CHAPTER TWO
At promptly three forty-five the following evening, I was sitting in front of Damien Reed's massive house. I glanced at the three-tiered fountain in his circular driveway and the blue and red flowers that surrounded it. The water cascaded down serenely, as it always did, and I found myself wondering if he ever turned the fountain off.
It was a stupid thing to think about, especially when I should be worrying about other things. In a matter of minutes, Damien Reed would be reading the answers to my questionnaire, assessing them and considering whether or not he had made the right choice in asking me to be his submissive.
I turned my gaze down to the stack of papers, which I had neatly stapled back together. Did the continuation of our relationship rely on the answers within? Probably not. Damien had been pretty adamant about wanting me as his submissive ever since the night at the cheer studio, when he had taken me so violently against the glass window. My cunt pulsed every time the memory came to mind. It had been the first time we had sex together, and probably the most memorable sexual experience of my entire life, not that I had many to boast about.
My heart raced with equal parts nervousness and anticipation as I climbed out of my Miata and straightened my skirt before walking up to the door. It seemed like no matter how many times I found myself in front of his house, the butterflies in my stomach didn't realize I had been there before. Many many times before.
I knocked and waited for the sound of his footsteps. When the door opened, my butterflies took flight, swirling the emotions in my body. Admiration. Love. Lust. They were all there when I looked at Damien Reed.
“Come in,” he said, stepping aside for me to enter.
If he was excited to see me, I couldn't tell, but that was to be expected. I was slowly getting used to his poker face. It was rare that Damien Reed was anything other than strictly business.
Instead of leading me to the classroom, Damien took a detour and went to the living room instead. I shamelessly watched his ass as he walked, that perfect round ass that was oh-so-squeezable. Someday, while we're making love, I'll wrap my arms around him and dig my nails into that ass. Not today though. To touch Damien Reed without his permission was almost unthinkable, though I couldn't help but wonder how he'd react. Part of me wanted to find out, but the part of me that was still unfamiliar with him was too shy. Another time, perhaps. Would there ever be another time though? Soon, I would belong to him. Acting out of line might earn me a punishment.
I bit my bottom lip, thinking of my spanking fantasy from the night before. Damien had told me punishments wouldn't be like that. But oh what fun it would be if they were.
When he gestured for me to sit on the sofa, I was forced to put all naughty thoughts aside. Now, we would be getting down to business.
I noticed another stack of papers sitting on the coffee table, and I groaned internally. Please, for the love of God, don't make those papers be something else I have to fill out. While filling out the questionnaire had been fun in its own right, I really didn't want to have to go through it again.
Damien caught me looking at the papers but said nothing, which didn't make me feel anymore confident in what they were.
“Did you finish the questionnaire?” he asked, holding out his hand to me.
“Yes.” I nodded, leaning forward to give him the paperwork.
“Did you fill it out completely?” The tone in his voice implied doubt, and also a sense that he'd be highly disappointed in me if I hadn't. After all, I'd had the questionnaire for much longer than I was originally supposed to.
“It took me a really long time, but I did complete it entirely,” I replied, watching as he turned the first page over.
As he read my answers, he spoke, “That stack of paperwork on the coffee table is for you. On the very top is a list of my rules. Beneath that is a mock contract for you to take home and go over. Tonight, I'll input all the missing fields. Tomorrow, we can discuss the contract and any changes you think should be made to it. After we agree on the terms, I'll print out the actual copy for both of us to sign.”
It didn't take a genius to know he expected me to look at it right away. Taking his queue, I picked up the stack of papers. When I flipped them over, it took everything in me not to scowl. I suspected what I would find. After all, this wasn't the first time I had seen a submissive contract. While I had never been a submissive before, I distinctly remembered looking at one in a book about BDSM. This one seemed longer somehow. Tediously longer. I dreaded the thought of having to read it all. Would everything in the lifestyle be this complicated? Hopefully not.
I sighed, starting from the beginning. By all rights, the document looked legally binding. It was written in the serious style that a lawyer would use, with specific clauses sectioned off, addressing every aspect of my submission, from the purpose of our relationship to the rules of my servitude. Each line was meticulously detailed, and far more restrictive than I thought our relationship should be.
Damien coughed, forcing my attention to him.
“You can read that later tonight. It's the paper that was on top of that stack that I want you to read now.”
On top? I stared down at the paperwork for a moment before I realized what he meant. Feeling stupid, I pulled the paper from the bottom of the stack and placed it on top of the contract. Down the length of it was a numbered list of rules. It read as follows:
- I will obey, serve, and please my Master, understanding that whatever my Master wishes of me is for my own good.
- When I am not in the presence of my Master, choices that I make will reflect only what I think would please my Master.
- When my Master speaks to me, I will respond without hesitation.
- When others are present, I will not speak unless my Master gives permission except to say that they must speak to Him first.
- I will not enter a room without requesting permission from my Master.
- I will learn everything that my Master is willing to teach me and will demonstrate my knowledge upon request or whenever it pleases my Master.
- When around company, my Master is to be treated as the most important person. If I am called upon to serve, I will always serve my Master first.
- If I have done something to displease my Master, I must tell him immediately.
- I will never disrespect my Master, whether in a public or private setting, whether He is present or absent.
- I will not flinch away from punishment or hesitate when it is time to receive it.
- I will thank my Master for my punishments and, after punishment is received, will promptly recite why I was punished so that I may always remember not to repeat the same mistake.
- My Master's needs must always come before my own, no matter the circumstance.
- I will always tell my Master before I am about to orgasm so that he may decide whether or not to allow it.
- I will not date or engage in sexual activity with others unless I have received permission from my Master first.
- The safe word I have been given is for my protection, and I may use it at any time that I feel necessary without the fear of punishment.
- I will never think of myself as weak for my decision to submit. It takes a lot of courage to be able to give myself over fully to the care and pleasure of someone else.
As I read through the list, Damien interrupted me, his eyes never leaving my questionnaire, “How many men have you slept with since you and I have been together?”
“What?” I asked, startled.
“I know you were with that one guy, from the video. Were there others?”
A blush crept across my cheeks. The video. I had almost forgotten about it. When I first started taking lessons with Damien, he told me he wouldn't sleep with me because I was a virgin, so I videotaped myself losing my virginity to one of my guy friends and sent it to him, partially out of spite. That seemed like ages ago.
“No. There weren't any others,” I replied finally, thinking about Chase and wondering what he was doing now. Part of me still felt bad for . . . using him? Was that what I had done? Used him as a sexual and emotional outlet.
It didn't matter anymore. That was in the past. I had made my choice, and Damien was my future. It was just him and I now.
“Good. Then I shouldn't need for you to take an STD test.” The way he said it was somewhat rude, but I tried to ignore it.
“What about you?” I asked, even though I knew it was probably a bad idea. The level of jealousy I felt when thinking of Damien Reed with other women was almost ridiculous. Even when women just looked at him, the green monster of jealousy would rear its ugly head. Hearing that he had slept with someone else could bomb my entire night.
Without even looking up at me, he simply muttered, “No,” putting my mind at ease.
I finished reading the list of rules, feeling a bit uneasy about the strictness of them. The worst part was that I knew the full list inside of the contract was a lot more restrictive. Nervousness and doubt welled up inside of me, consuming me and making me sweat. Maybe this isn't such a good idea after all. I know Damien is a control freak, but this is a bit much. Am I cut out for obeying someone to this level? I don't really think so, but if I don't go through with this, I'll never have Damien Reed in the way I want him.
But this wasn't quite how I wanted him. Out of all the titles that Damien went by: Teacher, Professor, Master, Dominant. Boyfriend was not one of them. And if you heard it from his lips, it never would be.
“I don't do relationships. Not in the traditional sense,” he told me the last night we had been together. “I don't date, but I do carry on relationships in other ways. If you would be interested in learning about BDSM, then I would be willing to take you on as my submissive. Collaring someone is as good as putting a wedding ring on their finger.”
I wanted a ring though, not a collar. Not now, or anytime soon. Not until I finished college, to be sure. But eventually, I wanted a wedding ring—a traditional relationship.
I sighed audibly, drawing Damien's attention from my paperwork, which it looked like he was almost finished reading.
“What's wrong?” he asked, with his usual deadpan expression.
“Nothing.”
“We haven't even started, and you're already failing.”
Ouch. Which rule was that one? He had said I must respond immediately, but he didn't say my answer had to please him.
“I don't understand,” I said.
“Don't understand what?”
“How I've failed.”
He shifted the papers on his lap. “You didn't answer me truthfully.”
“How do you know? My mind could have been blank.”
“You just read a very controversial document, one you're not accustomed to seeing, full of rules that might make you feel a little uncomfortable. You definitely were not thinking nothing.”
Could he read me so well? Even so, the way he was treating me was starting to make me feel a bit angry. In truth, even though I had done my best to prepare myself for this, I was a little overwhelmed. The condescending tone he was taking with me wasn't helping.
I cleared my throat before speaking, “You're right. Some of these things do make me uncomfortable.”
“Like?”
“Like the rule about me having to ask permission before entering a room. It seems a bit silly. What if I'm in a room that's nowhere near where you are? Will I have to shout for permission across the mansion?” I couldn't hide the aggravation from my voice.
Damien smirked, which only made me scowl. “First off, this is not a mansion. And second, it's not as difficult as you're making it out to be. You only need to request permission to enter a room that I am in. And like most learned skills, once you've done it a few dozen times, it will become second nature to you.”
“It just seems a bit excessive is all,” I mumbled.
“This is how things are done in the lifestyle. And to be honest, I'm far less strict than a lot of other Dominants. Some would make you ask permission for every little thing you do.”
“That would be annoying.”
“That's just how it is, what it means to submit.”
I sighed, “If we do this, just please keep in mind that this is not what I chose. It's what you've chosen for us. Just, please take it easy on me. This is going to take some getting used to.”
He set my questionnaire down on the coffee table, then leaned back and crossed his ankle over his knee, relaxing on the couch and focusing his attention on me. “If this isn't what you truly want, then we shouldn't do it. I've told you time and time again the type of commitment this is going to take. You agreed to it, which made me assume you wanted it.”
I want you, Damien. All I want is you. Why can't you just be happy for that?
I didn't know what to say that wasn't the truth, so I didn't say anything at all. My mind was constantly flipping between being excited about being his submissive and dreading it.
When I didn't respond, Damien continued, “You really have nothing to fear from this. The first stage of the process is to give you my collar of consideration. During that time, we will be under trial with each other. If at any time you decided the lifestyle is not for you, then you can walk away.”
Now I was confused.
“So, I don't get this . . . wedding ring collar right away?”
He laughed, “No. There are different collars for different purposes. First, you'll get the collar of consideration. While under consideration, I will begin teaching you the basics, and as you learn, you'll get a better idea of whether or not this is what you really want. I will still punish you when you mess up, but I'll probably be fairly lenient about it. When the trial is up, we can both re-evaluate the relationship and decide if we want to proceed to the next step.”
That didn't sound so bad. It reminded me of one of those infomercials where they allowed you to try a product for thirty days. Damien Reed wasn't a product though, and if I didn't accept this relationship, who knew what would happen between us.
“What's the next step?” I asked.
“Next, you would be given a training collar. During training, I would expect more from you, a full commitment to learn and implement all of my teachings.
“After you completed training, you would be given your formal collar, or as you call it, the wedding ring collar.” He smirked when he said it. “It basically signifies that you have given yourself over to me completely, and that we are engaged in a very intimate committed relationship to one another. There's even a ceremony that goes with it to make it official.”
I tried to imagine what that type of ceremony would be like. The only thing that came to mind was a wedding procession, except for instead of everyone being dressed in nice clothing, they would all be dressed in leather and fetish wear. And instead of a wedding ring being placed on my finger, Damien would put a collar around my neck. Everything else was the same though, which made for a pretty humorous image.
Damien continued, “There are two other types of collars, the collar of protection and the scene collar. The collar of protection is exactly what it sounds like. It basically places the submissive under the protection of the Dominant. Sometimes, Dominants use this as the first step in the process before the collar of consideration.
“A scene collar is one used for scene play. It's a temporary collar that grants a Dominant power over a submissive for a specified period of time, usually long enough to act out a scene. During that time, the submissive is bound to the rules of the Dominant. It's more prevalent between Dominants who share submissives and those who sell scene services.”
“That's a bit confusing.” Everything he was saying now was going way over my head. “So, I won't get the collar of protection, but I will get the scene collar?”
“Unless you agree to be shared with another Dominant, which if I remember from the answers to your questionnaire, was something you did not want, then you won't be getting a scene collar.”
“No. I don't want to be shared.” I quickly shook my head. The idea of being handed off to a stranger didn't exactly repulse me, but I was worried I wouldn't get to choose who he shared me with.
“Do you have anymore questions about collars?” he asked.
“I'm not really sure I understand what the collar of protection is for exactly, or what a scene is.”
Damien made a strange face, as if searching for a better explanation. “The collar of protection isn't very common. It's mostly used for submissives who have just come out of abusive relationships. It makes the unowned submissive unapproachable for consideration by other Dominants while still maintaining their submissive position within the D/s community. So, basically, the submissive is not owned by the Dominant who places a collar of protection on her. She is merely shielded by him, which gives her time to heal from her previous relationship before moving on to a new one.”
“Wow. This crap gets kind of complex. Is there a lot of abuse in the D/s community?”
“Not usually, but as with all things, there are a few bad apples in the barrel.”
“So then, the Dominant who puts the collar of protection on a submissive usually eventually ends up taking her on as his submissive. That's why the collar of protection sometimes comes before the collar of consideration.”
“Pretty much. You're catching on well.”
“Thank you.” I beamed, pleased with the compliment.
Damien continued, “A scene is basically a session of sadism and masochism play. The session is set up so the Dominant can inflict pain on the submissive for their pleasure. If you've ever watched a movie where a man pays a Dominatrix to punish him, that's a scene. Of course, payment isn't necessary for a scene to take place. Many Dominants engage in scenes with their submissives for their pleasure.”
“I don't like pain,” I muttered.
“That's not true.”
I quirked an eyebrow at him. “I think I'd know if I liked pain or not.”
“You like being spanked.”
“That's not very painful.”
“Pain doesn't have to be intense for it to still be pain.”
“I suppose that's true.” I shifted slightly, my body becoming impatient for our lesson. Just the mention of being spanked made my clit pulse with want.
“Do you understand everything better now?” he asked.
“Yes, I think so.” I nodded.
“Good. Do you have anymore questions?”
“Um, am I under consideration right now?”
“You will be after we've signed the first contract. At that point, you will need to do your best to follow my rules. When you get the time to read the contract, you'll learn the rest of my rules. The paper with the list of rules are the ones that will be most important to me while you're under consideration.”
“Alright.”
We sat in silence for a moment, with me looking at the list of rules on my lap and Damien staring at me awkwardly. Then he spoke again, changing the subject, “So, it appears that the only things you're opposed to are being shared, anything to do with your anus, having sex while on your period, and anything pain related. Is that correct?”
“Mhm,” I replied, avoiding his eyes.
“Why won't you have sex on your period?”
“Because it's gross.”
Damien huffed lightly, somewhere between amusement and annoyance. “That's the same reason you gave for not wanting anal sex.”
“Well, that's because they're both gross.”
“They're not gross. Menstruating is natural.”
I scrunched my face up. “But it's messy, and I just don't want to do it when I'm on my period.”
“One thing you should know about me, Cheyenne, is that I don't like being denied.”
His words sent a shiver down my spine. He sounded so powerful, looked so dominant—so desirable. Damien's dark eyes burned down to my very core, lighting a fire there that swirled with desire for him.
“I . . .” I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say—what he wanted me to say. Why had I even bothered to open my mouth? When he looked at me in that way, spoke to me like that, I always got tongue-tied and flustered.
“We can work on all of this later,” he said finally. “I'm sure you're eager to get to your lesson this evening.”
Yes. I nodded fervently. Oh so eager.
“Read rule number thirteen,” he instructed.
What? I looked down at the list, wondering what the rules had to do with anything until I found the one he had requested. My cheeks grew warm as I read it aloud, “I will always tell my Master before I am about to orgasm so that he may decide whether or not to allow it.”
“This is the first rule I want you to commit to memory. Now, are you ready for your lesson?”
I could only imagine how he planned to use that rule. Did he mean to deny my orgasm? Hopefully not. My body was already warmed up for him. It wouldn't take much to push me over the edge, the edge that I so willingly wanted to plummet down.
With a deep breath, I said, “I'm ready.”
Damien uncrossed his legs. “Tonight, we're going to take a shower together.”
“A . . . shower?” That was totally unexpected. I supposed that shower sex was just as hot as anything else. Besides, I had never done it in a shower before.
“Mhm.” He stood, which I took for a sign to follow him.
Damien led me to the Master bathroom, where he leaned casually against the counter that stretched across the length of the room. His bathroom was every bit as big as my bedroom at my father's house. And it looked every bit as expensive and pristine as the rest of his house. White marble tile with flecks of gold in it led up to a giant basin tub. To the right was the long counter with his and her sinks, and to the left was a massive walk-in shower, large enough for at least six people to stand together comfortably. How can he not call this a mansion?
“Undress,” Damien commanded.
I felt strangely insecure under his gaze, though he had seen me naked many times before. Remember what comes after undressing, I told myself as I began to unbutton my blouse. My fingers worked clumsily, ever aware of Damien Reed's smoldering eyes upon me.
“When you're finished, fold your clothing nearly and place them on the counter,” he instructed as I was sliding off my underwear.
“Alright,” I replied, quickly doing as I was told.
Damien furrowed his brows at my folded clothing. “Has no one ever taught you how to properly fold clothes before?”
“I usually hang these up,” I said, trying not to sound annoyed.
“I'll expect you to learn how to fold clothing properly. I'm sure you can find several videos on YouTube about it.”
“Yes, Master,” I playfully mocked him.
“It's Sir.” He didn't even smile.
“Sir?”
“Yes. Until you receive your formal collar, you will address me as Sir. That is what I prefer to be called. Calling me Master denotes that we have reached a deeper relationship, which we have not yet.”
The tension in the room was palpable, though whether it was sexual tension or something else, I couldn't tell. All I knew was that he was being very serious, and although I found it sexy, to a degree, it was kind of making me uncomfortable.
“Now I want you to undress me,” he said, pushing himself away from the counter and taking a step forward so I had room to get around him.
Undress him. Now that sounded like fun. I tried to hide my lecherous grin as I stepped up to him, inhaling the masculine scent of his cologne. Damien Reed was absolutely intoxicating, and just the feel of being in his personal space erased all of my uncertainty.
I bit my bottom lip, gazing up at him. When our eyes met, fireworks went off inside my body. Passionate Damien was there, dominating me with his powerful eyes, consuming my body and soul. My heart began to pound in my chest as my hands went to grip the bottom of his white T-shirt. He lifted his arms and bowed his head so that I could take it off, leaving him shirtless and yummy.
Mmm Damien Reed shirtless. He was the picture of gorgeous, with tattooed arms, pale skin, and a fit body. Tall, dark, and handsome. And totally mine. The thought made me absolutely giddy inside.
I knelt to take off his shoes and socks, surprised that his feet didn't smell. It was a weird thing to think about, but I had never liked feet. They were strange looking, and kind of gross.
Thankfully, I didn't have to linger on my knees too long before it was time to take off his jeans and get to the goods. Beneath them, his cock was flaccid, though I knew it wouldn't stay like that—hoped it wouldn't stay that way. I wanted it inside of me. Needed it inside of me.
When Damien was fully undressed, he walked past me to turn on the shower. Water sprayed down from three metal plates in the ceiling. It was a neat addition to the traditional shower head on the wall. Next to that was a detachable shower head. Needless to say, Damien's shower didn't lack options when it came to getting wet.
After he had adjusted the temperature to his liking, he motioned for me to step inside. I was thankful he preferred his showers hot. Despite the heat of the water, my nipples began to perk the moment beads of water pelted down on them. For a moment, I thought to conceal myself in embarrassment, but what did it matter. They would have gotten hard the second Damien put his hands on me anyway. And by that time, all thoughts of modesty would be out the window.
Damien reached up and took a bottle of shampoo from the shower rack. “I want you to wash my hair,” he told me. “You wash it, rinse it, lather again, and leave it in for a minute while you scrub my body. When you're finished washing me, you'll rinse my hair again, then condition it. You'll leave the conditioner in, and while it's setting in, I'll bathe you.”
I nodded, taking the bottle from him and squirting a generous portion of shampoo into my hand. Surprisingly, the brand was a common one. Then again, Damien Reed was all over the place with what he chose to spend his money on. He lived in a mansion but wore jeans and T-shirts most days, and they weren't even the designer kind. The man was truly unusual.
I reached up and massaged the shampoo into his short dark hair. It was brown, but so close to black that you couldn't tell from a distance.
Meticulously, I followed Damien's instructions, worrying the whole time that it wouldn't be good enough. He seemed to like to criticize everything I did wrong, but I supposed that was part of training me to be the perfect submissive, teaching me how to do things the way he wanted them done. It would certainly take some getting used to, and hopefully the payoff would be worth the initial annoyance with the process.
Thankfully, he didn't say anything while I bathed him. He simply watched me, assessing me the entire time. As I handled his penis, the desire to pop it into my mouth became almost overwhelming. I held back though, not wanting to risk displeasing him. Could a man be displeased by a blow job? I didn't think so. Still, Damien Reed wasn't just any man. It had taken me forever to get him hard during my first lesson with him. He had ridiculous self-control. I shouldn't be surprised that a small bit of fondling didn't do the trick.
When it was time for the conditioner to set in, Damien took control, shampooing my hair and washing me as I had him. Just the feel of his hands caressing my soapy skin made me want to moan. They were large and warm, and I felt somehow protected in his embrace.
When he soaped up my sex, his fingers were gentle, rubbing back and forth between my folds to get me clean. My clit throbbed needily, but it was obvious he wasn't ready to give it the attention it wanted. Soon, I told myself. Soon, he'll be fucking me. Maybe he'll even press me up against the glass like he had in the cheer studio. How I missed the cheer studio, the excitement of being naked and exposed for all the world to see, the dominance in Damien's voice as he ordered me not to turn around, the rough way he had taken me against the glass. My pussy ached the entire day afterward. It had been a good kind of pain. The kind of pain that comes from being ridden hard and put away sopping.
Instead of switching places with me, Damien grabbed the detachable shower head and rinsed off my back. The setting on it pulsed hard against my skin, giving me a massage as it went. I groaned at the pleasure of it. Never before had I felt so pampered. It was well worth waiting for my turn to be bathed.
“Put your leg up on the bench,” Damien instructed, and I did as I was told.
Damien changed the setting on the detachable shower head to a gentle flow to wash off my chest. Down the shower head went, between my breasts, over my stomach, and pausing at my mound. Instead of continuing its descent, the shower head moved away from me and out of view. I didn't think much of it until I heard a click behind me. Then Damien's arm was reaching around me, pulling me against him, while the shower head was pressed between my legs, the setting dialed all the way up to Oh-My-Fucking-God.
My body tensed against him, my breath instantly becoming ragged as the hot water jetted across my sensitive clit. I wanted to close my legs—wanted to postpone the orgasm. It was coming too fast, racing through my body with dizzying speed.
I grasped Damien's hand, practically clawing my nails into it. His breath was on my neck, his eyes watching my body struggle not to writhe from exquisite pleasure.
As if my orgasm wasn't happening fast enough already, Damien pressed the shower head flush with my skin and began rubbing it against me in a circular motion. I barely had time to cry out, “I'm coming,” before the pummeling water sent me over the edge. There was no time for Damien to deny me. My body wouldn't allow it. All I could do was wait for my orgasm to play out and hope that he wasn't too upset.
If he was disappointed though, it didn't show. The moment I had spoken the words, Damien's free hand began roaming. First, it pinched and tugged on one of my nipples, which sent a delicious aftershock to my cunt. Then it wandered down between my legs for proof of my words, his finger pressing the tiny nub to feel it contracting.
He pulled the water away, returned the shower head to a gentler setting, and placed it back in its cradle. All the while, I stood as still as I could, panting and waiting for my next instruction. Damien wrapped his arms lovingly around me, giving me a kiss on the neck before saying I could rinse the conditioner from my hair and then do his.
When I was finished rinsing his hair, I wrapped my arms around Damien's broad shoulders, pressing my head against his back and sighing contently. To my surprise, he grabbed my hand and lifted it up to his lips, kissing it gently. The tender moment lasted for but a second before he turned the water off and then opened the shower door to step outside and grab a towel.
I sighed, wishing he would have allowed me to please him as he had me. Maybe it wasn't over yet though. Surely, he would want to have sex; I hoped.
We toweled ourselves off, and Damien went into his bedroom to get a fresh pair of boxers. I felt a bit icky putting back on my old clothes, but I didn't have much of a choice.
When we were both dressed, Damien told me to follow him to the living room, so I could retrieve the contract before I left. I scowled at his backside, hoping for some hot sofa sex. The shower head felt great, but I required a different kind of head to soothe the need between my thighs.
When Damien picked up the paperwork to hand it to me, his expression was all seriousness again. Any hint of love or affection had washed off in the shower, and he was back to being strictly business.
“You failed again,” he commented plainly, causing my stomach to twist with discomfort.
“I know,” I replied. “I didn't have much time to think though.”
“I know. That was partially my fault.” He sighed, but didn't look too disappointed. “We're going to have to work on orgasm control with you. You go off faster than a teenage boy.”
I laughed, “I can't help it. It's what you do to me.”
He smirked. “I'm glad I please you so greatly.”
“You do. More than any man ever has.” Almost as soon as I said it, I realized how stupid it sounded. After all, I had only been with one other man.
“Shall we discuss your trial then?”
I sighed internally. The uncertainty was there again, but then I thought about Damien's tender kiss in the shower and tried to put it aside.
“Perhaps you'd like to think about it overnight,” he continued. “Usually, I set a trial of two weeks. But our situation is a bit different. You have school, and I can't expect you to come over every night without your studies suffering.”
The idea of coming to see him every night wasn't unappealing. That would mean more sex for me. And more sex would definitely make me a happy camper. But I knew he was right. I could remember the time when my mother was in the hospital, how hard it had been to juggle all of my responsibilities.
“You said the time I'm under consideration is basically just to see if I'm actually interested in being your submissive, right?” I asked.
“Pretty much.”
“Then I think I should be able to decide in two weeks.” I hoped. My emotions were so loopy when it came to Damien that I couldn't be sure. Still, the quicker I earned this formal collar, the sooner we would officially be committed.
“Alright. Well, how about this. We'll start with two weeks, and when two weeks is up, we'll discuss how you feel about things. If you need more time, we can extend it after that.”
“That sounds good.”
“Before you go, it's time for a pop quiz.” He smirked, and I tried my best not to scowl. I had a bad feeling this was going to be the first of many pop quizzes. Then again, it was really important to him for me to learn this stuff, so I shouldn't be surprised.
“Shoot.”
“Name all the collars and what their purposes are.”
“Do I get a reward if I get them all right?” I grinned lecherously, showing my intent. “I do think there should be some type of reward system in place.”
He let out a short laugh. “You, my dear, are insatiable.”
“Fair is fair.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “Fair is fair. A reward if you get them all right.”
Now that gave me motivation. “Do I get to pick my reward?”
“Don't push it.”
I thought for a moment. “There are five collars. The collar of protection, the collar of consideration, the training collar, the formal collar, and the scene collar. The collar of protection is used to signify that a submissive is under protection by a Dominant. Typically, the submissive has been in a past abusive relationship, and the collar makes it to where other Dominants cannot put her under consideration. The collar of consideration is used to signify that a submissive and Dominant are considering taking things to the next step. The submissive wears it while she's under trial. The training collar is the collar the submissive wears when she is being trained by a Dominant. It signifies a deeper commitment between the two, but is not as deep as the commitment that comes with the formal collar, which bonds the two together long-term. When the submissive receives the formal collar, it means she has given herself to the Dominant fully, body, mind, and soul. The last collar is the scene collar, which is used during specific periods of time when the Dominant and submissive are engaged in a type of pain play. Did I get it all right?” I asked, hoping beyond hope. My body yearned for his reward.
“Close enough,” he replied. “I'm impressed. I honestly didn't expect you to remember.”
“Hey! I was listening.” I crossed my arms over my chest, offended.
“Apparently you were, which is good. I suppose you want your reward now.”
Just the sound of the word made my body awaken with arousal.
“Yes. I believe a reward is in order,” I said, trying not to seem too eager.
Damien sat back on the sofa and patted his knee. Enthusiastically, I set the paperwork down on the coffee table and went to sit on his lap.
“Stop,” he told me as I began to lower myself, and I instantly froze. “Not like that. Take off your skirt and underwear and lay across my lap.”
My heart skipped a beat. What he was asking of me could only mean one of two things. He was either going to spank me or finger me. Maybe he saw all the stars I had drawn around 'spanking' on the list of kinks. It was my biggest fetish, and I had wanted him to know it.
When my skirt and panties were removed, I daintily laid across Damien's lap. His knees were boney and uncomfortable, but I tried to ignore it. Soon, my mind would be consumed with other things, my thoughts of discomfort washed away with bliss.
“Spread your legs,” he instructed, and I obeyed, feeling the cool air caressing my feminine parts. I wasn't wet, but it probably wouldn't take long for it to happen.
Damien laid a hand on my ass, rubbing my smooth skin. He pushed my blouse up a bit to uncover my lower back, and then his hand began to explore. The touch of his fingertips was teasing, moving without rhyme or reason. Goosebumps dotted my flesh, and I tried not to squirm.
For a moment, I began to doubt he was going to do anything other than caress my skin, which felt good in its own right, but then his hand began wandering lower, squeezing and massaging my buttocks before it did the same to my inner thigh. While the stimulation was arousing, it was also relaxing. I found my body becoming loose, hanging limply over Damien's lap. Even when his fingers moved to rub at the crease of my pussy lips, I didn't tense.
The tease was slow and torturous. Every sensual touch pumped blood straight to my sex, inflating my labia. When he pressed a finger between them, my pussy graciously accepted it, though he didn't tunnel all the way into me. Instead, he continued to pet back and forth, driving me insane. If he wasn't going to spank me, then I wanted him to finger me, to plunge his thick fingers into my wet passageway and fuck me until I was writhing.
My heart pounded fiercely in my chest, my body waiting in anticipation for his end game. There had to be a method to his madness. Surely, he was going to reward me instead of punishing me. The stimulation was good, but my body was so wanton that it was almost painful.
“You're getting awfully wet back here,” he whispered softly, rubbing a trail of my own juices across my taint.
My muscles instantly tightened at the feel of his finger getting so close to my asshole. The moment it touched my pucker though, his entire hand withdrew. I sighed in relief, but it was cut short by the sharp sound of skin hitting skin.
My own breath choked me as the first slap against my ass caught me by surprise. Warmth surged through my backside, converging on my clit to make it pulse with pleasure. I thought to groan, but before my mouth could utter contentment, it was crying out from the next slap. Each slap was accompanied by a circular rub over my buttocks, as if Damien was soothing the pain before he added more.
When I turned to see how rosy my butt cheeks had gotten he said, “Don't turn around. If you do, then I'll stop.”
I kept my eyes forward, staring stupidly at the cream-colored couch cushions of the sectional sofa while Damien spanked me repeatedly, alternating between ass cheeks. His strokes were firm enough to cause a delicious crack, but not so much that it took me beyond my boundaries of pain. The heat that consumed me seemed to pulse straight to my core, causing my pussy to go on wetness overdrive. I felt absolutely slick with want, almost to the point that I feared my juices might run out onto his leg. Would Damien Reed get upset if I dirtied him right after his shower? Would he punish me then instead of pleasuring me?
I didn't have much time to ponder on it. The feel of two of his fingers forcing their way through my folds and hammering inside of me made me cry out in shock. The O never left my mouth as Damien pounded them mercilessly into me, causing the fire from my ass to melt completely with the stretching heat of my nether regions. My cheeks flushed as his fingers made a squelching sound while they plowed through my wetness.
I moaned as he twisted his hand inside of me so that he could get at my clit as well, stroking across it with a third finger. Pleasure surged through me, and my body quickly began climbing back up the hill of euphoria with every forceful thrust.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Don't stop.”
Damien didn't stop. In fact, he picked up the pace, speeding my ascension to sexual bliss.
“I'm going to come,” I announced a moment too late. My body tensed on his lap, my mind going blank as the contractions began.
Damien scissored his fingers inside of me, fighting against my inner muscles to no avail. The finger that had been teasing my clit helped to milk out my final orgasms. Then I laid limply across his lap, panting for breath and waiting for condescending words. For some reason, it didn't matter so much in that moment. My orgasm had been so good that I didn't care if I displeased him.
“You're so lustful,” he said, pulling his fingers out of my pussy and bringing them up to his mouth to lick my wetness from them. As I turned to watch, my clit pulsed a final time, probably from the sight of his sexy mouth taking in my juices. Damn he was hot. Maybe now I could ride his cock.
“I want you inside of me,” I told him shamelessly.
“You failed again.”
There was the condescension I had expected, but it meant nothing to me. We both knew I had failed. Was there any point in saying it?
“From now on, tell me when you first feel your orgasm coming on,” he said.
“Alright. I understand. I still want to fuck you.”
“You've got to earn it, love.”
I scowled. “Aren't you just punishing yourself too?”
“You're not going anywhere. I have plenty of time to fuck you.”
The way he said it was almost arrogant, like he knew he had me, which he did. I hated how he was so sure of himself. Then again, that was a large part of his appeal. Damien Reed was in control. He knew what he wanted and how to get it. If he wanted to ensure that I'd obey him next time, threatening to deny me sex was a good way to do it.
“You're absolutely wicked,” I told him as I crawled off of his lap to pull my panties and skirt back on. When I turned to look at my butt, it was nice and red, a reminder of my reward.
After my meeting with Damien Reed, I called up my best friend Tanya to go out to dinner. All of that hot kinky action had helped me to work up an appetite, and I nearly dove into the bowl of chips and salsa that we were presented with as an appetizer at the Mexican restaurant.
Tanya looked chipper as normal. She had practically been aglow twenty-four-seven ever since she began officially dating Vinny. I didn't really see what she saw in the guy, but if he made her happy, that was all that mattered, I supposed.
“How are things with Mister Italy?” I asked between chews.
“Mister Italy?” She grinned at me. “Vinny would laugh if he heard you call him that. He's very proud of his Italian blood, though he was born in New Jersey.”
Of course, he was. All guys who looked like that were born in New Jersey. He was tall and lanky, though Tanya assured me that he had a rocking body beneath his clothing. His skin was tanned, and all of his features were dark. Brown eyes, brown hair. And that horrible horrible blowout hairstyle. Nope, I definitely did not see what she saw in him.
“He's my little Italian stud muffin,” she squealed.
“I'm glad you're happy.”
“And what about you? Are you happy dating Professor Reed?”
“You know he hates being called that.” I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.
Since I wasn't taking Damien's Art Appreciation class anymore, it was easy to forget he was a professor at the college I attended. It was strange to think of him in such a way, made him seem even older. I never really thought about the age difference between us, considering how young he looked.
“I think it's kind of sexy you're dating a professor. There's a forbidden danger to it,” Tanya said.
“There is,” I admitted. Damien would be fired if anyone ever found out that we were together. It was against the rules for a professor to date a student, even though we were both adults.
“We should go out on a double date sometime,” she suggested.
“No,” I said the word almost in a panic.
“Why not?”
“Aside from the risk involved of being seen and Damien losing his job, our relationship really isn't like that.”
“What's it like then?” She quirked her head to the side curiously.
I sighed, not really feeling like explaining. Tanya was my best friend though, and if there was anyone that I could talk to about anything, it was her. Maybe discussing it would make me feel better.
“He wants me to be . . . his submissive,” I hesitated on the last word.
“His submissive? Boy, he really is a kinky freak.”
“Yeah. He says he doesn't do traditional relationships. If I want to be with him, I have to be his submissive.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
I thought about it for a moment. “Excited. Afraid. Nervous.”
“It sounds like fun. Vanilla sex is good, but too many men are boring in the bedroom.”
“I suppose.”
She didn't really understand. It wasn't just about sex, and it wasn't going to be only in the bedroom. Damien would demand my subservience to him all the time. I would be his to control at a whim.
“There's more to it than that,” I said, but by that time our food had arrived, and we were both more interested in eating than talking about our relationships.
When we were finished eating, we parted ways. Feeling no less confused, I went home and sat in front of my desk with the contract in hand. The papers felt thick between my fingers, a tedious read. Frustration welled up inside of me, the same emotion I felt when I had looked upon the questionnaire for the first time. Except for this time, I didn't have to spend hours writing down answers. I just had to read. Read and sign. Sign my freedom away. Give myself over to him.