She picks him as the subject of her article on deviant sexual behavior. But he has other ideas. This is their mental battle that leads to her inevitable submission.
Charles swept into the club at about 9 in the evening one Friday evening. It was a private club that a friend had recommended. He had never been there before but seemed quite at ease. The club was full but not crowded, with many Doms and Dommes there with their subs, both male and female. He wasn't anything particularly special to look at, about 6 foot tall with muscles that rippled slightly as he strode across the floor. His dark hair was cut short and he looked to be in his late 30s. He was dressed casually rather than being in fetish attire like many of the other patrons.
But there was something about him that drew the eye. Perhaps it was the confidence with which he walked or the somewhat cat like grace he displayed. Whatever it was, the unattended subs began to gravitate in his direction as he sat on a couch along the wall. A waitress wearing attire that displayed her full breasts for all to admire immediately approached him to take his order. "Samuel Adams Stout" was all he said with merely a flicker of interest in the charms she so openly displayed.
As she scurried off to fill his order, he scanned the room. He took note of the subs kneeling at their Master or Mistresses feet, some pleasuring their owners with their mouths. Across the room, a sub was being disciplined with a crop. It was clear from the sounds coming from her mouth that she was enjoying the discipline a little too much. But that was not his concern. He was merely here to check out the club for sometime later when he had acquired a new stable of slaves. He'd just moved to the city the week before and had not brought any of his previous slaves with him.
In fact, he had sold all five of them for a tidy profit. It wasn't that he needed the money. It was just that he decided that a new city deserved new slaves, a clean break from his old life. He had moved his business here to take advantage of the growing market for his special services, both vanilla and alternative. His vanilla business involved identifying and exploiting localized technological niches. His alternative business involved training pony girls. He only trained girls as he considered their sexual use a key component in their training and he did not desire the services of male ponies.
His gaze settled upon a woman standing off to the side. She appeared to be observing the activity and occasionally spoke into a small microphone held unobtrusively in her hand. She looked to be in her mid-20s, dressed nicely but rather conservatively. Her long blond hair was tied in a ponytail that hung to her waist. He had seen this type before. While young, she was obviously doing research, perhaps for a book or academic publication. The more he observed her, the more likely he thought she was doing academic research.
In fact, she was doing research for an academic paper. One that she hoped would be later published as a book for the general public. Her name was Laura Baxter, a single child of parents who were college professors and published authors. They had pushed her to not only succeed in school but to exceed. She was a phenomenon throughout her school years. She'd graduated from high school at 16 at the top of her class, received her bachelor's degree at 19, and her PhD. at the young age of 22. She was now 24 and a professor at a distinguished university. Unfortunately, her parents were killed in a car accident before she received her PhD. She had no other family and her grueling academic schedule hadn't allowed her to make any friends, so she was alone in the world.
Laura noticed the Dom's gaze and nodded at him. He nodded back and then turned his attention to a sub approaching him with hesitant steps. The sub was probably 20 and was not wearing a collar. She was wearing a thin blouse that did nothing to hide her small breasts as well as a short skirt. He had noticed her before but she had been talking to a man dressed in leather who he had assumed to be her Dom.
He watched her as she approached him, her eyes going down as she felt his gaze upon her. He gestured for her to speak as she approached. "Sir, I was wondering if you were seeking a sub or a slave. My last Master recently died in a car accident and I have been lost ever since."
He continued to gaze at her, appraising her body and her offer. It was not the first time he had been approached but usually not so quickly. She had a nice body with runner's legs, clear blue eyes, and blonde hair in a page boy cut. She looked like she had the potential to be a good pony girl. So he decided to take some time to assess her potential.
"I am in need of some slaves but I am very picky. But you look like you have potential, so perhaps you will do. Do you have any diseases?"
"No sir. My former Master took very good care of his property. I was tested just last week for STDs. Here is the certificate."
With that she handed him a piece of paper. He took it and quickly scanned it. He had seen these forms before and knew just what to look for. Yes, she was disease free. At least as far STDs were concerned. But before he took her as his slave he would have a doctor give her a physical. It was not worth training a diseased slave. He would care for a slave he owned if she became sick but would never take on a new one that was diseased.
"You may kneel before me. I will test your potential for a few days before deciding."
As she knelt at his feet, the man she had been talking to earlier approached. "What are you doing, girl! You are mine." With that, he began to reach for her arm to pull her up.
"Stop" Charles said in a quiet but commanding tone. The other man stopped automatically as his command. "Did she submit to you?"
"No" said the other man "But she was going to."
"But she did not, and until she has done so, she is free to choose her new owner. She has decided to kneel before me so that I may decide whether to possess her."
The man began to sputter a response but stopped when he saw the look in Charles' eyes. He stood there, mouth opening and closing for a minute before turning and walking quickly out of the club. He had thought he was a Dom until he met a real one. Charles had encountered his type before, the wannabees, he thought of them, if he thought of them at all.
Across the room, Laura noted this exchange. It was just the type of thing she was interested in. She had speculated that there was a hierarchy in the Dominant world and was writing an article for a scholarly journal about it. She thought that this would be a hierarchy based on personal power. So far her observations had shown her anything but that. The Doms and Dommes she had observed were generally cordial with each other and it was clear that many of them were close friends. Any rivalry was good natured and never resulted in physical violence.
So she seized upon this opportunity and walked quickly across the room prepared to suck his knowledge from him. She was sure he would form the basis of her next paper on this deviant sub culture. He noted her approach and looked into her eyes when she stopped in front of him. She opened her mouth to speak but the look in his eyes made her hesitate. It seemed that he could see into her soul, that he was her superior. But that couldn't be! She was Doctor Laura Baxter, noted professor and published author. He was merely some man pursuing a deviant lifestyle.
So, gathering her wits about her, she said "Hi, I am Dr. Baxter and I would love to interview you. I am researching the BDSM lifestyle for paper I am writing. I noticed your exchange with the man that just left as well as with this young woman. I would like to discuss it with you."
"You didn't say Please."
"What?"
"You heard me. Since when is it proper to be impolite?"
"Oh. Please may I interview you?"
"That is better. Yes, I believe you may."
Those words sent a shiver of pleasure up her spine which she shook off a little angrily. He was just a subject for her research. But, god, he seemed to exude masculinity. Once again she had to gather her wits before speaking.
But he beat her to it. Bring that chair over and sit facing me. Pointing to a nearby chair. She pulled the chair over and sat, not realizing that she was obeying his command. There had been a closer chair or even the couch for her to sit on, but he had told her to sit in this one, so she had.
"I am Charles Poindexter. And you are?"
"I told you. Dr. Baxter."
He merely looked at her, obviously expecting something more. She fidgeted in her chair for a minute before quietly saying "My name is Laura."
