HisIndecentBoxSetpub

by Sky Corgan

  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 lik
e 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 sham
poo 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.