Babylon

Chapter 1

Abby would always remember the way his fingers felt in her hair. His hands were warm, his fingers gently caressing, playing hide and seek in the strands. It was as though his fingers were dancing through the waves, to an ancient beat, to music only he could hear. She wanted to get lost in the feeling, to simply be in the moment forever.

When he moved to kiss her, it was a natural extension of his fingers, his tongue dancing in the softness of her mouth, gentle but firm. He took what he wanted, leaving her wanting more. She was drunk with the scent of him, intoxicated by his lips. She felt dizzy with impatience, wanting him to stop playing and get down to the business of loving.

She had imagined how good it would be with him. She knew from the moment she met him that he would be the best lover she had ever known. She could tell from the way his mouth let her name slip from his lips, rolling it around on his tongue first, the way he would roll a nipple. She was sure he had known what she was thinking, that he relished the power he had over her from that very first day.

He kept one hand firmly on the back of her head, still tangled in her hair, forcing her mouth to submit to his. The other hand was roaming freely, exploring the territories of her body which he now claimed for himself. She whispered his name and again was silenced with a kiss, his teeth nipping at her tongue.

She had never felt like this, had never been slave to the passion which raged within her, had never wanted to totally submit to a man like this before. He stirred a longing in her that was foreign, yet strangely familiar. She traced the outline of his ear with her fingertip before running her hand down his bicep. He pressed her against the wall and continued to lay his claim to her mouth, sliding his thigh in between her legs, pushing up against the moist heat of her. His hand followed, stroking her with a firm pressure that made her arch into his touch, silently begging for more. His leg spread her legs wider, giving him better access. Her hands were pinned between their bodies. Her hand reached to him, hoping to return some of the pleasure she was experiencing.

"No," he said against her lips. "Don't move."

"But I-"

"Shh. You're breaking the rules. Don't touch. Just be." And he began kissing his way along her collarbone, leaving her lips swollen and longing for his return.

His statement confused her - just be? What should she be? She was hornier than she had ever been in her life, and she wanted to be with him. There was nowhere she'd rather be than right here. Wasn't that what he wanted? He seduced her. He had invited her over, had poured the wine and dimmed the lights. He was the one who had lit the candles, asked her to dance. He suggested they snuggle on the couch during the movie, and had let his fingers wander into her hair.

And rules? What were the rules? She wasn't aware of any, besides discretion and honesty. She thought she'd better give that some more thought, just as soon as she could think clearly. It was hard to think when he was rolling her nipple around between his tongue and the roof of his mouth like that.

A moan escaped her lips and she gasped as she felt the first contractions. He increased the pressure from his hand and she thought she might explode.

Suddenly he pulled away and left her leaning against the wall, breathless. He stared at her openly for a moment, his gaze traveling the length of her. She knew her hair was disheveled and her shirt was half open, but she didn't care. She just wanted him to finish what he started, and if he wanted to play voyeur for a moment, fine.

Abby was ready to drop to her knees and beg for him when he held out his hand.

"Come here," he said with a low voice. She took his hand and he led her into the bedroom.

Her heart pounded with anticipation. She wanted to push him down on the bed, straddle him, and tease him with her hands and tongue, building up the heat within him until they both surrendered to it.

He backed her up to the bed and guided her down into the middle of it. He straddled her, pinning her hands above her head. His groin was pressed into her belly, and the heat was radiating from him, igniting nerves she wasn't aware she had.

He was watching her with the same detached voyeurism.

"Do you like to touch yourself?"

She hesitated, then nodded, sensing somehow that her honesty was expected.

"What do you think about when you touch yourself?"

"You."

"Do you come when you touch yourself?"

"Sometimes."

"Only sometimes?"

"Yes."

"Will you touch yourself for me?"

Abby hesitated. She had been asked this question before, by other men, and had always declined, certain that somehow it would be letting herself become too vulnerable, almost being unfaithful to herself.

"Will you?" His words were demanding, and her mind processed them as the reverse. You will. You will, her mind repeated.

"Yes, if you want me to."

"That's a good girl."

She tried to move her hand to begin, but his hand gripped hers tighter, pinning them against the bedspread.

"I don't want you to. I just wanted to know if you were willing."

"Please..."

"Please what?" His voice mocked her.

"Please make love to me."

"You're talking again. And that's not being a very good girl."

He pulled her shirt open and pushed her bra up, roughly pinching one nipple while rubbing the other between his teeth. His thigh continued its intermittent pressure on her labia. She lifted her hips to meet his leg, hoping to find release.

He abruptly stopped and stood up next to the bed.

"Get up. You need to go home."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're not obeying the rules, so you need to leave. I'll wait for you out there while you get dressed." And with that, he left the room.

Tears immediately welled up in her eyes. Her first thought was how had she failed to please him, which was quickly replaced by how could she regain favor in his eyes. She did not want the evening to end like this.

Abby slowly dressed, and tried to smooth her hair before walking into the living room, feeling like the contrite child wanting to make up with the parent.

He was sitting on the couch, slowly strumming his guitar. She was suddenly insanely jealous of the strings, knowing they were being played the way she wanted him to play her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know there were rules."

"It's been nice to see you again. Drive safely," all spoken without eye contact. She felt he had just dismissed her.

"Please, can we just talk about this?" She was feeling frantic now, wanting him to finish what he started, and desperate to pleasure him as well.

"There's nothing to talk about."

"I think there is. I don't understand what just happened. Everything seemed to be going just fine, and then suddenly you're mad and everything is wrong."

He looked at her long and hard. "You need to go home. Your husband will be wondering what happened to you. I'll walk you to the door."

Abby followed him through the kitchen to the back door.

"I don't want to leave until we talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about. It's been lovely seeing you again. Drive safely." He kissed her on the forehead. "Good night."

She cupped his face in her hands, kissed him gently on the lips, then traced his lips with her fingers. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I did wrong, but I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'll leave because it's obvious you don't want me to stay, not because I want to go." And with that she slipped out the door and into the night.

As she started her car, she glanced up. She could see him silhouetted in the kitchen window, his arms crossed. She paused, then drove away from his house without her headlights, preferring to navigate by moonlight until she reached the main road. It was really because she didn't want him to see the tears as she drove away, feeling as though her whole world had fallen off its axis.

He had started the fire, and only he could put it out. She just had to find a way to convince him of that.

Chapter 2

Abby sat in her cube, the department silent. She relished these weekend evenings when she could be alone here, surrounded by orderly files and a coffee cup full of new, sharp pencils. She had been working for several hours, but her heart just wasn't in it. Her mind kept returning to the night before, turning it inside and out as she tried to figure out what happened.

She was sure of one thing - she wanted him. And she was pretty sure he wanted her. But these rules... What was this all about? The more she thought about it, the more she thought it was all about control. He was in control last night and she wasn't used to not being in control. He seemed to want her to totally give up control, but when she tried to respond to him, he got angry. But why? Didn't he want her to respond to his caresses? How could he not want her to reciprocate?

Thinking back, she never saw it coming. Several years ago, they had spent an evening together, drinking, and he began to seduce her, but it never progressed past kissing and a little fully-clothed fondling. She knew then that, given the opportunity again, she'd take whatever he had to offer. They had been friends for over a year then, still working together, and he had invited her over for dinner to thank her for helping him with his thesis.

She closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair, letting her mind return to that night two years ago. She wanted to seduce him as much as he wanted to seduce her. He cooked her a nice steak dinner, they had some wine... It was perfect. He wanted to impress her, and he succeeded. But underneath it all was this electricity, this breath-holding and wondering when the first kiss would be. How would it happen? Where? When?

And now, she couldn't even remember. They had been drinking quite a bit, first sitting side by side, and then her nestled between his legs on the floor against the couch. She suggested a game of "I Never", mostly because she wanted the question to turn to sex. He was such an enigma, and she was so attracted to him.

She needed to figure him out. And she wanted to move the foreplay along a little faster. Then suddenly they were kissing, and time seemed to stop. She knew then that even if their relationship wasn't consummated that night, it would be eventually.

Abby had always believed there was some strange connection between the two of them. He made the comment more than once that she always seemed to know just when he needed to hear from her, that she was so different from other girls. A guy's girl was how he put it. Whenever they were together in a room, there was an energy that didn't exist before. Their mutual friends noticed it. One even commented on it to her, when he wasn't around. "He likes you," she said. "I can tell."

"What makes you think that?" she asked in return, wondering what made it so obvious to someone else when she had only just begun to suspect it herself.

"Lots of things. He asks about you when you aren't around. His eyes follow you when you walk by. He finds reasons to touch you. He doesn't touch anyone else as often as he touches you. The way he says your name. There are sparks when you're in the room together. It's so obvious he likes you."

"Hmm..." This was news to her. She had no idea that some of this was going on.

"You're attracted to him, aren't you."

Of course she was. The problem was, she didn't know why. He wasn't at all her type - he was stable, had a good job, was divorced with one child, rather ordinary looking, going a little bald on top... There wasn't anything to write home about. But he intrigued her. She loved their playful banter, his good-natured teasing, his off-the-wall comments and observations about life. And she couldn't deny the sexual tension that existed between them. She also couldn't just go up to him and ask him if he was interested in her or attracted to her. He was such a mystery - she would have to play this very carefully if she didn't want to alienate him forever.

"What makes you think that?" She decided playing dumb might get her out of this conversation before it became true confessions time.

"I know you. You flirt with him."

"I don't flirt."

"Whatever. So what are you going to do?"

"Do? About what?"

"Him. Are you going to act on the attraction?"

"Look, suppose he IS interested. And suppose I were slightly interested. I wouldn't make the first move. He'd have to. And I don't think he has the balls to do it, so nothing will ever happen. We're good friends, and that's enough. I wouldn't trade his friendship for anything. Besides, I'm not his type."

"You're a curvy redhead. That's exactly his type."

"Yes, but I'm not a bimbo, and that's also his type. Nothing is ever going to happen."

"We'll see..."

But she did want something to happen. She wanted to know if he was as good in real life as she imagined he'd be in her fantasies.

Abby indulged in her favorite fantasy when they were sitting in interminable team meetings. Their team leader loved to hear himself talk, and he could go on for hours, particularly about his days in the military. She liked to sit across the table from Brian so they could make faces at each other when things got boring. But she also liked to be where she could see his hands. He had large hands, and she'd imagine what they'd look like cupping her breasts around his hard cock.

One fantasy started with them having to work late on a Friday night to meet a deadline. They'd be working side-by-side in a conference room, the table strewn with papers, and he'd get up to get something to drink. She would decide to get something a minute later, and when she walked around the corner, they'd run into each other and, drinks forgotten, kiss. They'd move to the conference room, push the papers out of the way, and he'd take her right there on the table, their project forgotten.

But fantasizing about him wouldn't get her work done, and it wasn't helping her make sense of the night before.

The phone rang, startling her out of her reverie.

"Hello?"

'Hi, honey. How much longer do you think you'll have to be there?"

"Oh, hi, David. Sorry, I've got a lot to do if I'm going to meet this deadline, and it's taking longer than I expected. But if I want to get this promotion, I've got to do this right, no matter how long it takes."

"So you're saying I shouldn't expect you home for awhile?"

"I'm saying don't wait up."

"Well, I hope you don't have to stay too late. Be careful when you do come home."

"Nope, I'm going to drive with reckless abandon."

"Very funny."

"I'll try to get out of here by eleven, alright?"

"Alright. I may be asleep, though."

"That's fine. I'll try not to wake you."

"You can if you need to."

"I don't think I will. Good night."

"Good night."

Abby hung up the phone but left her hand resting on the receiver. What if she called him? Would he be home? Would he talk to her? What if she just showed up over there? Would he let her in, assuming he was home? So many questions, no easy answers. Maybe she should just leave well enough alone and forget about it. Maybe he was psycho. Maybe he was just playing games with her, trying to see how far he could push the envelope. Maybe he was just trying to see if she was as loose as some in college had accused her of being.

Alright, so back to work. Enough thinking about him. You have a job to get done, she told herself. You'd rather be fucking him, she answered. She wasn't sure if this argument was one she'd rather win or lose. Or did it matter?

The more she thought about it, the more she thought this might be for real. But it wasn't S&M. That was pain and humiliation, wasn't it? But he was more dominating, getting off on the control aspect. The rules, she reminded herself. And he seemed to want her to submit. So that would be domination and submission, wouldn't it? Alright, so there has to be some information on the internet. But did she want to be looking into this at work? She read the warning every morning that internet activity was subject to monitoring, and on a Saturday night, it wouldn't be hard to figure out who was searching for information on domination, seeing as how she was pretty sure she was the only person in the building aside from the security guard.

But wouldn't that mean that there probably wasn't some IT geek sitting in a cube watching to see who was playing on the internet and who was there for legitimate business reasons. It was a gamble, and her curiosity got the better of her.

Searching for D/S...

1,257,456 matches. Well, this seems to be rather common...

Let's do a sub-search for Rules.

Fifty-two matches. That's better.

So there really are rules. Let's see if these are the same ones I was apparently violating. She clicked on Ten Rules for Submissives and began to read.

Thirty minutes later, she picked up the phone and dialed the familiar numbers.

"Hello?"

"Hi."

"Well hello."

"I called to tell you I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"You're right, as usual. I wasn't playing by the rules. But one of your rules is to explain the rules to your submissive and not take for granted that I instinctively know these rules."

"It's ok. It's not you."

"I think it is. But I obviously do not have the experience that you have, and it will take time to develop and train me."

"It's not you. It's not your style."

"I don't see how one botched session can make you think that. Although I am curious to know what made you initially think that it might be me."

He sighed. "Something you said one time relating to 'The Bim'." 'The Bim' was his nickname for his previous girlfriend, short for The Bimbo. She always hated Missy, knowing that this inexperienced twenty-year old was sharing his bed when it should have been her.

"What was that?"

"I said I was frustrated with her, and you said 'so train her'."

"And that was enough to make you think I was an experienced sub?"

"Yeah."

"I think all I meant was that if you wanted things done a certain way, it required teaching - like I had to teach my husband to do the laundry the way I do it. Like my mom taught me to fold fitted sheets so they aren't just wadded up in the linen closet. I don't think I was referring to sex."

"Like I said, it's not you."

"I think you're wrong. I think you just don't want the responsibility of teaching me."

"I don't want to fight about it. See, it's not you or you wouldn't be arguing."

"As long as I've known you, we've argued, and you obviously had reason to believe I was a sub in spite of our conflicts."

He was quiet, and she knew he knew she was right.

"Can I come over?"

"Why?"

"I'd like to talk, face to face."

"About what?"

"Things. Last night. You. Me."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"I need some answers, and I don't want to talk about things over the phone."

"Answers to what?"

"Questions I'll ask you when I get there."

"I'm not going anywhere tonight, but I don't think you need to come over."

"I'll see you in a little bit. I'm at the office."

"Fine. Bye."

"Bye."

Her heart was pounding. This changed everything. She was back in the game. Maybe.

One more quick call.

"Hi, babe. I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to be working in a conference room for awhile, getting some flipcharts done for this presentation and then practicing, so if you call my desk, I won't answer. I'll still be home by 11, though. Bye."

Great. An alibi, no witnesses. But I'm lacking a plan, she thought. I want to push the envelope, and I don't want him to walk away. But obviously, I have to make it look like he's the one calling the shots. I have to manipulate him to play the game my way, to accomplish what I want, without letting on that that's what I'm doing. And I want him to be just as turned on as he makes me. Which means I'm going to have to play by the rules.