She Comes To Submit (1\2) (m/f, cons, heavy bdsm)


This story is intended for the amusement of adults.  Be warned: It contains
VERY rough sexual behavior, though entirely consensual.


                         She Comes to Submit

                                  by

                                 J.P.

                              (Part One)




The Call



     The game always started the same way.  She'd be at work,
maybe, or at home.  It didn't matter.  Perhaps it would be a
phone call, sometimes a package from a messenger.  It was almost
always after she hadn't heard from him for weeks, and it was
always a surprise.  They both liked it that way...

     This time, it began when she was sitting at her desk one
fine Friday morning.  The phone buzzed.  The receptionist said
there was a call for her.  She picked it up.

     "Hello, Annie," he said.  It wasn't her name.  He'd picked
it out for her, and he was the only one who knew it.

     "Hello," she said, already feeling her heart beginning to
pound.

     "Write this down," he instructed her, and gave her an
address she wasn't familiar with.  "Come straight from work, no
stops.  Be there at six."

     The phone disconnected before she could reply.  He wasn't
interested in what she would say.  He never was.  She stared at
the paper for several minutes, feeling the delicious fear,
shocked at how he could make her sweat, even after two years.  Of
course, she was free to not respond, but that wasn't even an
issue.  Like an addict, she returned to him at his command, time
after time.

     The rest of the day passed with miserable, frustrating
slowness. She ate lunch, but couldn't remember having done so
even an hour later.  When she made the same foolish mistake for
the fifth time in an hour, she gave up.  Telling the office
manager that she wasn't feeling well, she left for the day.  For
three hours, she wandered the streets, stopping to stare into
shop windows, but seeing nothing.

     After their last weekend together, so long ago, he had told
her that the next time would be "different".  Time for a new
level, he had said mysteriously, time for something...harder.  At
the time, the thought of what he might mean had left her aroused
and desperate for his touch.  Now, just a few hours from finding
out what he would demand from her, every nerve in her body seemed
electric with new sensitivity.  She felt her lips tingle, felt
the thrust of her breasts and her already stiffened nipples
against the restraint of her bra.  Her knees felt weak already,
and when she walked, she was hyperaware of the occasional brush
of nylon-covered thighs against each other.  Hours from his
touch, her pussy twitched and dampened maddeningly.

     5:15 found her walking through the dark parking garage to
her car.  As she approached the driver's door, she paused, her
hand which held the key shaking.  She had no illusions about what
she was going toward.  Although she trusted him implicitly, and
knew he would always make her safety his first priority, she also
knew full well that he would never show her the slightest mercy,
or be in the least bit gentle.  Of course, she wouldn't have
wanted him to.  After all, what she so craved in their encounters
was that perculiar liberation which came from placing herself
willingly into the grip of a force, a will for which she had no
resistance, from which there would be no escape.

     As she slipped into the front seat and started the engine,
her arousal mixed with powerful, and perfectly reasonable, fear.
There was a sense of loosening deep in her bladder and bowels as
she slowly drove off to meet an uncertain fate.



The House


     Five minutes before six found her sitting in her car, the
engine still running, her heart pounding.  It was always this
way: She would arrive early, then debate with herself as to
whether to walk the final steps which would bring her to him, to
the fate he had in mind for her.  Silly, she thought, as if
there's really any chance I won't go!

     She looked out of the window, away from the street.  The
house loomed before her, partially hidden behind the trees and
shrubs which lined the fence.  Beyond the wrought iron gate and
up the flagstone path, she could make out the imposing stone
walls and many-peaked roof.  The house scared her.  It was so
unlike any setting he'd ever come up with.  There was a gothic
atmosphere about the place which conjured up images of dark
passageways and hidden rooms full of unknown (and unknowable)
dangers.  She wondered how he'd managed to get the place.
Perhaps he'd arrainged to use the home of a friend, perhaps he'd
rented the house, hell, perhaps he even owned it, she would never
know.  No doubt about it, he was always full of surprises.  LOTS
of surprises!

     Realizing suddenly that she'd forgotten the time, she tore
her eyes away from the house and looked at her watch.  She cursed
silently as she saw the time: 6:02.  Hurrying out to lock the
car, she prayed his watch was slow.  If not, she knew, she'd be
in for more, much, much more.  She raced through the gate and up
the path as quickly as her skirt and dress shoes would allow, her
heels clicking in the gathering dusk.

     A massive brass knocker hung on the heavy wooden door.  She
reached for it, but the door was flung open before she could
knock.  She stepped back, startled.  He stood before her, his
large frame filling the doorway.  He was dressed in deep gray
trousers and jacket, over a heavy black turtleneck.  As she had
every time she come to him, she was immediately struck by how
small, how helpless she felt in his presence, even though she was
tall, for a woman.

     "You're late," he said flatly.  His face had taken on a
dark, brooding, even angry countenance.  "There will be a price
to pay for that, later.  Do you understand?"

     "Yes," she whispered.  "I do."  She found herself unable to
meet his gaze, and kept her eyes lowered.

     "Be sure you understand and accept," he said, his voice
thickening.  "Entering this door will be your last act of free
will.  Once this door closes behind you, you will have no
choices.  You will do what I demand of you, accept what I impose
on you.  If you resist...you know from experience that I am
perfectly capable of making you comply.  There will be no
discussion, and no reprieve."

     He paused to study her face.  She felt his eyes explore her
body.

     "Do you understand what I've said?" he said.

     Taking a deep breath, she stared past him down the darkened
hall.

     "Yes," she said finally. "I understand."

     "I hope you do," he said softly, and stepped back from the
door. "Make your choice."

     There was no choice really.  She knew it, and so did he.
For a moment, she struggled to get her trembling legs to accept
the truth, then straightened her back, and stepped past him into
the gloom.  The door slammed behind her, and the lock was thrown
into place.


Preparations


     She followed him down a darkened hall and through two large
dark rooms.  She was impressed by the sense of solidity of the
place, and by its elegance and distictively masculine grace.
Once the door had closed, a profound silence had surrounded them,
a silence she'd never truly experienced in her more modern urban
apartment, or even in his home in his upscale neighborhood.  The
thick rugs muffled their footsteps, and it seemed as if the walls
were absorbing the rustling of their passage.

     They went down another dark hall, then he led her into a
warmly lit sitting room.  Bookshelves, laden with heavy, leather
bound volumes, lined the walls, which were paneled in a rich,
deep mahogany.  The heavy velvet curtains admitted no light from
the outside.  A stone fireplace dominated one wall.

     Without looking at her, he settled into a padded leather
chair, and rather casually pointed to a spot on the rug to his
side.  She knew from experience what to do, and knelt at the
indicated place.  She spread her knees a little, straightened her
upper legs and back, and laced her fingers behind her neck.  Then
she waited, eyes straight ahead, body held rigidly upright, for
him to tell her what to do.

     He ignored her, not even glancing in her direction, so
confident was he of her obedience.  Picking up a remote control,
he switched on the television, and began to watch the news.  As
the minutes slowly passed, her knees began to ache and her back
cramp from her position on the floor, but she remained immobile,
picking a spot on the wall in front of her and concentrating on
staring at it.  She half expected that he would turn to her after
just a few minutes, as he had done in the past, but then reminded
herself that she could have no such expectation.  This time, he
had promised, everything would be different.

     The minutes passed so slowly.  The pain in her knees spread
steadily through her legs, cramping her thighs, calves and
buttocks.  So intense was the concentration required of her to
hold her position that she was only fleetingly aware of the
television droning on.  As her muscles approached exhaustion, she
began to perspire with the effort.  Moisture formed on her palms
and neck, beneath her mass of curly brown hair, on the small of
her back, and in her armpits.  A single drop crept ticklingly,
maddeningly over her bra and down the side of her ribcage,
finally absorbing into the silk of her blouse.  Her entire body
burned and cramped, but she remained still.  The time passed.

     Finally, it was over.  The news program ended, and he muted
the television and turned to her.

     "Out of the door and left down the hallway, you'll find a
bathroom.  The lights are already on.  Leave the door open.  I
may be in from time to time to see to it that you're doing as
you're instructed.  You'll find some envelopes on the counter.
Open the one marked 'one', and follow th instructions."  He
paused for a moment, studying her.  "Go now."

     Having dismissed her, he restored the television sound, and
turned from her.  She rose unsteadily to her feet, her legs
protesting the effort.

     The bathroom was ordinary, though well appointed.  There was
a large brass trunk open on the floor.  She glanced out of the
open door and into the dark hallway, apprehensive at the idea of
being so available, so open to interruption and observation while
in such a private place.  Shaking her head to clear such
thoughts, she turned to the counter and found the envelopes.  Her
hands trembled as she opened the first one, and read the note
inside.

          Leave the door open.  Do not delay - you only
          have twenty minutes to accomplish your instruc-
          tions without incurring further punishment.
          Open each successive envelope only after complete-
          ing the instructions in the one preceding it.

          You may not use the toilet.  If you have to go,
          too bad.  Immediately remove your clothing, and
          any jewelry you may be wearing.  No foreign objects
          are to remain on your body.  Place all of this, and
          your purse, in the brass trunk.  You'll find a pad-
          lock on the counter.  After you have locked the trunk,
          open envelope #2.

     She quickly unbuttoned her blouse and dropped it into the
trunk.  Her skirt, shoes, garter belt and hose followed.  For a
moment she hesitated before removing her bra, then took a deep
breath and dropped it into the trunk.  Her nipples were painfully
swollen already.  She shivered as she dropped her panties into
the trunk.  She was aware of the delightful tingling, dampening,
which had begun between her legs, and smiled at how easily he
could get her aroused with just a few words.  Her bracelets,
necklace and ring fell into the trunk.

     When she slid the lock home, sealing her things away from
herself, she shuddered involuntarily.  She looked again out into
the dark, feeling suddenly terribly vulnerable and exposed, even
though she'd been naked in front of him many times.  She knew she
had little time, so she pushed these feelings aside and opened
the second envelope.

          I want your hair in a pony tail.  You'll find a
          holder on the counter.  You'll also find a new
          razor and some creme.  See to it that your legs
          and armpits are properly shaved.  Any stray hair
          on your belly or chest should also be removed.
          When you're done, open the third envelope.

     Managing the razor was a bit difficult with her shaking
hands, but she drew warm water, soaped her legs and under her
arms, and complied with the instructions.  A few quick swipes of
the blade removed the stray hair between her breasts and the
single strand which grew between her navel and her pubic thatch.
Drying off, she opened the third envelope.

     She froze in shock at his words.

          Don't bother to put the razor away.  There is an
          electric clipper in the medicine cabinet.  I want
          you to trim off all of your pubic hair, then give
          yourself a good shave down there.  See to it that
          you're as hairless as the day you were born, or
          you'll be in for a "special" punishment, which I
          assure you you'll hate.  When you're done, open
          the fourth envelope.

     For a painfully long minute, she was completely paralyzed.
He had never demanded such a thing of her.  When she could move
again, she rolled the clipper in her fingers, afraid to begin.
There was something overwhelming about this, something she had
trouble identifying at first.  It was a different sort of
nakedness, a different degree of vulnerability that he was
demanding of her.  From the unfamiliar surroundings unto which
she'd been required to deliver herself, to his offhand, almost
disinterested treatment of her, to the written, impersonal
instructions she'd had to follow alone, the open bathroom door,
the personal belongings sealed away by her own hand, to this
final, intimate assault on her defenses, the entire experience
seemed clearly designed to tear down the last of her defenses, to
destroy, once and for all, any illusion she may have clung to
that this was still just a lovers' "game".

     The clippers screamed, unnaturally loud in the silent house.
She hesitated as she lowered the humming blades to her most
secret place.  So great was the racket that she knew he must
hear, and that he must be smiling to himself with great
satisfaction at the knowledge that she was so willing to comply
with any demand, however shaming it may be.  For an instant, she
instictively considered rebellion, but then comforted herself
with the reminder that she had relinquished choice upon entering,
and really had no choice in the matter.  She held her breath and
lowered the furiously buzzing clippers.

     It seemed to take forever.  She had never shaved herself
there before, and the process terrified her.  Finally, though,
she stood before the mirror, the delicate flesh surrounding her
tender lips tingling and burning a bit from the razor.  She was
shocked at what she saw.  Her pussy lips, which had always merely
peeked from behind their bushy shields, now seemed absurdly large
and protruding.  This impression was only further advanced by the
obvious signs of her increasing arousal, for along with the
tell-tale flush she always experienced just above her breasts,
her vaginal lips were becoming engorged and reddened.  Staring at
herself in the mirror, she realized that she had never felt so
utterly naked in her life.

     She suddenly remembered the time.  Having already been late
once today, she didn't dare disappoint him again.  The fourth
envelope contained the shortest note yet:

          Blue perfume bottle on the counter.  All the
          normal places, and your crotch, too.  Then
          the final envelope.

     She carefully perfumed herself as he liked: Her neck, her
wrists, a hint between her breasts, under her arms.  She used the
faint, subtle perfume sparingly.  He'd once told her he hated it
when women "stunk like whores".  She applied a whisper of scent
behind each knee.  Finally, she gingerly applied the perfume to
the freshly shaved pubic region.  Despite her great care in
shaving, the expensive liquid stung visciously as it absorbed
into the tender skin.  She winced, waiting for the pain to pass,
and was amazed to feel herself becoming even more aroused in
response to the burning sensation.  This is what he's made of me,
she thought, a silly whore who turns on for pain.  A bright blush
filled her cheeks at the thought.

     Sighing in resignation, she opened the final note.  She
smiled with relief at its contents.

          Behind the towels in the cupbord, there is a
          package.  Put on what's inside, then return
          to me immediately and resume your proper
          position.

     She greedily rooted behind the towels and found the slim,
beautifully wrapped parcel.  Carefully opening the seals and
unfolding the paper as to not tear it, she laid the contents out
and smiled.  There were only two items.  She picked up the tap
pants, which were made of soft creamy satin in a deep burgundy.
The smooth material caressed her thighs as she pulled them on.
When she moved, the wisp of fabric tickled the newly bare apex of
her thighs and the vulnerable tissue her shaving had revealed.
The second item was a lovely nightshirt, made of the same
material.  It felt cool and comforting on her shoulders.  The
shirt fell to mid-thigh, covering the little pants, and the
sleeves to her elbows.  In the front, the nightshirt closed with
four tiny satin ties, which began just above the swelling of her
breasts, and ended about three inches above her navel.

     She finished tying the four little bows, and studied herself
in the mirror one last time.  The color of the outfit perfectly
complimented her skin tone and brought out the fire in her deep
blue eyes.  The material clung to her skin slightly, following
the curves of her back and hips, accentuating her breasts.  Her
nipples, so stiff, displayed themselves proudly.  Each time she
moved, the brushing of the fabric against the tiny points only
served to insure that they would remain as hard as tacks.

     She smiled again, this time with some gratitude.  It was
obvious that he'd spared no expense in selecting these items for
her, and had given a great deal of thought to selecting styles
and color which would compliment her.  She was also comforted
that her would allow her to be covered.  She needed time to
adjust to her new, profound nakedness, and the outfit afforded
her at least the temporary illusion of protection, security, even
(she laughed to herself) modesty.

     She reminded herself that time would be short, if she hadn't
gone over her allotted twenty minutes already.  With a final
glance at herself in the mirror and an adjustment of a runaway
curl of hair, she padded down the hall, moving through the cool
darkness, her belly quivering at the thought of what she might be
hurrying toward.


The Meal


     When she had once again knelt before him, he studied her in
silence for a long time, his eyes dark under his furrowed brow.
The position she was required to maintain, back arched slightly,
breasts thrust forward, fingers laced behind her neck, caused the
bottom hem of her shirt to rise almost to her hips and flared the
lower part of the shirt, below the lowest bow.  Thus, her belly
was exposed in a pretty inverted "V".  She knew he would be
pleased to see her navel rising and falling with increasing
rapidity.

     It soon became apparent that he was far from pleased.

     "We seem to have a problem," he growled.  She felt a knot
form in her middle.  "Twice already tonight, you have failed to
follow my instructions.  First, you were late in arriving.  Now,
you've seen fit to ignore my instructions in the bath.  Do you
realize that you're over fifteen minutes late?"

     A faint cry escaped from her unbidden, and tears began to
well in her eyes.  Of course, he hadn't given her enough time,
but it was not her place to argue, to protest or try to reason.
She had failed her master, and that was all that mattered here.

     "Well," he said, "do you have anything to say?"

     "I'm...I'm sorry, master," she cried softly.  "I know I've
failed you.  Please..."  She fell silent, a tear slipping down
her cheek.

     "What do you think I should do about that?"

     "I deserve..." She struggled to control her breathing.  "I
deserve to be punished."

     He gave a short, harsh laugh.  "An understatement, if there
ever was one!"  She was suddenly terrified.  When he promised a
punishment, she knew, he never changed her mind.

     "Oh, you will most certainly be punished," he continued.
"And quite severely, at that.  It seems I need to make an effort
to remind you of your position here."

     The urge to throw herself at her feet was almost
overwhelming, as was the contrasting impulse to leap to her feet
and run from him.  Continuing to cry silently, she did neither,
instead focusing on maintaining perfect posture.  She hoped this
would demonstrate her willingness to obey.

     "Well, don't think I'm about to interrupt my plans this
evening to deal with this foolishness," he growled.  "When we're
done tonight, you won't sleep with me in the bed.  You'll sleep
where you deserve, in the basement in a cage.  You'll be severely
punished when I wake up tomorrow, then you'll spend the rest of
the day in corrective service.  Perhaps by tomorrow night, if
you've served...and suffered...well, I'll be prepared to forgive
this failure on your part.  Do you understand?"

     "Ye..yes, master, I understand," she sobbed.  She didn't
care anymore, as long as he forgave her, as long as he wouldn't
be angry with her anymore.  At that moment, she knew just how
completely she was his, his to do with as he pleased, and all by
her own choice.

     He delivered the coup de grace.  "It pains me to have to
deal with you this way, Annie, especially considering how much I
have planned for you this evening, but I suppose that's the way
it will have to be.  For what it's worth, I assure you..." he
paused to smile.  "This will hurt you far more than it does me!"
Holding herself rigidly straight on the floor, afraid to move a
muscle, she couldn't help the tears flowing down her face and the
occasional shudder which coursed through her body.

     "Well," he said lightly, ignoring her suffering, "enough of
this unpleasantness.  Time for dinner.  Stop that silliness and
come with me."  He rose and walked from the room without a single
further glance in her direction.  She struggled to her feet,
drying her tears as best she could.

     He led her to the opposite side of the sprawling house.
After they'd walked in silence through a maze of darkened rooms
and hallways, she followed him down three stone steps and into a
colorful casual dining area.  There was a small round table with
two chairs, a large brightly covered couch and a chair with a
matching ottoman.  The floor was covered in checkerboard tile.
Music softly played from speakers mounted near the ceiling.  She
found that the brightness of the room, after the oppressive gloom
of the main house, began to improve her mood.

     He settled into the couch, and picked up a newspaper waiting
there.  He gestured toward an open door on the opposite wall.

     "The kitchen is in there," he said, smiling warmly at her.
"You'll serve dinner here."  With that, he turned to the paper.

     The kitchen was well appointed, and designed for easy use.
She found that dinner was mostly already prepared, and busied
herself warming serving trays full of vegetables, potatoes and
pieces of beef.  She'd noticed the wine already open on the
table, but no glasses or other servings, so she quickly gathered
a service for two.  As she hurried to set the table, he paid her
no attention.  Back in the kitchen, she served two plates with
generous portions of food.  It struck her that she'd had only a
light lunch, and the smell of the food reminded her that she was
quite famished.

     Back in the dining room, she set the food on the table, and
poured two glasses of wine.  She instictively pulled out his
chair, then looked at him.

     "Would you like to eat now, master?" she asked.  He looked
at her and smiled again.

     "Yes, Annie, that will be fine."  He allowed her to hold his
chair for him as he sat at the table.

     "Wait," he said sharply, as she pulled her own chair out.
"What's all this?" he asked, gesturing at her place setting.

     "It's...I...," she stammered, confused.

     "I said you were serving, not eating," he said coldly.
"Now, take those things away, and clean that plate.  And when you
come back, bring the rest of the food and a jug of water.  I
don't want you scurrying around, distracting me while I eat."

     Cheeks burning with embarrassment, she pushed in her chair,
and cleared her place setting.  She quickly removed the things to
the kitchen and cleaned her untouched plate of food.  When she
returned with the serving tray and water, he had pushed his chair
back and was staring at her.

     "Put that down, and bring me that box over there."  Sitting
next to one end of the couch was a large wooden box she hadn't
noticed before.  She trembled as she hefted its wait and carried
it back to him.  Handing the box to him with shaking hands, she
quickly fell to her knees before him.  He placed the box on the
floor before her.

     "Open it," he ordered.  She hesitated for only a moment, the
lifted the lid.  Inside was a dark, tangled mass.  The familiar
smell of leather instantly assaulted her nose.  The knot which
had begun to release her middle returned abruptly.

     "Wrists," he said,and she offered her arms to him.  She
closed her eyes as the thick cuffs locked snugly to her wrists.
When she opened her eyes, he was gesturing for her to turn
around.  She obeyed silently, and the heavy leather was fixed
securely around each ankle.

     "Arms up," he said.  Arms held straight up, she felt a wide
belt slip beneath her shirt and around her waist.  He buckled it
at the front, pulling it tight.

     "Suck it in!" he barked in her ear.  She sucked her belly in
as far as she could, and the belt was instantly drawn painfully
tight.  "Again!" the order came, and she struggled to comply.
The buckle was locked, leaving her with relentless pressure
around her middle.  The waist of her tap pants felt suddenly
loose on her hips.  The pressure on her bladder made her begin to
feel as if she would need to pee.  Breathing was difficult, as
she was required to breath exclusively in her chest, impossible
as it was to expand her belly.  A faint rushing sound filled her
head.

     From behind, he lifted her chin, then fastened the wide
collar around her neck, clasping it in the front.  His hands
slowly caressed up her arms, then abruptly drew her arms down and
behind her back.  She felt the clips on her cuffs being attached,
trapping her wrists behind her back.  Now, she thought, her fear
swelling in earnest, it begins.

     "Turn around, Annie," he said.  She resumed her upright
position facing him.  He was rooting at the bottom of the box.
He drew up a length of chain, which he clipped to the ring at the
front of her collar.  Pressing on her shoulders, he had her sit
back on her heels.  He attached the other end of the chain to a
steel ring, which she hadn't noticed before, set in the floor
next to the table.  She was chained, prevented from rising, next
to his chair, like a pet of some kind.

     Having secured his slave, her master returned to his meal.
She waited patiently, thinking of herself as nothing more than a
trained dog, by his side.  As the long minutes slipped by, the
sounds of him eating and the smell of the food became enticing,
and her hunger grew.  Finally, she was embarrassed to hear her
stomach growl loudly.  He laughed at the sound, and even more
loudly at the bright red color on her cheeks when he turned to
her.

     "Are you hungry, little slave?" he laughed, wiping his
mouth.  She risked looking up to meet his eyes.

     "Oh, yes, master," she whispered.  His eyes were again warm
and loving.

     "Well, we can't have you starving, now, can we?"  She heard
him pick something up.  He put his hand in front of her face.  In
his fingers, he held a piece of beef, the sauce running down his
fingers.

     "Eat," he instructed, and she ate from his hand.  The
feeling of taking food from his fingers was indescribably
arousing, and made the morsel seem precious beyond price.  As a
sign of her delight and gratitude, she licked the running juices
from his hand.  Looking up for his approval, she saw him smile.

     Another morsel followed, potato this time.  She lapped it
from his hand.  There was another bite, then another, and then he
was holding a wine glass above her.

     "Drink," he ordered.  She tilted her head back, and the rich
liquid coursed over her tongue.  She swallowed quickly, and
another mouthful followed.  Swallowing again, she licked her
lips, doing her best to prevent any stray drops from wandering
down her chin and onto her shirt.

     He paused in feeding her.  She saw him shake his head.

     "This takes too much of my time," he said, suddenly
returning to his stern mood.  She heard him once again moving
items on the table, out of her sight.  The pleasure she'd been
feeling was again mixed with apprehension.

     "Here you go," he said.  Bending down, he placed a plastic
dog bowl on the floor before her.  In it, he'd smashed together
small portions of the dinner into a sort of mush.  She looked up
at him, eyes pleading for him to hand feed her instead, pleading
to be spared this indignity.  He showed no mercy.

     "Now, eat, little Annie," he growled.  "And see to it that
you clean the bowl completely.  I will snap when it's time for
you to drink.  Oh, and see to it that you don't make a mess.
Now, get to work."

     With that, he returned to his meal.  With a sob, she lowered
her head to the bowl.  To keep from losing her balance, she was
forced to spread her knees obscenely and thrust her bottom in the
air.  Lapping at the food, she was unable to keep from getting
the mush on her nose and chin.  Soon her entire lower face was
covered in the slick sauce, mixed with tiny bits of food.  She
sobbed a little as the pressure of her face caused the bowl to
slide away on the smooth tile.  She managed to bring it back with
her chin.

     From above, she heard a snap of fingers.  Facing up, she saw
him shake his head disapprovingly.  He held the wine bottle up.
She opened her mouth, and he poured the wine, far too much, past
her lips.  Choking, tears flowing, she forced the wine down.
Before she could properly catch her breath, he was demanding she
take another mouthful.  She abandoned herself, and became a
recepticle for him to fill as and when he pleased.

     By the time he'd finished eating, he'd made her drink well
over half the bottle of wine.  She was a little dizzy from the
alcohol, accented by the effort she'd been required to make in
order to ingest it.  The bowl lay empty on the floor.  The food
had covered her face and a little had even gotten into her hair.
Now she understood why he'd wanted her hair in a ponytail.  Had
she worn it down, the mess would've been much worse.  Her only
consolation was that she'd managed to keep the food and drink,
somehow, off of her beautiful clothes.  She shuddered to imagine
how he might have reacted had she stained them.

     She felt overwhelmed by what she'd taken in, given the
fierce constiction of her midsection by the belt which cut so
painfully deep.  Her body ached from the constant bending and the
belt pressing against her ribcage.  Her bladder felt intolerably
full, but she was too afraid to ask him for permission to relieve
herself.  She was covered in a fine layer of sweat.

     Looking up, she found him studying her.  There was no
pleasure in his eyes.  His eyes wandered from her soiled face to
the floor.  He pushed his chair back from the table.

     "You haven't cleaned your bowl, Annie," he said, wiping his
mouth with his napkin.  "And we won't even discuss the mess on
the floor.  Now, get to work and clean up after youself."

     She allowed herself a single, pitiful sob, and bent again in
the humiliating and awkward way required to keep her balance.
Her soft tongue lapped frantically at the bowl, cleaning first
the inside, then working its way around the rim.  She'd half
expected him to take mercy on her, but those illusions were
shattered now.  There was to be no reprieve for her from now on.
It was as he'd promised weeks ago: Tonight would mark the start
of something altogether new.

     Finally, she overcame her last resistance, threw the final
vestige of her pride to the wind, and began lapping at the bits
of food and splashes of sauce which had made it to the floor.
The effort jammed the awful belt deep into her belly, making her
grunt grotesquely, but it no longer mattered.  She had been
reduced to his animal, his property, before the first punishment,
the first strike of a whip.

     When she was done, she looked up.  He was drenching his
napkin in the jug of ice water.  She squeezed her eyes shut as
her grabbed her ponytail and twisted her head cruelly up.  He was
brutal in his scrubbing of her face, but when it was over, she
felt some relief at being free of the coating of food.

     He released her hair and stared at her.  She couldn't stop
shaking, or keep the tears from running from her eyes.

     "Well, that's done," he muttered.  In a louder, mocking
voice, he said, "I hope you enjoyed your dinner, Annie... little
slave."

     When she was silent, except for her sobs, he said, "Don't
you have something to say, little one?"

     She nodded slowly, looking to him with reddened eyes.  "Yes,
master," she sobbed.  "Thank you for a lovely meal."

     He released the chain from her collar.

     "That's better, slave.  It wouldn't do for you to forget
your manners."  He smiled warmly.  "I think it's time for a
little test of your training and obedience."  He paused.  She
waited for his orders.

     "Get up."


              End Part One of "She Comes to Submit"

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