Mike's Submission

Walking to the bar, I knew what I had to do, but I also knew that my resolve was weak.

It had been nearly six months since I had met the woman who would become my mistress in a bar in Wrigleyville. I had known the bartender there for years and she introduced me to Samantha at my request, after warning me that it was a bad idea. I had been looking for a little tie and tease with a hot chick, a wild ride with a tattooed beauty to contrast with the Seven Sisters women I met at work. Instead, Mistress Samantha threw me into the deep end of the BDSM pool.

After only a month, I had developed a heavy pain tolerance, been violated with a strap-on, and been fitted with a chastity device. Exactly 43 days ago, my mistress told me that I would have a decision to make and that some separation would help me to make a choice. She forbad me from contacting her and she left the chastity device on. She said she'd get in touch when the time came.

For over a month, I agonized. When would she contact me? What if she never did, and she's telling her friends about the idiot she talked into chastity and set loose on the streets of Chicago? Should I just cut the lock and move on with my life? She had already taken me to depravities I didn't imagine when I first approached her. I had come to need her and her depravities.

Two days ago the text finally came. I was to meet her at a gay bar in Boystown, I was to be wearing a pair of pink panties under my clothes, and I was to bring her a gift. "Something expensive," she specified.

It was the gay bar that made the decision for me. I told her when we met that bi was a hard limit for me and now she was signalling her intent to violate that limit. So I was going to the bar to break up with her. Present her with the gift, tell her it wasn't working out, get the key to the device, and then we go our separate ways.

The club had just opened and there were only a few customers. The bartender had obviously been told that I was coming - he took one look at me and nodded toward the back room.

Mistress Samantha was seated at the back bar. She looked as beautiful as she always did, tall, dressed simply in jeans and a Ramones tee shirt, her bluish hair in a pixie cut. As I walked up to her, she immediately took control of the conversation, as she had since our introduction.

"Hello, Mike. Did you bring my gift?"

"I did, Mistress. But we have to talk."

"We do, Mike. And we will. But first put your gift on the bar. Your credit card, too, since you're buying the drinks. Then we'll talk."

I complied and started to speak but it wasn't my turn yet.

"Good. Now strip to your panties and get on your knees."

"Mistress Samantha, that's what I want to talk about. When we met, we discussed my hard limits and any public display was one of them. Bisexuality was another. Do you remember?"

"Of course I remember, Mike. I also remember that I told you that a time would come when you would willingly abandon your so-called "hard limits," and you'd even beg me to take you forward. You probably didn't hear me at the time since your dick does not have ears, but I said it. Now is that time."

"But Mistress, I don't think..."

"That's right, Mike. You don't think. After 43 days of obsessing about me without relief, you've lost the ability to think. I think for you now. I need you to understand that, so you are going to prove it to yourself right now. How much would a cheap pair of wire cutters have cost if you wanted to remove your cage?

"A few dollars, Mistress."

"That's right. And yet you didn't do that for more than a month because you were so desperate to see me again. To please me. Next question: What is in the bag and how did you choose it?"

"A 2009 Chateau Latour. You like Cabernet-forward blends, you once mentioned that you've never had a First Growth, and 2009 was among the best vintages on record."

"You told yourself that it was an expensive going away present, but you really knew better, didn't you?"

"Yes, mistress."

"Good. Let's keep going. Did you know what kind of bar this is before you left to meet me?"

"Yes, mistress, I did."

"Also correct. You walked into a gay bar wearing expensive and frilly pink panties even though I didn't specify how fancy they had to be, didn't you?"

"Yes, mistress, I did."

"You probably believe that you made those choices. That you still think for yourself. I need you to understand that you do not. So I'll give you a choice, if you can make it. When you do what I say, when you are compelled to obey me even though you came here explicitly to leave me, you'll finally understand that you made your last choice several weeks ago."

With that, Mistress Samantha removed a key - my key - from her purse, showed it to me, and dropped it into the bag with the wine.

"Now, Mike, here is your choice. You can pick up that bag and leave. You can drink the wine to celebrate your freedom, you can unlock yourself and masturbate until your dick bleeds, you can do anything you want, so long as it doesn't involve me. You will never see me again. Or you can strip down to your panties, fold your clothes and place them on the stool next to me, and get on your knees. I know which of those two things you will do. You also know, but you want the illusion of choice. You were telling yourself that you were coming here to leave me. Do that. Pick up the bag and leave, if you can. Make your choice now, Mike."

And with that, I knew I was defeated. Without a word, I took off my shirt, folded it, and placed it on the barstool. I slipped my shoes off and put them under the stool. My pants were next, and finally my socks. I now wore only the pink panties and my CB3000 under them. I knelt, facing Mistress Samantha, terrified of what was coming next but powerless to resist it.

"Turn toward the bar and lean forward until your head is on the footrail." I complied. "Hands behind your back. I want you to support yourself with your forehead." I did that, too.

"You should now finally understand. Tell me what you understand."

"I am your slave, completely. I no longer make decisions for myself. You make my decisions and I obey."

"That's mostly correct. But there is no you. You don't get to call yourself by a personal pronoun. You also no longer have a name. Oh, you can still use your old name at your job, but whenever you are with me or anywhere on my behalf, you are nameless. If a label becomes necessary, you are Mistress Samantha's bitch. Tell me."

"There is no me. I am Mistress Samantha's bitch."

"Now explain your hard limits and what is about to happen."

"I have no hard limits, Mistress Samantha. They are gone. I will do as you instruct. You are about to demonstrate that by making me suck cock."

"I feel like you have become more stupid during your absence from me, and you weren't exactly Einstein to begin with. I am not going to make you suck cock. I'm not going to make you do anything; I don't have to. Remember what I said when we met and which I helpfully repeated for you when you still had clothes on. And remember what you just said about yourself. Try again."

"Your bitch is going to suck cock for you."

"Are you?"

"Please. Please, Mistress Samantha, allow your bitch to suck cock for you."

"Better. Not terribly convincing, but better. However, I'm not going to have you suck cock for me here. I'm friends with the bouncer and we can't be endangering this establishment's license now, can we?"

"No..."

"Don't answer that. In fact, speak a lot less, starting now. There's a little tattoo parlor down the block. If you beg the owner enough, he'll replace that plastic thing you have with a proper Prince Albert and a chastity device suitable for service to me. Then you can suck his cock out of gratitude. For your part, you will be allowed to have an orgasm after you have sucked cock for me at least 20 times, from at least 10 different men. You will beg for each opportunity and if when you get to 20, the man doesn't say it was the best blowjob he ever had, you will start over.

"I'm going to the bathroom. Get dressed and pay my tab. We're leaving and starting your new life."