by Sky Corgan
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.
“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.
THE CONTRACT
It was a tedious read of necessity. The terms of my submission. There was no doubt in my mind Damien Reed had painstakingly written every line. That was the kind of meticulous man he was, precise and perfect. And now it was my job to painstakingly read every line he had written, comprehend them, and commit them to memory.