Chapter Ten

Michael

It was the next week when I called Cruz into my office and asked him to wear a collar for me. Not like a "this is getting really serious between us" collar. At least I didn't think so. Not yet, anyway. I told him it was a training collar, but it was really more of a "I hate the way the other Doms hit on you," kind of thing. And I found that I really wanted to claim him in some significant way.

Another reason was that I wanted him living with me. That apartment he lived in was awful. The incidence of fire and fire-related deaths in apartment buildings rose every year. Most resulted from unattended cooking, or smoking, but there was also arson, electrical fires—the causes didn't really change much from year to year. Multi-family dwellings were at risk and the toll these fires took in lives and people's possessions was incredibly high. As a business owner, I knew about fire codes, and when I first saw the apartment building Cruz lived in my stomach had clenched. A wood frame building, run-down and low-income and almost every balcony that I could see had been sporting a grill. And he was on the third floor, harder to get out of, with only one set of stairs down. If that way became blocked by flames, the residents had no other choice but to jump.

I hated the idea of him living there.

When I called him to my office and told him about the collar though, he'd said, "You want to put a collar on me? I'm not a damn dog. I know that's what Doms do to their submissives, but I don't like the idea of that."

"If you're going to be a submissive, you need some training, Cruz."

"Why? Can't you just tell me what you want me to do or how you want me to act? I'm pretty smart—I can keep up."

He was mouthing off a lot these days, and sometimes my hands itched to teach him some manners. But I wouldn't—he'd told me over and over that he hated pain, and I took him at his word. But he kept pushing. It was like he wanted me to lose control and get angry with him. I thought he was insecure. He wanted to see if he could push me so hard I'd call things off, just to take away the suspense of when the other shoe might drop. But there was no way I'd ever let him go. I was in this thing for better or worse, and I hoped he was too.

"I don't like the idea of these other guys flirting with you and touching you, okay? Not without permission. I know these guys, and they'll do whatever you let them get away with. That's why I think the collar is a good idea. It lets them know you're off the market and you consider yourself to be in a relationship."

"Oh," he said, coming closer and plopping down on my lap to snuggle against me. "Am I?"

"You're damn right you are," I said, pulling him closer and growling in his ear. "I don't share well. Will you wear the collar for me?"

"What does it mean exactly? Doesn't it mean I'm your sub? Because I'm not a sub."

"I think you might be. Just maybe not the type you normally see around the club. For example, I think you like being told what to do if you see the need for it. You like it when I give you orders or make you submit to my will. Not because I'm using any force on you, but because you told me you need it. It shows you how much I care. Like right now I'm not exerting my authority as your employer over you. Not at all. You're entirely free to go back to the floor, but you won't. I think you need to submit to me, and I think you'll find enjoyment in doing what I say."

Cruz looked a little panicked, and his eyes darted around the room, but always back to me, as if to see what I was thinking or how I was reacting. His breathing was coming faster and faster. I waited, letting him think it through. "If you truly don't want this—don't want to explore this thing between us—then get up and go back to work. I won't try to stop you, and nothing will change between us."

"Does this mean you…you'd still want me?"

He looked up at me with those big, beautiful eyes and I melted. Since he told me that horrible story about his mother, I'd tried to be extra sensitive to his needs. He'd been hurt so much as a child, and I never wanted him to suffer again. Certainly not at my hands. But on the other hand, I was more or less a sadist. Hurting people was kind of the point. I really wanted to hurt him sometimes and make him cry and then put him on my lap and love him and pet him until the tears stopped.

"I'll always want you, baby," I told him. "More than anything. Unconditional, remember? No matter what."

He sighed then and nodded. "Put it on me, Sir."

The words thrilled me more than I thought they would. I pulled the plain, black, soft-leather collar from my pocket and went over to him. "This has a lock on it that only my key will fit. I'll keep it with me all the time though, and if you need it to come off, just tell me. If it chafes you or is uncomfortable, let me know too."

"Okay."

I put it around his neck and fastened the small lock. "How does it feel, baby?"

He put his hand on it and smiled. "Good."

I leaned in to kiss him and pat his cheek. "I've kept you long enough and Tommy and Lawrence will get swamped. Go help them out—and maybe this will keep the wolves at bay."

He rolled his eyes at me and turned to go back in, but I took his hand in mine. "I've seen the way those other Doms look at you—like they want to snatch you up and run to a back room with you. You can't give yourself away until you can trust a Dom to cherish you. I don't trust any of them to take care of you like I will. Now from this point on, when we're at the club in front of others, address me as Sir. Or if we're doing a scene together. Understand?"

"Oh shit, do I have to do all that?"

I stared at him until he flushed and sighed. Then I spoke in a steady, firm voice.

"No, baby, you don't have to. But decide now. Do you want this or not? Do you want me ? Because this is who I am. I think this is who you are too, but only you know for sure."

"Yes," he said, and sighed. "Yes, I want to make you happy. I want you. And if this is what you like, then…I like it too."

I stared at him. "Be sure."

"I am sure, Sir."

"We need a contract." I pulled open the drawer of my desk and pulled out a yellow pad and pen. "I can make notes on this and then fill out the contract later. You'll be able to read it all over and decide if you want to sign it. There are two types of relationships I've done in the past. Dominant/submissive, in which the sub surrenders control to the Dominant over some or all aspects of his life. In this case the sub can set limits on sexual play and punishment, like we're doing now. Then there is the Master/slave relationship. That can mean that you give up all rights and decision-making power to your Master. I don't recommend that for you, and I don't particularly want it for myself. Not with you. I want you to set limits. But if it's something you'd really like to explore..."

"No. I like the idea of Dominant/submissive much better."

"Good. Me too. Okay, let's start with terms. I'll be known as Sir. Also Master, though technically we won't have that Master/slave relationship. And I'll call you my submissive. The terms boy or pet are also commonly used. I may use other names from time to time, like baby. Or even terms of endearment like honey or sweetheart. If I do, and you don't like them, you can just tell me."

"Okay. I don't mind them. In fact, I love them."

Interesting—he didn't mind being called boy or baby. I thought that was telling. He really did want to be taken care of.

"Okay, next?" he asked.

"I expect you not to see anyone else romantically or sexually for the term of the contract and neither will I. Starting now, actually. And no masturbation unless I say it's all right."

"Agreed."

"That leads us to limits." We discussed the limits for a long time, with him telling me what he did and didn't want. Braided floggers, whips and canes became hard limits—for now, he said, but I didn't think he'd ever want them. That left my hand for spankings, and I thought that would do.

After I wrote all that down, I told him I had a few other rules I'd like him to follow.

"I like to insist on enforced eyeline when we play. I'll tell you where I want your gaze. Most of the time it'll be on the floor. Sometimes on me."

"I can do that."

"In a scene or when we're with others, you're not allowed to speak unless spoken to by me or by someone I give permission to speak to you. I think this one will be hard for you. This never takes away your right to safe word or tell me if you're legitimately concerned. Also, you're never allowed to say no to me. Either safe word or say, ‘Yes, Sir.' I don't like bratty behavior. The first time you break any of these rules, we'll start a count. When we get to ten, then you'll be punished. And it won't be fun. Since you don't want pain, it will take the form of a time-out."

"Like a kid?"

"Exactly like one."

He gave me a dirty look, but I noticed a bulge in his trousers. Interesting.

"I also reserve the right to give you an over-the-lap spanking at any time, no matter where we are."

"I don't mind the idea of a spanking, but…no matter where we are? No, I-I don't like any kind of humiliation."

"Then I suggest you follow my rules."

He blushed a lovely shade of pink. "Oh." He glanced at me again. "In general, will there be times when you um...do something to me in public?"

"Do you want to make it a limit?"

"Yes."

"Can we make it a soft limit? I do enjoy public play."

"Why?"

I smiled and shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I'm an exhibitionist. Maybe I like showing off what's mine. I do give frequent demonstrations of flogging, you know. But only when you're ready for that. I'll always be protective of you and never share you with anyone. I promise you that. But if I want to strip you and lead you through a club naked and on the end of my leash or turn you over my knee or do a public scene with you, I'd like to reserve the right to do that."

"No, I can't do that."

"Soft limit?"

"Maybe. Okay. But I don't want to crawl on the floor or anything like that, though."

"Agreed."

"Is that it?" he asked, blushing and looking up from under those long eyelashes of his. He was so fucking delicious. He dropped his gaze, and I put a hand under his chin to raise his eyes. "Eyes on me. I would never use public display as a punishment for you. It would be something we do only because we both want it."

"Okay. That sounds good. Keep in mind that it might never happen."

I shrugged. I hoped it would, but I'd respect his boundaries.

"It's important to know my rules and follow them. There should be no room for any misinterpretation. I'll always watch out for you and keep you safe, but I'm not a mind reader. If you need something or if something bothers you, you have to tell me immediately. Use red to stop or yellow to pause the scene and talk to me. I want you safe, consenting and happy with what I'm doing to you at all times. Even punishment should have its rewards. If I put you in a corner somewhere and you need something, you should let me know. Your body belongs to me, and my possessions are precious to me. You're precious."

He took a deep breath and said, "Oh," in a swoony voice. I could have sworn he was falling into sub space just thinking about that corner. What was going on with that?

I chuckled and put my hand under his chin. "Come back to me, baby. Do I need to repeat any of that for you? I'll put it all in the contract."

"N-no, I got most of it." He flinched at my sharp gaze. "I promise I'll read it all carefully, Sir."

I caressed the side of his face and then I made a few more notes. "I'll fill out the contract and make you a copy so you can look it over. We'll sign the final one. I want you to read it over carefully, like you said you would. If you have changes, then now is the time to talk about them, but that doesn't mean we can't adjust and make changes as we go. Outside of a scene, we can always talk, and during a scene, you have your safe words."

"Okay, Sir."

"One more thing. It should go without saying that I expect you not to masturbate. I'll know if you do."

"Uh...yes, Sir."

"Good." I walked up to him, and he turned to face me. I reached down and cupped him. "Because this body belongs to me now."

****

Cruz

It was a Friday night two or three weeks later, and I'd been wearing Michael's collar for almost a month. He was my Dom and the idea both thrilled me and scared me to death. I wasn't afraid of him—I knew he would never hurt me and always respect my limits.

I was afraid of disappointing him. We hadn't done much of anything yet, "training" wise. Michael had to go out of town on business for a week, which had stretched into about ten days, and several times while he'd been gone, I'd pulled out my special clothes and my bear to lounge around the condo and watch television. I fell asleep on the sofa once and woke up sucking my thumb, so I knew my anxiety levels must be high again. I thought it was because I was missing Michael so much.

Michael had printed off the contract and we'd gone over "the rules" again. He loved to hold me in his lap, and he'd gotten in the habit of feeding me off his own plate, because he thought I didn't eat enough. Sometimes, I sat beside him at the table and a few times, he'd put me on his lap to feed me. He could tell how much I enjoyed it because every time he did it, I got a huge erection that he had to take care of for me.

We made love a lot. So often, that I never had to worry about his no masturbation rule. I truly couldn't seem to get enough of him, and he seemed to feel the same way. When he came back home, we'd taken things slowly, mostly going to watch demonstrations and just sitting in the club together when we went out. He found out that some other Doms had shown me how to kneel properly, and while his possessive nature didn't like that too much, he refrained from saying anything. I knew he was being careful with me and trying not to scare me off or rush me, and I appreciated it.

At the same time, I was a little anxious about what was going to happen when we finally got started. I found out the next time we went to the club on my night off. When we got there, I went into the locker room to change—which for me, meant stripping off most of my clothes—Michael went in with me and he was in a good mood. Then again, why wouldn't he be?

"Come on, baby, don't be shy. Nobody is going to be surprised to see you here as my sub. I've made no secret of my interest in you, and people know that's my collar you wear and that you're practically living with me now."

He sauntered in ahead of me already wearing his outfit. A pair of leather pants hugged his perfect ass and were tucked into his motorcycle boots. He was also sporting a sleeveless leather vest that showed off his muscles. He looked handsome, dark and dangerous, like I imagined the Marquis de Sade must have looked as he led his victims into his dungeon. I felt the sweat pop out on my brow. That didn't last long though, because I soon stripped down to some really brief and tight leather shorts and nothing else. My teeth began chattering because it was cold in there, despite the claim they kept it warm for the subs in various stages of undress.

"I'll wind up in the hospital with pneumonia," I complained. "I just know it."

He slung an arm around my shoulders and laughed. "I'll keep you warm. Now follow me, baby, the way I showed you. Right at my heel. Just stop when I do and present yourself. You look gorgeous, by the way. All the other Doms are going to be jealous."

Like I cared . I gave him a brief, unfriendly look, but he caught it and gave me back a disappointed one. Instantly, I felt bad, because I knew how much he'd been looking forward to this and hoping I was too. I loved him so much I wanted to do what made him happy, so I did what I did best. I pretended.

"Yes, Sir," I said, and he smiled and squeezed my hand.

I followed him into the main area of the club, keeping my eyes down. We had gotten to the club around eight o'clock, so it was crowded, especially in the bar area, where Michael was leading me. I knelt on the floor by his feet, feeling self-conscious. It wasn't that I minded doing that—it was easy for me to sink into a kind of daze down there, where I was floating happily, resting and leaning against Michael's knee. It was peaceful, but I also felt like I was on display—which I guess was the point for Michael. He said he wanted to "show me off."

He had his hand on my head, rubbing gently, carding his fingers through my hair, and I enjoyed the attention. A friend of his I didn't know came over and sat down with us and began talking about the new club in Miami that was being renovated. He was obviously a Dom too, and he had his sub with him, a young guy who was small and slight, with long, dark hair. The sub was wearing leather hot pants which were way too short and tight and nothing else. His back was straight, and his knees were a little apart. His hands were tucked behind his back, and I thought, okay, now this is a real sub— as opposed to what I felt like most of the time, which was a total poser. He was sitting calmly, eyes down and chin up, glancing over at me occasionally like I was some new specimen he wasn't quite sure about.

"Cruz?" Michael said, startling me a little. "Did you hear me?"

"Huh? I mean, no, Sir. I didn't."

Michael gave me a sharp glance. "Master James wants to dance with you."

Master who? What? I didn't even know this guy, so why on earth would I want to make a fool of myself with him on the dance floor? Because I didn't know how to fucking dance, especially barefoot and in hot pants, and I'd never had any call to that before. Michael was looking at me expectantly, and the James guy was standing over me waiting, holding out a hand to me. I scrambled to my feet, feeling awkward and went to take his hand. Glancing down at the other sub, I saw he wasn't even looking at me, though he had a little frown pulling down the corners of his mouth.

The Dom grabbed my wrist instead of my hand, and I glanced over at Michael, but Master James was already pulling me out on the dance floor. Michael just gazed back at me serenely, seeming completely unbothered. The music was Pink Floyd and not at all easy to dance to. Or not for me, anyway, with my two left feet. Master James led me over to the edge of the dance floor where he turned me loose and stared at me, like he was waiting for me to get started. Did this fool want me to dance for him like some kind of harem girl?

Apparently, he did.

I kind of swayed and twisted as best I could to the music and hoped to just get through this. The Dom was leaning against the wall in front of me, watching me while I danced for him, with absolutely no expression on his face, and I was hating every second of this. He honestly looked bored. I turned to look for Michael, but the Dom reached over and tapped my cheek—none too gently, I might add and said, "Eyes on me, boy."

I was blushing and drenched in sweat by the time the song finally, mercifully stopped. The Dom never said a word. Just put his hand on the back of my neck and guided me back to the table, where he finally stopped next to Michael.

"He's very pretty, Michael. Not too graceful, but maybe you can work on that."

I gave him a dirty look, before quickly dropping my gaze, but not before the other sub kneeling by him had seen it. He gave me a mean little smirk and leaned against his master's leg.

A little pull on my hair reminded me I wasn't supposed to try and stare the little asshole down. "Why don't you go to the bar and get us some drinks?" Michael said, looking down at me,

I flushed, but got up— not too gracefully , according to that asshole, Master James—and went over to the bar. I was happy to see Lawrence working. His calm manner was always soothing to me.

"Good to see you, Cruz," he said, tactfully pretending not to notice the hated hot pants I was wearing. "What can I get you?"

"Uh, oh, damn it, I'm not sure. I forgot to ask."

I'd been so irritated when I left the table that I'd just jumped to my feet and took off. Most Doms didn't drink alcohol when they played, though. Did that mean I should get sodas? Water?

"Well," Lawrence said, "usually Master James drinks Diet Coke, and so does his sub. Your Master likes sparkling water."

"Oh. Thanks, Lawrence. You're a lifesaver. I guess I'll try that then. Just a bottle of plain, old water for me though."

"Coming right up," he said, and turned to get the drinks. I probably should have gone back to check that order with "my Master," but I couldn't face the walk of shame back to that table. Lawrence put the drinks on a tray, and I thanked him again profusely and headed back.

When I arrived, I managed to put the drinks on the table without spilling anything—a minor miracle in itself, considering how awkward I'd been accused of being, and then I lowered myself to the floor beside Michael again. I went in a little too hot, though, bumping my knee on the floor, which made me grunt in pain and elicited a little worried frown from Michael. Hell, I'd been proud I'd managed not to curse. The other sub smirked before settling himself more comfortably against his Master's knee. I decided I truly hated him.

I made the mistake of reaching for my water and got my hand slapped for my trouble. Instead, Michael held it up to my mouth for me to take a sip.

"That's my job," he told me. "Just tell me if you need a sip," he whispered to me. I felt like my face was about to burn off. He tipped it up against my mouth, but I didn't get it open in time, and then I started to cough and spilled most of it down my chest. Michael had to beat me on the back so I wouldn't choke. He rolled his eyes a little.

"We haven't seen your flogging techniques lately, Michael," Master James was saying, interrupting my little drama. "How about a demonstration with your new sub?"

Before I could totally panic and choke to death on my tongue, Michael shook his head. "No. Cruz isn't ready for that yet. Maybe some other time."

"Use my sub then. Toby loves to be flogged, don't you Toby?"

The little brunette batted his eyelashes at Michael. "Oh yes. Please, Master Michael."

Michael shook his head again, so I chimed in. "You should, Sir," I said, putting my two cents worth in.

He gave me a long look of disapproval for weighing in, but I could see in his eyes he wanted to flog Toby. So did I, for that matter, but that was beside the point. I tried a little smile to show him I meant well, and he got to his feet. "All right then. Let's go."

We all stood up and followed Michael as he went to the main play area, known as the dungeon room. The clank of chains, the sound of leather slapping against skin and the occasional gasp or cry filled the air. It was dimly lit in the dungeon room, which totally suited the dark vibe in my opinion. Totally suited my thoughts too.

Michael had stopped in front of a St. Andrew's cross, and he and Master James got busy attaching the cuffs to Toby's slim wrists and ankles. He seemed to lap up the attention he was receiving like a little poodle.

I stood back a little from the front, not really wanting to see Michael give this man what he could never give me, and what I wouldn't even allow him to try on me anyway. A small crowd was beginning to gather to watch, and James, who left to go get his own floggers, since Michael hadn't brought his that evening, passed me by with a mean, little smile. Fucker.

Meanwhile, Michael was fiddling with the restraints, bending down to speak in Toby's ear and being solicitous and professional and far too intimate. I hated it.

James arrived back with his floggers, which all looked about the same to me, but Michael looked them over and seemed to debate the merits of each one. Finally, he selected one. I had a vague feeling of impending disaster as I stood there and watched, somehow knowing that this might change everything. Michael looked excited and happy and when he finally began, he made it look effortless from the beginning.

The tails of the flogger flew over Toby's back, falling in a wild and intricate rhythm that was really something to see. I could finally understand why everyone thought Michael was so good at this. Toby's body relaxed into deep surrender, probably not even aware of the noises he was making, low moaning sounds of pleasure and submission. They were absolutely decadent. And for a while that's all that could be heard—Toby's sounds under the slap and swish of the leather falls.

Michael stopped for a moment to add the other flogger to his routine, and he glanced over at me for a moment. His eyes were glowing and aroused. A fine bead of sweat had formed on his brow, and he turned back eagerly to have another chance at Toby's glistening, beautiful, reddened skin. He bent and said something else in Toby's ear and Toby smiled up at him bravely. It was almost unbearable for me to watch.

As Michael began to wield the flogger again, I quietly took a step backward, melting into the small crowd. And then I took another… and another. Finally, I turned and walked out of that dungeon. Pretty soon, I was running, because I didn't belong there, and I knew with sudden clarity that I had just been fooling myself.

I never would. There was no use pretending any longer that I ever did, or that I could ever give Michael what he needed.