Scarlett Ch2: Learning to Submit

The table in the private dining room was sparkling: crystal glasses, polished silverware, elegant crockery. I sit, transfixed by the main opposite. His perfectly tailored blue suit is cut around his body, his shirt crisp white against his tanned skin. He seems completely at home in this high class establishment, but at the same time there is something wild about him, and the image leaps to mind of a caged tiger, prowling behind the bars of a cage. He is comfortable here, but at the same time he longs to be unleashed, wild, free. It makes me shiver with a potent combination of fear and excitement.

Hayley, our waitress, brings our first course. He has ordered for both of us, of course. She lays a plate before me bearing a small salad, topped with what looks like a quail's egg. He has scallops. As Hayley lays the plate next to him, he runs his hand up her leg, cupping her ass, and she smiles at him before walking away, the swing of her hips a little more pronounced after his attention. I watch, wide eyed, as his gaze follows her out of the room, a flare of jealousy in my mind. His eyes flick back to mine and I can tell, from the half smile on his lips, that he knows exactly what he is doing. That this is all to show that I am his, but he is not mine. That this arrangement is not equal. That he owns me, but I have no claim to him whatsoever.

He picks up his cutlery, and takes a bite of his starter. I watch him, wide-eyed in awe at this man, so in control of himself, so self-assured, so confident. I pick up my own cutlery, and move to begin my starter, but his eyes narrow, and I freeze instantly.

"Oh, Scarlett," he says, disappointment dripping from his voice. I am petrified. It's clear I've done something wrong, but what? I look down at my fork, a salad leaf impaled on the prongs, and feel exactly like that leaf, stuck through with the spears shooting from his eyes.

"Sir?" I ask, in trepidation.

"Scarlett, I thought you were intelligent? With your university degree, and your way with words. I thought I had made myself clear. I am in charge. You do as I say."

"Yes, Sir," I respond, still puzzled. A pause lengthens, and we are frozen at the table while he waits for me to realise. I look down at my fork again, my error slowly dawning on me.

"Did I say you could eat?" he says, slowly, as though speaking to a small child.

"No, Sir," I reply, my voice barely a croak, as I lower my fork to my plate. He stares at me, his gaze burrowing into my very soul. I can feel a flush of humiliation rising up my body, the heat flaming along my neck and up into my cheeks. I can feel a tear pricking at the corner of my eye. Oh, the power he has over me is overwhelming.

He clears his throat, the smallest of noises, but Hayley reappears at once by his side. A whispered instruction, and she moves around to my side of the table. Gently, but firmly, she grips my wrists and bends my hands behind my back. I don't - I can't - resist, as she clips a pair of handcuffs around my wrists and secures them firmly. Then she steps around to the front, picks up my plate, and slowly, deliberately, empties my food all over the carpeted floor. She replaces the plate on the table, smiling sweetly at me, then turns and leaves.

I look at you in astonishment. Your eyes remain fixed on me, a half smile playing on your lips. "Eat up," you say. "Don't leave a morsel behind. And let's not leave any mess. The staff here work very hard. We don't want to make any extra work for them." And you return to your food.

I look at the salad leaves scattered on the carpet. The quail's egg has landed upside down, and I can see the soft yellow yolk oozing out into the rich plush of the rug. I look up at you, but you are intent on your food. I look down again, and my insides tighten and throb at this new humiliation, this new lesson I must learn.

Awkwardly, I manoeuvre myself off the chair and down onto my knees. My hands are cuffed tightly behind me, so I am unable to support my body weight as I lean myself forward, so I topple inelegantly forward until my face is pressed against the carpet. I shuffle forward and grip the first salad leaf in my lips, pulling it towards me and chewing it as much as I can before swallowing it down. There are a couple of carpet fibres stuck to the dressing, something that feels like a hair, but I stick to my task. I shuffle around like a pig rooting for truffles, chewing my food off the floor. Some dressing has splashed onto the carpet, and I do my best to lick it up, feeling the fibres rub against my tongue.

Last is the quail's egg. I scoop it up into my mouth with my lips, chew and swallow. It's still slightly warm, and delicious, despite being eaten off the floor. The yolk has run into the carpet, but I know that I have to earn your favour back again, so I apply my tongue to the task, licking each individual fibre, gagging a little as I pick up small hairs or crumbs or detritus from the carpet. I sit back a little to review my work. It's not perfect, but it's the best I can do. I look up from my position on the floor at you.

You are looking down at me, your smile still in place. "What do you learn from this, Scarlett?"

"That I must ask permission to eat, Sir," I say.

"Good girl," you say. "That's right. It must have been thirsty work, eating your food off the floor like a fucking pig," you say, your tender tone contrasting with the harshness of your language. "Would you like a drink, piggy?"

I feel a lump in my throat to be demeaned like this, but I nod. "Y-yes, Sir. Yes please, Sir."

"Good girl," you say. "Open wide."

And then you are standing over me, unzipping your fly, and your cock appears in front of me. My brain is sluggish, overwhelmed by what is happening to me, and I don't realise what is about to happen until it's almost too late.

"Drink it all down, bitch," you say. "You will pay for any spillages."

And then the stream of piss begins. I open my mouth just in time, and the hot, yellow liquid hits my tongue. It tastes bitter, acrid, strong, and I can feel myself start to panic inside. The rational part of my brain is telling me to focus, to swallow, not to spill a drop, but the instinctive part is screaming at me to spit it out, that it's piss, it's wrong, it's disgusting, make it stop...

I swallow, and feel the splash on my momentarily closed lips, a stream running down my chin and soaking the front of my dress. I snap my mouth open again, letting it fill up before gulping down the second mouthful as quickly as possible, keeping my mouth closed for as little time as I can. You're laughing, and I can see that you're controlling your stream, keeping me going but not letting me recover, so that piss runs down my chest and the urine stain spreads across the front of my dress. The third and fourth mouthfuls go down, and I can feel my stomach churning as your stream diminishes and, finally, stops. I gulp down the fifth mouthful.

"Clean me off," you say, dismissively.

I lean forward towards your cock, the god of my idolatry, and gently kiss the last droplets of piss off the tip, before taking the head into my mouth and gently licking all around it. I feel it start to swell, the rush of blood into the shaft, and close my eyes. Yes, I think to myself, yes. This is what I was born to do. To bring pleasure to his magnificent cock...

The slap takes me completely by surprise. You hit me with an open palm right in the cheek, knocking me to the floor, the sting spreading across my face. I'm too shocked even to cry out, and I look up at you in amazement.

"I said clean me off, bitch," you say, tucking your cock away and zipping up your fly. "Don't get above yourself. You have to earn that." You take a deep breath, looking around the dining room. "Look at you. You're in a fucking disgraceful state. I can't bear to look at your piss-stained dress. I think we've had enough to eat. Let's get back to our room. Get up. I'll let you walk this time."

My cheeks are aflame with the after-effects of his slap, and the burning humiliation of his words. Our first date, and I've ruined it with my ignorance and stupidity. I've sacrificed everything to be here, and I'm nothing but a disappointment. The shame prickles over every part of my body, right across my scalp and down my spine, exacerbated by the awkward struggle to get myself back into a standing position with my hands cuffed behind my back. You stand waiting, impatiently, your foot tapping, as I struggle to my knees and up onto my unsteady feet. You clip the leash back on, and lead me from the room.

Outside the door, Hayley is waiting. She looks me up and down, a wide smile spreading across her face as she takes in my reddened cheek, the soaked front of my dress, and the lipstick now smeared off my mouth from scrabbling for my food on the floor. I hang my head in shame, looking only at the floor, as you lead me across the lobby to the elevator. You tug on the leash to bring me closer, and whisper so only I can hear.

"You know what everyone is thinking, don't you? They're thinking, 'look at that whore, collared and leashed, in that slutty dress.' They're thinking, 'he's going to fuck her so hard she won't be able to walk.' They're thinking, 'God, has she no self-respect?' And you know what, Scarlett? This is only the beginning."

My breath is coming in shallow gasp as the elevator bell pings. You tug my leash and pull me into the elevator, turning and pressing my body against yours. I feel the hard muscle of your chest and arms, the swell of your cock in your trousers, your leg pressing between mine. Instinctively, I start to grind my hungry pussy against your thigh, craving the stimulation as every part of me hums with arousal. As the doors slide closed you push me back, pressing me against the wall, and your hand snakes through the slit in my dress, pressing between my legs, two...no, three fingers pushing up inside me with a humiliating squelching sound.

Roughly, you start to finger-fuck me, pushing your fingers up inside me and out again, your thumb rubbing my clit as you do so. I lean back against the mirrored wall of the elevator. It's been weeks and weeks since I've been allowed to touch myself, and all I can focus on is the overwhelming, all-consuming stimulation you are giving me. Pinpricks of light dance in my vision as I pant and gasp for air. Somewhere through the rushing of blood in my ears I hear your voice, calling me what I am...slut...whore...cunt...desperate bitch...slave...a needy set of holes...I begin to tremble, my legs involuntarily shaking, my shoulders heaving, as my body responds to your authority.

And then, just like that, everything stops. You move silently to the other side of the elevator and watch me. I look up, and see myself reflected in the mirrored wall, desperation written across my face, my chest heaving, my body still trembling. I can feel my pussy walls clenching, looking for the fingers that had been inside me a moment ago and finding...nothing. I can feel my clit throbbing, desperate for touch. I was close...so close...and of course, you knew that.

You look down at your fingers. My eyes follow yours, and I see my juices coating your hand, forming a slimy web between your fingertips. A small moan emerges from my mouth, completely involuntarily. You step back towards me and hold your fingers out.

"Clean me," you command.

Hungrily I suckle on your fingers, my tongue working its way between them, savouring the taste of my frustrated arousal. You look at me with something close to disgust as the sounds of my sucking and licking fill the elevator. You lean close, your other hand, still gripping my leash, running over my shoulder and to the back of my neck, where the dress is fastened.

"Time to lose this," you say, as your fingers deftly undo the fastening and you step back. The dress slips down my body and pools at my feet. I stand before you, completely naked and exposed, my hands still cuffed behind me, as the elevator slows and stops. The doors open. You pull on my leash. I step forward, leaving the dress behind. "Leave the shoes," you say. I step out of them and into the corridor. The doors slide closed, and I am left barefoot and naked in the hotel hallway, with only a collar and a leash, padding meekly behind you as you lead me towards my fate.