Introduction to Submission

"Yes, sir."

"Much better."

I give you a wicked smile, and, before you can respond, grab your hand and keep walking to the elevator.

In the lobby, I take a quick look around. Not for the restaurant though. "One sec – I need to use the restroom. Where did they put them here..." You shoot me a glare. "You couldn't have gone a few minutes ago?" Studiously, I ignore you, and keep walking in the direction of the restaurant – the restrooms shouldn't be far from it. And there they are: tucked away behind a y-branch right next to the restaurant. I open the door to the men's bathroom, peek inside, then grab your hand. With a quick pull, I drag you inside before you even have time to protest.

"What the hell!", you hiss at me. Still ignoring you, I keep dragging you towards the handicapped stall. In your high heels, you're working hard to stay upright, but I'm pulling you off-balance, and you stumble more than you walk. Inside the spacious bathroom – thank god for the ADA efforts – I push you up against the wall and plant a deep, hard kiss on your mouth. Your protests are silenced for a second, and turn into breathless squeals as I roughly grab your pussy.

"Remember what I said – anything, anywhere? This is anything, anywhere. Now turn around, you're going to get your first bathroom fuck." You're staring back at me with big eyes, silent, mouth open, your clit grinding against my hand. I give you a quick slap across the face. "I said, turn around." I can see the gears click into place in your head, and you quickly turn around grab the ADA approved handle, and push out your ass.

What a convenient set-up: it's like the ADA was just a front for people who wanted to fuck in bathrooms. I move the back of your dress aside, and start fucking you without any foreplay. And still, you're already wet. The red SLUT stands out against the pale skin of your ass and the black of your dress. "I was right when I marked you as a slut. You're getting fucked in a bathroom of a hotel without any foreplay, and you're already wet and moaning. Aren't you just the biggest slut, slut?"

You're almost whimpering now, and I don't need an answer to know you're agreeing. But still... I asked a question. I grab your throat and squeeze on the arteries. "I asked you a question, slut."

Hoarsely, you whisper "Yes, sir, I'm the biggest slut."

"And what else are you?"

There is a small pause.

"I'm a perfect little slut. I'm your perfect little slut. I'm a whore being fucked in a bathroom, I'm your cunt that you fuck wherever you want...oh please oh please..."

I hear the bathroom door open, and quickly clamp my hand over your mouth. But instead of waiting, I slowly undo my pants, and slide my rock-hard cock into your pussy. I keep fucking you – slowly, deliberately, quietly, but I still keep fucking you. I can't see your face, but your body has gone rigid and tense as we both listen to the foot steps head over to the urinal.

The faceless man goes about his business, and I can feel your pussy tightening on my dick as I keep fucking you. As he finishes up and washes his hands, I can feel your jaw muscles clenching in your face, still determined to not make a sound. Upping the ante, I pull you back from the wall, drop the top of your little black dress to your waist, and pull on your nipples. Not a whisper comes out of your mouth, but your entire body is getting stiff again, as you fight the urge to scream.

With the sound of the bathroom door closing again, I pull out of you, and force you down on your knees, facing me. "Open wide, fucktoy." And with that, I ram my cock into your mouth. Holding onto the back of your head, I give your mouth a vigorous fucking, until I feel the pressure in my balls building up. I grab the hair on your head in one hand, yank your head back and start jerking off right in front of your face. Seconds and some grunting later, the build-up of an entire day explodes over your chest, your neck, and your face.

"Ahhhhhh... that's the ticket." I stop to admire the work. Your face and your chest are covered in strings of white, milky cum, and it's starting to run to your dress. "Clean yourself off, slut, before it gets on your dress." You reach towards the toilet paper roll, but I slap your hand away.

"Ow, what!" More hissing. How cute.

"No. Lick it off.

"But I can't reach it..."

It's easy to forget that she's new to this. I run my hands over your chest, scooping up the cum as it's running down your body. Then up your neck, your checks, and finally over your lips. "Open up." I slip my fingers in between your lips, and slowly you open your mouth. "Lick it all off." You frown a bit. "Come on, filthy fucktoy. Or you walk out like that." The last part I growl into your ear, head pulled back by your hair. Still frowning, you comply, and slowly lick my cum off of my hands. "Now clean yourself."

I watch you run your hands over your torso and face, scooping up cum where you can, licking it off your hands. "Now that's fucking hot." Despite your frown, you crack a smile. Once you've removed most of it and rubbed the rest into your skin, you stick out your chin. "There, happy?" You're pouting a bit as you ask. "Very", I reply. "Nothing hotter than a little slut covered in my cum in a public restroom. Now let's get going." You put your dress back up, pulling the straps over your shoulders. I grab your hand again, and I can smell my cum on your skin. Very nice. As we head out of the restroom, I can't help but wonder just how much of a slut is hiding in that tight little package.

The restaurant in the hotel is classic upscale American dining: leather booths, fancy cocktail menu, standard American fare of burgers, salads, fish, steak, chicken. Easy to choose from. I take a quick look at it, decide on the fish and a mojito, and you go for ahi tuna appetizers and the chicken, as well as a Cosmo. Kinda boring, but then again, this looks not too bad for a hotel restaurant. I'm just happy they serve more than burgers and nachos. Not to mention that I have other things on my mind. As the waiter sets off to get us our orders, I take a quick look around. The booths are set a bit aside from the bar, with only a few people having dinner or lounging at the bar. The kitchen is on the far side, as do seem to be the bathrooms. Basically, for most people, we only exist as heads above the booth walls. Excellent.

"Show me your tits."

"What??"

"Show me your tits, SLUT."

You realize that trouble is ahead if you don't comply. You slowly peak around the area, and, satisfied no one is directly looking your way, drop the straps down your arms. Your boobs pop out of the dress, nipples hard.

"Run your hands over your tits."

Slowly, you put your hands on breasts, and start running your nails over them, softly.

"Now, tweak your nipples."

You grab each nipple in one hand, and give them a small twist. You breath in sharply at the pain. The lust in my eyes is obvious, as I watch you half-naked in front of me. Slowly, the look of worry melts away, and is replaced by a bit of impishness.

"Yes, I like it when you're a wanton slut, even in public. I enjoy your shamelessness. Now, start masturbating, fucktoy." The impishness sticks around, and your hands slowly disappear underneath the table. It's a glorious sight – you, half-naked at the restaurant, masturbating, and the people at the bar barely noticing anything outside of the game on the screen. Around the corner, I see the waiter approaching with the drinks.

"Might want to cover up a bit." With a suddenly slightly worried look, you put the straps back over your shoulders – just as the waiter rounds the corner. Your face turns a slight shade of crimson as you look down at the table.

"Your drinks, madam, sir. Anything else I can do for you?"

I'm briefly wondering if he would enjoy the show. He probably would.... but let's not get the guy fired. Or get tossed from the hotel because we ran into the one upstanding citizen brigade guy on the hotel staff.

"No, thanks!"

As he turns away, I whisper to you: "So how wet did this make you, slut?"

With a whisper, you reply, "Very..."

"Show me."

You know the drill by now, and after a few seconds, your hands return on the table, wet, glistening, from the pinky to the thumb.

"Very nice. Now lick them clean."

This time, you decide to make a show of it: carefully inserting one finger at a time in your mouth, swallowing it down until the last knuckle, and then repeating with all the other nine fingers. You even run your tongue in between your fingers, making sure no drop of your juices is left behind.

"Now that's a show.... I might have to take you back into the bathrooms for a quicky, slut."

You give me a big, beaming smile. "I told you I can be a perfect slut." Yes. Yes you did, and yes, you're turning into one hell of a slut. On your own, your hands return back down below the table, and I can see you slouch back just a shade. One hand comes back up, and starts playing with your nipples through your dress.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the waiter returning with the appetizer. I lean in.

"Don't you stop masturbating. I'll tell you when to stop."

With that, I lean back again, and wait for you to notice the waiter sidling up to the table. As you hear him intone "Your Ahi Tuna.", your eyes get wide, and your body freezes. I just cock my head and raise my eye brows while I look at you, and you very clearly understand the message: you stare down at the table, and arch your back. Even if I can't see you move your arm, your blushing face tells the story of what's going on underneath the table. "Anything else?" We both shake our heads. "No thanks!" You mumble something similar, and the waiter is satisfied enough to move along.

"Nice work, my little fucktoy. I like that you barely flinched when the waiter was standing right next to you. I be he could smell you dripping into the bench.

In response, you just lean back and put both hands under the table. "You should fuck me. I'm wet, and I'm tired of masturbating. I want your dick inside me..."

"Should I bend you over table here? I didn't think you'd be that into putting on a show."

Her eyes get big.

"NO – I mean back in the room..."

Well, it's probably best she didn't call my bluff. There are times and places for public sex, and it's generally not a hotel restaurant. Still, there are some things I have in mind for later.

"Oh, you will get fucked once we're back in the room. I plan to fuck you in every hole, and you will need an ice pack for sitting down. But we still need food." I smile, and dig into the appetizer. You follow suit – I guess it was implied that it's either masturbation or eating.

As dinner progresses, you get into the game yourself. Emboldened when you realize that the booth is really fairly private and just how much I enjoy the show, you start to do more than just follow directions.

When I drag the top of your dress down with my fork, you lean forward to give me a nice look at your hard nipples. When I run my foot up the inside of your leg, you lean back and spread them as far as you can. You even fuck yourself with your fingers, and show me how much sticky pussy juice is hanging from them, before demonstrably licking them clean. When I ask you to show me your tits again during the main course, you put on a little strip tease show in your seat, dropping the top of your dress to your waist. Your nipples are pointing straight up, and you run your hands all over them, even pulling on them a little.

At this point, I'm wondering if I should either just drag you into the bathroom or bend you straight over the table. Both ideas are nixed – leaving without paying can lead to more trouble than it's worth, and... well, we're still in a hotel in the US, so no just bending you over the table. Even if I'm feverishly calculating who would object from the crowd at the table or the waiters.

Finally, dinner is over, and we get the check. At this point, the waiter has clearly caught onto something: he's sneaking peeks at your cleavage, and is hanging out much more on your side than is absolutely necessary. I wonder if he has seen the slit up your thighs, or noticed one of your hands being frequently under the table when he stops by? Either way, he seemed to enjoy stopping by every few minutes for water, drinks, or just checking in. I sign the check, put a nice, round 20% on it as a tip. Never piss off the support staff, is my motto.

As we step out of the booth, I slide my hand through the slit on the side of your skirt and grab a full hand of your ass. With my fingers, I can feel the base of the butt plug still snugly in your ass. I whisper in your ear: "I wonder if anyone would think that you just got fucked in the men's bathroom, masturbated in front of a waiter, and have slut written on your ass. What do you think, slut? Does it turn you on to be such a depraved fucktoy?" You smile, and whisper back "I like being your fucktoy. I want you to take anything you want from me. Sir." That last "Sir"... was that a little brattiness I heard in your voice? You have a naughty little smirk on your face, and I mentally make a note to add this to a punishment for later. "You're delicious. And I will."

Back in the elevator, I don't wait for the elevator doors to close before I grab a hold of your pussy. Wet. Of course. "All this, and you're still dripping wet. This is very promising." I roughly jam three fingers into your pussy, and pull you up and into me. "One day, we'll have to discuss your limits, my little fucktoy. You're doing very well, so far."

The walk back to the room from the elevator seems to take forever. I occasionally push you up against the walls of the hallway, grabbing your tits and your bald pussy, but to be fair, I'm just teasing myself there. I need to get you back to the room, and the faster, the better. In front of the door, I fumble for the keycard with one hand while fondling your wet pussy with the other. Ah, screw it. One thing at a time. With both hands on the job, the door opens quickly, and I push you inside. Hard, as you stumble and fall into the hotel room.

"Now, my little fucktoy... time to earn your status." I grab the front hem of your skirt, and pull hard on it. With your ass on the back of the dress and the cut at its side, it starts to pull apart like a zipper. At the top, it takes a bit more effort to split it open, but it doesn't take much before it falls off of you, and you're completely naked on the floor.

Standing over you, I take in your nakedness: the smooth skin over your hips, the pale color of your tits contrasting with the dark tone of your nipples, your bald pussy that you're trying to hide behind your thigh, your scarlet red lips that just remind me of how tightly they were wrapped around my cock... Lips that are currently half pouting, half shocked at having the dress ripped off. I step over you, pick up the crop from the floor, and sit down in the chair in front of you. Time to have some fun.

"Now, get dressed."

"With what? You just tore off my dress. Just ripped it off! Asshole."

A quick "smack!" rings through the air as the crop leaves a red mark on your cheek.

"Is that how a fucktoy speaks?"

"You..."

You stop as the crop smacks you on the other side of the face.

"No, it is not. How does a fucktoy speak?"

The crop hovers menacingly near your left cheek.

"Sorry. Sir...." You stare up from the floor, unsure how to continue.

"Much better. Next up: how a fucktoy dresses. There are a few options, but right now, we'll just stick to basics: wrist cuffs, ankle cuffs, gag, collar. Go bring them here, and put them on. And they better be tight."

I watch as you quietly scurry around the room, grabbing the various leather pieces and piling them in front of my feet. The ankle cuffs go on fairly easily, the wrist cuffs less so. Using one hand to both hold the cuff in place and run the leather strap through the buckle and the pin is tricky. You're kind of cute actually, fussing about, trying to keep the cuff tight without letting go of the strap. The second wrist cuff goes a bit quicker, once you figure out where to hold on to it so it doesn't slip while you tighten the strap.

The collar is easier – just a black leather strap with holes and a buckle. The O-ring dangling nicely in front, you close it behind your neck. It's just a shade loose – maybe next time I can actually get exact measurements for a custom collar.

The ball gag is next, and you stare it down for a second, brows furrowed. But you open your mouth, close your lips around the ball, and tighten the straps behind you. The red of the ball gag just barely clashes with the red of your lipstick. I wonder if they make ball gags in Revlon Ravish me Red?

Finally, the nipple clamps. You carefully set them on your nipples, and gingerly tighten the prongs. The clamps hang barely on. That will need to be fixed.

"Well... now this is a look that suits you." Nothing but black leather and silver metal sitting on your pale skin. The 5-inch heels provide just a touch of class, the cuffs and collar hint at the chains that will tie you, and the red of the gag and the lipstick providing the only color contrast. You straighten up at the words, pushing out your chest, making the nipple chain clink. Right – I almost forgot.

I put the crop on top of the chain, gently pushing down on it, and the right clamp almost immediately drops down. "Tsk tsk. What kind of work is that? Clearly I have to show you how to set them properly."

An indistinct mumbling comes from your gagged mouth. "'u heyr 'or....", followed by a yelp, as the crop comes down on your sore nipple. "I want to see you with a chain on your tits, and I will see you with a chain on your tits. Now hold still." I lean down towards you, putting the right hand on the middle of your chest, and grabbing your right nipple with my left thumb and index. Slowly, I start pulling on your nipple, until your aureola is stretched and rising off your breast. My hand on your sternum keeps you from moving forward, and you let a tight mewling escape your throat. "Good girl. Now stay."

I pick up the dangling clamp, and carefully position it on your stretched aureola. I tighten the prongs carefully, and don't stop until I can see your nipple clearly sticking out over them. Your mewling escalates into a ragged whimpering. "Now, for the other." Again, one hand on your sternum, the other taking off the clamp and then pulling on your nipple until it is nicely stretched, ready to take the clamp. As I fasten it on your left nipple, your whimpering gets faster and louder. This is probably the hardest that your nipples have ever been worked. And yet...

"Does it hurt, my little whore?" Vigorous head nodding follows. "Do you wish you could take them off, cunt?" A small pause, followed by less vigorous nodding. "Well, my little bitch in heat, I like seeing you in them. And somehow, I think that despite all that soreness and pain, you're still turned on and dripping wet. Aren't you, you little pain slut?" No response, just a little shudder that runs the length of your body. "I asked you a question, fuck toy." I start pulling down on the chain, and this time, it stays put. As answer, you just put your head back, and the whimpers now start to sound suspiciously like moans. "That's what I thought... what a good little slut you make." A devlish grin flashes across my as I let go off the chain, and you exhale through the gag.

Time for more fun.

I collect the chains, and connect the ankle cuffs and the wrist cuffs. Next the leash, which I hook through the O-ring on your collar. As I get up, you scramble onto your feet – the high heels make that no small feat – but I quickly stop you. The crop comes down harshly on your shoulder. "Down! A good little fuck toy stays on her hands and knees." You're a bit stunned by this new request, and the crop comes down a few more times on your shoulders. Pulling down on the leash finishes to send the message home, and you get down on your hands and knees, waiting for where to go.