On His Terms (3 page)

“What about that little bow thing?”

“You can manage something, I’m sure. Bonus points if you use the term Sir or Master Alexander when you address him.”

“Right now, I’m not sure I can remember my own name.”

“That’s why you need to concentrate on him, not yourself. Don’t overthink,” he added. “Try to be natural. You will screw up. Everyone does. Just accept the correction without taking it personally. As I’m sure Master Alexander has already advised, give yourself over to the experience of pleasing your Dom. Get out of your own way, allow someone else be the centre of your universe. If you’re a submissive, you’ll be fulfilled from pleasing him. It’s not for everyone. It’s not for most people.”

Before she could thank him, he had moved off. Surreptitiously she watched another server. Cake was offered one way to Doms, and a little less formally to subs. Some Doms ate and refused a piece on behalf of their sub. One server was directed to place a plate on the floor for a sub. And as Gregorio had said, no one seemed to notice. The blonde sub held her hair back from face and began to eat. Her Domme placed the spiked heel of her boot on the girl’s shoulder while she ate her own dessert.

Everyone had been telling her the same thing. Submission wasn’t for everyone. The more she saw, the more she questioned the path she’d set for herself. Other people seemed to think this was normal, when it seemed anything but to her.

But then Master Evan C entered the room, electrifying it with his energy. The woman he’d been to the dungeon with looked beautiful with her smile and tracks from tears staining her cheeks. She walked over to the tray and carefully selected a plate for him. If others could find pleasure in this, so could Chelsea.

Doubly resolved, she straightened her spine and moved back towards Master Alexander, her gaze cast downwards. She focused on the act of serving him, ignoring the little voice protesting what she was doing. “Happy birthday, Sir,” she said, following Gregorio’s directions.

“Thank you,” he replied. “But I’ve changed my mind about having cake.”

She bit back her instinctive curse. “Of course, Sir.”

“I’ve decided I’d rather give you a birthday spanking.”

Chapter Two

“We need to get a few formalities out of the way,” Alex told her once she returned to him. He thumbed back his hat and looked down at her. He’d been impressed by her reaction when he’d refused the plate. She’d blinked, and she’d given a small sigh, but she hadn’t protested. Her behaviour hadn’t been exemplary, but for a neophyte, it wasn’t awful.

Now, she stood in front of him, a little farther away than he would normally permit, but he understood that his words had shocked her and she needed to keep a bit of a physical distance between them. He continued, “For the moment, I want you to look at me as we’re talking. I want to be very sure you understand what I’m telling you.”

Part of him wondered what the hell he was thinking. He’d stopped training over two years ago. Even when he’d done a fair amount of it, he’d only worked with subs who already had prior experience. He’d only been approached by a sub one other time. In her heart, her soul, every part of her being, Liz had said she was committed to the lifestyle, but she’d really been more of a masochist. Training had been a constant, and wearing, battle. She hadn’t just wanted to be the perfect sub, she’d wanted to be beaten. The harder, the better. Though he’d fallen in love with her, her constant misbehaviour had devoured their relationship. There was never a time she hadn’t been goading him.

The dissolution of their bond had devastated him, and in the past two years, he’d been selective with whom he’d played. He took no one home, and he formed no physical or emotional attachments. Not that he would have had the time, even if he’d had the inclination.

Chelsea had mentioned the Bartholomew scandal. And sometimes it seemed that everyone who lived in North America had heard of it. He, Gavin and their team had given months of due diligence. But one of their employees had overlooked some accounting irregularities, leading to devastating results for Monahan’s clients.

Damien, a friend for years, and one of the investors who had lost big in the scandal, had organised Alex’s birthday party and presented it as a fait accompli. He had insisted there were no hard feelings. Business was business. Sometimes a deal went south.

Now that he’d met Chelsea, he was grateful for his friend’s generosity and glad to be back at the Den after an eighteen-month absence.

She was refreshing. Bold. Brazen. Unable to comprehend the word no. She made him forget his problems, and he knew time with her was exactly what he needed.

In general, he liked women with a few more curves than she had. He preferred longer hair. And he demanded more honesty and respect. But he admired her bravado.

She was at least five foot seven, even taller with the heels on. Her short blonde hair had chunks of dark highlighting, and the few curls that had escaped their clips lay on her forehead. But her green eyes snared and kept his interest. They were wide and expressive, and he could see her emotions revealed there.

The way she sometimes worried her lower lip charmed him. In the time they’d been talking, she’d worked off most of her lipstick, making her appear vulnerable. He doubted she’d appreciate that observation.

Although he had no intention of seeing her again past tonight, he could give her a taste of what she was really in for if she pursued her course of action. He understood why she’d want Evan C as a client, but frankly he thought the self-absorbed rocker was a wannabe and never-gonnabe. Evan C lacked discipline and vision, though he demanded that of the subs he played with. Still, the man had natural talent and, Alex supposed, that could sustain him as a cover band for some time.

But if Chelsea thought getting a little instruction would help her capture and keep Evan C’s interest, she was wrong.

Subs were born, not made, and he’d observed her internal struggle when she’d served him cake, then he’d irritated and confused her when he’d refused her offering. She sure as sunrise hadn’t appreciated being bent over, her pert rear exposed to the world, while he greeted guests. He saw her commitment, but his money was on her failing, no matter who she found to train her. She might enjoy whips, bondage and blindfolds, but subjugating her will would be a challenge, if not impossible.

Now that the formalities were out of the way, the party began in earnest. Evan C and his band moved into the sunroom and picked up the instruments that had been set up earlier. People spilled out onto the patios. One had a fire burning in a brick pit, another was warmed by several kerosene heaters. Several people headed for the dungeon. And that left him all but alone in the living room with the headstrong Chelsea Barton.

“You mean you’ve changed your mind about training me?” she asked.

“No.” He shook his head. “I’ve decided to let you be my birthday present for the evening, if you’re agreeable.”

She sucked her lower lip between her teeth again. “Just know that I’ll be trying to change your mind. I will want to spend real time with you learning how to please a Dom.”

He grinned. “And I’ll be trying to convince you to give up your quest. You’re not a sub. Tonight will prove it.”

She stuck out her hand.

The gesture startled him, but he accepted. They shook hands, and he noticed she once again had a determined tilt to her chin. They hadn’t known each other an hour, but he was already familiar with it.
Game on.
He released her. “First of all, you will address me as Sir. You may call me Master Alexander, but not Master.”

“What’s wrong with calling you Master?”

“It’s too confusing for someone as new as you. I’m not your Master. That speaks to a level of relationship we don’t have.”

“I think you underestimate me.”

“Maybe,” he conceded. “But that’s part of being a good sub.”

She scowled. “What is?”

“Following my rules, whether you like them or not, whether you agree with them or not.”

“So I have to do everything you want?”

“Of course.”

She swallowed deeply.

“Within reason,” he amended. “We’ll use a safe word, and I need to be aware of your limits.”

“I really don’t know much about my limits,” she admitted, still looking up at him. “No permanent scars or markings, I suppose.”

He respected that she hadn’t looked away. “Understood. We’ll learn about the rest of your limits together, then, through your safe word. Do you have one?”

“Parsley.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I hate the stuff.”

“And you’ll remember that during distress?”

“I remember to request it be left off my plate when I go out to eat. So yes, I’ll remember.”

“If it works for you, we’ll use the word ‘slow’ if things are too much and you need a break.”

She nodded.

“The Den also has a safe word. Halt. Master Damien, Gregorio, or any guest will intervene if you use that word. Are you clear?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, Sir. Or yes, Master Alexander. From this moment forward, we are no longer equals, you and I. I am the Dom. You are the sub.”

She took a little breath. “Yes, Sir.”

“Now, about my birthday spanking…”

“Yes? Yes, Sir?”

“Let’s go to the dungeon.” He pointed towards the stairs. “After you.”

Chelsea grabbed her wine, and he closed his hand around her wrist.

“Sober, or not at all,” he told her.

She hesitated, then nodded. He released her and her hand shook as she returned the glass to the mantel. Their gazes met, and she looked away first.

She moved cautiously down the stairs, likely gripping the banister as much for balance as to settle her nerves.

Speakers blasted Evan C’s music through the space. Lighting was dim, and the conversation was loud to compete with the band. “Give me your wrist,” he said.

She frowned, as if not understanding the instruction, but offered her right hand. Since his last visit, several hooks had been attached to the walls. He’d heard a rumour that Damien had had them installed after one sub expressed shock that the dungeon didn’t have shackles. Of course, Damien had said, a slave should be able to be chained to the walls.

Alexander used a thoughtfully provided leather strap to attach her to the hook.

“I…”

He spoke into her ear. “Obviously you can undo that as I only secured one of your hands.” It would take her some time to unfasten it with her left hand, but it was doable if she panicked. “But I’d prefer if you remain where I want you while I go to the bar.” He knew it would be easier for her if he remained standing near her.

“I’m the only one tied up like this.”

“Yes,” he said. “You are.” He noticed she drew her eyebrows together and wondered if she was going to protest. “You’re being a good girl.”

“You know I find that a bit insulting.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” But he wasn’t surprised she felt that way. “It’s not meant to be anything but an expression of my approval. Until you can see that, you’ll never be a good sub. If you prefer, I could attach you to the wall by your neck. In fact…”

“This is fine, Sir.”

“You may want to thank me for my kindness.”

“Oh, God. I mean… Thank you, Sir.”

That he had to coach her to use her manners for something so monumental informed him how unschooled she really was.

He kept a surreptitious eye on her as he ordered two bottles of water from the bar. A waiter carrying a tray of wine walked past her, ignoring her completely. He saw her pull against the tether in obvious consternation.

Rather than engaging in conversation with other Doms, he returned to her immediately. “When you’re better trained, things like that won’t bother you,” he promised. “Again, concentrate on what pleases your Dom. I tied you to the wall because I wanted to, not because you were being punished. What would the experience be like if you had just centred yourself and thought about my imminent return?”

“This is difficult, Sir.”

“You may safe word at any time and admit I was right.”

“Hard doesn’t mean impossible, Sir.”

“In that case, next time I’ll place you naked in the stocks. I understand they’re portable and can be moved to the middle of the room. Completely adjustable so I can have you standing, sitting, kneeling, bent over, or even squatting. Depends on what part of your body I want exposed.”

Colour drained from her face.

“And you’ll thank me for the experience,” he told her. “In fact, your lack of gratitude is a bit off-putting.”

“I think I’m confused,” she said.

“My time is valuable. Especially since it’s my birthday, I would think I could find someone a little more agreeable to play with.” One of the female servers, dressed in an apron and nothing else, was standing near the bar, looking over the space to see if she might be needed. He signalled to her, and she hurried over. Though she moved with purpose and speed, her motions were graceful.

“Sir?” she asked. “May I be of service?”

She had a purple band on her wrist. At the Den, this indicated she was a submissive. He knew that Damien often hired professionals to attend his parties. Unattached Doms enjoyed knowing they’d have someone to scene with. “Are you available for a short demonstration?”

“Of course, Sir.”

“Do you have a safe word?”

“Red, Sir.”

“Anything else I need to know about you…Brandy, is it?”

She smiled. “Thank you for remembering, Sir. Nothing else you need to know.”

“Any issues with corporal punishment?”

“No, Sir.”

He turned back to Chelsea. “Observe. Relax. This isn’t about me pointing out your shortcomings, it’s simply a part of your instruction.”

Her lips were set in a tight line, but she said nothing.

“Remove your apron,” he said to Brandy.

Within moments, she stood in front of him, naked.

“Please present your breasts.”

Brandy cupped the abundant globes in her palms. She lifted her breasts and drew them together.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m going to squeeze your nipples extraordinarily hard.”