"Did you enjoy that?" she asked.

"Hmm, yes indeed. Bit presumptuous of you, though, don't you think?" I said it in a light-hearted way, testing the ground, waiting to judge her response.

She was silent for a moment, clearly pondering her reply. "Perhaps a little."

"Only a little?"

She fidgeted against me uncomfortably. "A little bit naughty, maybe?" This was encouraging. We were both treading carefully, trying to read each other's signs. I suspect each of us knew what the other was thinking, but we were cautious not to jump to conclusions. "Forcing myself on you like that?"

"Yes, you could say naughty. Naughty, presumptuous, mischievous."

"I often get called those things."

I looked at her face, small-featured and impish, and could believe it. I could believe anything of Carina. I stroked her short, black hair. "What else do you get called?"

She thought for a moment. "Oh, impatient, impetuous, flighty 3;"

"Disobedient?"

"No, never that. I always do what I'm told." She paused, then laughed throatily. "Well 3;"

"Aha?"

"Mostly. Eventually."

"You can be brought into line, you mean?"

"Guess so."

"Wilful at first, then."

"Yes."

"But biddable."

"Yes."

Wilful and biddable. The best possible combination. The excitement of the chase and the savour of the conquest. I fell silent, stroking Carina absently. I had come to a decision, without even realising I had engaged in a debate. For the last few months I had been on a quest, a sexual adventure which had forced me to address my needs and desires. Through Mr Loverman, I had discovered a craving for domination, for being able to subject someone to my will. The rush of adrenalin when I conquered Graham, when I turned him from a colleague into Mr Loverman, my willing subject, was extraordinary. That moment, when I told him in the office to start wanking for me and he undid his trousers and revealed his erection, will live in my memory forever: it was the start of a new life for me. It began out of curiosity and nothing more, but gradually, as I heaped greater and greater indignity on him, and he acceded more and more willingly, the desire to control him utterly grew and grew, until the moment arrived when I knew we were no longer playing a game: Mr Loveman had unleashed a violent force, and he was caught in its grip. That moment was when he was encased in his cock cage, when he submitted himself to me totally, when he became mine.

And in the ensuing period I gloried in my control over him. I delighted in parading him before Maria and Pamela, demonstrating how I had tamed him. We laughed as he ran to his basket in fear, we gloried in beating his arse until it was purple, we delighted in the control we had over him. I thought I had reached the ultimate, I thought I had fulfilled my fantasy.

But with Carina in my arms, joining me in a gentle verbal dance, the two of us testing, assessing one another, I realised that I was nowhere near fulfilment.

I had only just begun.

I had my conquest. Mr Loverman was mine. But while he was biddable, he was no longer wilful: he was no longer a challenge. I needed more. I needed a challenge.

Carina was sweet, and I knew that she would be mine, but equally, although she had opened my eyes to new horizons, I knew she was not the challenge. I wasn't yet sure what my challenge might be, but the mere prospect of it left me dizzy with excitement.

"So how should I deal with your wilful behaviour?" I stroked my forefinger across her cheek and grazed it against her lip. Her mouth opened, inviting entry, and I knew she was mine.

"Would you like to do the same to me?" she asked.

"No. That would just be copying."

"Yes, of course. Sorry."

"And anyway, I don't need to pin you down to make you do anything, do I? I don't need to sit on you to make you lick me?"

"No." Her voice was ragged, breathless. I knew she was excited, the way all submissives are when the moment of their submission approaches. There is that instant, a fraction of a second - the moment when they make the final decision - when the submissive becomes dominant and the dominant submissive: in agreeing to submit, the submissive exerts total control and the dominant is powerless. Such is the bond, such is the joy, the symbiosis of submission.

"I tell you what I'm going to do." I was shaking, nervous like a virgin in the back seat of a Ford Escort. "I'm going to look in your wardrobe and find a nice long dress, loose, lots of room. Okay?" She nodded. "I'm going to wear it. It'll be mine now. I'm not going to wear anything else, I'll be naked underneath it. I'm going to get a glass of wine and sit in your garden. A nice spot, right in the middle. You can be overlooked by the neighbours?"

"Yes."

"Good. I shall sit and sip my wine. My legs will be stretched out and parted. My eyes will be closed. You may think I'm asleep, but I won't be. I'll be waiting. I would like you to come out and crawl under my dress and do to my pussy what you made me do to yours earlier. Okay?"

I rose and headed for her wardrobe, not waiting for a reply, aware of the trembling of my heart. After a moment's searching, I found a dress which was rather nice - on the peach side of terracotta, admittedly, but pretty enough, and slipped into it, ignoring the slight tightness around the waist. Without looking round at Carina, I headed for the door. "You can wear whatever you want," I said, "but make sure it's something I like." I continued downstairs to the kitchen and poured a glass of wine out of the bottle left over from our afternoon introductions.

I was confident she would comply, but not completely certain. Seated in the garden, I sipped my wine and gazed around. There were three houses which looked onto the garden, each anonymous, each possibly harbouring eyes which peered pruriently from behind net curtains. The uncertainty would be excruciating for Carina. Would anyone see? Would anyone be watching? Would any of her friends and neighbours witness her submission?

I stretched out on the chair, my head lolling backwards, eyes closed. Parting my legs, I planted my feet firmly on the grass, about a yard apart, and waited. Some five minutes passed, possibly longer, and I began to fret. Was she going to refuse? It would be difficult for me to get up now and return to the house without losing face. It would be the end of what had promised to be a beautiful relationship.

A whispering in the air alleviated my concerns. The sound of gentle footsteps approached and I tensed, waiting for the moment. She was standing in front of me, I could sense it. I heard a rustle as she knelt before me and felt her hand on the hem of my dress. It lifted slightly, the wind wafting slinkily up my thighs. I slid forward until I was on the edge of the seat, and felt the brush of her hair on my thigh, her head bulging against the fabric of the dress. Her breath was hot against my flesh as she nestled deeper and deeper, until finally I felt it rasp against my swollen pussy lips. I parted my legs and waited for the first flash of her tongue. It came, a sinuous, sensuous flicker the length of my slit, delicate and inquisitive. She kissed it once, twice, three times, planting butterfly caresses one on the other, gradually sliding her tongue out, grazing it across my sensitive flesh. My lips began to part under her ministrations, her tongue sliding deeper and deeper, probing and exploring.

For half an hour, or so it seemed, she knelt before me and made love to my pussy, all the while in the open view of her neighbours. I opened my eyes and looked down at her, to see what she had chosen to wear for me.

She was naked.

Her pink bottom was exposed to the gathering gloom of the evening, a beacon for any viewers in the houses alongside. As a gesture of submission, it was impressive. I smiled and lay back, content with her choice, content that Carina had proved herself to be wilful, but oh so biddable. Deliciously biddable. Her mouth encircled my clitoris, tongue flicking it as she sucked, gentle but firm, and the knowledge of conquest and the thrill of coition combined to trigger my climax. I screamed and shouted her name, loud enough for all to hear.