My name is written in scrolling, beautiful letters on a large board. It reminds me of a sorority house, except with more class. With shaking hands, I take the key out of my envelope and unlock the door. It’s just as stunning as downstairs. The space is the most gorgeous space I’ve ever been able to call my own. The virgin white bed is so large that I’m sure I’ll get lost in it, and the furniture is black wood with carved details. The curtains and floor are red like the carpet outside. The gold details carry throughout from downstairs, and every single thing I’ll ever need is already in here.
I wander over to the armoire and open it up. “No way,” I breathe. “My sizes.” I pull out lingerie of every variety and put it piece by piece on my bed. Some look like pieces I’ve seen on subs in past episodes, others are merely silk scraps I’m sure I’m supposed to sleep in. “No fucking way,” I say, thinking of my oversized T-shirts in my suitcase. I continue raiding the room like a master at a rummage sale. Growing up in a quiet, middle class suburb never prepared me for this.
There’s leather, lace, garters, stockings, several pairs of expensive heels, and in a drawer in the adjacent long dresser there are so many sex toys that I feel like I may black out from info overload. What does he expect me to do with all of this? “Yep, we’re just going to close this one and pretend it doesn’t exist.” I return to the expensive heels and with all of my hesitation forgotten I begin a game of dress-up.
It occurs to me that I have a piece of my Dom’s identity and I’ve yet to look at it. Sitting down on the comfortable bed in a black lace thong and a crystal studded bra, I open my envelope. I flip through the pages until I find one titled DOM AGREEMENT.
“Oh, fuck,” I whisper as the bold letters jump from the page. It’s a personalized letter to me from him.
Ms. Kayla Parchet,
From me you will receive trust, control, and communication. I pride myself on being a Dom who will always communicate openly. You only need tell me something once, and I will remember it forever. I will give you these things willingly and without reservation. In return I expect certain things from you. I abhor cursing and attitudes unbecoming a submissive. I dislike lying, vanity, and alcohol. Outside of those peeves, I can be mildly flexible. The cameras will add a new element to the play. Something even I am inexperienced with. Overall, here is what you can expect.
SEX AND/OR BONDANGE:
- Licking: all body parts
- Genital intercourse
- Anal intercourse
- Finger intercourse
- Double penetration
- Vibrators
- Dildos: anal and genital
- Butt plugs
- Clamps: nipple and genital
- Teasing
- Sex in public
- Gags: rubber, cloth, and phallic
- Bondage: full body
- Cuffs: leather and/or metal
- Blindfolds
- Chains
- Riding crops
- Collars: public/private
- Caning
- Hair pulling
- Sensory deprivation
- Forced masturbation
- Harnessing
- Orgasm denial
- Spreader bars
- Spanking
Together we can add to this list, depending on your preferences and the particular play scene we are preparing for. You will receive a checklist prior to each filmed scene where you will tell me what you are comfortable with and if you have any particular cravings and/or objections. As a submissive you will also be subject to weekly STD screenings and be responsible for taking/procuring your birth control of choice.
I look forward to meeting you. Your interview was the most intriguing, and I must admit, you caught my eye.
Sir
I’m shaking when I finish reading his letter. Uncontrollable nerves taking over, mind closing down shop, type of attack. Sir. The word scares the shit out of me. It’s not pretending with Jason or an article explaining rules, this is my Sir, the man who wants to dominate me. With canes, gags, and butt plugs. I pace around the room with the papers clutched so tightly in my hand that I’m creasing them forever. I can be an exhibitionist. Years in drama helped tame the fear of being in front of people That’s not the issue. Well, being naked in front of millions of people might bubble some self-consciousness, but what I really fear is him. And the unknown factor.
A knock at the door breaks me from my walk. I pull on a silk robe from the foot of the bed and open the door.
A man, who looks to be about my age, stands in front of me. His suit is too big for his small frame, which leads me to believe he’s probably security or of some other lowly position in the company.
He fidgets with the hem of his jacket and turns his gaze to the floor. “Did you have any questions about the paperwork, Ms. Parchet?”
Gross. I’m not old. “It’s Kayla. Please. And I don’t think so. Sir,” I say, snarking, “made it quite clear what’s expected of me.”
He nods with his gaze fixed on his shoes. “I’m here to collect the documents, Ms. Parchet. Of course, if you’re finished with them. Dinner is in fifteen minutes.”
“Come in. I’ll finish up with them now,” I say, opening the door wider to expose the mess I’ve already created.
Messenger boy shakes his head. “I’ll just wait out here.”
“Come in. I demand it,” I say when he finally meets my gaze. He seems normal, an everyday type of guy. He’s just as out of place here as I am. Uneasily he slips through the doorway, and I catch his eyes zeroing in on my chest.
I tighten my robe and close the door behind him. “What’s your name?” I ask, stooping to pick up scraps of lace from the carpet.
“I’m Tim. I’m an intern here,” he stutters. Tim wipes his palms down the sides of his oversized pants. I sniffed out a fellow, average human. It must be a talent. If I sensed his awkwardness before, it’s glaring now.
“You must think this is the weirdest thing ever,” I say, chuckling under my breath. Walking to the bench in front of the bed, I sit down next to the stack of papers and the envelope. I riffle through my bag and find my hard limit printout and add it to the mix.
Tim shifts from one foot to the other nervously. “Go ahead. Talk. I mean, I think it’s obvious already I’m not like the other girls, isn’t it?” I’m fishing. “We can be friends.”
“Well, yeah,” he says, then clears his throat. “They had everything signed and ready for me.” He looks pointedly at my lap where all of the papers sit. “And they were already dressed for dinner,” he adds with an over exaggerated glance at my current attire. “Like I mentioned, dinner is in fifteen minutes.” Shit. “Also I’m not permitted to be friends with you. If I’m being completely honest, I shouldn’t even be inside your quarters.”
I roll my eyes, playing it cool. “Of course you can. It’s my space, is it not?” I scribble my signature on pages that I’ve barely glossed over—a mistake in the name of playing it cool with the nerdy intern. With my hand extended, I hand the paperwork to Tim. With shaking hands, he takes it. “What is the attire for dinner tonight?” I ask, like it’s the only reason I’m not dressed. “Wait. I’m learning. What are the other women wearing to dinner is the correct question.”
Smoothing the edges of the papers with his fingers, like he’s holding something precious, he replies, “Cocktail dresses, Ms. Parchet. Formal attire.”
Funny how that wasn’t mentioned at all. “Thank you, fine sir.” I decide to push my luck.
“It’s Kayla. Call me Kayla. Who is the Dom, Tim?”
He smiles, takes a step backward toward the door, and then another. “I won’t break any more rules for you today…Kayla.” Then he leaves the room with the paperwork that seals my fate. My new reality warps all of my senses. I throw on a simple, black dress, fix my makeup with my last five minutes, and make my way to the dining room. The walk reminds me of a museum tour. There are beautiful paintings and sculptures every couple steps. I�
��m going to be so late.
When I arrive, another suited intern slips a mic on the back of my dress and then points at an open door. My nerves are on high alert as I walk into a silent dining room filled with nine other women all with their gazes trained on me. It’s then that I see the glow of yellow light in the corner and the crew of several people in the expanse of this room. They are dark shadows, but I think I recognize Laurel by the hunch in her back. I weave my way around to an empty chair and take a seat in front of a place setting. I feel like cowering, running scared, hiding underneath an invisibility cloak, but it’s show time. They’ve thrown me into this without a warning or even professional makeup, for God’s sake. Might as well give them what they want.
“Nice of you to join us,” one of the women says, voice laced with contempt. I’m on time. They’re early. Someone giggles quietly.
I turn to the brunette with smoked eye makeup and say, “It’s extremely nice now that I’m here. Isn’t it? Let’s eat, shall we? I don’t know about you, but I’ll need my energy.” Her brown eyes narrow, and her pink bottom lip quivers. Does she even know how to decipher passive aggressive awesomeness? Probably not.
I cast a glance and flash a megawatt smile to my other dinner companions and am pleased when I realize they’re shocked by my words. Good. This is a game, after all.
I decide to make a joke. Laughing, I say, “Sir won’t be pleased if we go hungry. Am I right?” No one laughs, but I can tell you one thing. I’m pretty sure everyone in this room just turned fifty shades of red.
Chapter Four
“Loud mouth”
Dominic
I watch the footage from the sub dinner, awestruck. I wasn’t awestruck because of their beauty, or even because of anticipation. I was fucking awestruck because of how brash Kayla is. She made a reference to a movie that should never be mentioned. My mind is already conjuring ways in which to punish her. The dinner was only videotaped so I could watch. Most of the footage won’t make it on air. In the past they’ve used clips if there was a light argument between subs, because that adds to the tension, but we definitely can’t air anything with Kayla in it. Laurel warned me. She was quick to remind me of that when she hit the play button.
My desk holds the stack of manila envelopes with the women’s contracts. Shuffling them around, I pull out Kayla’s. I tear into it and find crumpled papers and the one in specific I’m searching for. “Limits,” I say, narrowing my eyes at the printout.
Hard Limits
- Fisting: anal and/or genital
- Anal intercourse
- Blood/bodily fluid play
- Play with other women/multiple partners
- Sharing/loaning to other Doms
Soft Limits
- Slave play
- Pony/animal play
To be discussed before scenes
Kayla Parchet
There’s a handwritten note under her signature.
Stay out of my room…please.
Oh, fuck no. Who does she think she is? What does that mean? Is that a soft limit or a hard limit? No anal? No scenes with my harem that include Kayla? I’m fucking fuming. This isn’t going to work for me. I buzz the reception desk and ask my assistant to send Laurel in.
She comes blustering into my office a few moments later, hair frazzled, eyes wide. “Sir,” she says. The mention of the word causes electricity to zing up my spine. Yes. It’s almost time. I have to remind myself why I’m mad.
“Did you pick up this contract?” I ask, holding up Kayla’s mess of papers.
Taking it from my hand, she shakes her head. “An intern did. Timothy is his name. He’s new this year. Why do you ask?”
“Did she need help with the language at all?” All of the legal, binding documents were signed before the subs arrived at the compound. For those, most have an attorney go over with them. This packet tunes the finer details. As experienced subs most of them have seen this paperwork or something very similar multiple times in their pasts. Both Laurel and I know that Kayla has probably never seen anything like it.
Laurel raises one fuzzy brow. “No. I was surprised as well. Tim said she invited him into her quarters and asked him questions. About you.”
My heart hammers in my ears. Anger blisters to the surface. This aggression stays with me until I can take it out in an appropriate way. We all know my preferred method of anger release and who will be on the receiving end of it. Kayla invited a lowly employee into her room and yet me entering is a limit for her. I need to remedy this as soon as fucking possible. Sexual restrictions and limits are easy for me to adhere to. This. This isn’t something I’ll stand for. I’ll tie her up and fuck her on her own sheets just to drive the point home.
“She doesn’t know who you are, Dominic. Remember that. These women have no clue that you aren’t some run-of-the-mill Dom like in seasons past—that you’re the Dom. When they find out, it will change everything. Your mere presence will polarize them. Kayla especially.”
I shake my head. No amount of talking is going to fix what Kayla started. “My name will mean nothing to her. “
Laurel clears her throat, obviously uncomfortable. She never needs to bolster my self-esteem. “I can get rid of her and have a new girl here tonight before filming begins. Say the word.” This is why she’s my right-hand woman. It’s literally hours before we film the first episode and she can work this kind of magic on zero notice.
I consider it. It would be the most rational course of action. Rational isn’t something I want. Standing, I walk to the large floor-to-ceiling, one-sided window that overlooks the studio. It’s bustling with people readying for call time. This set is one of the largest and most expensive sets ever created. There was no budget. It was made to my specific preferences. The technology is top-notch and, unlike the separate playrooms, it’s very modern and cold. This is where we say goodbye to one submissive weekly and where the host recaps the past episodes for the audience at home. This stage, this place, is where I will make my final selections and grant one woman financial security for the rest of her life and make her mine forever.
“No. No, I want this,” I tell Laurel. I haven’t laid eyes on the women physically since they’ve been here. I’ve only seen photos and footage. My anger fades and anticipation kicks into high gear. They’ll be dressed in little to nothing. I prefer all black and creamy skin. They will kneel in a line, one bright spotlight popped on each woman separately—shining on them like a beacon from above. Their photos will flash on a jumbotron screen above their heads with their names.
“Kayla will have to obey me soon enough. If she wants my dick inside her, anyways.” Something tells me she’ll be dying for it, begging for it, will do anything for it, and I’m not the cocky type. Turning my head to the side, until I can see Laurel in my peripheral vision, I wink.
“You have a few before they need you in wardrobe, Dominic. You ready?”
I clear my throat and stretch my arms to fold them behind my head. “This may be my first time on screen, but this isn’t my first rodeo. I was born for this.” If my yuppie father heard me tell someone I was born to fuck and punish women, he’d die of a heart attack. Some men are born to be businessmen. Others are born to take care of business.
After Laurel leaves, I continue to think about fucking Kayla—imagining what she’ll feel like under my hands, what noises she’ll make, how she’ll react when I spank her ass and chain her to the wall. What will her face look like as I thrust my cock into her sopping wet pussy? Will she roll her eyes then? I bet I can make them roll back in her fucking head. Challenge accepted.
“Let the games begin,” I whisper.
****
The camera pans around me and then closes in on my midsection clothed in a fine, custom suit. I leave my hands hanging down by my sides. Doms in the past have worn their playwear during the opening scene, but I want the masses to know this year is different from all the others. This year, the boss is taking over, and I fucking mean business.
I can see the view the camera has on the huge screen in front of me. The mechanical arm that holds the state of the art camera backs away slowly to reveal my lips and jaw line, but nothing above. At this point the audience at home will still be clueless as to who I am. I bring my left hand over and unbutton my jacket with ease. I loosen my tie by yanking left and right and unfasten the top button of my crisp, white shirt.
The host, Gage Mack, booms into the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, The Dom Games of 2016. Please welcome to the stage our lovely competitors.” I’ve yet to be affected by the hot lights, or the cameras swarming from every direction, but when I hear Gage’s words and the ten spotlights flick on at full blast, I clench my jaw to keep my nerves at bay. The set is large and open, but for legal reasons we are unable to have a live audience in attendance. Next year I want to work on making that a reality. Perhaps if I focus on the business aspect of this moment I will be able to remove myself from the reality of this. Because honestly, this is fucking surreal.
The women, my subs, enter from the side of the fifty-yard stage. They all wear black in varying shades: black lace thongs or silk G-strings if my producers deemed them “ass women.” Their bras are sheer lace and expensive. I selected them specifically for each woman. A few of the subs have huge fake tits that stand up on their own, while others have perfectly natural tits, and a few have small handfuls. All of them are beautiful in their own way.
The urge to fuck rears and my heart rate picks up. My dick hardens instantaneously. My gaze is trained on the line of women as they walk out and take their place under their spotlights. As each sub is blindfolded with a black, silk face mask, they are led to their position by a cast of women dressed in leather bodysuits that cover their entire body. The juxtaposition of the almost naked women next to the women in the full jumpsuits is fucking glorious.
The Dom Games Page 3