CHAPTER SEVEN
My stomach twisted nervously as I got ready for the munch the following day. Even though Damien told me I could dress casually, I still wasn't sure what to wear. Would my normal style be looked at as too conservative? I could only imagine that most of the other submissives, if not all of them, would probably be in sexy attire to please their Masters.
That made me wonder if Damien actually liked how I dressed. While the formal contract contained a clause about him being able to choose clothing for me, he had never spoken on the subject. He was pretty straight forward, so I imagined that if my wardrobe displeased him, he would have said something about it by now.
With a sigh, I picked a black blouse and matching pencil skirt from my closest. If I wasn't going to dress sexy, the least I could do was dress in all black. Isn't that what most BDSM people wore? I wasn't sure. Most of the time, Damien just sported jeans and a T-shirt. Bah, whatever. I was done thinking about it.
Once I was dressed, I fastened my public collar around my neck and checked myself out in the mirror. My fingers lightly grazed the rhinestones, admiring how they shimmered in the lamplight. Infinity. He wants to be with me for infinity. It was an endearing thought, one of the few things that kept me going after the previous afternoon's punishment. I will never forget to call him Sir again. I will try harder, to be a better submissive, to please him and avoid punishment.
Damien looked ready to go when I arrived at his door. He opened it with a smile, which was unusual. He's excited about this, I realized. Maybe he's excited about showing me off. Or perhaps he's just happy for us to be going out in public together, the same that I am.
Like a perfect gentleman, he led me to his Corvette, and then opened the door for me to step inside.
“Are you nervous?” he asked as we pulled out of the driveway.
“I'm not really sure how to act around these people,” I admitted.
“Just act as you normally would. This is a very casual event. There's nothing to worry about.”
“If you say so.”
“You look beautiful, by the way.” The words sounded awkward coming from his lips, as if he wasn't sure if he should say them or not.
“Thank you, Sir.” I smiled.
The rest of the drive was spent in silence. Part of me wanted to turn his radio on so we'd have noise to fill the void, but I was too afraid of punishment.
We pulled up at the location, which looked like a mix between a bar and a restaurant. I had heard of the place before, but had never been. It was downtown, and I very rarely ventured downtown.
Tension built inside my chest as we got out of the car and walked to the restaurant door. Though Damien had told me that these people would be normal, I still wasn't quite sure what to expect. An image of leather-clad fetishists insisted on invading my mind, but I knew that wasn't right.
Damien asked the hostess if our party had arrived. I stuck to his side as we were guided through the building and into a room that was partially closed off from the rest of the restaurant. Several tables had been pushed together to accommodate our group. It was a small gathering, much smaller than I had anticipated.
As expected, everyone was older than me. Instead of being the leather-bound crowd I had imagined, they were all dressed in normal attire, and they all wore smiles, greeting us brightly. Most of them seemed to know Damien, standing up to shake his hand or give him a hug. He introduced me as his submissive in training, and I bowed my head respectfully, only answering questions that were asked of me, too nervous to engage in further conversation.
We seated ourselves at the end of the table, and I listened to Damien make idle chitchat while we waited for the rest of the party to arrive. The conversation was just as casual as the dress code, mainly involving talk about what had been going on in their lives since the last time they had all seen each other. I kept my eyes to the table, somehow feeling anxious despite all the friendly faces around me.
“Damien Reed,” a woman's voice said as if the name amazed her. “Isn't this a pleasant surprise?”
When I looked up, a cold chill stabbed at my heart. I knew this woman, had seen her before—in his sex video.
The way she looked at Damien spoke volumes about her desire, and when she embraced him, she held onto him too tightly, for too long. In my mind, I was prying them apart, pushing her away from him, telling her she already had her chance. For whatever reason, they weren't together anymore. He belonged to me now—to me and me alone, and I didn't share.
“Danica, this is Cheyenne, my submissive in training,” Damien told her as he broke away from her inappropriate hug and gestured to me.
I stood, though I wasn't sure why. Maybe I thought it was the respectful thing to do. Or perhaps I purposely wanted to wedge my body between them. Whatever the case, it seemed to work. They took a step back from one another as Danica reached out to shake my hand.
“My replacement,” she said, sounding only the slightest hint bitter. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” was all I could think of to say.
“Looks like you're doing some major cradle robbing,” the woman told Damien while she looked me up and down. “Has she even bled yet?”
A blush crept up my neck, though I wasn't sure if it was from embarrassment or anger at her bold words.
“She's perfectly legal, I assure you. Cheyenne, this is Danica. She was my submissive before you. I'm sure you remember her from—”
“The video. Yes, I remember,” I cut him off.
“Now she's a Dominatrix,” the word hissed off his lips with a smile—a smile I didn't like.
“How does that happen?” I asked. “Going from a submissive to a Dominatrix?”
“Ol' Reed here couldn't tame me.” She took a step forward and poked his stomach.
Don't touch him. He's not yours anymore. That ship has sailed. Stay away.
“It had nothing to do with me not being able to tame you. You didn't want to be a submissive.” His smile sank into a frown.
“And now I'm not,” she told him and then went to find a seat. Thankfully, the only two left were a good distance away from us. I didn't want her anywhere near him.
We ordered food, and eventually the conversation turned from casual everyday things to the lifestyle. One of the men asked how Damien and I had met. When he told the story, they all hooted with laughter, teasing him about how he needed to stop fucking his students. That didn't sit well with me either. Was he really such a whore? Had my lust for him blinded me of his true nature? It was a good reminder that there was so much about him that I still didn't know, like what he did during his free time when I wasn't around. I wondered if the blonde woman knew.
For the most part, I remained quiet, listening to everyone around me. Occasionally, someone would try to engage me in conversation, asking me how I liked the lifestyle or how Damien was treating me. I liked it well enough, I told them, though I was still trying to adapt to a lot of things. And my relationship with Damien was as good as it could be, given the circumstances. Or was it? I didn't know anymore. Mixed emotions were blurring rational thinking.
Throughout the entire munch, I continuously caught the blonde woman staring at Damien. It was like I wasn't even there. She flirted with him when she could. At least, it seemed like she was trying to flirt with him.
The most provocatively dressed person in the room, I could see why he had gone for her. She was beautiful, with honey blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin, and breasts that could rival my own. They were displayed proudly in a tight-fitting leather corset, showing more skin than what was left to the imagination. Her cleavage went on for miles, seducing every man in the room. Even Damien wasn't immune to it. I saw him glance over once or twice, though he tried not to be obvious. It never ceased to amaze me the spell that breasts could place on a man. He had even had those breasts before. Why he felt the need to look at them now was beyond me?
The munch couldn't be over soon enough. While everyone had been pleasant, being in the presence of the blonde woman was about to drive me insane. I couldn't help but feel like there was still something between them, though I knew I was probably just being paranoid.
“Did you have a good time?” Damien asked as we walked back out to his car.
“It was interesting,” I replied shortly.
He gave me a quizzical look, taking note of my awkwardness. Thankfully, he didn't press any further.
“They're good people,” he told me on the drive home and then went on to regale me with stories of how he'd met most of them. Surprisingly, he left out the blonde woman. I couldn't help but wonder if he had done it on purpose.
By the time we had returned to his mansion, my mood had improved somewhat. Out of her poisonous presence, I could almost forget the way Danica had looked at Damien, and the way he had glanced crudely at her breasts. Just the memory made my blood boil.
Interestingly enough, Damien's planned kink lesson for the night was focused on cooling my heat. I laid naked on the bed in the classroom while he held a champagne glass with ice cubes in it over my body, working to scoop one out with his fingers. Without even touching me, my skin had already prickled with goosebumps in anticipation of the freezing wetness.
I held my breath as the first cold drops of water landed on my nipple. They had perked before he had begun, but grew even firmer from the icy stimulation. Then he followed through by rubbing the ice cube around each nipple until they were about as erect as they had ever been. I tried not to squirm away, feeling more curious than aroused. My body heat quickly melted the ice, and while Damien dipped down to catch the cascading droplets with his tongue, he wasn't fast enough. They rolled over my side, meeting with the comforter below. His mouth felt better than the ice, but my mind was so distracted with the happenings of the evening that I was having a hard time enjoying it.
Down the ice cube moved, running over my chest and stomach, followed by a trail of kisses from Damien's cold lips. When he stopped at my mound and popped the ice cube into his mouth, I sighed in relief. I thought I knew where it was meant to go next, but instead, Damien crawled back up my body for a kiss, our tongues fighting for possession of the ice cube. The kiss was sensual and cold, and I tried not to giggle as we passed the ice cube back and forth until it was no more, the combined heat of our breath too much for it to handle. A trickle of water streamed from the corner of my mouth, running down into my hair. Damien licked up the side of my cheek, and I shivered, playfully pushing at his chest.
“Too much for you?” he asked with a smile.
“It's different,” I admitted. Not as erotic as I had hoped, though I didn't want him to stop.
The next ice cube was held precariously over my spread pussy lips. As Damien's fingers worked to melt the ice, I pressed my head against the pillow, awaiting the feel of it against my sensitive nerve endings. When the first few drops hit my clit, I couldn't help but squirm. It was far more intense than it had been on my nipples. My breath hitched when Damien pressed the ice cube against my nub. After only a second of contact, it was more than I could handle, the tingling cold turning into a painful burning sensation.
“Yellow. Red! Get it off!” I told him, thankful he obeyed without delay.
“Too intense?” He popped the ice cube into his mouth, sucking the salt of my skin off of it.
“That felt horrible,” I said, slipping a hand between my legs to rub some warmth back into my sensitive clit. Any sense of pleasure had receded deep down inside, not to return until it felt the coast was clear. The ice cube was now my enemy.
“Looks like this would make a better punishment for you than a pleasure tool,” Damien commented, mirroring my thoughts.
“If that's to ever be a punishment, then I'll never disobey again.” I tried to relax against the pillow, realizing that all of my muscles had tensed from the overwhelming icy burn.
“I'm fairly convinced at this point I'm never going to have you trained to call me Sir all the time,” he sighed and then crunched the ice cube between his teeth, devouring it.
“Do I have to say it after every little thing I say?” I gave him a quizzical look.
“It would please me.”
“That sounds so awkward though.”
“Give it a try.”
I frowned. Am I untrainable . . . like her? Or . . . untamable? “Couldn't tame me.” That's how she had put it. If I couldn't get this right, did that mean I wasn't cut out to be a submissive either? Would I end up disregarded only to be replaced by a more cooperative subject?
Why are you thinking about this? You have a long time in training, and there's definitely room for improvement. Besides, you should be focusing on pleasure right now, not some stupid blonde bimbo.
Damien took another ice cube from the glass. “I'm going to try something else. Don't worry, it won't be so intense.”
I huffed, trying not to linger on my negative thoughts.
“If you can't handle it, just let me know. Say your safety word, and I'll stop,” he continued.
“Yes, Sir,” I replied, trying to draw myself back into the moment.
Damien held onto the ice cube with two fingers and ran it down my slit. The intensity of it lasted for a fraction of a second, not long enough to cause pain, but enough to make me squirm from the cold. Unfortunately, it still wasn't pleasurable, but I appreciated his willingness to experiment with me and let me experience a variety of different things. For as lusty as my body was, I couldn't realistically expect to enjoy everything we tried.
He made the pass a few more times, pressing deeper and deeper until the ice cube was engulfed in my soft swollen folds. Each time, I squirmed a bit, making a face that I was certain told him how I felt. When too much wetness would pool, Damien would bend to lick it up. This, I enjoyed far more, though his mouth was unpleasantly cold from sucking on the ice cubes.
“I'm going to put one of these inside you now,” he told me, holding up the last of the ice cubes.
“No way. That's going to hurt too much. What if you can't get it out?”
“I'm fairly certain it will be fine. Trust me, it's not like I've never done this before.”
Not what I needed to hear. Now I was left wondering if he had done this with the blonde woman. Probably. Even if he hadn't, he had just admitted to having done it with some other woman, maybe even other women. Plural. That made it feel somehow dirty and wrong.
He pressed the ice cube to my opening, then pushed it inside. To my astonishment, the searing pain did not follow it into my hole. Instead, it was like the thing had simply disappeared. There was no sense of coldness, no sense of anything. All I could feel was Damien's finger and a cool trickle of water as it streamed from my pussy.
“You're melting it quickly.” He smirked.
Before I had a chance to respond, he was dipping down between my legs, drinking from me like an overfilled cup. I blushed, listening to the crude sounds his mouth made. His technique was messy, and I could feel the water causing a wet stain on the comforter.
Damien wiggled his finger inside of me, presumably poking around for the ice cube. If it was still there, I didn't know. His mouth had finally stopped the trickle of wetness, and I wasn't feeling any discomfort. I simply laid there, trying to relax enough to enjoy it. Even when he moved back up to kiss and lick my clit, the coolness of his tongue was keeping my orgasm at bay, as if my entire body was frozen from the inside out.
He grabbed me by the hips, pulling me so that his mouth was buried between my legs. Eventually, the heat returned to my body, and my pleasure sensors began waking up from hibernation. Out of all the times that he had performed cunnilingus on me, this was by far the longest it had taken for me to get off. I wasn't quite sure if it was because the ice just wasn't my thing, or that I was too infatuated with thoughts of the blonde woman to be able to concentrate. Either way, I didn't like it, and my orgasm was far less than amazing.
“You didn't tell me you were going to come,” Damien said as he emerged breathlessly.
“I'm sorry, Sir. My mind was elsewhere.”
The look of displeasure on his face was apparent. “Is there something you need to talk about?”
For a moment, I thought of telling him no. That would have been dishonest though, and I was already failing as a submissive on so many different levels. My need to hide my true feelings was overwhelming my subservient behavior. How could I possibly tell him I was jealous without sounding stupid or overbearing or suspicious? The evening had already been awkward enough as it was without me causing more tension.
“Am I a good submissive?” I asked finally. “I mean, for someone who is in training? I feel like I keep messing up so much.”
He gazed down at me thoughtfully. “I think you're doing your best.”
It was not enough. Far from what I needed to hear.
There was no sex that night, only a vocabulary quiz, another set of vocabulary words, and punishment for forgetting to call him Sir again. I missed half the meaning of one of my vocabulary words, so Damien added five more minutes to the thirty minutes of punishment that he had already assigned me. To the wall I went to serve my time, secretly loathing him for it, though I knew I had done this to myself. Instead of holding a ping-pong ball with my nose, Damien gave me a penny, which was considerably easier. If there was one thing that I was learning from all of my punishments it was that my memory sucked.
After my punishment was over, I thanked Damien for it, recited why I had been punished, handed in my definitions from the night before, had him unlock the padlock from my public collar, and took my leave. The drive back home was filled with thoughts of the blonde woman and the sex video. Their bodies had moved together so perfectly—looked so natural together. I decided that I hated her. Even if it wasn't for the right reasons, I hated her for ever having him, for me ever having to meet her.