14. Thirteen

This contract outlines the agreed-upon terms of a service-based Dominant/submissive relationship between Shepherd Laskin (herein: Sir) and Elias Baker (herein: boy).

I stared at the words on the screen, reading them over and over, trying to process the strange feeling that shot through me each time. Excitement, worry, and relief were all there, battling within me. I couldn't shake the thought that this was more than just a contract; it felt like a map to a new reality, one where I was finally seen and valued.

I sat in Shepherd's dimly lit home office, my heart racing. Dark wood paneling surrounded shelves crammed with leather-bound psychology books. An antique globe stood in one corner, a silent witness to our exchange.

My fingers trembled as I scrolled through the lengthy document, the tablet feeling both alien and familiar in my grip. The words blurred as my heart raced—each line igniting a whirlwind of anticipation and anxiety in my chest. Each section detailed expectations, boundaries, and limits, but there were still places that needed filling in. The formality was dizzying, a far cry from the rough encounters I'd had before.

Shepherd sat beside me, a copy of the contract open on his tablet. “Let’s start at the top,” he suggested. “Roles and Responsibilities,” Shepherd read aloud. “I agree to respect your limits and boundaries at all times. I will provide guidance and tasks for you to fulfill as part of your service. I will also ensure your physical and emotional safety throughout our relationship. Additionally, I’ll support your basic financial needs, providing a monthly allowance of twelve hundred dollars.”

My breath hitched as the magnitude of Shepherd's offer sank in. Twelve hundred dollars a month, without having to pay for food, rent, or utilities? The weight of it crushed down on me, a sum far beyond my meager McHappy’s paycheck—a lifeline thrown into the depths of my uncertainty. I had always struggled to make ends meet, and now someone wanted to take care of me? Someone pinch me, I must be dreaming.

“I... I don't know what to say,” I managed, my voice barely a whisper. “That's generous of you.”

Shepherd's dark eyes met mine, intense and unwavering. “You deserve to be taken care of, Elias. In every way. I want to provide that for you, if you'll let me.”

I nodded slowly, a lump forming in my throat. No one had ever wanted to take care of me like this. It was overwhelming, terrifying, and exhilarating all at once.

“Thank you,” I said softly, meaning it with every fiber of my being.

“Now, shall we continue?” Shepherd asked.

I took a deep breath and focused on the tablet. “Submissive's Responsibilities,” I read aloud. “I agree to serve the Dominant—”

“Sir,” he cut in. “Replace any appearance of that when reading aloud with Sir.”

I swallowed and cleared my throat. “I agree to serve Sir to the best of my ability, performing tasks respectfully and communicating openly about any discomfort. I will follow the rules set by Sir, respecting his authority while maintaining personal agency.”

I let out a shaky breath, the weight of the commitment settling heavily on my shoulders. But it was a good weight, a grounding one. A promise of stability and belonging—things I hadn't had in so long.

“Very good,” Shepherd murmured. “Let's move on to your specific duties.”

I nodded, scrolling to the “Service Tasks” section. My eyes skimmed the bulleted list as Shepherd read them aloud: mostly household chores and errands. I was surprised at how excited I felt that he’d trust me to do some shopping. He’d previously trusted Gavin to do it, and it meant something that he was extending that same level of trust to me.

My gaze snagged on a line: Anticipate Sir's needs and proactively attend to them. I furrowed my brow. How was I supposed to know what Shepherd needed before he asked? A wave of anxiety unfurled in my gut. What if I failed? What if I couldn’t figure out what he wanted? I felt like I was walking a tightrope, trying not to fall.

“What is it, boy?” Shepherd asked gently. “You look concerned.”

I bit my lip, debating whether to voice my confusion. But communication was important, and I needed to ask. “This line about anticipating your needs... How will I know what you need if you don't tell me?”

“Anticipating my needs is about being attentive,” he explained. “It means paying attention to my routines, preferences, and moods. Noticing small things, like when my glass is empty. If you're ever unsure, you can always ask. But there’s a protocol I prefer you adhere to if you need to ask a question, and we’ll cover that at the end.”

I nodded, absorbing his words. It made sense, in a way. Anticipating needs was about being observant and intuitive. A chance to prove myself to Shepherd.

“I understand,” I said, my voice steadier now. “I'll do my best to be proactive.”

Shepherd smiled, approval shining in his eyes. “I know you will, boy. You're a quick learner.”

The praise sent warmth through my chest, easing my lingering anxiety. I scrolled down to the next section: Safe Words and Check-Ins.

“A safe word,” Shepherd explained, “is our safety net. It’s a predetermined signal for when you feel overwhelmed or need to halt everything. No questions asked.”

I swallowed hard. The idea of needing a safe word was unsettling, but it was also a relief to know it was there if I needed it. I stared at the blinking cursor, racing through possibilities for my safe word, rejecting each one.

“Icarus,” I finally typed, feeling a sense of finality.

Shepherd raised an eyebrow. “Interesting choice. Any particular reason?”

“It feels right. Flying too close to the sun, getting burned...”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I can understand that. Now for your caution word—something to use when you're approaching your limits but don't necessarily need to stop.”

“Pause,” I typed, simple and straightforward.

“Excellent,” Shepherd said. “For check-ins, I want us to have a quick one each morning after breakfast.”

I nodded. “That sounds good.” I appreciated that Shepherd was building moments of connection into our dynamic. It made me feel cared for.

“I also want a more in-depth discussion once a week on Sunday evenings,” he continued. “A time to address any issues that arise. How does that sound?”

“I like that idea a lot,” I said. “Like a family meeting.”

He smiled. “Exactly. Never be afraid to come to me with concerns, boy. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” I replied, the honorific rolling off my tongue more naturally this time.

Shepherd looked pleased. “Good. Now, let's move on to limits and consequences.”

My stomach fluttered with nerves. This part drove home the intensity of what we were doing.

“It's crucial that we're on the same page about your limits,” he said. “Both hard limits—things that are completely off the table—and soft limits, things you’re hesitant about.”

I nodded, my throat feeling dry. “I understand.”

“Let’s start with my hard limits,” he prompted gently. “For this contract, sexual contact is a hard limit for now. Permanent marks, such as tattooing or branding, and any scenes with strong religious connotations are out of the question. My soft limits are fire play, scat, and public play, excluding designated areas of The Playground. And what about you, Elias? What are your hard limits?”

I swallowed, my mind racing. “Um... anything involving blood or bodily fluids other than cum. Scat, watersports, that kind of thing. And nothing that causes serious pain or injury.” I paused. “As for soft limits... maybe sensory deprivation? I don't think I’d like not being able to see or hear. And humiliation; it's just not my thing.”

Shepherd made notes in the document. “Understood. We can work within those boundaries. You can always modify these lists as we go.”

I nodded, relieved. Speaking my limits out loud felt like shedding a layer of skin. I was exposed, but there was power in the honesty. It was a step toward reclaiming my agency.

“Now, let's discuss consequences,” Shepherd said, his tone serious. “There need to be consequences for breaking rules or disregarding protocol. It helps maintain the structure of our agreement.”

The thought of punishment, even within the bounds of consent, sent a shiver down my spine—an exhilarating blend of dread and anticipation. “I understand,” I managed to say, my voice betraying my nerves. “What kind of consequences are we talking about?”

Shepherd studied me. “First, any consequences will be proportional to the infraction and will never exceed your limits. Minor infractions might result in writing lines or repeating a posture. More serious issues could lead to a time out or a spanking, depending on the offense. But only within your defined limits.”

At the mention of a spanking, my body reacted involuntarily. I shifted in my seat, hoping Shepherd hadn’t noticed. The idea of being bent over his knee sent a confusing mix of fear and arousal coursing through me.

“That all sounds reasonable,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I agree to the consequences.”

“Excellent. There’s one more section I’d like to add, if you're amenable.”

“Oh?” I raised my eyebrows, curious.

“A section on sexual activity,” he replied, his tone clinical.

“But I thought... Didn’t you say sex was a hard limit?”

“It is,” Shepherd confirmed. “There will be no sexual contact between us unless we renegotiate the contract. However, I would like to add a stipulation regarding your sexual activity outside of our dynamic as well.”

I groaned. “What kind of stipulation?”

Shepherd fixed me with a stern look. “During the term of our contract, I require that you refrain from engaging in sexual activity with anyone else. No hookups, no dating, no exceptions.”

My jaw dropped. “Wait, what? You're telling me I can't have sex at all? For how long?”

“For the duration of our agreement,” Shepherd replied calmly. “Or until the contract is renegotiated. I need your focus to be solely on your service and submission. Sexual entanglements would only serve as a distraction.”

I gaped at him, my mind reeling. No sex for God knew how long. Daunting, to say the least. But my sex life had been unsatisfying lately, so maybe a break wouldn’t be the worst thing.

I chewed on my lip, considering. “What about Keres? Does he count as someone else?”

Shepherd's expression darkened, a flicker of something dangerous flashing in his eyes. “Keres isn’t me,” he said, his voice taut. “So no, you may not engage with him sexually. If he crosses a line, let me know.”

I nodded quickly, not wanting to provoke Shepherd's ire. Message received.

A thought occurred to me, and my cheeks heated with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. I bit my lip, glancing up at Shepherd. “What about... masturbation? Do I need permission for that too?”

I held my breath, heart pounding. Part of me couldn't believe I’d asked such a brazen question. Another part thrilled at the idea of teasing him.

Shepherd leaned back in his chair, regarding me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. “During our contract, you’ll need to obtain permission before any sexual activity, including self-pleasure.”

My mouth went dry, a mix of indignation and arousal swirling within me. The idea of asking Shepherd for permission to touch myself was both daunting and thrilling.

Emboldened, I tilted my head. “And if I do ask? Would you want to watch, Sir?”

The words slipped out before I could stop them. Shepherd’s eyes flashed with an intensity that stole my breath. He leaned forward, closing the distance until I felt the heat radiating off him.

“Careful, boy,” he murmured, his voice a dangerous rumble. “That sounded an awful lot like teasing. That’s a game you’ll lose with me. I don’t tolerate brats.”

I swallowed hard, my pulse racing. There was a warning in his words, but also a thrill—a dark promise that made my blood sing with reckless desire.

“Who says I'm playing a game?” I asked softly, holding his gaze with a defiance I didn’t quite feel. “Maybe I'm curious. About what it would be like to perform for you.”

Shepherd's jaw clenched, his eyes darkening. For a moment, he looked like he might devour me whole. Then he blinked, and the moment passed. He sat back, putting distance between us. I let out a shaky breath, relieved yet oddly bereft.

“To answer your question,” he said, voice rougher now, “Yes. If you ask and I grant it, I would want to watch. I want to see you touch yourself, hear the noises you make in pleasure, knowing I'm the one who allowed you that release. And I want you to thank me after you cum.”

My cock throbbed insistently in my tight jeans, his words igniting a fierce need within me. I shifted in my seat, trying to find comfort, but there was no disguising my arousal. A hot flush crept up my neck as I realized just how affected I was by the idea of Shepherd watching me.

His gaze flicked to my lap, a knowing smirk tugging at his mouth. “It seems this discussion has had quite an effect on you, boy,” he observed, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine.

I swallowed hard. “Y-yes, Sir,” I managed, my voice a hoarse rasp.

Shepherd leaned forward, eyes glinting with predatory light. “I want you to surrender any sex toys you own. They will be kept in my possession, used as rewards for exemplary service.”

My breath caught, and my mind conjured images of Shepherd wielding my toys to drive me to madness with pleasure. The thought made my cock jump.

“Yes, Sir.”

I squirmed as his heated gaze raked over me. The power he held, the control he demanded, terrified and thrilled me in equal measure.

“Good boy,” he praised. “Now, let's move on to the last section—protocol and etiquette.”

I nodded, trying to focus despite the throbbing between my legs. Shepherd scrolled to the final part of the contract, his expression serious.

“When we are alone, at The Playground, or around Gavin, you will address me as Sir at all times unless told otherwise. In public or around others, you may use my name. Speak respectfully and refrain from crude language. If I take you to The Playground, you’re not to address anyone without my permission.”

I bit my lip, the strictness of the protocol sending a shiver through me. “I understand, Sir.”

“You will keep your eyes lowered unless instructed to make eye contact. When not fulfilling your duties, you will kneel on my right side, hands on your thighs, palms up. Ask for permission before touching me. If required to stand, do so with feet shoulder-width apart, hands clasped behind your back. Now, show me how you’d kneel for me.”

I hurried to get on my knees on the hard floor.

Shepherd studied me with a frown, then went to open a trunk in the living room. When he returned, he held a riding crop. My cock jumped excitedly.

Shepherd approached, the crop at his side. I lowered my eyes, heart pounding as he loomed over me. The crop dangled, and I tensed, half-expecting the sting of leather. But when the touch came, it was gentle. He used the folded end to tilt my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“Good boy,” he said, voice sharper. “But your posture needs adjustment.”

He trailed the crop down my throat, over my collarbone, circling each nipple before continuing lower. I shivered. He tapped my abdomen.

“Tighten these muscles,” he instructed. “Roll your shoulders back, chest out, chin up.”

I corrected my posture immediately. The crop slid to my right shoulder, applying pressure to adjust my angle. A vertebra in my back popped, and I almost groaned at how good it felt.

“Good boy,” he praised, and I preened at the approval in his tone. “Now spread your knees wider until you feel a slight stretch.”

I shifted my knees apart until I felt the burn. I blushed, realizing I would be presenting my half-hard cock if naked.

Shepherd hummed approvingly, trailing the crop up my inner thigh. My breath hitched, but I didn’t dare move.

“Lay your arms on your thighs, palms up,” he continued, using the crop to lift my arms into position. “Align your wrists with your knees. Keep those palms open and relaxed.”

I followed his instructions, feeling utterly exposed, my most vulnerable parts on display. A hot flush crept up my neck, but I kept my gaze locked on Shepherd.

“Chin up,” he murmured, tapping the crop under my jaw. “Eyes on me, boy. You will maintain this position until I give you permission to move. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” I breathed, trying to rein in my ragged breathing.

His eyes flashed with approval and something darker. He circled me with slow steps, letting the crop trail over my shoulders and back. Each touch sent shivers through me, my skin tingling with anticipation. “In the future, I expect you to assume this position without instruction.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I have some pillows for you to kneel on. For now, you can return to the table. You’ve done well.”

Pride bloomed in my chest. I wanted to please him. That desire fueled my determination.

As I took my seat again, Shepherd grazed my cheek with his fingers. I shivered at the contact, my eyes fluttering closed before I remembered myself and opened them again, keeping my gaze lowered.

“There are a few more things,” he said, sitting next to me. I missed his touch. “You will eat only what I provide or permit. Maintain a clean-shaven appearance unless instructed otherwise. Complete a daily journal entry detailing your thoughts and experiences. Your bedroom is your safe space; I won’t enter it unless there’s an emergency. You’re free to decorate as you wish. Finally, this agreement is only between you and me; my other alters are not party to it, but I expect you to uphold your part even when I’m not present.”

I nodded, my mind racing ahead to what meals Shepherd might prepare. The control he asked for, the micromanagement of my life, should have felt stifling. Instead, it felt like a weight lifted—like I could finally stop worrying and just... submit. Obey. Serve.

“I understand, Sir,” I said softly.

Shepherd leaned back, surveying me with intensity. “Good. Remember, every aspect of this dynamic is built on trust—trust in me and in yourself. If you feel uncomfortable, you need to communicate that. Your voice is crucial.”

I nodded. “I will, Sir. I promise.”

“Now,” he continued, “there’s one final element to our protocol.”

I sat up straighter. “What is it?”

His gaze softened, a hint of warmth breaking through. “You’re permitted to ask for aftercare whenever you need it. Just ask, and I will provide it. You deserve to feel safe and cared for, even in submission. Submission should be liberating, not confining.”

I felt a swell of warmth at his words. “I can do that, Sir. I want to.”

“Good.” He paused, his eyes locking onto mine, a deeper seriousness settling over him. “But be warned: I will push you. I will test your limits, both physically and emotionally. It’s part of the journey, and it’s how you’ll grow.”

“I understand.” I squared my shoulders, determination flooding through me. “I’m ready for it.”

“Then let’s get started.” He picked up a stylus and scrawled his signature on the appropriate line before passing it to me. “All you have to do is sign.”

I gazed at the stylus poised in my hand, its weight suddenly imbued with significance. Each curve and line of my name would carve my place into this new reality—a commitment that tethered me to Shepherd in ways I’d never experienced before. This was it. The moment of truth. Once I signed my name, there would be no going back. I would belong to Shepherd in a way I'd never belonged to anyone before.

My hand trembled slightly as I brought the stylus to the screen, the blank line waiting for my signature like an invitation to a new life. A life of structure and purpose, of service and submission. A life where I wouldn't have to think or worry or wonder what my place in the world was. Shepherd would give me that place, that sense of belonging I'd craved for so long.

I took a deep breath, the scent of leather and old books filling my lungs, grounding me in the moment. Then, with a steady hand, I signed my name. Elias Baker. The letters flowed from the stylus like a promise, sealing my fate with a flourish of digital ink.

I handed the tablet back to Shepherd, my heart pounding in my chest as he took it from me. Our fingers brushed in the exchange, a brief spark of contact that sent shivers racing down my spine.

Shepherd studied the screen for a moment, his dark eyes intense as they scanned over my name. Then, with a decisive nod, he set the tablet aside and took my hand. “Thank you, Eli, for trusting me.”