On His Terms Read online

  She blinked. “Of course,” she said, leaning towards him.

  “Of course, Sir,” he corrected.

  “Of course, Sir,” she repeated, then kissed his cheek.

  “Please,” he said, indicating she should precede him. When she did, he placed his fingers as the small of her back. “Stand up straighter.” He heard her draw a sharp breath, but she did so. “Reservations for Monahan,” he told the hostess.

  After they were seated, with menus in hand, he asked Chelsea, “Any preference?”

  She looked at the entrées. “Probably just a salad. With sirloin. Maybe some wine.”

  “How do you like your steak cooked?”

  Over the top of the menu, she scowled at him.

  “I’ll be ordering your food,” he told her.

  “I’m capable of doing that myself.”

  “Of course you are, but this is about your willingness to allow me to handle the details.”

  She put down the menu.

  “A good Dom always takes his sub’s desires into account. A good sub in turn trusts he will make good decisions on her behalf. If you have any preferences, now is a good time to express them.”

  “I don’t like this,” she admitted.

  “Over the next two weeks, there will be plenty of things you don’t like. You have a choice to deal with it or end your training.”

  She drummed her fingers on the table.

  “This isn’t as easy as you’d anticipated, is it?”

  The waiter stopped by, and Alex ordered them each a glass of red wine. She set her chin mutinously, but said nothing.

  “You may find my dominance irritating. Or you could decide it’s nice to have someone take care of you for a change. It can be a struggle, or not. But understand this, bad behaviour will be corrected and perhaps punished. So, Chelsea, shall we proceed, or just have dinner as friends?”

  “Do you expect me to address you as Sir, even in public?”

  “When we are out as a Dom and sub, yes. If we were at a business event, that would be discussed and rules agreed to beforehand.”

  She was silent for so long he wasn’t sure if she was going to answer. Finally she said, “I like my steak medium-rare, Sir.”

  He nodded. “Now sit up straight. I like that you dressed according to my desires.”

  “I am, Sir. It feels weird not wearing a bra.”

  “I like to see your nipples. And visualising them with clamps on.”

  She sipped from her water. “I’m not sure I’ve recovered from last weekend.”

  “Poor thing.”

  “I’m not hearing any sympathy, Sir.”

  “No. You’re not.” The waiter returned with the wine, and Alex ordered their meals and remembered to say, “Please ensure there is no parsley anywhere near the lady’s plate.”

  The man nodded.

  She smiled.

  When they were alone again, Alex asked her, “Rather painless, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, Sir. It wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d made it in my mind.”

  “Did it take away from your empowerment?”

  She sank against the back of her chair. “No.” She picked up her wine. “It didn’t change who I am, Sir, or the fact I’m capable of ordering my own food at any other time.”

  He nodded. “First lesson. Being submissive doesn’t take away anything from you as a person or as a woman. You’ll enjoy the meal you wanted, cooked the way you like, and you delighted me in the process.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Not all Doms order for their subs, but many do. Take your lead from him, or her, and don’t argue in the process.”

  “I understand,” she said.

  As they drank wine, she told him about her desire to succeed.

  “My father abandoned us when I was ten. Mom forced me to go to college so that I wouldn’t end up struggling like she had. She made sure I knew I couldn’t count on anyone except myself.” She toyed with her knife and fork. “She worked her ass off at two jobs so I could go to community college, then on to university.”

  “And taught you never to take no for an answer.”

  “True. It just means I need to find another way of asking the question,” she said. “And you? When are you going to let me organise a charity function for Monahan Capital?”

  “Do you ever give up?”

  “Certainly, Sir.” She smiled. “As soon as I get what I want.”

  He relaxed in his chair, watching her. That smile wasn’t the hundred-watt fake one she usually gave him. This one was fun, impish, and it revealed a playful side of her that he hadn’t known existed. He liked that she was more complex than he’d realised.

  The waiter delivered their meals, and when he checked back to be sure everything was okay, Alex glanced at Chelsea.

  “It’s fabulous, Sir.”

  “Well done,” he told her when the waiter left.

  “You were right,” she said. “Not just tonight, but the other night. If I think about what my Dom wants, the struggle isn’t as difficult.”

  “Lesson two,” he said. “At this rate, we’ll be done in three days.”

  “Do you think so?” she asked, holding a fork poised near her mouth.

  “No.” He grinned when her shoulders fell again. “You’re still slouching, despite the fact I’ve already corrected you twice.”

  She put down the fork and sat up. “Sorry, Sir.”

  “Not to worry, I have just the thing to help reinforce my will. I’ll show you when we get to my house.” He cut a piece of steak. “Eat up.”

  She left part of her salad and refused dessert and coffee. He paid the bill, and she protested. “If I want you to pay, I’ll let you know. This changes nothing between us and takes nothing away from your feminine power. So give up the fight.”

  “In that case, thank you, Sir.”

  He nodded, wishing all arguments with her were this easy to end. “Did you bring an overnight bag?”

  “I did. But I’d prefer not to stay, Sir.”

  “That’s up to you. I have a guest room. And a chain at the end of my bed with a nice pile of blankets on the floor.”

  Colour drained from her face, and she pushed away her wineglass.

  “Some Doms expect their subs to sleep on the floor.”

  As if choosing her words with great care, she asked, “Is that your expectation, Sir?”

  “No.” He’d had the chain installed for Liz when he’d trained her, and he’d done it at her request. He was happy to snuggle after a session, and there were nights when he wanted his woman to sleep in his arms. Liz had never wanted to do that. Even if he hadn’t taken the time to chain her and arrange her bedding, he would wake up to find her on the floor, cocooned with her pillow and a single blanket, her collar affixed to the chain. “I had a sub once who preferred it that way. It helped her.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He wasn’t certain why he was discussing this with her. “Liz was a masochist. Being in my bed would have been a luxury she didn’t want.”

  She folded her hands on the tablecloth. “Is she the reason you’re no longer a trainer?”

  “She has a lot to do with it, yes.”

  “And you loved her?”

  “Yeah,” he admitted. “I did.” Deeply. Painfully.

  “Did she end it, or did you?”

  “I suppose if I don’t answer you, you’ll continue to ask again and again.”

  “And again, Sir.”

  “Liz ended it.” Except for Damien, no one knew how devastated he’d been. He and Damien had stayed up almost an entire night at the Den, drinking a bottle of the world’s finest single malt. The next day, hating what he saw in the mirror, Alex had vowed never to look back.

  “You haven’t gotten involved with anyone since?”

  “No. And I’m not planning to. D/s relationships can be more complex than ordinary ones. Be careful what you wish for.”

  She shuddered. “Warning heeded,” she said.
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  “Ready?” He stood and offered his hand. “This time, you may follow me. Stay back about two feet.”

  She didn’t answer, but she didn’t protest. He knew his behaviour kept her off balance, and that was his intention.

  He walked her to her car and waited while she programmed his downtown Golden address into her navigation system. He intended to drive so that she could follow, but he would expect her at his house again, and he never wanted to hear that she’d got lost.

  It took less than fifteen minutes to arrive at his home. “I never expected you to live in a place like this,” she said. “How old is it?”

  “It’s considered Victorian-style,” he said. “Built after 1940. It was a foreclosure and needed a tremendous amount of work. One of Damien’s friends did the restoration. It took about four months, but I think it was a good investment.”

  “It’s charming,” she said.

  He didn’t add that he’d bought it with the expectation he and Liz would live together. Then the Bartholomew deal went south and he hadn’t got around to selling.

  “The grounds are beautiful,” she said while they stood together on the sidewalk.

  “Landscaping company,” he explained. “I wouldn’t know a pansy from a petunia.”

  “You have both.”

  “Do I?”

  “In those pots.” She pointed.

  He wondered if she was stalling.

  “Shall we?” He headed up the three steps to the wraparound porch. As he unlocked the heavy wooden door, she wrapped her arms around her middle, despite the mild evening weather. “After you.”

  Inside, she gasped. “I hate to be rude, and I know this isn’t protocol, but do you mind if I have a look around? This would be a perfect location for a charity fundraiser,” she said.

  “Do you ever stop?”

  “Are you kidding me?” she countered. “This house was designed for entertaining.”

  When the remodel had been completed, he’d envisioned hosting parties for business associates, here, along with an occasional lifestyle function. That she saw what he did intrigued him. “You can place your purse there,” he said.

  “Would you like me to take off my shoes?”

  “It’s not necessary. Yet.” But he appreciated her asking. He showed her the study, then the living room with its gas fireplace and stone hearth. He drew the curtains before heading towards the dining room, then the kitchen.

  The largest chunk of his funds had been spent on this part of the house, ripping down walls, opening the space, adding a glassed-in breakfast nook. Since he didn’t eat at home much, he took Marcus’ word that the appliances were a chef’s dream.

  “I love the combination of classic and contemporary throughout the whole place,” she said, running her fingers over the granite counters. “It really works. Seriously, Sir, you have to let me plan a party here.”

  Alex appreciated her enthusiasm. What he wouldn’t have given for Liz to have fallen in love with the house like Chelsea seemed to. “There’s a media centre downstairs,” he said. “And the bedrooms are upstairs.”

  As if she were a guest rather than a sub who’d be screaming within half an hour, he gave her a tour of the upper story, including the master suite.

  “You weren’t kidding about the hook in the footboard of your bed,” she said while rubbing her forearms.

  “I don’t joke about things like that. Now, go down to the living room. Strip. Leave your clothing and shoes near your purse. If the room is cold, there’s a switch on the wall for the fireplace. I want you kneeling, facing the window.”

  She looked up at him. The air seemed to sizzle. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered. Even the way she said it sounded submissive. Her tone as well as her volume had changed.

  Without another word, she left. He went into the cupboard in the master closet and selected two instructional pieces, along with a tawse designed by Master Marcus Cavendish. Fancifully, Marcus had etched a dollar symbol into the leather, in honour of the first million-dollar deal Alex had brokered.

  When he no longer heard sounds coming from downstairs, he joined her. He placed his belongings on a claw-footed end table, then rearranged a few things, waiting a long time before saying anything, testing her resolve. “Very nice,” he said. She was kneeling up the way he’d instructed that night at the Den.

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “Louder.”

  She took a breath. “Thank you, Sir.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Inspect.” He was pleased when she stood, her head up, looking straight ahead to the window. She placed her hands behind her head and thrust out her breasts. Finally she spread her legs. “You remembered.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  She continued to look ahead even as he closed the distance. He walked around her a couple of times, and she remained perfectly in position. “And you shaved your cunt,” he observed.

  “I did, Sir.”

  “Mind if I see how good of a job you did?”

  “Please go ahead, Sir.”

  He ran his hand over her bare mound, then slipped a finger between her folds. “Smooth,” he said. “No stray hairs.”

  “You won’t be needing the tweezers, Sir?”

  “Not today.” He dropped his hand. He knew she had expectations about how this procedure would work, so he changed it up. “Turn around and show me your ass.”

  She drew her eyebrows together for only a second to indicate her confusion, then she turned and bent to grab her ankles.

  “Spread your cheeks.”

  She struggled a bit for balance as she complied.

  “I want you to put a small plug up there every morning while you shower and get ready for work.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Kneel up.”

  Her motions were slow and somewhat exaggerated. “You’re struggling to do things, which tells me you haven’t been practising. And that makes me question your commitment. I prefer to see your motions be flawless and elegant.”

  “I apologise, Sir.”

  “No need. I’ll ensure you have plenty of time to practise, beginning now. Return to your former position, where you’re showing me your ass, and then kneel up. Then go from kneel up to showing me your ass. We’ll begin with twelve repetitions.” He took a seat in a wingback arm chair and watched.

  She’d turned on the fireplace, so a fine sheen of perspiration began to dot her back as she moved through the exercise.

  “Stop thinking,” he told her. “I shouldn’t be able to hear you at all.”

  She went through another couple, and she seemed more natural.

  “That’s much better. Do you feel the difference?”

  “Yes, Sir. I do.”

  By the end, her form began to suffer again. “When your training has finished, I expect you to be able to move with ease, from standing to kneeling, or from lying to kneeling. Any combination you can think of, such as from lying to showing your ass. Mix it up. Make sure you’re comfortable in your body. That means I require you to practise when we are not together. I recommend several times per day.”

  “I understand, Sir.”

  He stood. “We discussed your posture several times.”

  Her green eyes were wide, and a bit of fear danced in them. “Am I going to be punished, Sir?”

  “No. You will be instructed,” he said. “We will reinforce the lesson as many times as necessary. I prefer to punish you for flagrant disregard of the rules. For example, now that you know you are required to practise moving between your positions, not doing so is reason for punishment.” He picked up one of the items from the side table and showed it to her. “This is called a posture collar. It will keep your head and shoulders straight at all times. You will wear this tonight. Going forward, anytime you need correction, you’ll fetch it for me. Stand with your hands behind your back. Feet shoulder-width apart.”

  She didn’t blink as she stood in position.

  “This is one of my favourites. It�
�s strict, but not terribly uncomfortable.” He showed her the wide collar. “This is padded, for your chin to rest on.” He expected her to argue, but she remained silent. “Ready?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He wrapped the stiff leather around her throat then moved behind her to secure its two metal buckles. He checked the fit before tightening more. “How is that?”

  “Fine.”

  “Look down.”

  Instinctively she attempted to lower her chin. The collar restricted her movement.

  “How is it, now?” he asked.

  “Effective, Sir.”

  “There’s a mirror over there. Go.”

  She reached up to touch the collar’s three D-rings.

  “I can attach a leash or secure your wrists, or tie you to any number of things.”

  “It’s…it’s a bit frightening, Sir.”

  “Please tell me your safe word.” He was watching her reflection in the mirror, and he saw her wrinkle her nose.

  “Parsley.”

  “Use that word to stop the scene at any time. If you’re just a bit scared, you are welcome to ask to talk or use the word slow.” He took her shoulders and turned her to face him. Damn, she had beauty that appealed to him on a primal level. He wanted her. Her eyes hid nothing, and he saw a mixture of desire and trust beneath the apprehension. For a moment, before he harnessed his thoughts, he thought about fucking her hard, and her grabbing hold of him as she surrendered. She was not his, he reminded himself ruthlessly. He’d screwed up once before. With Chelsea, he’d keep his emotional distance. “Return to the centre of the room and practise kneeling up from the inspect position. Do it ten times. You may use the rug.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “You recalled your manners,” he said. “Kneeling on the hardwood was uncomfortable, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “So you understand that a rug is a luxury.”

  “I do.”

  “I’m glad you recognise that,” he said. “Always remember to thank your Dom when he or she allows you a comfort.”

  “I will. Thank you, again, Sir.”

  He released her. As she slowly walked towards the rug, her hips swayed seductively. The wide collar had changed her normal gait. Keeping her in it permanently was a definite consideration.