Boredom can be a difficult emotion to handle.

I drum my fingers on the table, slouching in my chair with a sigh. The play party around me is going full steam ahead, but I can't seem to muster any enthusiasm to join in.

Normally, I'd be in the thick of it, but tonight, everything feels dull and uninteresting. The spark is missing. I'm just not in the mood.

I hate this feeling: I have free time from work. I want to be entertained. I have a bunch of options available to entertain me. And yet it’s like my brain has decided that everything is illegal, or something. Ugh.

I look listlessly up at the rest of the club, taking in the usual suspects. There's Katya working over a whimpering girl with her whip. Bill is doing intricate rope bondage on a pretty, naked girl suspended from the rafters. Audrey is sitting in an alcove, legs crossed, sipping a drink while a male sub in chastity laps at her boots like a dog.

Been there, done that. Nothing I haven't seen a million times before.

I'm itching for something to break me out of this funk. Something novel and exciting. But what? The more I try to think of ways to entertain myself, the more elusive the answer becomes.

I stare despondently at the collar placed on the table before me. Custom-made. Sleek and black, made of the finest leather. A sturdy O-ring at the front. I’m a woman of straightforward tastes. I didn’t want anything too ornate. Exceptional craftsmanship interested me more than having a baroque bauble.

I commissioned this months ago, spent a small fortune on it, and now that it’s finally here, I should really just find a deserving sub and put it on them. It’s literally what I’ve had it made for. And yet…

"Quite a piece, Amber," says a male voice to my right. "Found someone special enough to wear it yet?"

I turn my head and take in the man who’s interrupted my brooding. Oh. Raymond. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with a glass of whisky in hand. He takes a slow, deliberate sip of his drink, eyeing me.

I pause, letting the moment stretch. Raymond and I have a history — mostly civil, but cool and occasionally contentious. We run in the same circles, play at the same clubs. He’s one of the few people I consider a peer… grudgingly.

I’ve always found him attractive in a clinical sort of way, like a piece of art you can appreciate without wanting to take it home.

"Ray," I say coolly. "Not yet. You know how it is. So many subs start out eager and then flame out after a bit. And even those that don’t, are usually too easy to break. There’s so little novelty in it."

He points his thumb back towards the bar. "Want me to get you something? You look like you could use a drink."

I shake my head. "I'm not in the mood."

"No? I guess that fits your overall vibe. You usually dominate the room at these events. Something on your mind?"

He takes a seat without asking. I arch an eyebrow, but decide to let it slide for now. I suppose whatever comes out of this conversation easily beats stewing in my own dissatisfaction.

"If you must know," I say, "I'm bored."

"Bored?" He frowns. "Is it about the subs flaming out thing?"

"In part," I say. "Though it’s a bit broader than that."

I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. "Do you ever feel like you've hit a plateau, Ray? Like there's nothing left to achieve?"

I gesture around at the play party happening around us. "I've been doing this for years now. Built up a reputation. Broken down and trained up sub after sub. I've explored every kink, pushed every limit… and yet lately, none of it excites me anymore. It's like I'm just going through the motions."

I pick up my collar, running my fingers over the supple leather. "Even this… I should be thrilled to have it. When I was in my 20s, I didn’t have the disposable income to satisfy a crazy whim like this. Now I have the money to get a collar custom-made if I want to, but when I get it, I’m not excited about it. I just feel apathetic. That’s so cruel and ironic all at once. Is that… is that what getting older feels like? It sucks."

Raymond nods slowly. "I know what you mean. We have different responsibilities now. You get at the end of a work day and you’ve already been challenged by life in a myriad different ways and you just want to lie down and stare at the ceiling for a bit. Makes it harder to get excited about the stuff you used to love."

I find myself looking up at Raymond, blinking. It’s just occurred to me how… unusual this conversation is. Usually our interactions are all barbs and one-upmanship. Sparks fly when we’re in the same room. It’s weird, commiserating with him over a shared experience.

"You know what else?" He says, sitting up, as if something’s just occurred to him. "It’s habituation, too."

I cock my head, arching an eyebrow. "Habituation? Can’t say I’m familiar with the term."

"Well, it’s like the treadmill effect. You get a high, the high becomes the new normal, you chase another high. Homeostasis always reasserts itself in the end. So you go higher and higher, to re-experience the original thrill."

I consider him curiously. I’ve spent so long being instinctively standoffish to him that I didn’t think there may be hidden depths to him. If he’s noticed my curiosity, it doesn’t show — he just keeps talking, clearly invested in the point he’s making.

"I don’t know about you, but the stuff I found arousing at 20 seems almost vanilla now that I’m 35. And the opposite is true as well: what I enjoy now would have seemed extreme, edgy, dangerous, or just plain evil when I was younger."

I think back for a second, and it’s hard to deny the truth of that. I mull that over, absently toying with the collar’s O-ring, before turning back to him.

"So what the hell do we do about it?"

"About getting old?" He laughs at that. "If I had the solution to that — or to habituation — I wouldn’t be sitting in this club, Amber, let me tell you."

Can’t really argue with that. I’m about to mention that I’ve changed my mind about that drink after all, when his face lights up. He’s clearly had an idea.

Raymond leans forward, a sly grin spreading across his face. "I have a proposition for you, Amber. A way to break out of this rut we're in."

I eye him warily, but can't deny a flicker of intrigue. "I'm listening."

"You and I… let’s be serious, the air crackles when we share a room. We’re the doms around the place, period. So… what about a good ol’ challenge, just to shake things up?"

He takes another sip of his drink, letting the pause linger for effect. Damn him, he knows how to command attention.

"Here's what I propose," he continues. "One of us submits to the other for a week. During that time, the dominant does everything in their power to break them. Really push them to their limits. If, at the end of the week, the submissive hasn't broken, then we switch. The other gets a turn to dominate, and try to succeed where the first failed. Loser wears that lovely collar right there."

I stop fidgeting with the O-ring, letting it fall limply against the collar. Is the guy insane? Hasn’t he been around long enough to know what happens when you force someone into a role not for them? It rarely ends with enjoyment for all involved, no matter how appealing the idea may seem on the surface.

Still, it does feel appealing. The more I think about it, the more I feel the faintest smirk begin to tug at the corners of my lips. No man has ever been able to truly master me, and I highly doubt Ray will be the first.

Oh, but it could be fun to let him try. I do love to puncture a male ego and see it deflate like a balloon.

I lean back in my chair, crossing my legs and regarding him with a cool, appraising gaze. "An interesting proposition," I say, keeping my tone casual. "And what happens if neither of us breaks?"

He shrugs. "Then I suppose we're evenly matched. It’s one of three possible outcomes, right? Either I break you, you break me, or it’s a stalemate. Either way, at least it’ll have been interesting, don’t you think?"

I drum my fingers on the table, pretending to consider his offer, even though my mind is already made up. My subconscious has decided that every option available to me for entertainment is unsuitable, but it’s not against this one, maybe because the novelty is making my dopamine receptors work as they’re supposed to, for once in my life.

I mean, it is exciting, isn’t it? A chance to pit my skills against a worthy opponent. To push myself to new limits.

To put him in his place.

It’s hard to go through life as a conventionally attractive woman and not feel at least some lingering resentment at men collectively. I think it does partially fuel my satisfaction at turning the tables on men, mastering them. I love dominating girls too, naturally, but it’s not as… cathartic.

And Ray’s the most unquestionably dominant man I know. What would it feel like, to tame this particular beast?

Fuck, just thinking about it is making my heart beat a little faster.

I clear my throat. "What, do we just toss a coin and see who goes first?"

"Not the worst idea I’ve ever heard. Heads," he says, and just like that, he has a coin between his fingers. He sends it spinning into the air.

The coin arcs through the air, spinning end over end. It lands on the table between us with a soft clink, heads side up.

Raymond smirks. "Well, would you look at that. Seems like I get to go first."

I keep my expression neutral, refusing to let him see even a flicker of apprehension. "So it would seem."

I guess this is really happening. I'm about to submit to Raymond for a whole week, letting him do his damnedest to break me. It sounds fun, and I suppose it’s better this way, because I get to humble him twice - first by resisting him, then by showing him what true dominance looks like. I’ll have him lick my boots here at the club, where everyone can see.

Yes, it does sound fun. But is it wise?

Ray must sense my hesitation. "It’s just an idea," he says, kindly. "If you’d rather back out, no problem. There’s really no point doing this unless we both get something out of it."

Mmh. I mean, I'm not worried, not really. After all, he’s just a man. A smart and eloquent one, to be sure, but once he’s sufficiently aroused, his cock will take over and do the thinking for him, as always.

Still. The smart thing would be to back out now. To laugh it off, to walk away and deal with habituation like most adults do… however that is. But as it happens, therein lies the kicker.

Boredom is a difficult emotion to handle. It can make you take risks you shouldn’t. It can make you act stupid.

I extend my hand, and he takes it, returning my handshake with a firm grip.

"One week," I say. "Starting when?"

***

It’s day zero.

That’s how Ray called it, anyway. The bet officially starts tomorrow first thing in the morning, but I’ll be spending the night at his place for, as he called it, acclimation.

When he inevitably fails to break me, we’ll do the same thing: he’ll get his own day zero at my place, and then a week being methodically disassembled by me.

We both work remotely, which makes it all so much easier logistically. I feel good about this. It’s refreshing, novel, exciting. It was easier to get through the work day, knowing that this battle of wills has been waiting for me on the other side.

I show up at his place with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and my laptop bag over the other. The building is unassuming, a brick mid-rise in a quiet part of town. I was expecting something fancier. I know he’s a consultant for engineering projects, and I always assumed he made quite a bit of dough with that.

I take the stairs to the third floor and find him standing in the doorway, casual in a white dress shirt and slacks. It’s strange, seeing him in such a pedestrian, everyday context.

"Come in," he says, stepping aside.

The interior of his apartment surprises me. It's a cozy, lived-in space. The walls are lined with bookshelves, the floor is glossy hardwood, and there are pictures of him and his friends around the world all over the walls.

There are also tokens of his various interests scattered about: a vintage chess set, framed prints of classical music scores, a corner dedicated to bonsai trees.

"It's… nice," I say, unable to hide my surprise.

He closes the door behind me. "Did you expect something different?"

I set my duffel down and shrug. "Maybe a St. Andrew's cross in the living room."

"Ha. No, I’m not that type. I keep my work and personal life separate. So… can I get you something to drink?" he asks, moving towards what looks like a makeshift bar area in the corner of the open-concept living room and kitchen. "Wine, maybe? We're going to be ordering food soon."

I hesitate, then nod. "Wine sounds good."

He pours two glasses, and I take mine, taking a tentative sip. Not bad.

"We should talk about the parameters," he says, leaning against the kitchen island. "I want to make sure we're both on the same page."

"Naturally," I say, taking another sip. The wine is starting to warm me, loosening the tight coil of tension in my chest. "Though I’d prefer that we kept it light on the ground rules. We’ve both been around enough."

He nods. "I’m not gonna say no to that. I haven’t done SSC in a long time. It’s just… too tame for me now." He runs a hand through his hair. Now we’re both thinking of habituation again. "I would suggest we just go with RACK. Make it more exciting like that."

I give him a solemn nod of agreement. "No safewords, then."

"No safewords. Just let me know if it gets too much at any point."

Works for me. "I also think we should limit our interactions during work hours. I’m not saying zero play, but… you know. Makes things harder on the dom, but the rules would apply equally to us both, so I don’t see that as a competitive issue."

"Neither do I. You’ve got yourself a deal." He picks up his glass, and we clink them together. "Now, let's order some food. I'm starving."

The evening progresses in a way that feels almost surreal. We browse the menu of a nearby place, debating over dishes with a familiarity that feels like the back-and-forth of old friends.

We settle on a mixed assortment of appetizers and mains, then retire to the living room while we wait for the delivery.

"We probably ordered too much," he says, "but leftovers are always nice. Say, do you want to put on a movie or something? I have a decent collection."

Wow. I really wasn’t expecting him to be so… normal. Mellow, even. I almost wonder if he’s trying to make me lower my guard.

"Sure," I say. "Something light. A comedy, maybe."

By the time the movie starts, I’ve already poured myself another glass of wine; he’s switched to a glass of water. I find it hard to focus on the movie, though. This feels like the calm before the storm.

The movie does steal a few laughs from us, though, and when the food arrives, we both dig into it eagerly. As predicted, by the time the evening runs to a close, we have leftovers in the fridge, and I’ve drunk enough wine to feel a tad lightheaded. Pleasantly drowsy, really.

"That was nice," I say as I stretch, surprising myself with the sincerity in my voice.

Raymond nods. "It was."

I stand, reluctantly. "I should probably get some sleep. Big day tomorrow."

He stays seated, looking up at me. "Amber, are you sure about this? There’s still time to call it off."

I smile. "I’m sure. Though I suppose I do need to correct myself. It’s not a big day tomorrow." I wink. "It’s a big week."

***

This is it. Day one.

I go through my morning routine on autopilot. I pick casual clothes, something I’d normally wear around the house: a loose-fitting blouse and jeans.

When I emerge from the guest room, Raymond is already up, seated at the kitchen island with his laptop open. He looks up as I enter.

"Good morning, Amber," he says, his voice even. "I trust you slept well?"

I nod, curious to see if he’ll make a move now. He does: he gestures to the kitchen.

"I'll take a cup of black tea to start, please. The kettle's already boiled."

And so it begins. I move to the kitchen, locating the tea bags and a mug. Service submission as the opening move, huh? Not what I was expecting from him. Once again, why so mellow?

I bring him the tea, setting it down beside his laptop. He doesn't look up, just nods and murmurs a thanks. I hover for a moment, unsure, before retreating to the guest room to start my own work day.

The morning is mostly just regular work at my laptop, occasionally interrupted by small requests from Raymond. A glass of water. A fresh cup of tea. Could I please bring him the file he left on the coffee table? Other than these minor requests, he leaves me to my own devices.

I find it strange, this lack of intensity, especially after all his talk about breaking me.

What is his strategy here? Is he trying to bore me into submission, or something? Because avoiding boredom was the objective of this little exercise.

Maybe he just wants to throw me off balance. I hope he doesn’t really think he can wear me down by making me play maid.

I suppose we did say we’d limit play during work hours… maybe it’s just that, and I’m overthinking things massively. Still, for all that, my mind can’t help but wander. I’m tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Eventually, it does.

When the clock hits five, I stretch, my muscles stiff from sitting at my laptop for so long. I'm just about to go find Raymond to ask what's for dinner when he appears in the doorway of the guest room.

"Amber," he says, pausing for what’s clearly meant to be dramatic effect. "Come here."

I hesitate for just a moment before standing and walking over to him. He takes my wrist and guides me out into the living room.

"Turn around," he orders.

I comply, and feel leather handcuffs encircling my wrists, binding them behind my back. My breath catches. So it begins, at last.

He spins me back around to face him, his hands gripping my upper arms. Slowly, deliberately, he walks me backwards until my back hits the wall.

Funny, how perspective can shift so quickly. With my hands behind my back, and his own hands pressing my arms against my sides, he looks so much… well… bigger. Taller, stronger, muscular. Very… masculine, I suppose: testosterone’s one hell of a drug.

His lips meet mine, and I find myself kissing him back… though it’s less of a kiss and more of a tongue wrestling match. I try to invade his mouth, he tries the same with mine. A tiny little contest to settle who’s actively kissing, and who’s being kissed.

… It sounds a little silly when I think about it like that.

His hands roam over my body, groping and squeezing. He tugs my blouse out of my jeans, his fingers slipping underneath to caress my skin. The physical contact is… nice. And he’s surely a fine male specimen. But I can’t shake the feeling that it’s all a little pedestrian.

Handcuffs, pinning me to the wall, groping, it’s all so basic. So entry-level.

As if sensing my thoughts, Raymond breaks the kiss, leaning back to look at me.

"Feeling underwhelmed, Amber?" He looks amused as he asks that. "Thinking this is all a bit too vanilla for seasoned kinksters like us?"

I shrug as best I can with my hands cuffed behind me. "Maybe a little."

He chuckles at that. "Well, that's kind of the point, isn't it?"

I’m not sure what he means by that, but before I can ask him to explain, he’s leaning forward again, his lips running up and down my neck with a feather-light touch that makes me shiver. Just a little.

"I know you, Amber. I know you've seen and done it all. You're not some blushing, inexperienced submissive I can overwhelm with a flogger and a spreader bar."

He starts to unbutton my blouse slowly, one button at a time, his lips still teasing the sensitive skin of my neck.

"No, if I want to break you," he continues, "I'm not going to do it with some over-the-top scene. Shock and awe will not achieve the desired effect."

My blouse falls open and he slides it down my shoulders, letting it bunch around my bound wrists. The air feels cool against my newly exposed skin. I'm wearing a simple black bra underneath, nothing fancy.

His hands cup my breasts through the thin fabric, squeezing gently. "No, to bring a domme low, you have to take your time. Chip away at her defenses bit by bit. Wear her down. Think of it like… physics."

"Physics?" I ask, bemused, as he reaches around to unhook my bra. Next his hands are on my bare tits, gently kneading them, thumbs brushing over my nipples.

"You can break rock with a pickaxe, but not a mountain," he says. "It’s only logical. Mountains form over time. Immense energy is steadily applied over millions of years to form a mountain. If you want to knock it down, you also need time and persistent application of force…"

One hand stays at my breast, teasing my nipple, while the other trails down my stomach to the button of my jeans. He undoes it deftly, then lowers my zipper.

"You need wind and rain and waves. You need erosion. You’ve spent years building yourself up into the domme you are today. It will take energy and consistency to break it down."

He pushes my jeans down over my hips and I step out of them, leaving me in just my panties. Black, cotton, matching the bra. His hand cups me through the fabric and I can't help but push my hips forward slightly, seeking more pressure.

I… never knew he was such a visual kinkster. There’s something haunting and disturbing about the way he’s intellectualising this test of wills. I’ve played with all manner of men, but I can’t say I’ve ever had one whisper an abstract metaphor to me while undressing me…

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my panties and tugs them down.

"I'm going to take you apart piece by piece. Slowly. Methodically."

His hand cups my sex, his palm pressing against my cunt.

"To wear you down, I first need to establish a baseline. I need to see how you respond to the basics. The fundamentals."

He lifts his fingers, bringing them up to my face. They’re wet, as am I. He presses them to my lips.

I open my mouth, taking them in, making gentle grubby motions with my lips as I suck on his fingers. But before I can really get into it, give him a show, he withdraws his fingers from my mouth, lowering his hand once more.

It finds my clit, this time.

I let out the tiniest little whine as he begins to rub my clit in slow, lazy circles. My hips twitch as I try to grind against his hand, seeking more friction. But he keeps his touch feather-light, teasing.

"Most men," he says conversationally, as if we were discussing the weather and not the slick heat between my thighs, "would be so eager to stick their cock in you right about now. It's only natural - a beautiful woman, naked and bound before them. The lizard brain takes over."

His fingers continue their lazy circles around my clit and I let out a shaky exhale, my eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When I open them again, he's watching me intently, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"But that would be a mistake," he says. "Especially with a domme like you. It would put the power back in your hands, even if you're the one in restraints. You'd be able to use your body against them, to build those subtle associations in their mind between your actions and their pleasure."

Fuck, he has a deep voice. It’s like listening to some kind of ASMR porn. He increases the pressure slightly and I can't help but let out another whine. A louder one.

"You’d edge them, and milk them, and look so sexy while doing it… Before they knew it, they'd be putty in your hands, even as they fucked you."

His fingers dip lower, teasing my pussy before gliding back up to circle my clit once more. I'm panting now. I’ll give the bastard that, he knows how to use his hands.

And his words.

"No," Raymond says, his voice still calm and even, "that's not how you break down a dominant woman. You have to establish the association in her mind, first. You start by wearing her down with pleasure. You condition her."

He increases the pressure again and I moan, my head falling back against the wall. I want more, I want it faster and harder.

"It's a process," he continues. "Gradual and relentless. Like water eroding stone. You just keep at it, steadily applying pleasure, until her resolve starts to crumble."

His other hand comes up to my breast, pinching and rolling my nipple between his fingers. The dual sensations make me gasp. My hips are rocking now, grinding against his hand of their own accord.

"It's only once she's been softened, once her defenses are weakened, that you can stake your claim. That you can truly fuck her, in every sense of the word. Physically, mentally, emotionally."

"You s-sound like you've done this before," I say between gritted teeth, trying to maintain some semblance of composure even as my body betrays me.

Raymond looks at me for several, long seconds before finally nodding.

"There is no greater pleasure on earth," he says, "than fucking a powerful woman out of her power. Than feeling her yield, inch by inch, to the relentless onslaught of sexual input as she stops thinking and starts feeling. Than watching the fire in her eyes slowly dim as she succumbs to the inevitable."

That is such a typical male fantasy that it should make me roll my eyes. It’s uninteresting, unoriginal, shallow, so clearly biological in origin: the need to disempower a woman. The need to conquer, to emerge victorious from an intra-male competition where the fertile female is the prize.

So why does he make it sound compelling? Is it the delivery? Is it the way his fingers are working me over?

With his thumb rubbing my clit, he slides two fingers inside me, pumping slowly in and out of my dripping cunt.

"There's just something about the way a woman eventually caves in to that sexual pressure," he says. "The way her body and mind betray her, no matter how strong her will. It's uniquely feminine, that surrender. All the power society told her she should have suddenly evaporates, and she’s… restored… to a lesser version of herself. A truer, more honest version."

I grit my teeth, trying to focus through the haze of pleasure. "Dude, out of curiosity, do you actually believe that misogynistic drivel? Or are you just trying to mess with my head?"

He smiles at that, a slow, knowing smile that makes my stomach drop. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

And then his fingers are pumping faster, his thumb pressing harder against my clit.

"Fuck you," I say, even as my hips openly buck into his hand, because I just can’t help it, can’t control myself. I moan, long and low, because I’m so close, right on the edge…

The relentless stimulation is too much, too intense. My thighs start to tremble as the coil of tension inside me winds tighter and tighter.

"Fuck," I gasp out, my hips bucking wildly against his hand. "Fuck, fuck, fuck…"

And then I'm coming, my body shaking and shuddering as the pleasure crashes over me in waves. I cry out, a sound somewhere between a moan and a sob, as my cunt clenches rhythmically around his fingers. He keeps them inside me, riding out my orgasm, his thumb still circling my clit, drawing out the sensations until they border on painful.

When it's over, when the last tremors have run their course through my body, I slump against the wall, panting. My legs feel like jelly, unable to support my weight. Slowly, shakily, I slide down the wall until my knees hit the hardwood floor with a thud.

It's only then that I realize the position I'm in - naked, bound, kneeling before him.

I've never knelt for anyone before. The submissive posture feels foreign, wrong. It takes all my willpower not to immediately struggle back to my feet.

Raymond looks down at me, a satisfied smirk on his face. He brings his fingers, still glistening with my juices, to his mouth and licks them clean.

"I’d say that was a rather nice start. You make the cutest facial expressions when you’re right on the edge, Amber."

I swallow hard, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. "Don’t get used to it. You just rubbed me to orgasm. Nothing inherently submissive about that."

"Of course not," he says agreeably. Too agreeably. He reaches down and cups my chin, tilting my face up to look at him.

"Savour that orgasm, Amber," he says. "Because it's the last one you'll have without my permission for the rest of the week."

Oh.

So that’s his actual first move. Orgasm control. That’s what he means by erosion? Steady application of pressure? It’s not the most original technique, but… especially if used in combination with other things…

I bite my lip. I have to admit it. This just got interesting.

When I look up again, meeting Raymond’s eyes once more, he flashes a smile back at me. He knows I understand, and it’s unequivocal now that our great game has well and truly begun.

"Well…" he says, thumb and index finger caressing my chin. "Let the best dom win."

TO BE CONTINUED