Submissive and Breedable

"Great dress," he said to the woman at the party.

They were in an Oxford college. Everyone was mingling and laughing at bad jokes. There was a lot of faculty, senior students, and a handful of undergrads. It was a hot summer's evening. In the grounds of the beautiful seventeenth century quad outside crickets chirped and a fountain tinkled. The party was in a large low ceiling'd room, dimly lit by standing lamps. There was finger food and over-warm wine. The women wore elegant summer dresses, the men were mostly in dinner jackets.

*He*, however, was in a black polyester business suit. He was younger than the faculty staff, older than most of the students. He was handsome, lean, white, mid-thirties, average height, clean shaven two days ago.

*She* had been on the other side of the party to him, staying near the entrance the waiters came in and out with trays of drinks. She was on her own, getting through the champagne flutes at a fair pace.

She was short, slight, with striking features that were attractive if you liked striking and were probably a bit severe if you didn't. Jet black hair. There was Romany blood in her. Late twenties so probably a PhD student.

Her dress was tight fitting and black with dark grey lines embroidered down each side. If you weren't looking closely you might not notice the embroidery. They made shapes. Patterns. Must have had some silver thread in them because sometimes they picked up a glint of light.

She did not look like she had much patience left for the gathering.

He had been trying to make small talk with people the host had introduced him to but hadn't been getting anywhere interesting. So he had excused himself and gone over to her.

"What was that?" she said.

"Great dress," he repeated.

"Thanks," she said and turned half away from him. Not exactly rude but not interested.

"What does it say?"

She looked back at him, with curiosity this time, head cocked.

"You think it says something?" Her accent was mid-Atlantic, more American than British. Possibly one of those country-less exiles you saw in Oxford; maybe born in England, moved around the world with diplomat father from one American school to another, returned to the mother-country for a really snobby final touch to her education.

"I assume it says something," he said.

"Why? What do you think it says?"

"Well," he said, "that's the cuneiform for... uh... under, under a king. No not king. Or is it king?"

She let him hang for a minute then she smiled. Her smile was like watching a glacier melt into a mountain stream and drinking from it. "You're warm."

"Boiling," he said, "but that's just this stupid suit and no air-con here."

She smiled again. "Want a clue?"

"Please, ma'am."

"Its in a later script."

"Its not Sumerian?"

"Akkadian."

"That's me stumped then."

"Don't give up now. That would really piss me off."

"What?"

"Explain later. If you win."

"Err. OK. Another clue?"

"It didn't evolve that much. Of course there are key differences but if you know some of the ways early Sumerian evolved you could probably derive----"

"Oh, is it... something... under dominion? And that's wife. Or woman. Wife, umm, under dominion..."

"Nice. Not far off. Next bit?" she said, turning her body with a gay twist that made his heart leap, so he could read the embroidery down her other side.

"I don't know, but you can keep doing that. Maybe a twirl?"

"Eyes on the prize, boy."

"Yes ma'am. Right. Something, relating to, to... I've seen that before, to do with a... with new grain, with the harvest?"

She looked hard at him for a while. He looked down and focused again. At the curves down the sides of her lithe body... No, at the script.

"Its fertility," he said, looking back up at her.

"That's definitely close enough, Cuneiform guy."

She took him by the wrist and dragged him away into a dark corner far away from the rest of the party and pushed him up against a wall.

"OK handsome. I am *not* asking you if you are single because I doubt you are and I don't want you to have to admit if you're not. But either way, if you're not too hung up for some fun, just stay there don't do anything or say anything."

He thought his way through the clauses and double negatives for a second, then he did nothing and said nothing.

She kissed him.

She broke off and said in his ear, "Have you heard of 'slut for Akkadian'?"

"I think I've got their third album in vinyl."

"Ha."

"So... that's you? Or is that meant to be me? A slut for Akkadian?"

"Uh huh. Its me. Could be you too, I guess."

"You starting your own social movement? How's it going?"

"Just me so far."

"Tough going."

"Probably because I've not told anyone about it yet. Except you."

She kissed him again and he took her waist in his hands.

"Why tell me?" he asked.

"You got it."

"Hardly."

She took his face in her hands and looked intently at him.

"I've been in this miserable college for four months. Four. Months. The town's not much better. There are some cute girls but the guys? Everyone's so up themselves. I might not be super sociable or be easy to talk to, but Christ.

"Ancient Mesopotamia is my field. I got so bored I stitched this into the dress. And you you know what? No-one else has even noticed it was cuneiform. I don't even know if anyone in this supposedly amazing college even knows what cuneiform is. I told myself, first guy that gets it, gets me. So long as he's not a pig. Literally, the first."

She let go of his face and looked away. "Or maybe they just didn't care to look close enough. I'm not exactly a super model."

"Their loss if they didn't," he said.

She smiled up at him again.

"You're passing all the tests tonight, aren't you? First: you actually notice me. Second: you read my message. Third: you let me get weird."

She reached back and discretely pulled the dress up to her waist and took his hands and pulled them back to hold her arse through her tights. She felt hot under his fingers.

"She strengthens my hands for war, my fingers for battle," he said.

"I said slut for Akkadian, not slut for Psalm of David."

"It just came to me." He kissed her again.

After a minute they broke the kiss.

"Are you a history post-grad?" she asked. "You don't look very Oxford, no offence."

"None taken. No, I'm a guest of one of the professors."

"You do history though."

"No, just something I read a bit about. I'm just a self-taught engineer. I do energy things. Experimental wave energy tech. We're working with the college on some industry-academy partnership grant."

She pushed one of her knees between his legs and rubbed her thigh against his groin. "I was expecting a scholar to get it. I was going mad. I'd have even slept with that sixty-something ancient history lecturer, but even he didn't see it. You beat all these bullshit thesaurus windbags, and you're cute, which is a relief. Do you even have a degree?"

"Nothing worth the paper. I don't even know how to spell thesaurus. is it theo-, t, h, e, o, or the-, t, h, e?"

"The-, t, h, e. Can you take me somewhere?" She was still rubbing her thigh against his groin. It was getting a response and she could feel it.

"Are you a student?" he asked.

"PhD. Can you take me somewhere? I want your hands touching more than my nylons."

He moved the fingers of his hands so they were inside her tights, under knickers, on the skin of her arse. She nibbled his ear.

"Here? Naughty," she whispered.

He ran his left hand around the inside of the band of the knickers, over her hip, slowly, a tease, until it was resting against her Mons with his fingers brushing her pussy lips.

She breathed heavily into his ear as she kept nibbling his ear.

"You're going to get us caught. Don't you want to take me somewhere? Emphasis on *take.*"

He slipped a finger into her slit and she wriggled and gasped.

"Do you have a room on campus?" he asked.

"Yes but I want somewhere I'm not used to. Somewhere I'll never forget when I remember what you're about to do to me."

"And what, precisely---" he thrust a second finger in, "---am I going to do to you?"

"Uhh. I'll tell you when we get there."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Yes," she said.

"What does the cuneiform actually say? You were humouring me. How close was I?"

"I'll tell you that later too."

"OK. Can I ask you just one more question?" He started pulsing his middle finger upwards against the wall of her cunt.

"Yesss," she said through gritted teeth, going up on her toes in her black pumps.

"You seem like a girl who likes to come a lot, a sensitive---" He twisted and she groaned. "---girl who can climax again and again."

"Yessss!"

"In that case before we go anywhere I want you to climax for me right here, in front of all these stuffed shirts. Let them see what a real man does with a real woman."

"Nnggg---"

He held her close as he leant back against the wall and she lay her head on his shoulder and bit the fabric of his jacket as she trembled in his arms.

--------

Five minutes later they were around the side of the college in the quad, lying in darkness on a patch of grass that had been set aside two hundred years before by Quakers as a place of quiet contemplation.

They were both naked. She was lying on her back. He was on top, had a condom on and was penetrating her in long, deep motions that made her gasp.

"So. The first half is 'this female is submissive'," he said. He had made him tell her as he teased her running his cock back and forth over her opening.

"Uh... Uh huh. Loosely.... Loosely... translated."

"You don't seem the type," he said, slowing down so she could answer him.

"I'm totally not," she said, getting her breath back. "I never have been. But I always wanted to be. For someone. Maybe just the once, I don't know. But I knew I'd have to have a fucking good reason to. I want to submit to a mind, not an ego or a hot body..."

He thrust hard again.

"The big cock is a bonus though, I've got to admit," she said, as she clawed his back and threw her head back to the grass.

--------

Not long after that she came again. She was too sensitive and asked for a break.

"What's the second half of the translation?" he said, from her side, head propped up on his elbows.

She looked vulnerable.

"If I tell you, you'll leave. You'll go cold and freak out and make an excuse to leave."

"Do I want to know then?"

"Probably not." Now she was the one getting cold, drawing back from him. She looked away from him.

He got her chin in his hand and turned her to look at him, but she didn't meet his gaze and rocked her head away again when he let go.

"Fine," he said, and turned away to where their clothes were piled up.

She didn't look over but she did sit up and pull her legs up into her hands.

He moved over to side and got her dress off the floor and got up and walked over out into the quad until he was standing under the nearest light, still naked, still semi-erect. He held the dress up to the light.

Now she turned to look at him.

He held it there for several minutes. Not moving, other than to turn the dress this way and that under the light.

"And breedable," he said. He looked back at her, his expression was unreadable.

"'This female is submissive and breedable.' Is that right?"

"See?" she said. "Now's when you freak out."

He dropped the dress and walked back over to her and pulled the condom off and chucked it away. He knelt down and gently pushed her back onto the grass and pulled her legs down and apart. She let go of them reluctantly. This time she kept his gaze though.

"Don't move girl. You don't get to go anywhere now. You can't get out of this."

"I don't want to," she said so quietly she practically mouthed it.

As he penetrated her again he said, in Sumerian:

"[This] female [is] mine,

"Her body [is] mine,

"[My] seed [will] fill her,

"[Its] product [will be] mine,

"No other man [will be] here."

He came in her and she gasped and she cried and as she did he kissed her and held her firmly as he kept coming.

--------

They lay next to each other, still in the darkness, looking up at the stars. She traced her fingers across her stomach in elaborate patterns.

"That was a neat little speech. Definitely did it for me. Nice phonology. But," and here she pointed a finger sideways at him, "You know I'm bi. And I mostly prefer women. And I want to have a baby, not get a man. You got to know I have no intention of becoming your live-in slave, OK?"

"So much for 'this female is submissive'."

"I can submit. I submitted. I'm submitting. Try and keep me though, I dare you.

"Seriously, I'm terrible with men. I can want a baby and think a man is hot without wanting to get married and do his laundry."

"Anyway," she continued, "I guessed you had a girlfriend and you don't live in town. Was I wrong?"

"You weren't wrong."

"You're not offended then?"

"Offended? I might not be as over-educated as you, but I can tell a woman who only wants me for one thing. I'm flattered. Want me to come visit, or disappear forever?"

"Just because I don't want to do your laundry doesn't mean I don't want to get felt up by you in a party every now and then." She leant over and kissed his neck. "So, you do have a girlfriend?"

"Yes I have a girlfriend. She's pregnant too."

"Hot. Maybe you can introduce us. I won't blow our cover. But I *will* try make out with her. Super hot actually." She reached down and started stroking his cock.

"My kind of bi," she continued. "Two pregnant chicks making out. Same daddy, but one chick doesn't know that. Daddy whose watching but not joining. Bad daddy, no joining in. Just for the mummies."

"Lets make it happen."

"Yummy."

"I was also serious," he said.

"About what?"

"No other guys for you now."

"Oh yeah? Or what?"

"Or I won't be back here in, say, three years to knock you up again."

She looked like she might cry again. "You know how to treat a girl," she said, as he rolled on top of her.

"I'm not one hundred percent sure the last time I really hit the spot," he said.

She locked her ankles together behind his back.

"So breed your female," she whispered in his ear.

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