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He fed her yogurt and buttered bagels for breakfast and hummed the little
tune while they showered. When she was all clean and dry, he pulled back the
covers of his bed. As he covered her up, he extolled the virtues of flannel
sheets. He nestled beside her and said, "Don't go home. When I wake up you
will still be here. You won't go away?"

"No. I won't go. You will probably wake up before I do."

"Magda, you have tamed me."

She smiled sleepily at him. It was a reference to a French children's story.
"We are responsible for the things we tame," she answered.

He did not sleep for three more hours. During that time he perfected two
more of the nine songs he had written and wrote bridges for one of them.
Words came to him like colors to his eyes. They fit like puzzle pieces, and
he had never known writing to be so effortless. He watched her sleep and
listened to the rhythm of her breathing and thought about Handel's water
music. What pleased him most was that the love songs had meaning and didn't
sound sappy. The breakup song made sense and offered solutions and the one
that made no sense but had political references read like poetry. Critics
would spend months trying to figure it out. It amused him to think about
strangers pondering the meaning of his meaningless music.

He was afraid to go to sleep for fear that when he woke up she wouldn't be
there. He held her hand for as long as he could until the deep darkness
covered him in the light of day.

She was still there when he woke up. In fact, she was reading one of his
books from the library in the chair across from the bed. He thought about
gifts he wished to give her. She was naked and wrapped up in a throw he had
bought while touring in Russia. It looked much better on her than it did on
the bed. She was smiling a lot and he knew that she was happy. She had
combed and braided her hair and it actually sparkled in the late daylight.
With the hair braided, a silver ring through her right ear was exposed. It
carried a captive ball in silver. Her legs were open. It was a silent
language, and he knew all the words.

"Magda, how long have you been a submissive?"

"My last lover was dominant, but nothing like you. Before that I did not
know."

"You were uncomfortable on the table last night because you were not bound.
Is that right?"

"Yes. That, and I have never done it on the table before," she confessed
shyly.

"Your last master made you greet him by sucking his cock?"

"I wouldn't call him a master, but yes, he did."

"So you have greeted me in the same fashion."

"Yes. Is there something wrong with that? Does it shock you?"

"No. Not at all. I understand completely."

"I was afraid that you were not educated in this lifestyle and I was
concerned that you would think badly of me."

"No," he replied. "I could never think badly of you. You are a good
submissive. You manifest it in every aspect of your life. I do the same
thing. I feel a lot better now. This explains everything. I was crazy about
you for days and I couldn't explain why to myself. I don't usually go
chasing women I don't know."

"I don't usually invite strange men over in the middle of the night. Is it a
new day? May I greet you again?" she asked mischievously.

"Wouldn't you like to go somewhere? Do something? Spend money?" He tried to
change the subject.

"No. Why would I want to do those things? I have you to distract me."

"All right, then. In that closet in the very back behind all the riding gear
is a blue duffel bag. Bring it to me, please."

She went into his closet and brought it to him as he lay in his bed. He
unzipped the bag's upper zipper as she laid back in the bed. This was his
first attempt with her so he would start with something simple--the
blindfold. Velvet or satin? Satin this time; she would feel more comfortable
with its familiar feel, as satin blindfolds are quite common. Magda
practically helped him tie it and placed her hands up to the posters of the
bed to be bound.

"No, not yet. Patience."

She pouted her lip and rolled over on her side. Blindfolded, she could not
see the toys he took from the bag. He examined her anal opening by lifting
her thin ass cheek up. She was so small. Everything on her was so small. He
took the thinnest butt plug he could find and set it on a blue towel he had
laid out. Nipple clamps? Not today. Vibrator? Nah. Leather tethers? Yes,
might need those. He went through the contents of the bag. With it all
assembled he made her roll over on her back again. She was very still and
too calm.

"Legs up, bend at the knee."

Her legs went to a right angle to her body exposing her entire sex. He
looked at it for a moment, touching it. The suddenness of the initial
examination would feel awkward and she would probably feel nervous, which
was good. She had a beautiful cunt, so small and tight. The first signs of
cream were beginning to drip down. He tested her with his finger. Not yet.
Not yet. As he bound her wrists to her knees, with her legs open using a
spreader bar, he said, "So. Tell me, Magda, what appeals to you about BDSM?"

"You are going to talk to me while you do this?" she asked sarcastically.

"Yes. How else would I know what you are feeling?"

"That is very different. But, okay. Umm, what appeals to me? The
relationships are different from vanilla relationships. There is more
communication. Uh, that's too tight."

"Huh? Oh, sorry, how's that?" He loosened the buckle on the restraint.

"Much better, thank you. Go on."

"I think women are treated with greater respect, and men are allowed to be
men. What do you like?"

"Control. Mystery. And it's enlightening. For example, we could discuss
'trust.' You are bound and naked with a man you just met. Why?" He grabbed
the remote for the CD player, made the selection and hit the play
button--Handel's water music, to make her comfortable. He put on two thin
leather gloves as he spoke and sat below her on the bed, and opened her sex
using the gloved hands.

"What are you doing?"

"Stick to the subject please."

"I can't think when you do that. What is that?"

"Concentrate. All that classical music must have taught you some
discipline," he said tenderly.

He massaged the clitoris with the gloved hand and her head rolled from side
to side as she weakly moaned, "Please."

"You have my undivided attention. First the question, then we'll discuss the
terms of your subjugation. Let me repeat it for you. What brings you to my
home?"

"My submissiveness. I am drawn to you. Oh, God."

"For some reason, bondage inspires truth. Wouldn't you agree?"

He massaged the mound of her sex with his other hand while examining the
tender fullness of her breasts, the dark nipples, the gentle slope of a
natural breast. The sweet cream of her cunt seeped down the crevice of her
ass. She was so easy to arouse. He credited it to his years of experience,
and smiled to himself. She had not answered the query. So he repeated the
question. Mental domination was more interesting for him than the physical,
but they combined so well.

"Yes, sir," she said distantly.

"Therefore," he continued soberly, "we should be honest with each other,
yes?"

"Anything for you."

"I'm glad we agree." He removed his hands, and she seemed relieved that he
had removed the stimulation. Quietly, she gasped for air, and he waited for
her to cool before continuing. She seemed comfortable enough. He checked her
feet and hands for numbing. She reacted well and it pleased him. When it
became obvious that she was searching for him, he spoke, "I'm right here.
What are you thinking about?"

"You."

"I am listening. Go on."

"You aren't who you say you are, are you? That is why you brought up the
trust thing."

"That is correct. Does the prospect of submitting to a liar frighten you? Do
you regret your decision?"

"This is cruel."

"I have not professed to be a kind man. You have made a bad decision. I
would think a sub of your caliber would know better. Tell me, where did you
go wrong?"

"I spoke to you in the street?"

"Not quite. It occurred when you began to leave your blinds open while
masturbating." He waited for it to sink in.

Then she erupted, "That's a lie! I never do that. I wouldn't do that!"

He removed a glove and massaged the clitoris the way she had in her private
show. Slowly he dipped his fingers inside her, and she fought against the
bonds in a vain attempt to escape. She knew. She believed. She was afraid.
Softly he said, "I won't hurt you. I won't cause you pain. Be still." It did
not soothe her. She began to weep; it made wet spots on the blindfold. His
heart melted. He took the blindfold away from her and she stared at him in
anger and fear. Control. Not just the control of the situation. He wanted to
control the emotions. It was his nature. It was what he did. He said, "Do
you feel vulnerable?"

"I feel angry. Like I want to punch you in the face."

"Do you feel manipulated?"

"I feel like you are controlling me."

"Do you feel afraid?"

"Yes."

"Good. I am doing well. If I can bring you to this extreme, would it not
also stand to reason that I could do so much more? If, of course, you let
me."

She rested her head back into the pillow, frustrated and confused. Softly,
he caressed the inside of her thigh. It was solid and small. Her skin was
smooth and soft, as if she rubbed exotic oils into it. His hand traveled to
her belly, avoiding her sex altogether. There he gently smoothed the skin,
while humming to himself. He stayed there until her breathing had changed
and the frustration had left her. They did not speak, though much was
communicated. She weighed his actions against her intuition. Submissives are
highly intuitive. She was reading him, as he would read music. It amused
him.

When she was ready, he tenderly took a dark nipple into his mouth. The sound
of air rushing into her lungs was accompanied by the swelling of her chest.
He rode the wave of her body, as she grew accustomed to the warm sensation
of his sucking mouth. Her eyes closed, and she seemed contented and calm
again. He laid beside her and raised his face to her, engaging her in a deep
kiss. She was more yielding and more passionate than before the torment. He
would have to inspire her to still greater reaches if he was to bring her
the reward she so richly deserved. It was odd how when he did this, he did
not notice the begging of his loins. It was as if he was completely drawn
into the domination of the submissive and he felt nothing else. Years of
self-examination led him to the understanding that he was not a slave to his
body. His sexuality was all in his head. This made for extremely long
training sessions. But while he was not a slave to his body, he was a slave
to hers. She consumed his focus. While fondling the breast on the left he
suckled the nipple on the right, and when she seemed almost overwrought by
the sensation, he would switch tactics. The objective was to bring her to a
quiet frenzy. Fear would slow her sexual response, but it would come back
with a vengeance, he knew. It did. Slowly, the quiet calm that had engulfed
her was laced with a tension.

Eventually he would kneel between her opened legs and kiss the soft slope of
her inner thigh. This would make her moan and thrash and struggle to free
her hands. When he had successfully brought her back to arousal, he said,
"Let me."

She could not speak; her thoughts were hazy and she was distracted by a
brilliant ache to be ravished. This was to be anticipated, and he waited
patiently for her to speak. She cooled and the burden softened in the upper
part of her thigh, and in the muscles that comprised her breasts. She
whispered, "Let you what?"

"Let me be your master. Let me rule you. Let me in."

It was so hard for her to think like this. It was so clear what she wanted,
but he would not give it to her without her consent. She knew that these
would be the terms of her subjugation. The line of logic was made straight
in her confused thoughts. She responded, "Please, Master, rule me."

A wave of emotion rolled over him, and it electrified him in its intensity.
His kisses to her open thighs increased in severity, and they led upward to
her open and vulnerable sex. As he moved upward, she would thrust her cunt
upward and clench the muscles inside her aching snatch. Now, he became
painfully aware of the vicious throbbing of his cock. He analytically
calculated how many orgasms he could bring her to before he would drive it
into her, based on the severity of his need, and the sense of control he
felt.

He nibbled the soft petals of her tempting flower, and she reeled in
ecstasy. Even in the throes of passion she was noble. She moaned softly, and
tried to thrust upward. Thom loosened the restraints of the spreader bar,
and placed it on the floor beside the bed. Her legs remained open, and
begging, and he went back to his work of passion. Kissing her was something
of a relief for her. The direct stimulation and the seeking of his tongue
made her want something more substantial. She would speak to him in between
grunts, "Unh, more, please, more." So he slipped two fingers into the tight
opening. "Better?" he would ask. She would continue the ravings and he
slipped yet another finger inside, careful not to hurt her. Three fingers
seemed to calm her and she ground herself into his hand. He would torment
her anus with the other hand, eventually slipping a finger into it as well.
Her pitch would raise and he would retreat, prolonging the experience and
antagonizing her. The power was a forceful seduction and he could not resist
it. Finally, his selfishness was satisfied and he lowered his mouth to her
clitoris while plunging his fingers into her sex, and sucked softly.

"Hungh," she moaned, bearing down as she submitted to the powerful writhing
that took her.

Her face contracted and her eyes shut tight, and he felt the contractions
from within. Her dark-haired head rose and fell gracefully four times and
then she was still. He mercifully withdrew when she asked him to.

His cock was solid, and it hurt to move. Still, he felt the gust of strength
in the domination of her. It is such rewarding work, he thought to himself.
He allowed her a moment to rest and then he began the positioning innate to
intimacy. She seemed distant and reflective, but her opening was dripping
and begging to be filled. With his face above hers he said, "You must be
tired by now. Can you take a little more?"

Her eyes focused on his face, and see seemed happy to see him. "It's really
sensitive right now. I don't know." She was sincere.

He placed his cock to the slick opening of her entrance, careful of the
sensitive bud above it. "Be still, and I will go slowly." Thom fought the
urge to run her through, and eased it into the hot channel. With steady
pressure he drove it in, in spite of Magda's obvious reluctance. When it was
inside her completely, he waited for her. It was a little too large for her
to be comfortable, and she would squirm in an attempt to reposition it. Her
face contorted in tension, and he tried to calm her. "Breathe. Magda?
Magda?" He competed for her attention. "Put your head back on the pillow,
sweetheart. Shhhhh, it'll pass; you'll adjust in a moment."

"Master," she gasped, "you can't be serious."

"Patience, calm."

Her breathing slowed and it seemed that the wet heat around his dick eased
in its tightness. When it was clear to him that she was ready, he began to
drive his cock in and out of her. The pressure in his balls was building
dramatically, and he questioned his expectation of her second orgasm. When
he first started, she did not move beneath him, but slowly she began to meet
his thrusts.

"Maggie, that is very good," he whispered softly. "You please me; would you
like more?"

"Yes, sir. I can take more."

He began to thrust more deeply into her and she would grind her pelvis into
his base. He could tell that she was beginning to feel the stirrings of an
orgasm, and he changed his direction to massage her swelling clitoris in the
course of his thrusts. After a few of those, she was calling out and
thrusting deeply with the second impending orgasm. This was his sign that
called for his release.

He allowed himself to come. It shot deep within her and she felt every inch
of his member pulse. Four strong contractions followed, and then he was
silent.

"Thank you," she said finally.

Some time after that, he slept. It was not clear to him when. He was unaware
of disengaging. He could not recall the sweet kindnesses he said. Sleep drew
him in and he could not resist it.

The room was dark when he finally awakened. He felt in the bed for her and
she was still there, to his surprise. He went to the sitting room and sat in
his favorite chair. He looked over the music he had written over the last
few days and thought about whether he would torment himself over its
perfection as usual. He listened to it in his head. He analyzed the words.
He thought about Magda sleeping in his bed. He found that he enjoyed
thinking about her and the impending relationship more than thinking about
his work. He was a wealthy man. There was enough money. Surely all this
success had brought him the security to spend time with the people he cared
about, and do the things he really wanted to do. He felt a responsibility to
her. He had brought her to this, and now he was responsible for the thing he
had tamed. It comforted him, and gave his work meaning. In an hour he had
sent the music to his bandmates. By morning the phone was ringing with
praise.