On His Terms (2 page)

“I know you will use manipulation in order to get what you want. Machiavelli was your inspiration, perhaps?”

She pulled back.

“If you want this conversation to continue, be honest.” His tone was as icy as an Arctic cold front.

Chelsea had not expected this to be so difficult. She’d figured most Doms would love to have a sub begging for their attention. The money she’d offered should have sealed the deal. “I want Evan C to hire my company and accept me as his submissive.”

“And you think some training will get his attention?”

“It will.”

“You sound convinced.”

She recalled the party they’d been at. “He snubbed me once because I was too new.” Seeing him toss his scarf over his shoulder as he’d walked away had stung.

“What kind of experience do you have?” Master Alexander asked.

“Not much,” she admitted reluctantly.

“Be specific.”

“How much information do you want?”

He captured her chin, ignoring the way she’d tipped it stubbornly. His fingers were strong and firm, as unrelenting as the glint in his brown eyes. “I’ll tell you when I’ve heard enough.”

She tried, and failed, to hide her shiver. For the first time in her life, she wondered if she hadn’t set her sights too high. He saw her subterfuge and cut through it, despite the fact she’d become a master at it. He let her go.

When one of the servers came near, she signalled for a glass of wine. She was going to need the fortification. She had no problem at all promoting others or her firm. But exposing her secrets? That required courage.

She took a long drink of her wine, then gripped the stem as if it were a lifeline. “I didn’t know I liked kink until one of my boyfriends blindfolded me.”

“What did you like about the experience?”

Several Doms and subs moved into the living room, and she looked around nervously.

“Eyes on me,” he instructed.

Damn. He was relentless. She caught a glimpse of what he might be like as a trainer, and it terrified her as much as it intrigued her.

“Or excuse yourself now.”

She looked up from where she’d been staring into the depths of her wine.

He missed nothing.

“I liked that I had no idea what would happen next. My hearing seemed heightened. And when he touched me, the sensation was magnified.”

“Go on.”

“One guy would sometimes swat my bottom when I passed him.” She had no idea this would be so embarrassing. There was nothing sexual about the conversation, rather, the facts were somewhat clinical. But that didn’t stop her from blushing. “Last Halloween, I attended a BDSM party. Compared to this…” She swept her hand around. The gathering at Master Damien’s house was for people who lived the lifestyle. “Well, most of us were just dabbling. We wore outfits we bought at the costume store, but afterwards my date tied me up for the first time. It was just to his bed, and he used a light whip on my ass. I liked it. Well, enough to explore more. I wanted more experiences, but he said it really hadn’t worked for him all that well. He didn’t like hurting me. Even though I promised him he hadn’t.”

“You’re telling me most vanilla guys aren’t interested in spanking an ass like that?”

She blinked.

“I noticed you when you first came in, and you wore that skirt hoping I would.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I did.” It was one size smaller than she bought for business meetings, and she’d never wear it out in public. The material hugged her rear so tight she was nervous about sitting down.

“So show me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Lift your skirt to your waist, turn around, spread your legs as far as you can, then bend over and grab your ankles.”

For a moment she could hardly breathe. He said nothing further, and he looked unconcerned, as if it didn’t matter to him one way or another whether she did as he said. She recognised it as a test, though.

He extended his hand to accept her glass. That was probably for the best—she was suddenly afraid of dropping it. He slid the stem onto the mantelpiece, then used his thumb to tip back his cowboy hat.

She pulled up her skirt, and she was grateful she’d worn a thong. Exposing herself to a stranger was far different than playing with a man she’d been dating.

Master Alexander continued to say nothing. She realised then that he was a man of few words, and he didn’t repeat himself. There was no cajoling from him, no teasing, no ‘Oh, come on, Chelsea, have a little fun’. This man was a Dom, not a play toy.

She turned away from him and followed the rest of his instructions. For at least sixty interminable seconds, he said nothing. Her heart beat faster. The tops of her shoes dug into her ankles, and blood rushed to her head.

“This is the ass you’ve had a difficult time convincing men to spank?”

“Yes,” she said. Then she wondered what the protocol was for addressing him. Sir? Mr Monahan? Master? Alex? Alexander?

He caressed both her butt cheeks.

Slowly she began to relax.

Other people continued to move through the rooms, and one stopped to talk to him. He removed one hand and continued to rub her with the other.

She started to stand, but he pinched her upper thigh. She gritted her teeth and had to remind herself to stay in position rather than stand, drop her skirt and get the hell away from him.

Determination drove her. She’d worked two jobs through college, and she kept her eyes on the goal, even when she was exhausted. And she wanted Master Alexander to train her.

She tightened her grip on her ankles. Never in her twenty-nine years had she been more humiliated than she was right now. People at parties wanted to meet her, to brainstorm. She’d never been completely ignored, bent over, with her rear exposed.

Finally the man moved off. Although he kept one hand on her bare butt, Master Alexander said nothing. Chelsea didn’t know what the hell to do.

Suddenly he slapped her left butt cheek, hard. She cried out, more from shock than because it had hurt. She wanted to stand, but she forced herself to remain in position.

“You may pull your skirt down and face me.”

Her legs quivered as she stood. In the last three minutes, she’d had a bigger taste of BDSM than she’d had in the last six months. She wasn’t sure she liked it.

“Tell me about your thoughts while you were bent over,” he said when she was facing him again.

“I felt nervous and exposed.”

“And how did you feel when I smacked you?”

“I was startled, I suppose. And I didn’t like how impersonal your touch was. I could have been anyone.”

“Was it difficult for you to remain in position?”

She reached for her glass of wine and took a deep drink. “Yes.”

“Tell me why.”

“I didn’t know this would be an exploration into my psyche,” she told him.

“Anyone who engages in BDSM with me opens every part of themselves—emotions, mind, thought process. It’s your choice,” he said. “You’re free to leave at any time.”

She rarely shared her innermost thoughts with anyone, not even close friends. But maybe because he was a stranger it might be easier. “I’m accustomed to being the centre of attention. I don’t like to be left out. You ignoring me like that frankly pissed me off.”

“But you stayed in position. Why?”

“Because I want you to train me. And I wanted to show you I can do it.”

“Very good. By the way, you have a very spankable ass. It turned bright red with my handprint.”

She wondered if the colour matched her face.

“Being a submissive is very different from being tied up, wearing a blindfold, or even getting a beating. What you just experienced is a sample of what you can expect as a sub. Doms typically adore and cherish their subs. Some couples, as you may have ascertained, indulge like you and your previous boyfriends, just with a few more rules and a bit more regularity. They may even use the words Dominant and submissive. To me, submission comes with strict protocols, with service, with attention to refined body movements. Do you have any idea what you really meant when you asked me to train you?”

“Maybe I didn’t,” she admitted reluctantly. She shrugged. “What you just showed me… I wasn’t thinking it would be that hard core.”

“Tell me what you mean by that.”

“The whole being submissive thing…” She gnawed her lower lip. Once she realised she was doing it, she stopped immediately. Her mother had been harping on her about that her entire life. “I guess I thought it was mostly about getting spankings and being tied up.”

“It’s more a state of mind,” he informed her. “What you’re talking about falls under the broad umbrella of bondage and discipline. And it could just be added kink in an otherwise vanilla relationship. But submission is about putting someone else’s needs before your own. And you do it from a genuine desire to serve, not because you see it as a means to an end. Most of all, it’s about mutual trust.”

She felt as if she’d been chastised.

“I appreciate your honesty,” he said. “I’m sure we can find you a man to spank you.”

She laughed nervously. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested? I mean, it is your birthday, and someone should get a spanking, and I’m guessing you won’t be baring your butt.”

“Quite correct.”

She wished he’d tip the cowboy hat back so she could see his eyes better. “You could consider it a birthday present,” she suggested.

“I’m not all that interested in giving you a spanking. And it has nothing to do with your delectable derrière. I prefer subs who have a desire to serve. Within that context, a spanking for punishment is fine, and so is an erotic beating.”

While she hadn’t liked being ignored, or the nasty little pinch, she had liked his firm command and the way he’d so masterfully swatted her. It had stung. But the memory of it was making her horny. “I wish you’d reconsider,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt. “I can do anything I set my mind to. You won’t be disappointed in me. I promise you that.”

Just then, Master Damien called for everyone’s attention.

Sara had told Chelsea that the man could have been a movie star. He had long, dark hair that was secured at his nape. Leather pants highlighted his strong muscles, and a short-sleeved black T-shirt revealed a tattoo she couldn’t quite make out.

Some Doms and Dommes urged their subs to their knees for the announcement. Those instructed verbally or through hand commands knelt without complaint. She understood what he was trying to say. No one appeared to rebel against the indignity the way she instinctively had.

“We’re celebrating Master Alexander’s birthday tonight,” Master Damien said. He nodded to a server, and the woman pushed a rolling cart into the living room. A half-sheet cake was ablaze with dozens of candles. He began to sing the birthday song—too bad Master Evan C wasn’t in the room—and others joined in.

As everyone applauded, Master Alexander blew out the candles. And because she figured he wouldn’t make a wish, she did.

“Chelsea will be helping to serve the cake,” Master Alexander announced.

She frowned at him.

“Let’s see how much you really want to be a sub,” he said, looking at her.

She sucked at cake cutting. She could never get the pieces to stand up, and she always ended up with frosting all over her hands.

“Try it with a smile,” he added.

The woman who’d wheeled in the cake offered her a huge knife. As Chelsea accepted the pearlescent handle, the other woman disposed of the candles. The same man who’d brought her wine earlier carried over a stack of plates.

After cutting some mostly straight lines, she picked up the cake spatula and transferred the corner piece onto a plate.

“Take it to Master Alexander,” the woman advised.

Right. Chelsea was supposed to wait on him since he was the birthday boy. She picked up a plate.

“Don’t forget the fork and a napkin.”

She took the plate to him, and she hid her snarl behind a smile.

“Try again,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“Watch.” He gestured to the woman server.

As she moved towards Master Damien, she kept her head tipped. She extended the plate and, when he accepted, she offered the fork and napkin as one package.

Chelsea scowled. She’d never noticed all that before.

“Keep watching.”

The woman gave a brief, barely noticeable curtsy.

“Seriously? You expect me to do
that?
”

“You would receive this kind of instruction as part of your training.”

Cheeks burning with humiliation, she carried the plate back.

Now that Masters Damien and Alexander had been taken care of, the help began to offer cake to the rest of the guests.

A bald man, apparently of some sort of Mediterranean heritage, was standing near the tray, arms folded across his chest. His shoulders and chest were massive, and she wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he played professional football. Or maybe he made a living as a bouncer.

“No one is paying any attention to you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Almost everyone here is with a sub, or they’ve been around the lifestyle for years. All subs have their behaviour corrected from time to time. It’s totally natural.” He smiled and set her at ease. “I’m Gregorio,” he said. “I work with Master Damien here, and I take care of the Den. It’s my job to ensure everything runs smooth.”

“And that includes reassuring wannabe subs?”

His silver earring winked in the overhead light. “My jobs are many and varied.”

“I’m not even his sub. I just want him to train me.”

“So he’s seeing if you’re worth the effort?”

“He turned me down.”

“Obviously, he’s intrigued. You found a way to get an invite to a private party to meet him. Don’t give up easily, unless you’ve decided it’s not for you. In that case, move on and find someone who shares your kink.”

She nodded.

“Are you planning to take the cake back to him?”

After thinking about it for a few seconds, she softly sighed and said, “Yes.”

“Are you right-handed?”

“I am.”

“In that case, I recommend you carry the plate in your left hand. Wrap the napkin around the fork and carry those in your right hand. Keep your head down, gaze lowered. At this point, he won’t be expecting you to kneel. Concentrate on the pleasure he will receive from your service. Offer the fork and napkin first, and then seamlessly transfer the plate to your right hand so you have no awkwardness. The most important thing with service is to think about things ahead of time, plan them out, but have the room to be flexible if your Dom desires it.”