You're not sorry

Your face stings and aches at the same time. With reflex-tears in your eyes, you stare up at Tom. He just slapped you off your feet! It doesn't escape your notice that you are sitting ungracefully on your ass in the weird convention room of a cheap hotel experiencing the most intense attraction to a man you've ever felt. He didn't hesitate or hold back. You mouthed off to him and he really hit you. Fuck, it's so hot.

Breathing heavily, you climb to your feet. You want him to accept you. To let you into his circles and make sure you learn your place as he sees it. He was unimpressed at your introduction by Alice, who hasn't moved an inch from her seat. The other woman will not cross Tom to assist you, that much is certain.

"Thank you, Tom," you begin. "It's reassuring, really, to meet a proper man. But I'm not sorry for what I said. I won't pretend to apologize unless someone makes me sorry. I came here in good faith and have been met with nothing but hostility and doubt."

Tom's eyes narrow dangerously.

"I expect you'll hit me again soon. And you'd be right to. I deserve it for my disrespectful attitude. But let me say this first: I have no backup plan. No safety net, no escape plan. I came here to submit myself to an idea that I believe in. If you'll have me, I will surrender. But I'm not going to lie to you. And that includes play-acting some BDSM-themed fantasy written by someone else. You want me to kneel? Beg? Strip naked? Suck you off? I'll do it. But I want the order to come from you. I'm not here to make up rules for myself."

Tom hasn't slapped you again, so you keep going. "You said I'm wrong about whatever I think I know, but I only know one thing: I need a man to take control. The first one who takes me can have me. I don't even care."

You look over at the man in jeans and his female companion. The woman is staring, eyes wide, at you. The man seems to just be checking out your ass.

"Hey." You say to him, drawing his eyes up to your face. "Do you know how to handle a woman?"

You suddenly feel Tom's hand on the back of your neck, gripping firmly. You hadn't noticed him approach. His pressure increases, causing pain. You can't even turn your head to look at him as hid fingers press hard into the side of your neck. Bright spots flit across your vision as the pain grows surprisingly intense.

Tom's tone is hard as ice and just as cold. "Do not speak another word, woman. Sit down. Wait to be dealt with."

His pressure releases and you sink immediately into the chair beside you, feeling properly intimidated. Lifting your eyes to Tom's face, you meet those piercing eyes, again weighing you.

"Not one word," he warns.