“But keep in mind that a pet, regardless of limitations created by the dominant, is not a passive role. It is an active role.”
Why was I still encouraging this conversation? Everything inside of me told me to stop. She was a student. She was my pupil. Nothing more. I had hurt Lisa, scarred her forever, and I was capable of doing that again. Mara deserved better.
So why did I keep indulging her curiosity?
“That's what I’m trying to get at,” Mara said. “The entire thesis for our entry into the contest is about power in submission. It’s exactly like you said. The pet dynamic demonstrates that.”
Which was why it was hard to write the counter-argument essay. I faced her. She was waiting for my confirmation, anger and frustration mixing with need, begging for it with her eyes.
“It’s an active submission,” Mara said. “Kind of like what you said you wanted from a BDSM relationship.”
We were crossing further into the point of no return. “My personal interests aren’t important to the contest,” I said.
“But let’s talk about it. Just for a second. You said something about obedience being boring.”
“Yes.”
“You said you wanted to earn your control over a woman. A strong woman.”
“Yes.”
“What a submissive did with the command was intriguing, not necessarily the obedience.”
Had she had a recording device while I spoke? “Yes.”
“What is it exactly that you like to do?”
I wanted to tell her that I relished in seeing a woman at the complete mercy of her desires, the struggle in her eyes to accept her fate, what she propelled herself towards with each movement, and at the same time, how she was not able to do anything but to accept what was coming, because she wanted it, whatever it was. Be it a spanking or being made to crawl like a fucking animal,shewanted to be under my control, even if her entire outlook had been shaped to think that giving up control meant that she had no power. And I had earned her trust to take her there, to her deepest, darkest desires.
There was power in submission. There always was. I could not deny that.
A strong woman, like Mara, was a beautiful subject to behold when she submitted.
“This has nothing to do with your essay,” I said.
“Our essay,” she corrected. “And it does. You believe in this argument. Try and tell me that you don’t.”
Fine. If she wasn’t willing to put up a front anymore, then I wasn’t going to go in circles either.
“Tell me whatyouwant, Mara.”
“I want—” she started, then hesitated. Her eyes wandered around the room, trying to grasp onto some explanation, then she focused on me. “I want to explore whatever dynamic it is that you like. Maybe I want you,” she said. “There. I said it. I want you, Nate.”
But there was no way that we could do this. It was wrong for our academic careers, for our futures, for our reputations with our colleagues. Especially hers. “The only reason you think you want me is because of my position of authority,” I said. I stood, my hands resting on the desk. “I’m abusing my power over you. I never should have considered the idea of working with you. Not after you showed up at the Afterglow.”
“That’s not true,” she said. Her voice shook. “You believe in this essay. Our essay.”
“That’s the only reason you want me,” I said, “to have something over me.”
“You know that’s a lie.”
It was, but this was my last chance at defending what we had both worked so hard for. “I’m not going to force my hand at controlling you. That’s taking this game too far, Mara. It’s not fair to you, nor is it fair to me.”
“So this is a game to you?” she asked. She stood up too, matching my stance. “Why won’t you let me decide for myself?”
“Mara—”
She was down the hallway and towards the door quicker than a bolt of light. I followed her, calling her name, but she kept a fast pace, clutching her bag, never looking back at me. At the door to the staircase, under some stupid janitorial mistake, it was still unlocked, so she took it and marched to the top floor, to the rooftop. She slammed open the door, and I followed her through.
