“Checklist first. Punishment after.”
“So, we’re doing like an official Dom/sub thing?”
“Isn’t that what we discussed?”
“I thought you didn’t do long-term.”
“I don’t.” There’s a gap of a few seconds before he says, “This will be until I leave the company. That’s it.”
Disappointment floods me. It stinks because I don’t want to feel these things. I shouldn’t feel these things. I mean, if nothing else, I should hate this guy whose job is in such direct opposition to what I stand for. But after tonight… yeah. Who am I kidding? This is totally happening. “You’ll be my starter Dom.”
That seems to surprise a huff of laughter from him. “Sure. I like it.”
I’m smiling as I snuggle deeper under the covers, and for a happy moment, all I feel is a heady glow.
“The checklist you had at the club? Is that still current?”
“Yeah. You have it?”
“I remember your choices, but if you can share the list with me, we can make it official.”
“Oh. Wow. Okay. Yeah. I think. Hold on.” I go over to my worktable and scrabble around in my drawer until I find where I’ve hidden it, pull it out, and start reading. “Do, um,youhave a list?” I ask, putting him on speakerphone in order to take photos of the list to send over to him.
I hear the smile in his voice when he says, “You don’t need my list.”
“But what if—”
“My list is what you want.”
I think about that. “Like, are they identical?”
“No. But remember the Pleasure Dom thing?”
“How could I not?”
“Okay. Got it.” A pause while he’s no doubt reading. “Let me see this. This first section? Where it lists bondage and suspension experiences?”
“Yeah,” I reply, reading the long, very detailed number of things I would or would not do. Quite a few are hardnos, like mummification and all-day bondage. Cuffs, harnesses, ropes, chains, restraints. All of those are things I’m curious about but wouldn’t do with just anybody. With Grant, I realize, it’s a hugehell yes. Hair tie is on there. I move a mental check mark fromnotoyeson the Tried It column, skim down to nipple clamps and do the same. My eyes land on ball gag, which I’d entered as a very lightmaybewith a low rating. I think of how I shoved our list of rules into my very own mouth, and suddenly my rating’s moved up a point or two. Or fifty.
“Another thing we haven’t discussed is birth control. Do you want to stick to condoms?”
“I, ah. I have an IUD.” Excitement fizzles through me. “We could forgo condoms. If you want.”
“Understood. And yes. I want,” he says, that all-business voice a couple of notes deeper. “Okay. I’m printing this out. On the bottom, I’m handwriting that I will adhere to the items provided on my submissive’s checklist. I will obtain your consent before embarking on an untried activity, and I will take care of my submissive’s every need. Are we clear?”
“Yes. Sir.”
“For the duration of the term.”
My belly swoops, this time not in a good way. “That’s right.”
“To the end of my current assignment, which will not exceed three weeks.”
Three weeks, tops. I am devoid of oxygen. Of everything.
“Rae?”
I clear my throat, croak, and then clear it again before I can manage a weak “Y-yeah.”
