NOTE: I had to split this into two parts because of file size limits. Trust me you want both halves! THIS IS PART TWO She has been building up the courage to meet him for months. All her fantasies of being a slave girl, of submission and masochism, leading up to this moment. The chance to do BDSM for real. To be a sex slave for real - if only for an afternoon. They've talked online for hours, his references check out, she's done the responsible thing and has her friend Jenny on stand-by to call the police if she goes missing. It's time to go. Oh god, what should she wear? Something classic, sexy, but not too sexy. The red lingerie? And a black cocktail dress? That will have to do. The house looms large over her, making her feel a delicious thrill. For a moment, her nerves get the better of her and she stops to compose herself, to check her reflection in one of the windows. Last chance to run, Scarlett. Once you knock on the door there's no going back! He's not exactly as she expected as he welcomes her in. Her heart is racing, she feels dizzy as she follows him through the hallway to the... kitchen? Somehow she was expecting to be plunged right into a dungeon full of sex toys. He seems kind, and frankly a little amused at how she's trembling. Calmly, he sits her down and takes her in hand. Yes, she's ready. Yes, she's sure. Somehow the normality of being offered a cup of tea before they start makes what's about to happen to her even more exciting. It's the safest thrill of danger she has ever experienced. And then, at last, he leads her into the study where all the ropes and handcuffs and crops and gags are laid out. At his invitation, Scarlett runs her hands over the arrayed implements, knowing that he's going to use them on her. And she cannot fucking wait. But there is a protocol to follow, and he knows her better than she knows herself. He suspects that if he gives her everything, all at once, the way she desperately wants it, she will just overload and panic. He needs to lead her through her submission, by the hand. So he asks her for her consent. He asks her to surrender her hands to him. Just her hands. What can he possibly do to her if he takes ownership of just her hands? "Do you consent?" "Yes, sir." Now the words are spoken, and a part of her is his, and he *shows* her what he can do to her with just her hands. He touches them, caresses them, holds them... more like a guide leading her than a lover grabbing her. And then he gives her the first forbidden thrill of pain as he administers a strapping to both of her palms. The sting is abrupt, startling, cutting through the fog of a million overlapping daydreams about being a submissive and a masochist and taking whatever her owner wants to dish out to her. The pain is real, and shocking, and better by far than anything she had imagined. No matter how much you practice on yourself, nothing compares to having someone turn their full gaze upon you, stare deep into your eyes, and hurt you because they want to. She is the total focus of his attention. No-one and nothing else exists, just the two of them and her desire to submit and his desire to accept and take control of her, everything that is her. He locks her hands, her hands that belong to him, in handcuffs and thumbcuffs and demonstrates how her can control her. Just lifting her arms up behind her into the strappado position makes her powerless to resist- she cannot help herself but to bend forwards with a gasp as he positions her. Rope replaces metal in a daze, as she consents to surrender her arms to him. He ties her elbows tight together behind her back and parades her around the room. She knows well enough from reading his profile that he will enjoy it more if she keeps to her tiptoes, so almost without conscious thought she strains to stay in perfect subbie pose for him. Next she consents to surrender her mouth to him. He had noticed her fascination with the largest of the ball-gags he had set out- can she take that one? Why yes, she can. And it feels GOOD. But he has more to do with her mouth. For sure, he can finger-fuck her mouth and make her take his fingers deep down her throat. For sure, he can touch her lips, tender but possessive, and smear her painstakingly-perfect lipstick to artful disarray. But he can also order her to speak the truth to him. "Tell me. What is it that you have been fantasising about?" She hesitates. "Remember," he reminds her, "your mouth belongs to me". And now she is confessing her core fantasies. Not her darkest or her most shameful, but the foundation of it all. The surrender, the doing whatever he pleases. She has never spoken this aloud to anyone, ever. It lifts her soul to admit it, even to herself. With her consent he has a handful of her cascading red mane in his fist and he is totally in control as he pulls her around by her hair...