From last chapter: Bulma reopened the door for Vegeta to meet his needs differently through submission. He makes a challenging request of her.

Bulma regained the power of her vocal cords - and cognition - to consider how to handle this situation. Why was she so anxious about sharing her fetish with Vegeta? She had him indulge in most of her other impulses and sexual tastes, and validated his claim on those experiences. One need not to have genius-level awareness to know that, before her, Vegeta wasn't a sex partner who stuck around. Unless they were deluded, those other women realized the disappointing consequences of expecting more from him - or anything, really. He was a hard man living in a hardened way, full stop. Yet those restraints had unraveled like virgin lamb's wool with her.

His request for Bulma not to wear a bra merely tested the waters. He could have asked for much, much more for a long time, but his wish appeared to satisfy him. Bulma never failed to have spicy ideas and make subtle and unsubtle demands of him. Now she had dug herself into a hole, all because she wanted him to fully experience how she felt. Vegeta's presence further allowed her to revisit the side that needed rekindling - indeed, the experience Launch said Bulma needed.

"Damn it. I forgot that dad asked me to attend a family dinner in a few hours - because I haven't been home as much - and it looks like my sister Tights will be there too. Of course you're welcome to come."

Vegeta knew Bulma was telling the truth but also leaving out some things. Maybe she suddenly felt he would ask too much from her. Expressing disappointment wouldn't happen, he decided. Enough angst-filled discussion already happened at the warehouse.

"I can find other things to do."

"Don't do that with me." Bulma interlaced her fingers with his. "Friendship is hard."

"No shit," Vegeta said almost inaudibly, "and don't tell me what to do."

"I do a good job of that already."

"Ugh!" Vegeta pivoted to hide his flushed cheeks. "I made one request - though there will be others - and you avoided answering. Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

"I also have the right to say no, Vegeta, just as you do."

"Of course. I didn't say you don't have that right, Bulma. I had hoped you would… oh never mind."

Bulma hopped up like a frustrated puppy. "Finish your thought. Finish the damn sentence. We've had sex against ceilings before. Surely, you can complete this thought."

Not understanding her response, Vegeta hesitated. He definitely wasn't best-known for transparency with more complex feelings, but Bulma's mixed messages were running a close second, he thought.

"Exactly, woman. We have done those things together. In this case, you didn't answer me at all - not yes, no, or even that you'll consider it. Am I not deserving of that courtesy, at least?"

"So you're concerned about whether I trust you?" Bulma knew she had some nerve asking this now. Obviously he would be. "I… don't trust myself, Vegeta."

"I don't understand."

Bulma touched his hand. "I'm sorry. I should be practicing what I preach to you."

She had become accustomed to Vegeta's long pauses. His mind was busiest during these moments. He could overthink things to death sometimes - when he wasn't being mindbogglingly impulsive - but in this case she understood. So she waited.

"You should be," he replied, "so continue."

"The substance in that box is an aphrodisiac - kind of."

"Well, I kind of figured that out already," Vegeta said with a knowing smirk. "I have never used one."

"Never?" Bulma touched her chest with mock concern, batting her eyes. "Are you scared?"

"Really?" he groaned. "Did you forget how I lived? Why would I try any random stimulant offered to me in a compromising situation? That caution comes from wisdom, not fear."

"But that didn't keep you from the sex." Bulma's giggles whistled through her words, provoking Vegeta further. Having have zero impulse control wasn't serving her well right then, but each discovery about him was so damn interesting!

"That's not the point!" he barked. "It's…it's not like I was out chasing those moments like a heat-seeking missile. Other priorities, you know?"

"I know," Bulma said with a soberness that they both shared. "I'm acutely aware of those."

A charged erotic heat flowed between them, which usually happened when both revealed more of their inner complexities. Neither wanted to surrender to their urges yet. The evening was young after all.

"What do you...fear?" Vegeta asked.

"That…" Bulma shut her eyes, searching for her voice again. "That you will… laugh at me."

Vegeta focused on her pause between "will" and "laugh." They were on a first-name basis with playful mockery, but both were more careful about each other's sexual sensitivities.

"That's not all, is it?"

"Damn it, Vegeta."

"Though I've been there already, you're free to tell me to go to hell," he quipped with a straight face. "I'm sure it won't be the last time."

"Fine," Bulma surrendered. "I have a fetish that I'm almost sure many others wouldn't understand. The powder in the box helps me indulge in it, whether I'm with someone or not."

Bulma's revelation of yet another fetish didn't surprise Vegeta. Her apprehension did. Next to being aroused by killing someone - which she wasn't - this certainly couldn't be that bad. How much control did she lose? Was the fetish more dangerous than she let on? Just how much danger?

His dick tingled just enough to almost make him laugh. But wait: a substance reinforces her top-secret fetish. Was this some kind of extra-powerful mind-altering drug? If that were the case, he wouldn't participate in anything that could destroy her gifted brain - or his, for that matter. He saw what drug addiction did to others during his space travels - and, quite frankly, he wasn't sympathetic, believing that these situations were preventable. Yet if Bulma were addicted, he wouldn't spare her from his version of rehabilitation - gods help her with that option - and do what he could to help.

"What, Vegeta? You got real quiet."

"Does it, um…what's the word you humans use for being drugged?"

"Stoned?" Bulma's eyes widened, followed by a wide smile. "You remember that?"

"Must you respond to everything I remember with some type of shock? It's not like we -"

"Quiet." Bulma's fingers covered his lips, causing him to blush again. "I can see you were distracted when you learned of it. That's all. I don't doubt that your mind is a steel trap - like my own."

Vegeta frowned, pushing her arm away. "Stop that."

He knew Bulma wasn't trying to be flirtatious at that moment, but these intimate and funny incidents they shared together felt so good. At the same time, they also were incredibly hard on him. He was falling in love with her. On balance, he also began to understand how friendship worked on a deeper level. Out of his two former attendants, he felt closer to Raditz, but necessity and self-preservation also underpinned their relationship. Both Raditz and Nappa knew of Vegeta's potential for greatness, and they stuck with him for that reason. As the former head of the Saiyan army, Nappa's perspective about Freiza's influence on Vegeta divided between pragmatism and mercenary. Sometimes he overlooked the bullying and abuse Vegeta received as a child from Frieza, and the tyrant's henchmen, believing that the boy could take it - and that it could make him stronger. Hell, Vegeta requested more difficult missions at a young age just to prove himself, some of which even Nappa didn't prefer for any of them to handle.

Indeed, Nappa's gamble paid off in many ways, but it also warped Vegeta's bitter view of life, as well as sharpened the young man's vengefulness - along with other pathological behaviors. He also wondered if he would become a target of Vegeta's wrath one day. It terrified him, actually. He wanted to explain to Vegeta that everything he allowed to happen was for the boy's own good. Furthermore, what more could he do? Frieza had the upper hand. Death meant the end of their race and the potential for Vegeta to rule something - and, most of all, get retribution against Frieza after figuring out his role in the genocide of the Saiyans.

Vegeta's training on their extinct home planet would have been extremely harsh too. But the boy still would have been raised in a more caring manner than this. Members of the royal court would have guaranteed it, shaping a future king with less arrogance than their current one. Vegeta was clever, brilliant, hardworking, and clearly an emerging prodigy before he was barely five years old. Softening his ego just enough could have created a wise and careful leader tough enough to obliterate their colonization, they believed, guiding their countrymen to bloody their hands with the names of any aggressor daring to challenge them.

The prince probably would have had friends, too, within his social class. He understood what that meant, but letting anyone get that close now would have likely led to losing them, he believed. Then Bulma came along. He found himself picking fights to keep her close just long enough to feel her sunshine. He even quietly appreciated her parents' care. He was taciturn and elusive, arrogant and moody, but he returned their generosity in other ways. Her father particularly knew what he was capable of, seeing through his blustering bullshit.

Attaching himself to these… friends…felt good inside and also hurt terribly. He had long denied the loneliness journeying with him for years. That ache was worst at night as time passed, but he refused to cry. There was too much of that on Namek already. The broken soul haunting him after that fateful day with Frieza and Goku, drowning in his own blood, wasn't the man he expected to be - and never, ever would be again. There would be difficult choices - love or not - but for now he needed another plentiful drink from Bulma's freedom.

"Your family is waiting for you. I'll be at the penthouse."

Bulma's purse landed with a thud on the console near the door, jiggling her bangle bracelets. Vegeta probably heard her footsteps from farther away if he was paying attention. A soft glow from a ceiling light illuminated a loosely bundled bouquet of dark-red roses in a vase on the coffee table. The sculpted blooms curled on each end with rounded peaks. Vegeta stood at the far end of the picture window, now his preferred location for stargazing and introspection. Bulma's misbehaving smile twinkled, but she stayed where she was. Vegeta's clothing had changed, retrieved from a capsule left in her bedroom. His all-white outfit was breathtaking, especially with his shirt partially open. Maybe he agreed to wear it because, for a moment, he could take in a different image of his royalty.

"They… are called explorers."

Bulma finally received permission to speak and move: Vegeta's opening salvo. Those "orders" wouldn't last long. Her bare-legged stroll ended next to the vase.

"The roses? They're gorgeous. Any significance behind the name?"

"Don't press your luck, woman," he breathed with a hint of crankiness, "or ask how I got them."

Bulma's slight smile over his antics gave them both relief. He still wanted to be there. The roses were a lovely gesture, given his awkwardness with sentimental matters. Bulma never said anything about liking these kinds of flowers either. He definitely wouldn't have asked her parents.

"Hold up. We have an agreement. Apologize. Now."

"Those roses are my apology in reverse."

"Well, no one could ever say you aren't clever." Bulma laughed as her tongue playfully danced across her front teeth. "Looks like you've stood there for a while."

Vegeta slowly left his window perch, though his eyes showed no signs of contrition. His reserved response was less an act of defiance and more of acknowledgement.

For the first time in his life, he was handing himself over completely to someone - his pride, sense of self, sexuality. He couldn't bring himself to claim happiness, even as a daring man.

Condition one: Pay attention to cues.

"Very good," Bulma continued. "Glad you got the hint - and you look quite eye-catching in that attire. It almost makes me want to take advantage of you." She touched the tip of her nose. "Oh no. Wait. I will be taking advantage of you!"

Vegeta's head cocked. Could it have been displeasure? Examination? Curiosity? Bulma went with the last two. He appeared guarded, despite their ongoing trysts together. He was guarded, but he kept his promise not to leave again. She didn't have to do any of this - to be there for him - but she was.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked.

Condition two: No sexual intercourse.

"Is that's what on your mind?" Bulma removed her shoes, pushing the ornate gold key she kept ready into his hand. "How concerned are you?"

"Better for us not to re-examine that right now, don't you think?"

"It's going to be OK. You still get to laugh, Vegeta. You have that privilege, and I get the privilege of seeing the best part of that every time we tease each other, including now."

Condition three: There's nothing to prove, compete against, or win.

Vegeta's breath shook as they kissed. Bulma's palm on his face felt like cool water. He could barely answer. He did want that kind of release, more and more, as they spent time together. But laughing was an artifice - a tool - for self-defense and intimidation, saving face, or even hiding fear. The act wasn't always free and open like Bulma's friends considered it to be, he thought. A true laugh meant something. Perhaps it was an unfair assumption, but he believed they took that meaning for granted.

"This is so far from everything I've ever known. All of my…life. I want you to understand."

"I'm trying to understand, Vegeta. You're not alone in this."

Witnessing his confusion beyond the rage and distress almost brought Bulma to tears again. He didn't need to see them - to feel pitied by anyone. She didn't pity him. Never had she experienced anyone so alone in the world - who ultimately believed his fate would be tied to that reality.

Condition four: It's OK to ask for you what you want. All outcomes are negotiable between partners, including how much pain would be inflicted or endured, if at all.

Of course Vegeta already had a high pain threshold. He carried himself on a kind of protective autopilot. Given his upbringing and heritage, that was expected - and necessary - to build power reserves. But a lot more pain was in store. At least he could choose his methods without interference now, rather than enduring sadists dead-set on inflicting their own unrelenting brands of torture - Frieza having been one.

Vegeta could also lower his threshold enough to bear the sharp snap of a lash or paddle on his bare skin. He recognized the pleasure-pain potential at a young age but never revealed the extent of his desire, understanding that it would have likely attracted the worst kind of attention and more burdens he didn't want. He already had been the target of abuses that he fought tooth and nail to overcome.

Vegeta suspected Raditz knew, though, which shamed him. He was a royal after all. Intimate encounters with a lower-ranked attendant would have threatened the power hierarchy. Raditz would've taken advantage without regrets, especially as Vegeta's raw, uncompromising manhood sharpened with age and experience. To dominate him - feeding the prince's erotic thirst - would've been the ultimate conquest.

Bulma stood behind, watching him open her cabinet to choose their instruments. He glanced back as she departed to change clothing. Her fingers glided across the wall next to the bed's nightstand, revealing a security-access device. The cabinet moved aside, exposing a reinforced-metal door.

"One more thing I didn't know about." Vegeta touched his chin, inspecting the room's interior. "You certainly do enjoy surprises."

"It's not like I've ever used it with anyone else before," Bulma replied casually. Vegeta may not have liked surprises all that much, but his twitching eyebrow indicated her success at stroking his vanity.

"What do you call it? You usually name everything."

"The dungeon, of course."

"Of course," Vegeta smirked, shaking his head. "Of course."

Bulma reappeared in a jet-black jacket that extended to her neck. An elaborate leather tie held the outfit together at her midsection, flanked by large metallic buttons that ran up like ladders to her shoulders. A stiff, waist-length black cape hung down her back. Black leather boots and gloves, and fabric leggings, completed the ensemble.

The contrast between Vegeta's white and her dark couldn't have been purer. They walked to the farthest end of the room, stopping in front of a large X-shaped frame attached to the wall. Bulma placed ropes, a flogger, leather cuffs, and a harness on a floor chest covered with red velvet. More ropes of similar quality hung along the walls. A circular mirror provided a full view of the setup.

"Have you thought of safe words?"

"Nothing is ever completely safe," Vegeta replied. "Yes and no are adequate for my needs."

"But we're not here for adequate," Bulma said, gently touching his chest. "We know you could destroy any of the physical restraints I'm putting on you soon, but sensation is sensation. Light and heavy touches can call up all sorts or memories, and -"

"Stop." Vegeta brushed her hair aside for a calming kiss. "I can say no at any time, and I will if necessary. Blinking will be my cue if anything else arises, and… I… know that I can trust you here."

"All right," Bulma replied, staring at the wall.

Vegeta tied his shirt around his hips, and faced the wall. Bulma retrieved the cuffs as his sculpted arms and legs extended spread-eagle over the frame. He nodded, cuing her to shackle his wrists, waist and ankles to the metal cross. She held the face-mask harness next to his cheek.

"I don't want my face covered, even with my back to you. My eyes stay open...for everything."

Bulma considered his words, swinging her snakelike bullwhip on the floor. Her arm sailed backward, flinging the whip high over her shoulder, and then down with an electrifying sonic crack between Vegeta's shoulder blades. He concentrated on the whip's peal, listening and conjuring images of his worst humiliations. None of this was about physical pain, obviously. He was allowing himself to submit because of deeper pain. Whether a demonstrative purge would happen completely was unclear.

"Again," he said through tightened lips. His tone was quiet and measured. "Do not stop until you're tired. Understand?"

Bulma swung the whip again, partly encircling waist. Didn't take long before she realized his end goal.

"My neck."

The body memory of his crushing strangulation and beating by Frieza on Namek came into clear view. His eyes were closed then as he took those pitiless blows, but he had to witness everything now.

********************
"My, my. What do we have here? A fallen prince. Oh dear. It pains me to see you like this, Vegeta. I don't know why, but I still care for you enough to put you out of your misery."

"Again!" Vegeta laughed bitterly. "Again! I didn't say stop!"

Bulma kept up pace for as long as possible - almost two hours - but now she needed to rest completely, and Vegeta needed a different type of support now, she believed. But he also had to be ready to accept it.

"I'm tired now," she panted with sweat pouring down her face. "I must stop. My arms are killing me."

Vegeta's stony appearance relaxed as she approached. Though she could hardly move, Bulma reached over carefully to caress him. He resisted the urge to move away, instead drawing reassuring strength and comfort from her touch. She meant what she said about having nothing to prove to her.

"I just…just...needed to see it again in my own way, Bulma - not in Frieza's way. I didn't give up. You didn't see what happened to me on Namek, but no one can say I completely gave up, not even when he did everything possible to destroy me. I... hadn't given up."

"I know."

Vegeta looked up, focusing on her limp posture. "Lay your hands on my chest right now. I am not in pain."

Bulma's eyes closed gratefully as his ki's warmth restored her. She immediately unlocked his shackles, taking him into her arms. "It's all right."

Vegeta's embrace of her deepened. "Training wasn't making those thoughts go away - not like everything else. Not like everything else."

"How does it feel now? How do you feel now?"

"Better."

Bulma lifted his chin, kissing him. "Maybe when we do it next time - if there is a next time - you will feel more in control, even as you submit. Are you ready to balance this experience with the other one?"

Vegeta stared at the beige ropes all around them, thinking of Bulma's reactions to being tied up. After kissing her again, he nodded. Bondage would be an aesthetic, intense journey fit for a king and queen. Her sympathetic blue eyes told him that.

"You won't be disappointed," she replied, holding his hand, "just like you haven't disappointed me."

A precise, penetrating sparkle crossed Bulma's view - one that only precious jewels could conjure - from the opposite end of the room. She didn't realize Vegeta had brought her pewter box, knowing she would have to notice eventually from where they stood.

"Then trust me with what you're holding back," he whispered, grasping her waist. Even her sweat smelled sweet to him. "Give it to me."

Bulma unbuttoned her collar, allowing him to inhale more. Her hand slipped between his legs, delicately brushing them with the first rope.

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