The Denim Dom

“How much do you charge?”

He thought maybe he’d misheard her. “I don’t understand.”

She still wouldn’t look at him. “How much do you charge to train a submissive?”

“I don’t.”

That forced her gaze up to his before it dropped to her hands again. “But I thought you said—”

“When I train a submissive, it’s because myself and the person have reached a mutual agreement to pursue that. That’s personal, not a business transaction. I’ve never charged to train a submissive. I don’t hire myself out to do that. Now, I’ve taught private sessions on technique with rope bondage, whips, that sort of thing. But the relationship between a Dominant and their submissive is a personal one. At least, it is for me. I know there are people out there who claim to make a business out of training submissives and slaves, but I’m not one of them. What I do in my personal life is for pleasure. The only reason I even accept money for my classes is to cover expenses and time, not to make a profit.”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. Her hands disappeared from the table into her lap. “Okay. I’m sorry. I misunderstood you.”

He took a chance and dropped his voice. “Shayla, look at me.”

Her eyes fluttered everywhere and anywhere but where he wanted them until she finally met his gaze. He waited until her eyes were steadily focused on him and nowhere else.

“What exactly is it you’re looking for?” he asked in the same soft, even tone.

He didn’t miss the way she swallowed, the way her throat worked, the pulse point clearly visible under her flesh.

I’d love to pull her head back and nibble all the way down her neck.

He forced himself not to budge as his erection painfully sprang to life in his pants.

“I want to go through training as a submissive. To see what it’s like from that side firsthand. I…I think that’s the only way I’m going to really understand all of this for my articles.”

He let her soft words hang in the air for a moment as he tried to process what she’d said. He couldn’t move, couldn’t sit back. The urge to adjust his pants would be too great, and he suspected what she’d just said had taken every ounce of her courage. He didn’t want to make a wrong move and scare her off.

“You want me to train you?”

Her eyes flickered away, but he waited her out. Her hazel gaze eventually returned to his again. “Yes. If you’re interested,” she quickly added. “I mean, I know you’re busy and if you don’t have the time, or don’t want to, it’s okay. I understand and it won’t hurt my feelings.”

Part of him wanted to reach out and pull her into his arms. A thick layer of insecurity lay behind her walls, of that he was now certain. She’d been rejected somewhere down the line and had taken a massive hit to her self-esteem as a result. He didn’t know exactly how or why, but he’d seen it plenty of times before in others and recognized it all too well.

Of course, he knew he could be wrong, but he doubted it.

“Is this really just for your story? No other reason?”

She nodded.

“Is any of it for you personally?”

He thought at first she wasn’t going to answer him. Then she softly said, “I don’t know. Maybe.”

He allowed himself to slowly lean back in his seat, his palms flat on his thighs under the table. He studied her, noticing the way her gaze dove away from him, down and to the side again, to the dessert menu propped up at the end of the table by the window.

I’ll have to work on that first. She would have to learn to accept direct eye contact with him, to hold and maintain it no matter how uncomfortable it might feel to her.

He realized what he’d just thought and knew regardless of the outcome, he’d probably already made up his mind the other night when they were talking at the club.

He’d just never thought he’d have a chance to make some of those fantasies come true.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

--

Adult Excerpt:

“Is that a spatula, Sir?”

He grinned and held the black object up. “Yep. Good for scraping batter out of bowls, or smacking subbies’ asses.” He stepped in close and hooked a finger through the front D-ring on the collar. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “And as I told you, you can always call red. But I want to give you a little taste of what I have in store for you later tonight, so you have something to look forward to. Any objections?”

She shook her head. “No, Sir.”

His grin did dangerous things to her reserve. “That’s my good girl. Keep that dress up and those feet apart.”

He released her collar and walked around behind her. She flinched again when she felt his hands on the thong’s waistband.

Then she realized he was pulling it down her legs.

She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together as she felt what little covering she’d had disappear.

He put an arm around her waist to steady her and tapped her right leg. “Step up, pet.”

She lifted her foot and felt him pull the thong off her leg and drop it to the floor, where it puddled around her left ankle. “Foot down, pet.”

She complied.

“Legs apart, like I told you.” This time he nudged her right foot out with his. The boot leather felt warm against the side of her foot through the sandal.

He stepped away again. She heard him move in front of her. “Do you want a blindfold, pet?”

“Yes, Sir.” The words slipped from her lips without even needing to think about them.

“Ah, my poor, bashful pet. I should make you watch this time, but I won’t. I’ll go easy on you.” She heard him walk away. Then he rummaged through his bag, his boot heels making solid sounds on the painted concrete floor as he returned. She felt him slip a soft leather blindfold over her head and buckle it.

“How’s that, pet?”

She nodded. “Good, Sir.”

Even the word “pet” had taken on a new connotation for her. It felt like a new name. She was his pet, his toy, his plaything.

She heard him pick up one of the items he’d left on the floor next to her feet. When the plastic touched the skin of her inner right thigh, she twitched but didn’t draw her legs closed.

“Keep that skirt up, pet,” he said in a low warning tone when she’d let it slip. She yanked it back up again, bunching it in her hands so she could keep her elbows at her sides and not drop the fabric.

He lightly slapped her ass and thighs with the slapper first, just barely enough to be stingy in a pleasant, scratching-an-itch kind of way. After a few minutes of that he switched to the spatula.

He caressed up and down her inner thigh with the spatula, down to her calf, behind her knee, with both the flat side of it and the edge. Then up her thigh, just between her legs where he skipped her clit and pussy altogether and repeated the teasing on her left leg.

“You’re wet, pet. I can smell you.” He sounded amused.

He didn’t chide her for not replying, so she remained silent.

He did that for long minutes, back and forth.

Then the first slap, against her inner right thigh, making her yip in surprise more than pain.

“Legs apart!” he barked. It startled her, and she forced them apart. He started slapping the insides of her thighs with the spatula, up and down, the backs of her legs, her ass. Not as hard as she suspected he could hit, but in a few moments she felt the stinging all over.

He stopped, which shocked her almost as much as when he’d started.

His warm breath blew across her clit. “My poor, wet pet.” He lightly brushed her clit with the spatula.

She froze, which didn’t escape his notice. “Good girl. Hold very still.” He slipped the edge of the spatula back and forth through the folds of her labia and up the seam of her ass, teasing her. She pressed her lips together to try to hold back her whimpers.

It seemed nothing escaped his notice. “Make all the noise you want, pet. It’s just us.”

He dragged the edge of the spatula across her clit. That made her moan and involuntarily thrust her pelvis forward, wanting to maintain contact with it.

“Good girl,” he cooed. “That’s exactly what I want you to do.” He repeated the motion, tormenting her with the spatula, making her clit swell and throb even as her pussy began to dully ache with a cramping need she knew only an orgasm would take care of.

When was the last time I felt like this?

That would be never.