "Good girl. It should be hard or you're not learning anything. Why do you think I had you eat at my feet today?"

"So I'd learn to do what you say?" His eyebrow twitched. "And... I dunno." I made myself think, my cheeks flushing all over again as I thought of how embarrassed I'd been to lap orange juice from a bowl. "Because you were making me forget my pride and everything I'd learned about how I should behave and just obey you. And because you were making me feel-" I felt stuck on the words. "Like, at your feet and stuff."

"Because I was making you feel what, good girl?"

Why does he make me say these things aloud?

But I knew why, so I took a deep breath. "You were making me feel my place, Sir. At your feet."

He ran his fingers through my hair, tucking errant tufts behind my ears. "Good, little one. I'm very proud of you." He looked down at his laptop and sighed. "I'm not getting much done either, to be honest—although more because of coworkers than procrastination." He stood and put his laptop aside, motioning me to my feet.

His arms wrapped around me, those big strong arms, enveloping me, drawing me close to Him for a hug I hadn't realized I so desperately needed until now. I clung to him, soaking in his strength, his assurance, his confidence in me that was so much greater than what little confidence I had in myself. I also soaked in his forgiveness for what I'd done wrong, his pride for what I'd done right, his lust, his affection, everything. The hug conveyed more than could have been said in an hour of conversation.

When he finally let me go, I was a bit dizzy, but much, much better emotionally. I smiled up at him, and he beamed back down. "That's such a good girl. You're doing very well, and things will only get better." He kissed me, one hand on the back of my neck and the other wrapped around me, my arms wrapped around his neck, eyes closed as our mouths explored each other. We weren't just kissing, we were breathing in the very essence of each other.

Our lips parted but our arms stayed wrapped around each other, and he planted another kiss on my forehead. "Good little toy. Didn't think getting groped on the subway would lead to this, did ya?"

I felt that spark of mischief my father always said made my eyes twinkle. "Oh, you know. You never know what'll come from those."

He chuckled and patted my bare ass. "All right, slut, I think it's time for a shower before I abuse you any further." He laughed as my smile turned to an excited grin. I

hated

going without showering, especially when I was messy. Like when I had dried cum—even dried cum from this sexy sonofabitch—on me.

He sent me off with instructions to throw towels in the dryer and a smack on the ass, then headed to the shower. I was just sorry that I wouldn't get to watch him strip. Maybe next time. I grinned as I threw two clean towels in the dryer and put it on the warming cycle. Then I walked back to where a very Dominant, rather handsome, somewhat sadistic man was waiting for me in the shower.