Sweet Surrender

To: Ben

Date: Mon Aug 31, 2:10 PM

Subject: Re: A Lesson In Expectations - Part Two

Can we try to be clearer here? Do you want me to feel cowed, afraid?

I've never tried to fantasize about myself like this. I don't know if that is because of habit, preference, or exposure, but I put up way more fight!

Even if I know you will win in the end, don't you want me to struggle, to resist you first?

My mind is still wandering more towards thoughts of how I got to this spot in the first place. Have you previously ravished me to the point that I no longer have any defences? Did you somehow manage to blackmail me into this?

Not to say I didn't enjoy the story! I will confess that I spent some quality time in the ladies' room afterwards fingering my pussy into submission for you.

Still though, are you really looking for such a subservient pet? Is that how you want me? MAYBE I could play this, for the right man...

Time will tell if that is you, or not.

To: Sienna

Date: Mon Aug 31, 3:28 PM

Subject: Re: Re: A Lesson In Expectations - Part Two

Fair Sienna, be careful what you read into these stories about me; they are creative fiction, first and foremost. I have my own intentions with all of this, and it is more about twisting your expectations into something different, as a sort of direct "real life" consequence, because I don't particularly like being told what to do! There was a lot more symbolism than literal stuff going on here.

So just to be very clear: I knew this was not the outcome you were imagining. But your reaction is much more interesting as a result of having done that, and much better than "ahh, you nailed my fantasy exactly right, no place else to go now, I guess we are done here." I am learning about you as we go, and will capitalize on that insight given more time, but I will also seek my own thrills from messing with your head along the way. *grin*

Could these stories be in some strange continuum, where this latest one is years in the future, and the hotel room scene was like anonymous date number zero? Sure, I could keep playing with that. And please understand, it is really very obvious that you want me to focus on their first few encounters! Just submit to the process a little, ok?

How did it all start? A chance encounter? Or was it planned? Who was the real aggressor? What damage was done, physical or otherwise? And how did it evolve? Was it blackmail? Sexual obsession? Was she abused and conquered? Gradually transformed? The mind truly boggles! I am overwhelmed with ideas!

For now, quite frankly, I don't actually know any of that yet. But I can hop around in time and tell whatever story most inspires us, or I can go in a totally different direction. You can also spin your own tales, as you have already shared with me. Why not slowly build up a shared body of work between us?

And as for my expectations specifically? No, I don't really want anyone to actually be truly cowed and afraid of me, but I can be a very good actor in a scene that involves it. Am I seeking a subservient pet? A tiger on a leash is never truly tamed, but it is fun to pretend sometimes that it is possible.

There is a fantasy side to all this, and then there are aspects closer to reality: for example, having a heightened and shared awareness that certain actions will always have an equal and opposite reaction. There are rewards for good behavior, and there are punishments for bad behavior... in whatever way good and bad are defined; and in whatever way reward and punishment are defined. This is all very fluid.

I don't think the Sienna in this story was cowed and afraid, by the way. Sure, she had evolved into some version of a kept woman at that point, but she still craved the rough sex and degrading treatment and this was her platform for getting fucked silly as often as possible. As a result, she was truly regretful when she was forced to miss out. But facing the consequences will make her appreciate the next opportunity even more, and she should be more than willing to do absolutely anything to make sure there is that next time.

I'm quite intrigued to see how your own stance on all of this evolves. I can only write so many 'fuck you to an inch of your life' stories, after all. It does get a bit dull after a while, describing a dick slamming in and out. But never mind that for now. Go take another one of your washroom breaks. Even though I'm not sure you've earned it!

Excerpt: Sienna's Blog (thanks to some Internet sleuthing)

Date: Years ago

Subject: Am I?

Is my true nature to be submissive?

I give no sign in my everyday life. I wouldn't have accomplished what I have without aggressively going after what I want. Working in a brokerage means being surrounded by arrogant men swinging their dicks around. Women can find a place here, but they have to be as forceful as the men. I don't even think it is sexist exactly, because a meek guy would get run over just as effectively, without a second thought. It's just the way it is in the trading trenches. Show any weakness, and you've lost.

Lately though I've had some time off, a chance to get away from that winner-take-all mentality for a while. That has allowed me to think more clearly about what makes me happy, what makes me tick. Keeping up this journal has been a key aspect of that process, despite the excessive focus on my sex life. Yes, my readers do like that part the best.

And the truth is, even though my sex life looks like an extension of my Type-A reality, deep down the real secret to my clit lies in another direction. I feel like a walking contradiction. I'm a feminist girly-girl. I'm a corporate boardroom slut. I'm a rich bitch in search of a good lesson.

More than my friends will ever know or understand, I like it a little different. We all like our men assertive, but I'm not looking for someone who can match my power. I like it when a man shoves my face into a pillow, yanks my hands behind my back, slaps my ass and rides me. I start getting wet just from typing that! I like the feeling of his hips pummeling me, and I always hope that I'll find bruises on my backside later. I like the sensation of being tossed around, manhandled roughly, bent in half so that my expensive strappy heels are hitting me in the face. I like it when he holds my long hair and fucks my mouth like he would my pussy. Unforgiving strokes that go too far, but not far enough when I'm picturing it while playing with myself. I like being taken while wearing the same power suit I've spent the day in, emasculating the men in my office.

Knowing all this, I don't know if I'll ever be able to find and navigate a deep, intimate relationship with a man where that type of power dynamic exists. All those contradictions might be too extreme to maintain a stable balance between work, everyday life, and play. The idea of finding such a life, however, definitely intrigues me.

To: Sienna

Date: Thu Sep 3, 3:03 PM

Subject: First Dates - Part One

A long weekend cliff-hanger... how rude of me! *shrug*

***

More than a week had passed, and an unseasonably hot end of summer had changed from invigorating to stifling. The oppressive heat was starting to make him feel a little... unbalanced? He hesitated to say crazy, although that was probably a fair assessment of his mental state, considering what he'd been up to the last few days. Obsessive was another word that came to mind, and there was no denying it was a part of who he was, not something newly emerged. He had a passion for minute detail in everything he did, and he approached every challenge in the same way: as a researcher and a planner first, then delivered as a storyteller and a performer.

Of course, you could also call him a stalker right now, if you wanted to hit a nerve closer to the actual truth. He tried to rationalize it as having simply done his due diligence on that posh, horny little tigress from last weekend. On first glance it was just another one-night stand, a passing fancy, ultimately empty. But somehow, he didn't feel like this particular story was over yet. He couldn't put a finger on it, but there was something about her that had caught his attention. Was it some glimmer of unseen depths that demanded further exploring? Or was it simply her not-so-subtle pheromones exerting an influence on him from afar?

He didn't like the current balance of power. His cock twitched urgently in agreement. He was glad the planning was finished, because he was growing increasingly distracted, unable to keep his mind from straying...

***

He advanced towards her, and she took a half-step back despite the defiant, haughty look on her face. She was goading him on now. With a buzz of fabric friction, followed by the crack of leather, he had his belt off in one fluid movement. That move, and oh that sound, had her attention. With one end of the belt in each hand he took another step forward and stopped her retreat by placing the belt behind her head. Then he ran the belt strap back through the buckle and pulled it tight around her neck. Her eyes bulged in mock outrage and her hands tried feebly to pry it away, but that was just for show, and much too late. He gave a hard tug, pulling her head down where it rightly belonged, but she snapped her teeth and gave a wicked look. Clearly, she wasn't ready to cooperate yet. Instead, he flipped her around, and pushed her skirt up.

***

What was her outfit worth in sum total? How many thousands? She obviously did well for herself, managing trust funds for charitable causes. And wasn't this how it always went? Skim off the top while claiming to "give back"? Make sure you are one of the beneficiaries of all that good will? He wondered if a little more research might lock in that leverage on her, just in case. He filed that line of thinking away for later. Right now, looking down at her, it was time to relieve her of all the pretty things she flaunted so openly. With his left hand still pinning her down by the neck, his right hand began tearing open the lacy little package before him. Buttons popping, silk ripping, straps snapping. Each note of destruction drew an offended gasp, and yet her eyes utterly betrayed her. She would fucking devour me right now, if she could.

***

She was testing him, the little bitch. And her nails were much more dangerous than he had expected. He grabbed for her wrists, intending to force her back against the wall of the building, but she was fast, slippery, and her right hand eluded him. She was also an opportunist -- an instant later her claws had raked across his cheek. Her face flashed with smirking triumph, daring him to escalate things. He ignored the sting, took hold of that reckless little hand, dragged her in more closely. Now he could reach across behind her and wrap both of her arms in one secure grip. Only then did he lift his left hand to touch the blood on his face. She had got him good. As her eyes widened, he smeared the drops of blood down her cheek and across her lips. Go ahead, taste your fleeting victory...

***

Oh yes, he was eager to make contact with her again, and it was not to ask her out on a date. Naturally, his plan wouldn't play out in precisely the way his vivid imagination wanted, but if he was right about her, he might get some of that wish fulfillment. Could this girl Sienna be what he was seeking, or perhaps even more? There was no way to know if the chase would be worth it, but he was concerned that she was just another sex-starved, slightly submissive feminist who would never be able to come to terms with her internal conflict, choosing instead to drift through one-night stands until she eventually settled for some moneyed dickhead that she had met and fucked in the coat closet at a friend's wedding. He hoped not. But he needed to be sure.

He had intentionally left her no way to reach him, and doubted she would have anyways. He had watched her from afar the past few days; at this stage in her life, she clearly wanted guys to flock to her, to contend for her attention. She was a flagrant flirt with the way she dressed, and with the way she acted during the day and at work. You could tell she was totally self-aware, and worked on it: an extra button undone, or a strategic slit in her skirt; the soft swell of cleavage from her push up bra, or the hardened curves of her calves in high heels; suggestive hints of seams and lace slipping out whenever she positioned her body at just the right angle. Teasing both men or women, it didn't seem to matter, he noticed with interest. But make an overt move on her and you would be shot down mercilessly. That was her power-play, and her protection, since most people assumed this behavior never led anywhere.

But he knew that the cock-tease routine was actually a compulsive expression of her true self, and she was barely keeping it under check these days. Last weekend was all the proof he needed to confirm that she was an unapologetic slut when she was out on the town at night. She could score herself a guy any time she wanted, use him to get her fuck on, and then tell him to fuck off. He had watched her work the crowd that night, mostly amused by it, until she noticed he was watching her. To her this meant only one thing, and he became the new target of her attention. He decided to let her make her move, still observing with his usual cool detachment at first, and then deciding to fall into it, granting permission to his own primal lust to take over for a while.

From the club, to the alleyway, to the cheap hotel room, they fucked like animals, rutting again and again. In the bathroom stall, she was positioned and ready before he even had his fly down; she apparently knew this location intimately. With her skirt hiked, one heeled foot hooked on the handicap rail, thong pulled aside and legs spread, he slammed his throbbing cock into her until he could see only the whites of her eyes as her body convulsed. Outside, she returned the favor, on her knees behind a dumpster with his hands gripping her hair. She sucked him off hungrily, red lips sliding, wet tongue swirling fast from tip to base, sometimes pulling him in as far as she could take it, almost gagging. Then she just let him fuck her face until he finally exploded, so much pent up inside him that she choked on it but still caught all of him.

By the time they reached the hotel room, he had regained some of his composure and self-control, but she was still in a full-throated sexual frenzy that seemed as impossible as it was insatiable. For a few moments he honestly wondered whether he would be able to keep up with her; and when she actually blacked out on him it was a convenient, if not entirely intentional result. It let him be the one who ended the evening, with no chance for her to tell him to fuck off. It was no slip on her part that through the entire night she had never once asked for his name. That was a part of her pattern of keeping guys at arm's length, just fuck-toys, disposable. There was no doubt she was expecting to never see or hear from him again.

But he didn't like to be forgotten, not at all. He liked to leave an impression; an indelible mark; a sense of work left unfinished. Leaving behind his name and a few sore spots on her body did not qualify, and in retrospect it was hardly a fair trade either. He now had her full name, phone number, place of work and a bevy of social account details, all obtained by skimming a few tidbits from her cell phone while she was lights out. Admittedly, that was a bit shady on his part, but he wanted it on karmic record that he also very carefully checked her pulse and breathing afterwards. He only left once he was absolutely sure that she was safe. He even gently adjusted her sleeping position, returning her to some sense of modesty in the process. Not a total asshole! Nor was he ever out of control or out of his mind at the end. And since she absolutely, mind-blowingly got off on it, everybody wins, right?

No, he didn't feel like he'd really accomplished anything yet. But now, with all of his preparations finished, it was the moment of truth. Was she ready for the next round of his game? He checked his watch. If she kept to her usual schedule, she would be getting on the commuter train in, oh... just a few minutes from now. It was time to take his position.

To: Ben

Date: Sun Sep 6, 10:17 PM

Subject: Re: First Dates - Part One

"With her skirt hiked, one heeled foot hooked on the handicap rail, thong pulled aside and legs spread, he slammed his throbbing cock into her until he could see only the whites of her eyes..."

Clever Benjamin! I do apologize for being out of contact for a few days, you know how life can get. But I've been dying to quote you back to yourself, because that was one hell of a line you wrote me. I can't get it out of my head! I would be a liar if I tried to claim I'd never done what you wrote. Those fond memories brought a smile to my face, and a wetness to my panties like nothing since... well, since the last time you wrote me!

I am eager to be a partner in all of this depraved writing, if you will permit me? Please tell me how you want me to respond in turn. I'm also starting to pile up quite the list of questions about you. Are you okay if I fire a few your way? I hope you won't feel like I'm prying or anything, I just want to understand you better, and figure out what really turns you on - so I can return the favor. Although, I also can't wait for your next part!!

I hope you're doing well, and I find myself suddenly longing for your words. I REALLY am.