Earning Forgiveness Ch. 01byMechanicalAngel©
Emma and James stared at each other across the table. James lounged back in his chair, somehow managing to look smug and angry at the same time, and Emma was so shocked by what he'd said that she had actually stopped crying. James smirked at her. "You heard what I said. It's that or nothing." Emma was unable to speak, and he gave her a disappointed look as he got up to leave. "Well, you said you'd do anything; then again, you also said you'd never cheat on me, so I guess I shouldn't really take what you say at face value."
"Wait." Emma spoke urgently, trying to keep him from leaving. Her eyes began to water again. "I'll do it." James stopped and looked at her. His expression was impossible to read. Emma smiled faintly. "I bet you weren't expecting me to say yes, were you? I said I'd do anything to get you back, and I meant it."
James grinned and threw a bag unceremoniously on the table. "I expect you to be wearing nothing but what's in that when I open the door. 11am tomorrow. Be on time." He turned and left the café, leaving her to stare with trepidation at the canvas bag.
She had wished over and over that she had never been so stupid. How could she ever think that she wanted someone besides James? She loved him so much that she felt as though she'd die if she never got to kiss him again; never got to feel his skin beside hers; never got to run her hands through his soft, brown hair and see the warmth radiating from his sea-green eyes. And now he had given her an opportunity to prove that she really was sorry. She took a deep breath. It wouldn't be too bad, she told herself. One month obeying all his rules, being his sex slave, she could do that. She had to, if she wanted him back.
So now she was knocking at his front door dressed in nothing but stilettos, seam stockings, French knickers and a lacy bra, all black. She kept looking nervously about her for people who might see her in this revealing outfit, but luckily no-one was in sight. She knocked again, her nerves only worsened by the wait. Finally, the sound of footsteps approaching the door caused her to breathe a sigh of relief. And then the door opened to reveal William standing before her. "Excellent; the whore I ordered has arrived," he said with a mocking grin. Emma could do nothing but stare at him, horrified. What on earth was James' layabout housemate doing here? She thought frantically over her conversation with James the previous day, realising with dread that he hadn't once told her they would be alone during the coming month. She blushed scarlet and looked past him, hoping desperately that James would appear.
Sure enough, James soon came to the door, but he didn't look upset to see William happily drooling over the girl who would soon be his girlfriend again. "It's about time. Come on, get into the house." Emma was forced to walk close to William in order to enter the house, and she kept her eyes on the floor so she wouldn't have to look up at him. Her cheeks were still bright red, and she could feel his eyes on her pert bottom as he followed her into the open-plan living area. Once all three were in the room, James and William sat on the sofa leaving Emma standing in front of them. She awkwardly crossed her arms over her chest, feeling a little like a prize pig on show, or a prostitute in a whore-house line-up. "Uncross your arms," came the harsh order, and Emma did so, looking at James with surprised hurt in her eyes. He had never spoken to her like that before, even when she had told him she had cheated on him. "Don't look me in the eyes, bitch." She dropped her eyes to the floor instantly, feeling confused and upset.
"I think it's time to let her know the rules, James."
A smile grew on James' face as he nodded slowly. "I think you're right, William. Do you want to do the honours?"
William kept up the mock-politeness, the self-satisfied note in his voice making Emma want to punch him in the nose. "She's your slut – you take the first one, at least."
"No, my friend; she's our slut now." Emma's eyes flew to James' when he said that, searching for any explanation or sympathy. She found none, and felt James' hand strike her hard on the cheek. She lowered her eyes again, this time to hide the tears that were starting to form. She blinked them away angrily, and waited to hear what her ex had to say. "And that's the first rule, in fact. You will obey William and me equally. We are both your masters, no matter what you may think to the contrary. You will address us as such."
William took the baton up seamlessly. "You will never look anyone in the eyes, unless told otherwise. You will not speak unless spoken to, except to ask permission to use the toilet."
"You will wear what we tell you to wear and do what we tell you to do." Emma wouldn't look back up at him again, but she knew his voice well and she could tell that James was really enjoying himself. "You'll pick up the rest as you go along."
"And if you don't, you will be punished."
"Do you understand?"
Emma kept staring at the ground, and gave them the tiniest of nods. "Yes." She was met with silence, and her heart sank even further as she realised what they expected from her. "Yes, master."
William and James shared a look of triumph. "I always knew she wasn't slow on the uptake," James said. "That means you'll only get an instruction once. If you forget it after that, or if you refuse to obey it, you will be punished."
"Go and stand in the corner, bitch. You'll be given more instructions later."
"Yes, master." She flushed deep red again at the thought of addressing William in that way, but she walked to the corner and stood there, eyes firmly fixed to the carpet. She had always thought of him as a bit of a waste of space; a fat, perverted bastard who never paid his rent on time. And here she was taking orders from him like a common whore.
The men turned the TV on and ignored her while they chatted. She couldn't decide what was worse – having them stare at her and order her around, or having them act like she wasn't even there. After a couple of hours her legs were starting to hurt in the high heels, and she was getting cold. How much longer would she have to stand there?
Her question was soon answered. Looking at the ground, she hadn't been able to tell exactly what they were doing, but she heard movement and a door closing. Then she felt a hand gently caress her arse cheek.
She stiffened, knowing instinctively that the hand didn't belong to James. And then a voice in her ear whispered softly. "You're going to wish you'd never cheated on him, slut." She said nothing, and the hand slowly worked its way up her side, making her shiver despite herself. "You like it, don't you?" Again, she said nothing, and got a sharp slap on her arse for her silence. "I asked you a question, bitch. Do you like being treated like a piece of meat, open to any man who wants you?"
"No, master." She spat the words out, making it clear that she might follow their rules, but she wouldn't pretend to be happy about it.
The hand worked across her flat stomach and up, inside her bra, to find her nipple. William stroked it until it grew hard, and to Emma's horror she felt herself starting to get wet. She cursed her body for enjoying something that her mind found so revolting, and prayed that William would soon get bored. Without warning the gentle caressing ceased and he twisted her nipple sharply, causing her to cry out. He laughed unkindly, and stood back from her. "I want you to look at me."
Emma kept her eyes on the ground. Their rule that she wasn't allowed to look at them had almost relieved her – she couldn't bear to look into William's eyes and see the expression of power and pleasure that would undoubtedly be in them. Suddenly he pulled at her hair, forcing her head up and bringing tears to her eyes. Reluctantly she met his gaze.
"Prove to me how much you hate being touched by me," he said cruelly. "Let me see it in your eyes, and I'll stop when you've convinced me." With one hand still pulling sharply on her hair, he eased his hand down and into Emma's French knickers. She closed her eyes in embarrassment, but a tug on her hair reminded her that she had to keep them open or suffer the consequences.
He touched the wet patch on her knickers and grinned, then softly stroked her clit. Against her will she moaned, unable to stop her desire from showing on her face as she stared at her tormentor. Over and over he rubbed her clit, shooting electricity through her with every stroke. After a minute or so of agonising pleasure he plunged three fingers deep into her cunt, smiling to feel her wetness. He pulled his hand out of her knickers and held them up, dripping, for her to see. "I don't appreciate lying, bitch, so let's try again. Do you like being treated like a piece of meat?"
She knew what he wanted her to say, and now she had to say it while looking him in the eyes. She felt herself get even wetter, her traitorous body wishing he would put his fingers back inside her. "Yes, master," she whispered miserably.
"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that. What do you like?"
She spoke louder, her voice shaking slightly. "I like being treated like a piece of meat, master."
Chuckling, William pulled on her hair again, forcing her head upwards. He pushed his wet fingers into her mouth and told her to suck. "You've made me dirty, you fucking whore. Lick my fingers clean." She dutifully did as he told her to, tasting her own disloyal desire on his fingers. When he was satisfied, he let go of her hair and walked away, shaking his head. "Filthy fucking whore."
Again she was left to stand alone in the corner for an age on her own. She felt tears forming in her eyes and angrily wiped them away. So their game was to play with her; to torment and humiliate her. Well, she wouldn't give them the satisfaction. She would follow their rules with a smile, and she would never let them see her embarrassed or upset. But her legs were aching, and she couldn't forget the disgusted look in William's eyes when he walked away from her. Why had she been aroused by him? Maybe she deserved to be degraded and humiliated like this, she thought. She had cheated on James, and despite being so determined that no-one but him would ever touch her again, she had already let William inside her and her body had enjoyed it. Maybe they were right when they said she was a slut.
Unaware of what she was doing, she leant against the wall and closed her eyes. She had no idea of how much time had passed since William had left her alone, no idea of what time it was now, but she felt exhausted. Leaning against the cool wall, Emma fell asleep.
She was awoken with a slap that stung her and made her eyes water again. "We did not give you permission to sleep, bitch." It was James, but she could see another pair of feet beside his – they were both there this time. She heard James sigh, and fought the urge to look up at him. "You have to understand your place in this world, you know. I thought William might have gone some way to teaching you that earlier, but obviously you've learnt nothing." He leaned in and whispered, "I loved watching that, by the way. You're something to look at when you're getting finger fucked."
Despite all her earlier resolutions, she blushed again, and both men laughed. "You're only here to please us," William explained in an exasperated voice. "You must realise that you don't exist anymore. Emma, with all her thoughts and feelings and memories, has left the building. Now you're just an object, to be used just like any other object."
"If we want to fuck you, you're a cunt. If we want to be pleasured, you're a mouth. If we want to sit down, you're a fucking chair and if we want to piss, you're a urinal. Are you starting to understand?"
"What's your name?" William asked her abruptly.
Emma said nothing.
"What's your name, bitch?" James slapped her across the face again.
"I don't have one, master."
"That's right. And what are you?"
"Nothing, master. Just an object."
"Good." James sounded satisfied. "Look up at William." Emma did so. "What is he holding?"
It was a small black leather collar, with a small ring on the front and a padlock at the back. "A collar, master."
William grinned. "Not just any collar. This is your collar."
Emma had known it was coming as soon as she had seen it, but she couldn't help flushing at the thought of being collared like an animal. James pulled her head round by her hair, and instructed her to look at him. He was holding a short leash. "And what is this?"
"It's a – it's my lead, master?" Emma stammered.
James nodded, and within a minute she was collared, the lead attached to the little hook on the collar. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it felt unnatural around her neck, like she wasn't the same person any more. They were slowly taking her apart piece by piece, and she had the feeling this degradation wouldn't be the last she would be expected to suffer before James agreed to take her back. Feeling utterly dejected, Emma returned her gaze to the floor.
"Well done. You're learning fast." That came from William, sounding smug and smarmy. Again, it took all Emma's self-control not to smack him across the face. But she was being punished and she was proving her love to James, so her hands remained limp and submissive at her sides. "Are you hungry?"
At those words, Emma's stomach growled. She hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast, and hours must have passed since then. "Yes, master."
James took the lead and walked towards the kitchen, giving Emma no choice but to follow or be strangled. William walked behind her, and her body burned with the knowledge his eyes were on her as she went.
"Starting today you're going to learn how to cook. On the counter are the ingredients you'll need to make a simple Spaghetti Bolognese. You'll also find a recipe and a button-remote. When the food is ready, press the button and we'll come down. If the food doesn't taste good, you'll be punished severely. Do you understand?"
Emma could have cried. James knew that she couldn't cook to save her life; she hated it so much that he had always cooked for them both. Without another word they left the kitchen and pulled the door shut behind them. Emma thought she might have heard it lock, but she wasn't sure, and she didn't dare check.
A short time later, Emma's mouth was watering. She was starving now, and she couldn't wait to eat some of the spaghetti she had made. She felt a sense of pride at having managed it, although she had no clue what it was going to taste like. Nervously she pushed the button, hoping it would meet approval. A glance at the clock told her it was just after six o'clock. She'd been a slave for seven hours.
James and William came into the kitchen and she automatically dropped her gaze to the floor. "Take out two plates and serve it up," James instructed. "Then set the table and stand in the corner."
She did as she was told with a sinking feeling in her stomach. Wasn't she even going to be allowed to eat the food she had sweated over?
James and William sat at the table and began to eat. They swapped a few derogatory comments about her cooking, and she hoped that was just for show. She had tried her hardest – surely they wouldn't punish her for that?
Her stomach grumbled again, and William laughed. "It's coming bitch, don't worry."
After what felt like hours, James pushed his chair out and walked over to a high cupboard. With her eyes fixed on the lino, Emma didn't know what he was doing, but she hoped desperately that she would be allowed to eat something soon.
"Your dinner's in the corner," said William eventually.
Emma looked up and saw a large dog-bowl in the corner of the room. One partition was filled with the leftover spaghetti from James and William's plates, the other with water. She stared at it numbly, knowing what they meant her to do but unable to move.
"If you don't want it, we can throw it away," James said casually.
Miserably, she walked over to the dog-bowl and knelt in front of it. She reached her hands out to pick up some spaghetti, but they were slapped away. "It's not polite to eat with your hands." William grabbed her hands and pulled them behind her. She felt the cool metal of handcuffs being fastened on her wrists, and she was unable to move her arms.
Emma looked at the bowl and knew she now had no choice. She lowered her head, the movement difficult without her hands to balance, and began to eat. The spaghetti was cold, but she was hungry. It was surprisingly hard to get hold of the food with just her mouth, and even harder to lap at the water. Soon she had sauce covering her face and chest, and water was slopped down her front. James and William hadn't left the room; they were sat at the kitchen table watching her eat.
"This is how you're going to eat all your meals from now on, bitch," William informed her. "If we let you eat at a table with a knife and fork you might get confused and think that you're a real person."
"I'm just looking forward to the day she makes something like rice pudding," James said snidely. As they both chuckled at that, Emma tried to ignore them and focus on getting as little food on herself as possible.
"This might be a good time to talk about your daily routine," said William. "You'll get up every day at eight am to shower and remove all your body hair."
"And when he says all, he means all, whore. That means you had better take more care than you did when you were still a person, because if we find any hair you will be punished." James had always laughingly complained at the mediocre effort Emma put into shaving her pussy, back when they were still a couple.
"You'll find an outfit on the bed in the spare room. Get dressed and come down here, and you'll find a list of the meals we want to eat that day. You'll make the breakfast and have it ready and on the table for exactly half past nine. You'll eat whatever we don't finish, and you won't leave anything that we put in your bowl. When you're done, you'll put the plates and your bowl into the dishwasher and lick up whatever mess you've made on the floor so that it's clean."
"You'll wash any food off yourself at the kitchen sink, and then go into the living room and stand in the corner. You'll stay there until we say otherwise. We'll follow the same routine for lunch and dinner, except we'll tell you when we want you to start cooking. Do you understand?"
Emma's heart was pounding at the thought of enduring this humiliation every day for a month, but she managed to pull her face out of the spaghetti to answer. "Yes, master."
It took far longer than she would have liked to finish her dinner, and when she had finally licked the last of the sauce and lapped up the last drops of water she stood up, picked up their plates and put them in the dishwasher along with the awful dog bowl. Then she did as she had been ordered, and licked the remaining food up off the floor. As she did so, she realised she had no idea when the floor had last been cleaned. There she was, a woman in her twenties wearing nothing but French-knickers, high heels and a collar, hands cuffed behind her back and licking a kitchen floor that was probably filthy. She felt sickened with herself, but at the same time she was horrified to feel herself getting slightly damp again.
She blushed and prayed that the men wouldn't notice as she finished up, washed herself at the kitchen sink, and walked into the living room as they had told her to.
Again, they left her alone for some time to think about everything they had already made her do, before they came back into the living room. This time, they got straight into it. "We're not going to lie to you, bitch; the food was crap. We know that was the best you can do, so you won't get punished today, but we expect the standard to improve quickly so you had better get your arse in gear."