Compliance Pt. 05

"So," Paul intoned breezily. He regarded Olive across his coffee table as he used his chopsticks to wrestle a chunk of Mapo tofu. "You made it back to the city, and presumably not to see me again. How did you end up here?"

Olive sat on the floor with her legs crossed under the table, intently sawing away at an egg Foo young with a plastic knife. At his question, she looked up with a weary smile.

"I've been asking myself that question a lot today," she admitted ruefully. Then she narrowed her eyes and turned the knife on him. "But I think I deserve to ask some questions here," she said, punctuating her words with the utensil. Paul regarded her serious face with subdued amusement, but kept his mouth shut, which felt wise to do at knifepoint.

After showering off, Olive had slunk back into her comfy hoodie for dinner. Paul's loft wasn't drafty, but goosebumps had raised along her arms when he had swung the door wide open to greet the Chinese delivery guy while she was still lounging, disrobed, on the couch. Just when Olive thought she'd insured herself by stealing a photo of Paul with his freshly sucked cock out in the open, he'd had to move to put her back in her place like that. He can never play these games of his on an even playing field, can he? She could see him drink in her embarrassed indignation with great indulgence. The possibility crossed her mind that he might have been showing her off, too. Or, maybe the delivery guy was just as accustomed to seeing cum-drunk submissives in Paul's place as his neighbors were to hearing bumps (and moans, and screams) in the night.

As if to put the subject to rest, Olive stated matter-of-factly, "I started working at a law firm the same way you did, I went to school. I applied myself, or whatever. That's all." She took a crispy bite off the end of an egg roll and held Paul's gaze. Chewing, she pointedly added, "I've always been smart enough."

"I know."

Olive raised her eyebrows with surprise, then furrowed them with doubt. "Do you? I remember myself as pretty stupid." Her eyes searched Paul's face for his reaction to her words before clarifying, "When we last...did this, I mean." She gestured vaguely between them with her hands. "I feel stupid about it."

"You feel stupid about submitting to me, Olive?" A strange smile arched his cheekbones. "Do you think I enjoy spending time with stupid girls?"

She paused to consider how she could best convey all that she wanted to say. After swallowing Paul's cum, her mind felt mercifully clear, clearer than it had been since she was pulled out of her good sense and into his orbit. Was that really only this morning? It felt like ages away.

"Well, yes, I kind of do." She stared back at him, unyielding. "I was in a...volatile chapter of my life when we met each other." She swallowed. "Vulnerable. Impulsive. And several years younger than you. I made bad decisions. I feel like you recognized that my head wasn't quite screwed straight. And you dominated me anyways."

Paul listened calmly, then responded, "That is true. You were a wild, nasty little college girl. The first one to ever call me Daddy, too. Thanks a lot for that, by the way, I'm stuck with that kink forever now." His joke broke the tension and they both chuckled. He rose from the couch and joined her on the floor, pulling her head into his lap. She hugged her arms across her chest and looked up into his face, trying to gauge his earnestness.

"You're not stupid," he continued, "and I'm not either. I could see that you didn't think as highly of yourself as you should have...I could see that you were being reckless because you felt out of control."

Olive's lip quivered at the memory. "It was painful...I was dealing with so many things at once. I don't understand why that motivated me to seek out more pain." Her voice was coming out hoarse. "Punishment. Maybe I was so angry at myself for struggling, that I thought I deserved it. Or being wanted by someone, in any way, when I felt so worthless, made me feel special, I don't..." She curled up into a ball and rolled to the side, scrunching her body into the fetal position in his lap. "I don't know," she croaked. Somehow, it made her feel more ashamed to open up like this to Paul than it did to open up her asshole to his exploration. How could that possibly be?

Paul seemed to take Olive's sudden wave of emotion in stride. His hand snaked under her hoodie, resting not on her tits but softly on her stomach. He had always been good at aftercare.

"I have my own theories," he said calmly. "But do you want to ask me some more questions first?"

She unfurled her body and sprawled on her back, nestling her head in his crossed legs as she enjoyed the comforting warmth of his hand on her belly. "Thank you for giving me the choice. I do have questions." Paul nodded and brushed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes with his other hand, then moved to cradle her head. "I...don't feel alone in my head when I get an order from you. I don't really understand why I lose control like that. It's only with you. Did you do that to me? It's been years since I've seen you. How is it still so strong?"

Paul blinked as he took in her concerns. "Is that so?" he asked slowly. "Here I was thinking you were just a good, obedient girl..."

"There, like that!" she exclaimed as she jolted up in his lap and pointed at him. "You're doing that on purpose. Using those words."

Paul grabbed a handful of her hair, playfully tugging her head back downwards. He smirked down at her. "Are you suggesting that you have some sort of easily-exploited trigger phrase that allows someone like me to override your free will and turn you into my ideal submissive plaything?" Those last three words slid out of his lips with great relish as he dragged his fingernails along her scalp.

Olive's eyes rolled back into her head at the combination of sudden pain followed by pleasure. Her accusation sounded silly when he put it like that.

Paul said, "When I met you, you were...how to put it...generous. You'd go above and beyond to make any guy's fantasy a reality if they were kind to you and took you out for a nice dinner. You seemed to revel in making wet dreams come true. I got the impression that being a slut made you feel powerful when everything around you felt so chaotic."

Olive scoffed. "I don't feel very powerful right now."

"I don't think I have the answer you want to hear, unfortunately," Paul continued, playing with her hair. "Even if it'd scare you, I think it'd be pretty cut and dry if I was the one who made you this way. Submissive. Pliable. Compliant. If that were the case, then I'd be the only guy you'd have to worry about. And you could avoid me, and leave, and get away, like you did last time this became too much for you... "

Olive cleared her throat and clarified, "I didn't leave because I was scared of submitting to you. I left because I was scared that..." she hesitated at what she was about to lay bare, but pressed on, "my submission... didn't matter to you." She laid her hand over his hand on her stomach. "That I didn't matter to you. I can bear to keep a secret, I can bear bondage, I can bear punishment-"

Paul interrupted, "I don't think you were just grinning and bearing it when I made you cum earlier, honey." She silenced him with a glare.

"What I can't bear is being trivial to someone who's getting so much from me. I deserve to matter to someone, and I think my time in the kink scene started because I didn't matter enough to myself. I didn't really care what happened to me as long as I was good enough for someone. But I do care, now. And I've been enjoying being alone. And so I don't understand why I'd want to..." she trailed off as she realized what she'd just inadvertently admitted, to Paul and to herself. Want to. Hadn't she started this conversation because she didn't want any of this?

Paul, with skills surely honed by his time in the courtroom, zeroed in on this slip-up immediately. "Seems like you had the answer you needed all along, Olive. You want to submit to me," he proposed. You want to be my good little pet, and for me to want to be your Master. If you told me that that didn't turn you on to think about, I wouldn't believe you. If you say you regret the times you gave in, you're lying. You love this too much." Olive lay speechless in his lap.

"No, the truth is, I didn't hypnotize you or put you under some sort of spell," Paul said. "Perhaps someone else did-- if that were the case I'd probably thank them." Olive blushed. "I didn't make you this way, I found you this way. And I'm glad I did, back then and again now. It makes you feel good to obey me. I like to help you let go. I enjoy that you allow yourself to feel that good with me."

Olive tutted skeptically and sat up, pulling her hood up over her damp hair. Rather than letting his hand fall away from her stomach, Paul wrapped both arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him possessively.

"I'm not sure that tracks," Olive insisted, as she stared at the door. This was all very confusing, and her unexpected swell of emotion seemed to have sapped the remainder of her energy away, leaving her fatigued. "You're not being altruistic when you command me to suck your cock. I'm not serving myself by acquiescing, if I don't really have a choice." Paul buried his face in her neck and kissed her. She could pick up on the spicy, woody notes of his cologne, mingled with his sweat.

"I'm not really sure why that's the case, baby. But I'm very, very pleased with it." His silken voice slid over her warm flesh like a satin sheet. "I'll work to make sure you're pleased with it if you keep saying yes to seeing me. This isn't just another Tuesday night for me, if I've never made that clear to you before."

Olive couldn't see Paul's face to assess how truthful he was being, but he had no reason to lie about this. He didn't have to care whether she felt special to him or not. Plenty of other doms would consider undermining her worth as part of the package. If it was inevitable for her to be this way for somebody, she could do worse than this.

"I don't really get why you would give yourself so little credit as to think you wouldn't be special to me," Paul went on. "Back then... I was just a pervert law student with insomnia, I didn't have my shit together most of the time but was getting a little better at pretending I did. I was dealing with my own pressure from my family... you're in your mid twenties now, you know what it's like. But one thing that made all of that more tolerable was this really cute girl I met online who was inexplicably all over me. Of course that wasn't my everyday."

Olive sighed and remarked, "Trust me, it's inexplicable to me, too."

"That's exactly what I mean. I'm not sure I did a good job giving you everything you wanted back then, but I wasn't really clear what that was. Half the time, it seemed you weren't really clear either. It doesn't mean I never gave you a second thought when you dropped off the face of the earth. I thought we were both helping each other escape from something..." The blush on Olive's cheeks rose higher at his insinuation. She had only thought, in retrospect, that her dabbling in kink was a bad coping mechanism of hers from which many men conveniently benefitted. She had never considered that her concessions of her time, body, and spirit had done anything for Paul beyond the carnal.

"Olive, if submitting to me doesn't feel healthy or pleasurable or exciting to you, that's surely news to me. Every other signal I get from you points to the contrary."

She shrugged and nodded in concession and remained silent. Maybe it was time to stop pretending she didn't want to submit. If her issue with her connection with this man was the suspicion that he was taking advantage of her, then maybe she could rectify that by owning her agency. By being honest with herself about what her body wanted, and asking for it. That would be different from the exploitation she feared, despite the near-supernatural hold Paul seemed to have over her. Even if their further encounters were only transactional...it at least takes two to transact.

"I hope that all makes you feel good to hear, Olive," Paul chimed. "I do like to make you feel good, you know." He nuzzled her affectionately. This amorous side of Paul that came out when his balls were drained was no small part of Olive's confusion.

She lingered in his embrace and let his assurances settle over the room, wash over her worried mind. They sat in silence together on his floor as minutes inched by. "Okay," she finally breathed. "I think it'd make me feel good to go home, now. This has been a lot for me today."

"Okay," Paul murmured as he released her and offered his hand to help her stand up, smiling. "Thanks for coming over. I enjoyed our date. Do you need a ride?"

"I'll call an Uber."

"Okay. So I'll see you soon." It was more of a statement than a question.

Olive only bit her lip, wondering if she really would say no, if she was able to.

*****************************

The next few days in the office seemed to crawl by at an agonizing pace. Kent had Olive reviewing recent legislation to put together a brief for the case, and the task consumed most of her working hours. As an intern, Olive didn't have a desk of her own, so she could often be found cross-legged on an armchair meant for clients in the waiting room, with a laptop precariously balanced on her knees.

Olive's focus was compromised. A part of her mind was preoccupied with an inescapable feedback loop that circled back over and over again on the fact that what had happened the other night with Paul, really did happen. It was affirming and gratifying and thrilling and terrifying. It left little mental bandwidth for anything else. And yet, she dared not text him to initiate another encounter, because she was worried she was already in over her head where work was concerned. Their night together had been intense, and she was content letting it breathe... But she had a new problem.

It started when she had a brief flash of panic while skimming some case law about blackmail victims being held negligent in civil court for being captured in compromising situations. She remembered the photo Paul had stolen of her, bound and gagged with her tits out, and her mind spun out thinking of what he could do with it if she wasn't compliant. To soothe this fear, she had pulled out her own photo that she'd taken of him, hoping it would give her a little assurance. Just once. But one time became a few times a day, which then became nearly once an hour. Her eyes drank in the picture hungrily. Paul's pleasure was immortalized in it. His lips were parted to allow his heavy breath to escape. His complexion carried a slick flush that reached his ears. The formidable obelisk of his dick stood erect between his legs-- and she was the one who had made it do that, by submitting to him. So viscerally would the photo bring back the sensation of Paul's cock in her mouth, it was as if every pixel retained the sense memory of her tastebuds. It had a borderline addictive quality.

On Friday, during one such viewing, Olive had a really close call. The door to Kent's office had been propped open, so she didn't notice them walk out to talk to her until they were standing right in front of her, blocking the light as she stared at her phone. They extended their arm into her line of sight, offering a Manila folder. The sight of Kent's reflective silver nail polish shook Olive from her fixation. She hastily locked her phone, tucked it away, and took the folder from Kent's elegant hand. A silver serpent ring wound around their middle finger, matching green enameled snake cufflinks fastened neatly to their crisp grey shirt cuffs. Kent seemed to favor snake motifs in their fashion choices-- perhaps a play on the notion that lawyers can't be trusted. If they noticed their intern was going ga-ga over their competitor's impressive dick pic, they gave no indication. Olive swallowed, hard, and hoped for the best as she opened the envelope to leaf through its contents.

"Just some more discovery requested by Galois Stevens," Kent said coolly. "Someone from their office is coming by shortly to pick them up." Olive felt like her heart dropped out of her ass.

"Oh?" her voice rose.

"Yeah. Would you mind sticking around to make sure they end up with the right person so I can go grab lunch? I'll bring you back a sandwich and some tea."

Olive tried to hide her anxiety with a smile. Kent preferred to manage their own appointments and opted only for a part-time receptionist who wasn't in today, so there was no one else in the office to foist this task onto. With trepidation she hoped was not too obvious, she asked, "Did you get the person's name?"

Kent grabbed their houndstooth overcoat, slung their black leather messenger bag over their shoulder, and shrugged. "Pete, or something? It's not Galois or Stevens, I think they both have their minds on snowbirding in the Carolinas this time of year. Just one of their associates who's in the neighborhood. Don't answer any questions you don't feel are appropriate without me present, tell him to call me."

If only Kent knew all the ways a conversation with Paul could venture into the inappropriate. "You got it!" Olive chirped, saluting at Kent as they headed towards the door.

"Thanks, Liv!"

Fuck. What were the odds Paul would treat this like a normal business engagement, pick up his folder, and dip out, without any acknowledgement of who they were to each other? Wishful thinking. Olive frowned. Not fucking likely. In privacy once again, she pulled out her phone to study the picture. She did not have more than a minute or two to herself before the door swung open. She glanced up. To her utter lack of surprise, Paul stood before her in a navy peacoat and pressed slacks.

"Hi, princess." His hazel eyes glinted, and Olive felt a stirring between her legs.

Olive fidgeted in her seat and cleared her throat. "You were in the neighborhood, Paul?"

He took the seat beside her. "I was, actually. Had a lunch meeting a few blocks away. Is your other boss here?"

She shot him a withering look at his joke. "Not right now, but they'll be back really soon. They left your stuff with me, it's right here." She placed the folder on his lap, as if that would preclude her from wanting to climb onto him and take its place. "You should probably go now." She hoped her tone of voice conveyed how serious she was about this moment not going anywhere. Not in her workplace.

Paul paid no mind to the line she had drawn in the sand. He tucked his index finger under the collar of the turtleneck she'd been forced to wear to conceal his love bite, tugged it outwards, and let the fabric snap back into place on her neck. Olive bit her lip. His touch burned.

"I thought about what you said, baby, about you not having a choice," Paul's voice rumbled in her ears like the deafening roar of a crowd.

"You...you have?" She looked at him expectantly, waiting for the catch. If his aim was to let her know that he would respect the work/life boundary, then he would have sent someone else to pick up this folder.

"Yes. I'm going to let you choose what would work better for you right now. You can either let Daddy have free rein to play with you for five minutes, or..." he grinned devilishly. Here was the catch. "You can take the vibrator in my pocket, put it in your pussy, and wear it for the rest of the day."

Olive grimaced and cried out, "What kind of terrible choice is that?"

"That's a weird way to pronounce 'thank you,' Olive," he chided her patiently. He ran a cool finger around the outline of her lips, breaching them slightly to push his fingertip into her warm mouth. "You need to ask me for the option you choose, and you need to choose it fucking gratefully, or I will choose for you, and I will ensure it is punishing. Try again."