The Interrogation

She was stubborn. Besides, she knows that he won't hurt her. Even when he hisses in her ear that he had lied, that he will hurt her to win, she trusts him. Even when he drops down on top of her with an open pen knife in each hand, she trusts him.

Even when he slices through the straps of her bra and shreds her knickers to ribbons, she trusts him.

But then it all changes.

It had started innocently enough, if innocent is quite the word. She'd told him of her ultimate fantasy, an interrogation, and he agreed to indulge her. He'd waited downstairs whilst she had hidden a key, wedged it tight behind the key card in the hotel light fitting, and waited.

At first she is full of fight, compartmentalising the key's location somewhere else. She concentrates on sliding out of the handcuffs, on cheeking him back, and rather enjoys it.

But his stillness unnerves her. And his patience. She's not a patient person and he knows that. It was a clever move of his, sitting there on the corner of the bed, patiently watching her as she sits on the stool writhing in the handcuffs.

But she can't keep up the fight forever. As soon as the knife comes out things change. It's not that she's scared, not quite. But she doesn't cheek him any more, all her senses are tuned to staying still, to staying out of the way of that knife.

"Choose a nipple, left or right," he taunts, lightly pricking the very top of her left nipple with the point of the knife. She blocks him out, listening to her own shallow breathing and pretending she is somewhere else. But her body betrays her. He slides two fingers between her thighs and inside her. He doesn't even have to push, she is so slippery.

She thinks she is through this. After all, what can he do now. She knows he's not going to cut her. And then she hears another knife open and now she screams. She hadn't imagined this.

And then he relents. He allows her to dress, lets her lie her head on the pillow. She is so sleepy, so exhausted. It is as if her body is telling her she needs to break to gather her energy for what comes next. She wants to sleep but she's afraid he'll say the game is over, so she rouses herself. He rests his arm on her curled up leg. He's tender, gentlemanly. She comes so close to telling him. After all she wants this tender interrogator. She can feel herself opening up to him. She tells him that yes she has hidden something but she can't tell him where. Please, please, don't hurt her, she can't tell him where it is.

And then there's a gap. Did she go to sleep? Did he hypnotise her? She has no memory. The next thing she knows is that she's has decided it's time to run and tells him the key is on the balcany. Once he's out there she can make a break for it. Clearly, she's forgotten that she's in a hotel room, bedragled, handcuffed and smelling of sex. They'd both get arrested

And then the fear hits. Not the hold the breath fear that he might slip with the knife and hurt her but a blind panic as he propels her towards the balcony. She doesn't like heights, and they're on the fifth floor. There is no way in hell she is going willingly to that balacony. The curtains get damaged as she writhes out of his grasp and he leads her to the bathroom instead, running a sink of water to put her head in.

She hates water on her face but at the same time she's relieved, this is nothing compared to going out on the balcony, Right now, she'd rather drown.

Eventually, he concedes the game. He doesn't want to hurt her, and it's the only way this can go. If he really wants to win.

She's got what she wanted. She played to win. They both did. They almost always do. It's why they get on so well.

She had worried how it might affect them. After all, it's not every day a submissive gets to beat her Dom into submission. She had worried that she might feel a smidgeon less respect for him, or a need to crow over her champion status.

But she doesn't feel any of that. In fact, she feels quite the opposite. She feels bonded to him, bound to him. Part of him looked after her, cared for her, watered and dressed her, even when they had unlocked his dark side.

He cares for her after too, when the heady concoction of adrenaline and endorphins and who knows what else makes her naueous. He brings her back to the hotel, and soothes and strokes her on the bed. Headwise she's happy and at peace, but her body is in meltdown, her stomach bubbling and curdling noisily.

She has won yes, but in her victory she actually wants to concede even more power to him. They talk about it later, about how he is going to be harder, to be stricter with her. She wants him to be able to play with his dark side when he is with her, beacuse ultimately she knows that his care for her is stronger.

But in the back of her mind she thinking of what game they can play next. After all, she still loves winning.