Please note that while firmly a lesbian story, this contains significant elements of surrender and submission...
Virginie woke with the shift of the mattress. Small, almost indetectable, but she had always been a light sleeper so it woke her regardless.
Through barely opened eyes, she saw Caitlin carefully extricating herself from the bed. Even in trying to be stealthy, the Englishwoman moved with a certain precision that Virginie found revealing... the controlled movements of someone perpetually managing her presentation to the world, even when she thought that no one was watching.
Virginie remained still, her breathing deliberately deep and regular, feigning sleep. She was curious to see what Caitlin would do, how she would process the extraordinary events of the night before. The morning after always revealed so much about a person's true nature.
As Caitlin padded naked across the bedroom towards the door, Virginie suppressed a little smile. Caitlin was already unconsciously obeying the no clothes directive from the previous night, even as she was undoubtedly planning to reassert her independence. These contradictions fascinated Virginie... the gap between intellectual intention and embodied reality, between the narrative Caitlin was still telling herself and the truth that her body already knew.
When the bedroom door closed softly behind Caitlin, Virginie opened her eyes fully, taking in the evidence of their night together... restraints still attached to the bedposts, a silk scarf draped across the foot of the bed, Caitlin's vibrator on the bed side table. Each item told part of the story of Caitlin's surrender, a surrender more complete than any that Virginie had guided before.
There had been something extraordinary about Caitlin's response, a depth of submission that had surprised even Virginie. Behind the controlled exterior of the high achieving professional woman, she'd discovered a capacity for surrender so profound it seemed to have been waiting, fully formed, for the right key to unlock it.
Virginie had recognised the potential in Caitlin immediately at Emma's party the night before. It was a quality that she'd developed an eye for over the years, a particular tension between external control and internal yearning, a specific way that certain people carried their carefully constructed personae like armour that had grown too heavy.
She had seen it in Emma years ago, though in a somewhat different form, and now she saw it in Caitlin with even greater clarity.
It had helped, of course, to arrive at the party prepared... Emma had been excited to introduce Virginie to Caitlin, describing Caitlin beforehand as the immovable object to Virginie's irresistible force, a description that had piqued Virginie's interest. Above all else Virginie had been looking forward to encountering someone in Caitlin who could be a worthy sparring partner, at least intellectually, but with the quiet confidence of someone who knew that she had always come out on top... always.
And last night, emphatically, in the end, yet again Virginie's irresistible force had prevailed. Just as she always did.
Rising from the bed, Virginie chose one of Caitlin's shirts from the wardrobe, a crisp white button-down that would hang loosely on Virginie's own slightly smaller frame. She smiled at the presumption of helping herself to Caitlin's clothing, knowing that it was exactly the sort of small assertion of authority that would simultaneously irritate and intrigue the her.
In the kitchen, she began preparing breakfast with the same deliberate precision that she brought to everything that she did. Coffee first, the reassuringly expensive beans ground to the perfect consistency. Then fruit, arranging slices of apple, pear, and berries on two plates with an aesthetic sensibility that transformed the simple food into something more intentional, more meaningful.
She selected Bach for the sound system, one of the cello suites, music that created space for thought while filling the apartment with structure, with a sense of inevitability. Everything was preparation, creating the environment into which Caitlin would return, setting the stage for what would follow.
As she worked, Virginie considered her approach. Caitlin would return from her run believing that she had reasserted control, having convinced herself that the previous night had been an anomaly, a temporary surrender that could be safely contained and contextualized. She would have constructed a narrative during her run, a way to process what had happened that preserved her self image as the woman always in command.
Virginie needed to dismantle that narrative decisively, to reveal its artifice not through argument but through direct experience. The body knew what the mind denied, and Caitlin's body had already recognised its path to freedom through surrender.
She heard the key in the lock exactly when she expected to... Caitlin would be punctual even in this, her return timed to give herself room to think but not give Virginie time to wake up. At least that is what she would be thinking.
Virginie positioned herself at the kitchen island, arranging the final touches on the breakfast plates, presenting a picture of domestic comfort that would create yet another subtle contradiction with Caitlin's expectations.
"Good morning," came Caitlin's voice, controlled, professional and surprisingly friendly despite the unexpectedness of finding Virginie already awake and in her kitchen. "I see you've made yourself at home."
Virginie turned, allowing a small smile to play across her lips. "Bonjour," she replied, observing how Caitlin's gaze shifted minutely at the sight of her wearing the white shirt. "I hope you don't mind. I thought you might appreciate coffee after your run." She gestured to the prepared mug. "Black, no sugar, correct?"
The question was rhetorical... Caitlin had mentioned briefly as part of an anecdote when they first met the night before how she took her coffee. These small details mattered, they demonstrated attention, observation, the message that nothing about Caitlin went unnoticed.
As she expected, Caitlin seemed slightly thrown by this anticipation of her preference but recovered quickly. "Thank you," she said, taking the mug and sipping with an appreciative expression that she couldn't quite suppress.
Virginie guided the conversation deliberately, leading Caitlin to the table, establishing the physical positioning that would serve what was to come. She watched as Caitlin attempted to regain control of the narrative... "It helped clear my head. Last night was quite... unexpected"... observing the subtle tells that revealed the contradiction between what Caitlin was saying and what her body remembered.
When Caitlin finally attempted to establish clear boundaries... "Last night was extraordinary. I won't pretend it wasn't. But I think we should be clear about what it was and wasn't"... Virginie knew that the moment had arrived.
She let the silence stretch for just a heartbeat longer than was natural, studying Caitlin with the focused attention that she knew penetrated all defences, then spoke the three words that would collapse the careful construction that Caitlin had built during her run...
"Remove your clothes."
