As I read the new email, I gritted my teeth in frustration. My insides were churning with annoyance.

There's no need to meet in person, I said to myself. And, "every fucking week, to boot." There was a lot of cursing, but it was necessary at the time.

I had no one but myself to blame for my predicament. I had only lately begun consulting for a Silicon Valley tech firm. I won't identify any specific areas, but let's just say that search engines, internet advertising, and more may all benefit from the insights provided by pure mathematics. I wanted to get a grant from the IT giant because of all their money. With the funding from the award, I could employ two more PhD students and put together a solid team to take on the topics I care about.

To that end, we had planned a joint endeavor. The project was sponsored by the VP of Technology, and weekly status meetings were requested through email from his assistant.

Oh, man. I knew the project would get a lot of attention, but the weekly trips to San Francisco were simply too much of a hassle for me to bear. And Friday was the day of the meetings. This was going to cause a major upheaval.

When asked, "What's up, Oren?" I heard a voice inquire in a humorous tone. I had just gotten a cup of the sawdust-flavored coffee that was essential to keep me awake and was in the break room when the email came through. When I raised my eyes, I saw Colin Baker. In addition to being an excellent professor, Colin was also a wonderful friend. Colin and his wife Karen were frequent diners with Jenny and me, and he was understanding but not shocked by our breakup.

I presented the email to him. My masters insist that I show up to meetings in person. It's located in the heart of Silicon Valley. Weekly on Fridays at 2:00 p.m. Regarding the next four weeks."

He gave me a grumpy look. What business, he inquired.

I identified the dominant company in the IT industry. Chloe is employed there, he said. You must have heard of Chloe Pond, right? My former doctoral student who just finished up this past summer? Please search her up and deliver the remaining letters to her at her earliest convenience.

I said, "No worries." Something interesting was happening for once. Chloe was an unusual contradiction of brashness and shyness; when she was undressed, she was forthright, upfront, and loud about her wishes, yet in public she normally stutters and stutters over her words. There was a tiny rumbling in my underwear as my cock moved about. In my mind, I couldn't help but worry whether she had found love yet.

***

Chloe:

After spending the night at Oren Bretton's, I considered dropping by his workplace to see if I'd be asked back to his home. But I hadn't said anything, and I think it was because I had a sneaking sensation that Oren may be extremely dangerous. The heart, not the body, is more important to me.

Whatever the case may be, things moved at a rapid pace. A week later, I left to travel around Thailand and Vietnam as my graduation gift to myself, thanks to the hefty sign-on bonus my new company gave me when they hired me to lead their search analytics team. After being away for six weeks, I packed up my things and relocated from Bismarck to San Francisco, which is on the other coast.

Time sped by as the weeks went by with little notice. When I first arrived in my new city and state, I had a long list of tedious tasks to do. Changing my address on my driver's license, finding a new place to live, and being hooked up to utilities like power, heating, and the internet. All of them worked well to make me forget Oren's mocking laughter, hot, hot touch, and delighted gaze.

In other words, it's virtually efficient. Daytimes, I had the thrills and challenges of my new career to keep me occupied; evenings, I was left to my own devices. Even after three months, the memory of the night Oren spent the evening with me is shockingly fresh.

I had to cope with the truth that, despite my best efforts to block out Oren's influence, I had liked every single thing he had compelled me to do. To the contrary, I had pleaded with him to take advantage of me sexually. I was just as responsible for my capitulation as he was.

Submissive. A filthy and nasty term, that. My inner feminist turned on me. The question was posed, "What type of progressive, contemporary lady wanted a guy to treat her as he was playing with a toy?" Inwardly, I was scolding myself. And the same unwavering response came back from me every time. What my body had conveyed to me was not a mystery, and I was aware of this. Extreme pleasure, the likes of which I had never previously known.

It nagged in the back of my mind until one day I accepted it. My first question to a close friend who came to me with a similar situation would have been whether or not the man in question treated her properly. In such case, I would have informed her that their bedroom business was none of anyone's concern except their own. It was then that I made the decision to be more compassionate toward myself.

***

"Have you made any weekend plans yet?" Apparently Agnes wanted to talk to me. Few of us in the high-tech industry of Silicon Valley could afford the luxury of dedicated office space. We had an open space for our eight-person statistics team with cubicle walls at waist level to give us the impression of seclusion.

I turned to see Agnes, who was sitting next me. She was standing, her body angled to see over the partition at me. It was Friday at 4:30 o'clock and time to wrap up for the week.

I pushed the computer away from me and leaned back in my chair as I said that I was considering hiring a vehicle and driving to Kentucky or somewhere. Last night I had unpacked the last of my belongings; today I felt free to finally get out of my flat and do some exploring. It had been a month since I had left my apartment in San Francisco other than to go to work and pick up takeout from the several inexpensive Indian and Chinese eateries near my workplace.

She was halfway through reciting the names of a few of her favorite vineyards when she stopped abruptly. Instead, she said, "Holy crap, Batman, attractive guy alert."

"Tormodagain?" In an effort to hide my boredom, I attempted to seem interested. Agnes had a thing for Sanjay, my superior at work. She raved on and on about what a fantastic guy he was. I could see why; he was stunning, although emotionally empty.

She answered, "Yes," and she continued to stare intently at the person who had caught her attention. But he isn't alone. Really, really, hot company, to put it mildly.

I wanted to see what was going on, but the orientation of my cubicle made it impossible for me to sneak a peek.

Her cheeks flushed scarlet as she shouted, "Shit, they are heading this way," and dove inside her cubicle.

The blue eyes that had been following me around in my nightmares for the last three months finally met mine as I swiveled in my chair to look up. That would be Oren Bretton.

The words "Chloe," spoken by my supervisor, penetrated the sudden sweltering that had settled over my body. Oren has informed me that "you two are familiar."

I forced myself to glance up and tried not to flush.

He said to me, "Hello Chloe." His speech had a slow drawl that made my skin crawl. When he asked me whether I wanted to be taken in the cunt or the ass, the memory of that moment from three months earlier flooded my mind. I forced down a gulp as a surge of want travelled up my throat.

My face reddened rapidly as I said, "Professor Bretton," and then remembered I was still playing by his rules. His lips trembled as though he were attempting to suppress a guffaw. Jerk. When I stared at him, my face flushed with shame and rage.

Oren, I replied, trying to sound calm and collected. "This is really unexpected."

Oren is helping us with our search engines, as Tormodexplained. "He'll mostly be on Anya's squad, but there might be some overlap with ours." As a result, I let out a sigh of relaxation. The thought of spending each day at the office with him gave me a brief but palpable case of terror. My happiness, however, did not last long. Why don't you come with us to the pub next door on Friday nights like we always do, Oren?

Oren looked at my face and grinned, laughter clearly visible in his eyes. It was a slick "I'd love to" on his part. The question, "Chloe, coming?"

Unfortunately, Tormod was present, so I had to pretend nothing was amiss lest I become the subject of rumors and suspicion. "Sure thing, give me ten to fifteen minutes to wrap this up."

I'll give you a ride," Oren said. Sanjay, will you be joining me?

In complete silence, I entered the vehicle.

I was asked, "Are you still haunted by the events of that night?" His voice had an undercurrent of something that could almost be described as vulnerability.

"What? No." My head shook. I certainly didn't feel any regret at all. It was arousal; just looking at him brought back vivid memories of that night.

The question then came, "So what gives, Chloe? Exactly what is the cause of all this hostility?

You always make me feel bad," I told her. I hate it when people make fun of me.

A single, twitching "Pity" escaped his strained lips.

***

Tormod and Oren were having a serious conversation at the bar, and I took advantage of the situation to sneakily observe Oren. He was attractive in a rugged, all-guy sort of way, and I'd forgotten how attractive he was.

Agnes pulled up next to me, wine glass in hand, and said, "So that's Dr. Jacob Bretton." She made a chomsky noise with her whistle. To paraphrase a popular saying, "Some people really do have it all, don't you think? His project is attracting some serious buzz, and then he's a total looker. If you know him at all, how did you meet him?

I explained that we had shared an office in Bismarck. How long does his project last?" "Agnes, you know everything that goes on around here."

She guessed at a duration of eight weeks. "Why?"

"I'm just curious," I pretended. In my mind, there was an idea that could go either way, depending on whether Oren was interested in reliving our night together.

"He's checking you out," she said with a chuckle.

"He is?" Instinctively, I turned to look at him, and our gazes locked. He gave me a friendly nod, raised his glass, and continued talking to Sanjay. I was irritated at first, but then I had to laugh at how silly I was being. Okay. I hoped that he would find me fascinating and invite me to his hotel room. That was a night I wanted to experience again and again. I knew it wasn't the best course of action, but I desperately wanted it anyway.

I said, "I'm going to get another drink," and then I went to the bar. I purposefully sat down next to Oren and leaned forward to attract the attention of the bartender.

He whispered in my ear, "Chloe." Want to leave and go get something to eat?

As I faced him, he smiled. There was a slight incline in his head as if he were waiting for me to respond. There was no sign of Tormod, but I knew Agnes was watching us.

As in, "Are you going to laugh at me?" So I went ahead and asked him.

A quiver ran through his mouth. A strong likelihood, indeed. Your anger is contagious and difficult to control.

I couldn't help but chuckle. I said it under my breath, but it sounded like, "In that case, Professor Bretton, you can pay for dinner."

I took off in front of him, and I could hear his amusement as he followed.

***

We were inside a typical tiny cantina found all over the Bay Area. There were chips and salsa on the table, a laminated tablecloth for easy cleanup, and a white plastic vase with dusty fake flowers in the middle.

If I'm going to make you pay for dinner, I might as well have a say in the restaurant we go to, I thought wryly.

He gave me a friendly grin. Oh, you people of little faith. One customer said, "This is the best pozole I've ever had, and these guys make it."

Exactly, he was right. Once the soup arrived, I closed my eyes, inhaled deeply to take in the flavorful aroma, and then took a bite. Really, it was unbelievable. My internal response was an involuntary sigh of delight.

He had a smirk on his face as he observed me. I mumbled, "Fine." Yes, you have a point. That's why it's so tasty.

***

We kept the mood light by talking about Bismarck and the university and the people we both knew and liked. He handed me the mail that Colin had picked up, and my heart sank.

"Is that the point of this meal?" I asked, trying to keep my tone even. In other words, "Can I get my mail from you?"

He just stared at me for a while without saying anything. He sighed and said, "No." Only one word is needed.

And why are you here, Oren?"

He answered, "I'm having dinner with a very attractive woman." Chloe, why are you even here?"

My eyes landed on him. I realized that what I said echoed what I'd said to him months before. I whispered, "Because my pussy is wet, Professor Bretton."

***

His soup spoon was gripped ever-so-slightly more tightly, and his eyes had darkened ever-so-slightly, but he showed no other outward signs of reaction.

Do you fancy a return visit to my hotel room?" I was the subject of his inquiry.

The answer was a resounding "yes" from me.

As in, "Do you want to have sex?"

When he asked if I was sure, I nodded once more.

Is it vanilla or something else?

Alternatively, I said softly.

I caught his eye, and he looked at me. Finally, he said, "Then let's try to do it properly this time." Let's get the conversation started. I need you to be honest with me, Chloe.

***

Inwardly, I mused, I should consult my magic 8-ball. Can I risk telling him what I really want?

The unhelpful advice given was to think about what you're asking for carefully and then try again.

***

First, I need to go back to the night I left Oren's house, struggling with the way I had let myself respond to him, in order to give you context for my answer. I was having a hard time accepting the fact that I enjoyed being submissive to him. Challenging the word "submissive" to describe my feelings. Finally, I accepted the label as true for me.

However, dating in the modern world was much more intricate. I was about to enter a fascinating new world, and I yearned for a dominant who could show me the ropes. However, I did not know how to go about finding one; the thought of doing this online gave me the willies, and I was too nervous to visit a club.

Oren came along after that. My feelings for him were undeniable. We shared an attraction, and he liked me. Amazing sex had been had. When we were at the bar, I began to wonder if it would be possible to ask him to help me out. With the intention of pointing me in the right direction?

After eight weeks, he wouldn't need to come in any longer because the project was done. The experiment has a limited time frame. During his eight-week stay in San Francisco, he would take on the role of my dominant once per week.

I gulped down some of my beverage and worked up the nerve to ask for his assistance.

***

After I made my suggestion, he remained silent. I finally got it out of my system and waited for him to continue.

There's no universal guidebook," he said at last. There is no manual that specifies the actions required of all submissives. It's more of a dialogue than anything else. I can only demonstrate my preferences in submissives.

Still, I think it will be useful.

After a moment of thought, he shrugged. "Maybe. To be honest, I have no idea.

"Okay." I took a few deep breaths. "If you're not interested in doing this..."

"I didn't say that," he cut in. This is just me trying to establish some ground rules. There is no silver bullet; effective communication is the key.

Inquiring minds want to know, "What do you look for in your submissives?" My curiosity got the better of me, so I inquired.

As he regarded me, a grin spread across his face. You did just fine, he assured you.

Not what I asked for, I said.

This made him laugh heartily. You'll run into trouble because of that attitude, he said. Even so, I saw laughter in his eyes.

When this happened, I stopped moving. Will it? My curiosity got the better of me, so I inquired. For me, it's impossible to imagine always being submissive and quiet.

The tension was noticeable to him. Calm down, Chloe, he said gently. Each individual is unique. It's meant to be sexual, so please don't take it the wrong way. Looking forward to getting spanked is a pleasure in and of itself.

The thought of getting spanked again caused my stomach to tighten and my muscles to twitch. I was hoping he would spank me.

When he saw the fire in my eyes, he closed them momentarily in shock. It was Chloe, he moaned. If we want to do more than just spend the night together, we need to talk.

Calmly, "I'm communicating," I finally admitted. I bit my lip unconsciously, and the expression in his eyes deepened. Then his head shook, and a smile formed on his lips. A grin that let me know he was aware of the games I was playing but had no interest in joining in. Not at this time.

"Okay. In the first place, the events of the other night did not follow the normal course of events.

To what extent? My curiosity got the better of me, so I inquired.

To paraphrase what he said: "A safeword might end a session, but it shouldn't end everything." His expression was one of mild embarrassment. "Sorry. At first, I was afraid you'd bolt.

I asked, "Did you want me to?"