Submission Ch. 02

A brief interlude where our protagonist realises just how much impact his experiences in the previous chapter have had on his ability to be satisfied.

NB: Contains watersports.

I drove home with my mind so fogged by shock that I found myself frowning and squinting to concentrate on the road beyond the rain spattered windscreen. I felt cold and clammy as the sweat dried beneath my clothes and my backside smarted from contact with the leather seat after the punishment I had received earlier that evening. I felt invaded and violated... and I liked it.

I pulled into my driveway with a roar of acceleration and cut the engine. Stepping into the wooden floored reception area of my house, I removed my clothes, not bothering to wait until I reached the bathroom. By my door hangs a long floor-length mirror and, as I slipped my shorts over my thighs, I turned to regard my naked form in its surface.

I was pink with flushed blood to my cheeks and there still hung the sheen of sweat which had yet to dry on my chest and lower back. As I turned, keeping my eyes fixed on the mirror, I noticed the slowly fading redness of my arse cheeks where I had been spanked and felt arousal returning, my cock firming in memory of my dream-like experience.

I liked being naked in that moment, discarding the trappings of my so-called civilised life to return to a primal and vulnerable state, naked as a babe, my cock standing proud and true, sticking out in front me as a signal of my intentions.

I ran my hand over my chest and down my body. I am not a muscled hunk, obsessed with the masochistic and vain world of 'feeling the burn'. Nevertheless, I do not have a pot-belly to reveal a life of indulgence and I like to think my body is an acceptable specimen in a land of plenty and gastronomic temptation. My hand slipped down over my abdomen and into my crotch, my fingers running over my trimmed pubic hair and around my firm penis.

Understand that this was no exercise is vanity; I do not love myself. Who could when one is thirty-five and terribly alone? Rather, I suppose it was some pathetic, unconscious effort to remind my body of that experience with Mistress Scarlett which, although only a short time before, was becoming more hazy and ethereal by the second. I could feel the reality of that sordid experience slipping from my conscious memory as my mind sought to rationalise such an unearthly encounter with the cold, raining world I had re-entered after leaving her dungeon.

My finger tips caressed and then massaged my balls, trying to recapture the roughness with which I had been handled. But it was all ultimately pointless. A desperate groping hand on one's own member is a poor substitute for the goddess of my desire.

I sighed and left myself alone. I walked over the stairs and ascended to the first floor, headed for the bathroom.

My shower was long and hot, the steam fogging the room by the time I was finished holding my head beneath the large shower head and sitting under its warmth, deep in silent contemplation with my consciousness slowly returning to reality.

Afterwards, I shrugged on a white robe and fixed myself a whisky from the cabinet in my study. The three ice cubes tinkled against the crystal of the tumbler in my hand as I reclined in the cool red leather of my reading chair. A video screen on a side wall showing a fire cast flickering yellow light across my features and the multitude of book shelves behind me as in-built heaters brought instant warmth to my private hell.

I took a deep sip of the fiery drink and held my breath as it warmed my insides. Exhaling loudly, I used a remote to switch the television on. From the digital menu I selected a favourite film from my trove of captured passion.

The screen darkened before the film began; it had been paused before in the midst of an intensely hardcore scene. It had been one of my favourites because, unlike most filmed pornography, the participants did not seem like they were acting. There were no laborious preambles, no contrived narratives poorly realised as a result of small budgets and poor acting, just sordid costumes that hinted as to the depravity of their individual perversions and sexual collision from the off.

For that was what it was: collision, not mere contact. Their physical forms contorted and collided in a way which fused them on an animalistic level as they indulged in their primal fantasies for the benefit of perverts like myself.

It was all in German and, despite the library behind me, I have no education in this respect to decode their infrequent words. But none was really needed. The moans of the women and the grunts of the men spoke a universal language of lust for which I need no dictionary.

A girl with black hair tied in pigtails knelt upon a black studio floor. Her large breasts hung free from beneath a pink t-shirt pulled up to her shoulders. Her white skater skirt was hitched up around her waist to reveal her pink shaven pussy which was being roughly fondled and invaded by the fingers of a masked man. In her mouth was thrust the cock of another man who grunted like a beast as he pushed the tip of his member to the very back of her throat, her tongue licking his balls ravenously as he did so. From time to time the face-fucker withdrew his cock and spat in the mouth of his victim who gaped her lips wide to receive.

My cock grew hard once more at this sight and slipped out from the folds of the thick cotton robe expectantly. I obliged it, placing the whisky down on a side table to free up my right hand in order to stroke its length.

The groping man had now moved on to squatting behind the girl, placing his hands either side of her waist and pulling her spread arse towards his crotch. He easily slid his enormous cock up the girl's arse and she screamed around the dick in her mouth as he began to furiously fuck her from behind. The force of his exertions pushed her head forward and back on the cock before her and he took hold of her long pigtails to maintain control. She began to choke and splutter as the cock rammed in and out of her throat, long strings of saliva running from her chin.

I clasped my length and began to masturbate as I watched the squalid scene unfold before my eyes. I felt the tingle of pleasure emanate from my balls and spread but there was something different this time, something artificial.

The face-fucker at last withdrew his cock from the girl's throat and held it before her eager mouth as the masked giant continued to pound her from behind, grunting like a bear. She licked her wet lips and giggled as the man before her began to piss in her mouth. It pooled in her mouth and overflowed to run down her chin and onto the floor below.

The pissing man redirected his spray onto her face and hair, drenching her in his water so that her pretty face shone with his abuse. She laughed and returned to sucking his cock whilst he still relieved himself inside her mouth.

The feeling was going from my erection. I frowned as I felt it becoming increasingly flaccid in my palm.

The butt-fucking giant finally withdrew his cock and, with a long yell, sprayed his cum all over the back of the pigtailed girl who began to frig herself, her fingers wet with pee.

I gave up. I sighed and flicked the television back to the home menu. What was up with me? The film had never failed to maintain my arousal before. Was I just completely spent for once? Surely, that wasn't possible; it had never happened before.

I took a long sip of whiskey and covered my exposed crotch, now pathetic and shamefully useless. Taking the remote in my other hand I brought up the internet browser on the screen. Clicking on the favourites I brought up the homepage of Mistress Scarlett I had seen so often those last few weeks.

The loading bar filled and there she was: a professionally shot photograph of my abuser clad in a latex catsuit, her breasts visibly firm and round through the keyhole cut into her top. Light shone from every oily curve and the red and black whip in her hand promised expert humiliation.

I don't know how long I gazed into her blue eyes, so full of power and promise, but I realised that she had changed me irrevocably. No longer would any of these distractions satisfy me, even temporarily. I knew then that the only thing I could live for, the only thing that would release me, would be her hands and her mouth and her pussy.

I downed the last of my whisky and clicked onto the appointments page.