The Stranger

Chapter 14 - Cassandra

You are a natural submissive.

Those words wrapped around my mind like a vice. They pulsed in the silence of the morning, louder than my thoughts, louder than my heartbeat.

I am not submissive. I am not a toy. I am independent, I am strong.

But as much as I tried to shove the words away, they clawed back, sharper, more insistent.

I got ready for work in a haze, dragging my tired body through the motions. I didn't want to see him. Didn't want to bump into him. Yet the traitorous part of me, the part that stayed warm under his touch, begged for it.

I rushed to my office and shut the door like I could lock him—and those words—outside.

You are a natural submissive.

The clock crawled. By midday, I hadn't done a shred of real work. Every time I tried to concentrate, memories of him, of his voice, his control, pulled me under.

A knock at the door startled me. My heart leapt and sank in the same moment.

"Come in," I called out, my voice clipped.

Lisa's familiar face appeared, her cheery energy cutting through my storm. "Hi girl. Ready for our lunch date?"

I nodded, grabbing my bag. I took a quick glance across the room. Alex was typing away, head down, not sparing me a glance. My stomach twisted in disappointment.

You are a natural submissive.

The restaurant was loud, bustling with energy, but all I could hear was his voice. Lisa talked animatedly, her wine glass already half-empty, but I barely caught a word.

"Cassie," she said, snapping me back to reality. "Are you even listening? What's wrong?"

I hesitated, then blurted it out. "I've been seeing someone."

Her jaw dropped, and then she broke into a wide grin. "You what? Cassandra Williams finally got some action? Oh, we're toasting to that." She raised her glass, clinking it against mine.

I forced a smile and took a sip.

"But..." Lisa narrowed her eyes. "You don't seem impressed. Is he shit in bed?"

"No." The word came out with more emotion than I intended. "He's perfect. That's the problem."

Lisa tilted her head. "I'm not following."

I lowered my voice. "You can't tell anyone about this, okay?"

"Of course." She leaned in, eager. "Spill."

I hesitated, then let the words tumble out. "He's... into things. Things I don't understand. He called me something, and I don't know how to feel about it."

Lisa leaned back, her expression turning serious. "What did he call you?"

"A natural submissive."

Her brow furrowed, then smoothed. "And that upset you?"

"Yes," I said sharply. "I'm not that."

Lisa shrugged, sipping her wine. "Before he called you that, did you like him?"

"Of course. He's... everything."

"And the sex?"

I flushed. "It was... incredible. I felt safe. Free. Loved."

Her gaze softened. "Cassie, I don't know a lot about that lifestyle, but I know one thing, being submissive doesn't mean you're weak. It doesn't mean you're a doormat. If anything, it sounds like he sees strength in you. I think you should look more into it"

Her words struck something deep, but before I could respond, my phone buzzed. A text from Alex:

Please do not think I am ignoring you. I am only giving you time and space after last night. I think I went about it the wrong way, but I would love to talk to you went you are ready - Alex

I stared at it, my thumb hovering over the screen. I couldn't reply. Not yet. I put my phone on silent and placed it in my bag.

As we ate, Lisa's words replayed in my mind. Being submissive doesn't mean you're weak. I wondered why I felt insulted when Alex called me submissive, and then I remembered. Some old memories clawed at me. Memories of a certain night and John, my ex.

We met in Year 11. He was the sensitive, artistic type, with dreams of becoming a famous painter. I fell for his passion, his plans, his ability to draw me into a world that felt bigger than my own.

By the end of our first year at university, he'd dropped out. He didn't need an arts degree, he said—his talent would speak for itself. But most of his time went to his part-time job and the pot he smoked to "fuel his creativity."

His best friend, another stoner, was practically our third roommate. I'd come home to the smell of weed and their lazy laughter more often than I cared to admit.

I did love John. At least, I think I did. But looking back, I don't know why. He was a dreamer, yes, but he included me in those dreams. After my dad died, he was there for me, my rock in a time when I needed one.

When John first mentioned BDSM, I went along with it. I wanted to be the open-minded girlfriend, the one who didn't shy away from new experiences. So when he asked me to go to a show with him, I agreed.

The club was unlike anything I'd ever seen. Dark, pulsating with primal energy, filled with people in masks and collars. I paid for our drinks—as usual—and we pushed through the crowd to the stage.

That's when I saw her.

She was in a cage, bound and gagged, her body on display. Three men surrounded her, touching her like she was a toy, a thing. They used her, one after another, leaving her trembling and exposed.

The crowd clapped when it was over.

John and I just looked at each other in awe. We finished our drinks and left.

That girl haunted me for weeks. The vulnerability, the degradation—I told myself I'd never be that.

I am not that. I AM NOT SUBMISSIVE.

But now, as I sat across from Lisa, those memories warred with the way Alex made me feel—safe, cherished, powerful even in surrender. Had I been wrong?

Lisa and I left the restaurant, her laughter filling the air as we walked back to the office. I wanted to share her lightness, but my thoughts were heavy, tangled.

Once inside the lift, I pulled out my phone. One missed call from a number I did not recognise and a voicemail notification.

It was a voicemail. I called. I listened. The world stopped.

"Cassie, what's wrong?" Lisa's voice felt far away.

I looked up, my throat tight. "It was the hospital. Mum had a heart attack".