The primary duty of the Submissive is to please. This entails attending the Dominant’s physical and emotional needs; acting as his sexual plaything; providing physical comfort; demonstrating obedience; maintaining honesty and loyalty; and fulfilling any desires of the Dominant.
Respect must be shown at all times. Disrespect is considered a serious offense and will result in punishment. Respect is demonstrated through speech, timeliness, willingness to kneel and serve (when able), providing thorough responses, obedience, and unwavering honesty.
The Submissive must address the Dominant as “Sir” or “Master” at all times, including in public. In situations where privacy is limited, the Submissive may address the Dominant by his given name.
The Submissive must conform to the Dominant’s preferences regarding attire. Contraception use is mandatory for the duration of the agreement with the Dominant and will be overseen by a physician chosen by the Dominant. The Submissive will only achieve orgasm with the explicit permission of the Dominant…
Holy. Shit.
The contract goes on and on, detailing punishments, hard and soft limits, and safety measures, including the safe word “red.” I should feel overwhelmed by the exhaustive list of rules and requirements. But at this moment, my body is pulsing with an urgent need that eclipses everything else. I squirm in my seat, heat and dampness building in my jeans. The urge to slide my hand under the table and apply pressure to my clit grows stronger by the second. The relentless throbbing is almost unbearable. I wonder if I can…
“Don’t even think about it.”
My breath catches when I meet his stormy sea-green gaze.
“Rest assured, I will tend to my pretty pussy soon enough, kitten. She’s mine to touch, lick, and stroke. No one else will lay a finger on what’s mine, including you. Do you understand?”
I nod, struggling to suppress a whimper.
“Fill in your limits and sign,” he commands.
I fly through the remaining paperwork, replicating my limits from Eden—which pretty much includes everything except bloodplay—scribble my signature, and slide it over to Dameon. He briefly scans it, grunts his agreement, and countersigns. Abruptly he stands and moves to one of the cream sofas in the center of the plane.
He reclines and spreads his legs wide. Then he snaps his fingers and points to the floor between his legs. My knees weaken when I stand, and every step toward him feels unsteady. When I reach him, I immediately drop between his legs.
He leans in close, lifting my chin with two fingers, his breath warm against my lips. “Eyes on me at all times,” he murmurs. His eyes dart back and forth between my eyes and lips. “I own you, goddess, for a year. Your body and your mind. You don’t do anything without permission, including breathing.”
My breath hitches as he crushes his lips against mine, his grip on my hair guiding my head to his desired angle. His tongue sweeps past my lips, and I moan at the heady taste of whiskey lingering on his tongue. His scent slams into me, a mix of cologne and something uniquely him, and I’m completely lost in the taste, scent, and feel of him. He invades my senses, taking control of my entire being. When he pulls back, I gasp for air, as if it could somehow clear him from my head.
“Fuck. You taste good.”
Mmm, my sentiments exactly, Mr. Hayward.
“Stand and strip.”
I gratefully accept Dameon’s offered hand, rising from my knees and kicking off my flats, then shimmy my tight jeans down over my ass. Removing these skin-tight jeans usually involves contorting my body into ridiculous positions while huffing and puffing a few choice swear words. There’s nothing remotely sexy about it. And as expected, they get stuck halfway down my thighs.
“Erm… can I get a little help here, sir?”
Dameon chuckles. “And that’s exactly why you won’t be wearing pants from now on. I want quick and discreet access to my cunt at all times.”
Oof, this man certainly has a way with words.
“Hold onto my shoulders.”
I grasp his shoulders with both hands, the muscles bunching beneath my touch. Clutching my waist, he draws me closer, and manages to peel the jeans down my thighs a few more inches until they get stuck again. With a series of rough tugs, he forces the material down, causing me to burst out laughing, cutting the intense sexual tension.
“I’m going to burn these fuckers. They’ll never see the light of day again,” he mutters under his breath. I burst into laughter once more, and his gorgeous smile makes an appearance, setting off those beautiful dimples. I decide to make it my personal mission to make him smile as often as possible over the next year.
“I like your laugh. It’s cute and contagious… like you.” Dameon’s still grinning as he lifts each foot, pulling off my jeans. He tosses them aside, grips my waist and dives face-first into my crotch, running his nose and up and down my slit over my drenched panties.
He inhales deeply. “Mmm, you smell incredible. Take these off.”
I step back and pull down my panties, then peel off my white crop top, leaving me bare as the day I was born. Dameon examines my body, his gaze traveling from the top of my head to the tips of my pink-painted toes. His eyes narrow when they settle on my ribs.
“Who did this to you?” His voice carries a gruff edge.
“What are you talking about?”
