"When did you first know you were submissive?"
Baby girl shifted in her seat uncomfortably. She hated these questions. She was a child of the 60s—the decade that changed the world. For women, life was filled with heretofore unimagined opportunity. Baby girl was raised on these dreams. Never once did she doubt that her life would be anything less than everything she wanted. She had prepared and planned for that life. Training, dedication, and raw intellect had molded her into a person of reason, a scientist with a promising career. Professionally, she was advancing understanding of the natural world. Now she was faced with the question that forced her to admit that for years she had no clue as to her own nature. It was almost an admission of failure. Almost.
She looked up into the eyes of the One standing over her. He patted her shoulder gently. She placed her hands flat against her thighs, and took long, even breaths. Yes, she hated this question in particular. Slowly, methodically, she began to speak.
"I have only recently come to understand my submissive nature." The words emerged almost as a sigh. "Throughout my adult life, I have been the dominant force in my personal and professional relationships."
"Successful in the professional realm, the leader in your personal relationships, and yet you claim you are submissive."
People looked at her and saw an impossible dichotomy: a successful, highly educated, professional woman who gave herself over to her One to be controlled in every way imaginable—a toy to be used and played with, a companion to provide comfort and love, a slave to His desire. Her submissiveness wasn't a thing she boasted about or hid, but it was a thing she craved. Baby girl had one focus, and it was not professional advancement, it was to be the ultimate pleasure of her Dom. From the corner of her eye she saw Him smiling. Her heart soared.
"So, why the switch?"
"My personal relationships were in disarray and I had no clue as to why. When I came to know myself, this is what I found."
"And now you accept what you are?" he asked curiously.
"Yes. I accept that I am submissive, that I belong to Michael, and that I will do whatever pleases Him."
"Describe anything?" he asked.
Michael replied in a deadpan. "Martin, baby girl will do anything I ask that doesn't endanger her physically or emotionally. And those things, I would not ask."
"Perhaps," Martin said, "but I doubt it." Baby girl shot a look to kill.
Martin was a wiry man, roughly six foot tall and a bit too skinny for his frame. He wasn't particularly attractive and he had a way of looking at baby girl that made her feel small. His eyes were sullen, his cheekbones protruded over thin, transparent skin. His chin was too pointed. His eyes attacked women, cascading over tits first, ass second. He was fond of boasting that the true value of a woman could be judged with two fingers in her pussy. He looked upon women with the insatiable appetite of one who never truly gets what he wants. Baby girl tried to hide her distaste for his kind.
Michael said, "Baby girl....what do you think of that? Martin doesn't think I you'll obey. He doesn't think I own you."
Michael was the antithesis to Martin. Shorter perhaps, but Michael was much more physically attractive. His broad shoulders and strong arms made baby girl feel safe. His dark eyes were the kindest place she knew. He was a mature man in his early 50s, but no grey belied his age. He was also in exceptional shape. Baby girl loved to run her hands across his chest and trail her fingers down his smooth belly. She even found the way his stomach pooched out just a bit to be insanely cute. He had slim hips and a nice ass, and seeing him in his Levis made her pussy drip. Although he was an intensely private and quiet man, he had a playful streak and his laugh was genuine and hearty. His voice was so sexy, it made baby girl yearn to hike down her panties and fuck.
"Oh, it's not that I think she's incapable. I just don't think it suits her temperament," he clarified.
"Tell Martin, baby girl, do you obey?" Baby girl's heart thumped in her chest. She loved hearing Him call her by name.
"I do, Sir," she said.
"Prove it," Martin said. Baby girl wasn't sure if the comment was directed to her or to Michael. Michael only smiled. Baby girl relaxed...just a little. She didn't have to do anything anyone else commanded...only Michael, and it appeared he would let this challenge slide.
"Martin, that is why we're here. My baby girl will prove that a woman like this can serve. But for now, let's concentrate on questions."
Turning back to baby girl, he asked, "When you met Michael, were you submissive?"
"When I met Michael, I thought I was dominant. For this reason, he initially discouraged me from getting involved with him. Although I suspect he knew what I was from the beginning, he didn't want to alter my life if I wasn't ready to accept. I was quite vocal at that time in my opinion, incorrect I might add, that submissives are weak. I detest weakness—in myself and in others. So I did not allow that I was submissive."
"So he turned you from a dominant to a submissive." Martin smiled. He was trying to push her buttons. Baby girl felt her stomach twist. She didn't like being toyed with by him.
"He did not," she replied. "He showed me that I had a submissive nature. He helped me deal with the difficulties of accepting this about myself. He has shown me the power of submission. Michael has helped me to grow as a person."
"And now he owns you."
"He does."
Baby girl's fingers began to move in a predictable pattern against her thighs. Michael looked at her hands curiously. Baby girl's eyes were fixed on Martin. She repeated each word in her head as her fingers typed against her legs. YOU ARE A FUCKING ASSHOLE, period, space bar, hard return. Over and over her fingers flew. She looked at Martin and smiled.
"You are his sex slave."
"No. I am not a sex slave. I am a submissive."
"Sex slave, submissive, what's the difference?" sneered Martin. "Either way, you attend to all his sexual needs."
"There is a big difference. A sex slave has neither limits nor rights. A submissive has both. As to your comment about his sexual needs, I do attend to all his sexual needs, as He does to mine."
"And what sorts of needs might you have?" His tone caused baby girl to pause. His comment sounded as though he thought subs were sluts—things to be used. She looked at Michael. She longed for a word of reassurance from Him. None was forthcoming.
"My needs are many. First among these is the need to serve my Master. After that, I need to be dominated. I need to be controlled. I need to know and feel His love for me, and like any other woman, I desire sexual release." Michael stood with his arms crossed and smiled gently at her. Martin nodded.
"So your submissiveness is purely sexual. This relationship you have is built on sex."
"No. In nearly every way, our relationship is entirely normal. We talk, interact, relax, enjoy each other's company, make dinner, plan for the future in exactly the way most couples do. The only difference between our relationship and those is that Michael owns me."
