A little while later, Abby came back into herself feeling strangely weak and a lot confused. She tried to get up, to slide away from Mason, but his arms only tightened around her, keeping her immobile.

“You’re not going anywhere yet, little sub,” he murmured against her hair.

She wriggled, trying to get free, feeling panic that she couldn’t. His fingers gripped her chin and raised her face, but she couldn’t look in his eyes, was too afraid of what she’d see there so she shut them tight. She had just let him play with her body without much resistance, surely that was wrong, surely he would see her as a wanton slut. She did not want to see the disgust in his eyes and once again tried to get free of him.

“Abigail,” his voice was stern and she stilled, her body obeying his command before her mind could refuse it. “Look at me.”

She slowly opened her eyes to look up at him. There was no disgust there, no judgement, but they were not soft and kind either. They drilled into her, the intensity causing her breath to stick in her throat.

“Now tell me what has that frown on your face. I don’t like you looking at me like that, not after we’ve just enjoyed each other.”

How could she tell him the truth? That she felt ashamed of herself for giving in to him and not fighting against his commands? She closed her eyes and tried to turn her face away, but he held her securely and refused to release her. His absolute control over her, both now and before, was oddly comforting, satisfying, even arousing. She felt helpless in his arms and instead of making her scared, she felt safe, and that was what scared her. How could his complete control over her make her feel cared for? It didn’t seem to make sense.

“I’m waiting Abigail and I would like an answer.”

Her eyes popped open reflexively and she saw his narrowed ones watching her so closely she felt like a science experiment. She swallowed, her mouth dry. “I feel like a slut,” she whispered, her face flaming with embarrassment. His eyes softened and he stroked his hand through her hair.

“Oh sweetheart, no,” he said, brushing his lips across hers softly. His hand no longer held her chin in a pinched grip, but opened to cup her cheek and she couldn’t help but press into it, seeking comfort and reassurance. “Being submissive doesn’t mean you’re easy, it doesn’t mean that you will roll over and give any man what he wants. Did you enjoy my hands on you? Did you enjoy the way I made you feel?”

She nodded, slowly. She had enjoyed it and she had never orgasmed that hard in her life. She had liked the way he took control, not letting her move, taking the decision of what she should do out of her hands. All he’d left her with was to feel, to experience the sensations as he’d played her body like a piano, as he’d taken his own pleasure with her body.

“Do you believe that I enjoyed it?” he asked and she felt herself redden again, her eyes darting away from her.

“I don’t know,” she whispered and shut her eyes again.

He shifted his hips under her and she felt the hard ridge of his erection under her butt. “Feel that,” he said, his voice husky, “That is what you do to me. I just have to see you and I’m hard and all I can think about is sliding into your wet pussy and feeling it clench around me.” That part of her anatomy clenched as he spoke. “But tonight was about you. As your Dom, my job is to give you what you need, even if you don’t know or understand that you need it. Tonight you needed to feel what it is like to submit, to understand that when you give up control, it fulfils something inside you.”

“Doesn’t that mean that anyone who is strong enough can just hold me down and do what they want and I will enjoy it?”

“No, little one,” he said, “Dominance and submission is a power exchange. I can overpower you easily enough with my body, but that’s not dominance, that’s abuse and it makes me an arsehole. True dominance is when you willingly give up control to me and the only power I have is what you give me. It’s trusting me to take control and in so doing to take care of you.”

She let his words roll around in her mind, turning them over. He hadn’t forced her. She had freely given him control of her body, had wanted to give him control.

“But my body…I’ve never…it’s never…” she blushed again and hid her face against his chest. He chuckled and she felt it rumble through him, the vibrations comforting as he held her close.

“Have you enjoyed sex in the past, Sweet Abby?”

“It’s been…okay…nice.”

“Were your other partners able to bring you to orgasm?”

Her face felt like it was on fire, who talked like this? He was so frank about it, like it was normal to discuss orgasms and sex and, well, everything.

“Abigail?”

“No,” she said, burrowing further into his chest, “I’ve only ever—” she cut herself off, she couldn’t tell him that.

He chuckled again and smoothed a hand over her back, “You’ve only ever orgasmed at your own hands,” he said, not a question and she nodded her head against him. “Ah, Sweet Abby, I have so much to teach you, to show you.” His words were like thick, warm caramel and she felt herself warming under them, imagining what else he could - would - do to her. She tipped her head to see him watching her, a smile on his face and his eyes hot with the promises he was making to her. “But not tonight.” Her face fell and he laughed before kissing her long and deep and languidly.

He watched his little sub out of the corner of his eye as he drove them home. She had surprised him in so many ways tonight, not the least of which was how beautifully she gave in to her need to submit. He had never had a sub of his own, he had only ever played with unattached subs and had never had the desire to take one for himself. He worried that he was too possessive, too obsessive. But having Abby in his arms tonight had changed something in him. He’d already felt a protective pull towards her, but now he felt his body claiming her.

Mine.

It was an oddly disconcerting and yet powerful feeling. It had taken all of his control not to flip that little skirt over her hips, bend her over the back of the couch and bury his aching cock into her. But that was not what she needed tonight, despite the clambering of his rather hard and extremely put out cock. He would take it slow with her, she was a novice and he didn’t want to rush her. His need was great, but it would frighten her away like a scared little rabbit and he didn’t want that, he wanted her to submit to him willingly, and that meant going slow.

He remembered his first forays into the world of BDSM. It had been the idea of bondage that had first attracted him, not because he had believed that tying someone up excited him, but because it was the only way he knew how to keep their hands off his skin. His first few attempts at sex had ended in disaster because as soon as his partner touched him, he was dragged back to the dark days of his childhood and all thoughts of sex fled, leaving him impotent and angry. The idea came to him then that if he could just restrain their hands then things would go much smoother.

But his girlfriends had not been keen on being tied up and so that had led him to the internet and where he had discovered Fetish. What he discovered was that he did, in fact, find it stimulating to tie his partner up, but he also discovered his desire to dominate.

He had no idea whether these two particular needs stemmed from his natural inclination or were the result of what had happened to him as a child, but what it did do for him was free him from the bonds of that past that he would rather forget. No, he still couldn’t stand to have a woman’s hands on him, but he could enjoy women and their bodies and no longer be bombarded with the memories and nightmares that had haunted him for so long.

His friends had noticed the change in him, but he had never told them why the change had come about. He didn’t think his circle of friends would approve of his lifestyle, not that they were prudish in anyway, but he knew that it wasn’t for everyone and it was just easier for him to keep his private life, well, private. They didn’t need to know what turned him on in the bedroom, just as he had no interest in their bed games.

He heard Abby’s soft sigh and noticed she was almost asleep as he pulled into the underground parking garage of their building. He didn’t want her to leave his presence, but that was a red flag that he couldn’t ignore. He knew how possessive he could become and he needed to send her home tonight, to her own bed in her own apartment and to give them both some breathing space.

He reached over and tucked a stray hair behind her ear and she smiled at him sweetly. “Time for bed, Sweet Abby,” he murmured and she yawned and then smiled at him, her eyes soft and her body softer. It called to him and he wanted nothing more than to carry her to his bed and make her scream his name. He wrenched his mind away from the image and instead got out of the car and away from her siren song. He walked around the car and opened the door for her, taking her elbow to help her out of the car. She stumbled into him and he held her against his chest relishing her lush curves and the press of her breasts against his chest.

Reluctantly he led her to the lift, tucking her against his side and securing her there with his hand on her hip. They rode the lift in silence, her head leaning against his shoulder, and then walked up the stairs to their apartments. He pressed her against her door and took her mouth, his lips and tongue demanding and she melted into him. He felt like he was drowning in her and it took a Herculean effort to step back. She looked up at him with a dazed expression, her lips swollen and wet from his kiss and her eyes heavy with desire. He smiled and ran a finger down her cheek.

“Good night Sweet Abby,” he said, “Sleep tight.”

He forced himself to turn towards his own door and let himself into his cold, dark, empty apartment. He closed the door and leant back against it, forcing himself to stay and not go to her. When he felt he could move without turning around and going after her, he headed for the shower. He wouldn’t be able to sleep with her scent on him and the erection that just wouldn’t quit, so he would need to take care of that and hopefully restore some of his sanity in the process.

Abby watched him go and stood there feeling empty and a little lost. Her insides felt all soft and squishy and incredibly vulnerable and she wanted nothing more than to follow him into his apartment and just have him hold her. But that was not what he wanted and she had been dismissed.

Leaning her forehead against her door she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to find her walls, her strength. He had stripped both away tonight and now she was left aching and cold inside and with nothing to shore up her defences, she was liable to fall apart at any moment. But she couldn’t do that, she wouldn’t do that. She hadn’t done that when her parents had died and left her alone and she hadn’t done it when her aunt had treated her like a personal slave and she hadn’t done it when her aunt had died when she was sixteen and left her to fend for herself. She would not do it now simply because a man had shown her a little attention and care and then left her standing in front of her apartment door.

Abby straightened her shoulders and shook off the feelings of abandonment and rejection. Mason had given her an incredible orgasm, she should be flying high. So he hadn’t wanted to ‘cuddle’, that was okay because Abby didn’t like to cuddle anyway. She unlocked her door and crossed the threshold of her apartment, feeling stronger by the minute. This was her space, her home, her fortress where she felt strong and in control. She ignored the niggling feelings of how good it was to have someone else in control for a change, she ignored the growing knowledge of her own submissive nature.

The water pipes creaked and the sound of Mason’s shower made Abby quirk her lips in a satisfied smile. So he wasn’t mister cool-calm-and-collected after all. Being with her had made him hard, she’d felt his erection against her arse as she sat on his lap and now he was taking care of his little—not so little—problem. Knowing that he had taken care of her needs and not forced his upon her was… nice. A completely inadequate word, but she was at a loss as to find one suitable to describe his selfless action. It made her feel somewhat better to know that he hadn’t been unaffected by her, especially after the way he’d made her feel and respond.

She stripped off her clothes and crawled into bed, not wanting to wash his scent off her body, not yet. She closed her eyes and drifted in quasi-sleep. She heard him moving about next door and imagined what he was doing, almost like she could see through the connecting wall and into his apartment. She watched him get himself a snack from the kitchen and then sit on the big couch in front of his television. She imagined him picking up his controller and starting a game, but not being able to concentrate because of her. She watched him stroke a black and white tuxedo cat…huh?

Abby blinked her eyes and sat up, wide awake. A black and white tuxedo cat? Did Mason even have a cat? She tried to remember what she had seen in his apartment the only time she had been over there. Her mind kept wanting to put a small bowl on the windowsill, a bowl that may or may not have been filled with tiny fish-shaped cat biscuits. Was that her imagination or had the bowl really been there? It felt so real, like she had actually seen it, but now she couldn’t remember and didn’t know if she was projecting or not.

She swung her legs out of bed and padded into her office, taking a seat in her chair and waking up her Mac. The profile of Mason filled the screen and she read through her notes. She was using him as the base for her main character and although he was only a guide for the man that she was writing about, she found it helpful to have a complete profile built. Most of the backstory wouldn’t appear in the story at all, but knowing what made the guy tick helped to write a better character. Ever since seeing Mason in the hallway that first time, she had become a little obsessed with him. It was then that she’d had the idea for her new character, the new series. Like Hesiod’s muse, Mason had inspired her and the character Hyde whispered to her, telling her his story, prompting her to write it down.

It wasn’t unusual for Abby to hear her character’s voice in her head, it was actually pretty normal for her, but she had never had an actual physical manifestation of a character before, not like Mason. He fascinated her and the character Hyde seemed like his alter-ego. Whenever she spent any time with Mason, she always came away inspired and although it was slower to happen this time, tonight had been no different. As she sat in front of her computer, words poured forth, her mind working almost too fast for her fingers to keep up. She added to her profile of Mason and then went on to write scene after scene with Mason/Hyde whispering in her ear.

Hours later, she emerged from the fugue, spent. Her brain and body felt emptied, like she had poured out everything within her on the pages of her novel. Limp and exhausted, she crawled back into bed, her eyes falling closed, her mind wonderfully blank, and slipped into the dark abyss of dreamless sleep.