“Are you a Dom? Would I be your submissive?”
Her question shocks the hell out of me. I wasnotexpecting her to ask that of me at all. I’m not ready to share this part of my life with her. Am I a Dom? Yes, but I haven’t taken a sub in the last sixteen months for a reason and I honestly wasn’t thinking about making her my sub.
“Why do you ask that, Sophia?”
“Just your mannerisms—the way you phrase things, the way you take control. You just remind me of a Dom. Then, when you said you would make the decisions for me, I was pretty sure of it,” she searches my face and eyes as she answers and then holds her breath as she waits for me to answer and I notice a slight cringe—that fear again.
“You’ve been trained as a sub?” I ask, but I already know the answer. Now it’s my turn to hold my breath as I wait for her answer.
Ever so slightly, she nods her head in affirmation. I exhale and feel my shoulders slump. This definitely changes the dynamics of our newly budding relationship, if that’s where we’re actually headed. If she has already been trained as a sub, she will expect the Dom in me to take charge, to take complete responsibility, and to treat her as a sub. It’s not that the Dom in me has disappeared—he will always be there. He is me, I am he, and I can never be separated from that mindset. I’ve managed to keep him locked away and I had no intentions of allowing him back out to play. My self-control has held the desires and natural tendencies at bay for the most part.
“That’s what you feel you need to be fulfilled? A Dom?” I ask her, mainly to test her submissive mentality. I’m fairly certain I already know the answer to that question.
“I don’t really know any other way, Dominic,” she answers, her voice low and unsure. She’s waiting for a cue from me on how she should react. The submissive in her wants to please me and needs confirmation that her answer is what I want to hear.
So many things become clear to me now. The instant attraction I had to her—the Dom in me sensed her, felt her, and wanted to make her belong to him. This is the reason behind the reoccurrence of the dreams—nightmares—I’ve had since I met her. It’s also why she avoids eye contact with me at times and why she responds differently to the other men on my staff. She doesn’t see them as a Dom, so she doesn’t treat them with the same reverence.
“That really wasn’t an answer to my question, Sophia. Is that type of relationship the only way you can be happy?” Keeping my facial features neutral, I insist she answers me truthfully with whatshewants and needs rather than only thinking of whatIwant. The two men inside me are warring against each other and my own desires are unclear. The devil on one shoulder urges me to take her, make her mine, and bend her to my will like a true Dom. I am not allowing her to make the decision regarding which course we take. I simply need to consider all the factors and ramifications of my decision.
“What do you have in mind?” she asks.
Clever girl.
I give her my domineering look and she visibly shrinks back in her chair. My eyebrow is arched and my eyes are piercing hers, waiting for a satisfactory answer. Funny how quickly the little gestures just come back to me without even consciously thinking about them. Sophia feels it, too—her back straightens, her hands are clasped in her lap, and her eyes do not meet mine. Like the alpha male in a pack of animals, the others avoid direct eye contact unless they are intentionally challenging him.
“I would prefer it. It’s what I’m used to and it’s how I know how to be,” she finally responds truthfully.
I reclaim my seat beside her and consider the phrasing of my words before I respond. “I admit I wasn’t completely expecting to hear this from you, Sophia, but it’s also not something I haven’t already considered. If I decide we are taking this route, there are guidelines you will have to agree to meet,” I state matter-of-factly.
“Like a contract?”
I nod my head, but a thought occurs to me and I quickly amend my original intention. “I’ve used contracts in the past, Sophia, but I want to try something different with you. We are consenting adults and we can agree on the terms. We can each state our hard and soft limits and just respect them. We don’t need a contract to do that.
“Besides, I don’t want our relationship to be about a contract. This has been on my mind for a while now. My position on it has changed considerably. In my experience, too many people get hung up on the fact that a contract is even there. It becomes the primary focus when all I want to focus on is getting to know you in every way and earning your trust.”
Sophia gapes at me in stunned silence. She tries to speak but can’t find her voice. Tears fill her eyes and she swallows hard, trying to push the overwhelming feelings back down into her chest. She’s trying to hide them so she can just go along with what she thinks I want. Little does she know now, she has so much to learn about me.
“What about the punishment part?” she asks meekly for the second time during this short conversation. That alone speaks volumes to me. The quiver in her voice tells me this is a sensitive area she wants to know about but she’s been afraid to ask. Rather, she’s been afraid of the answer.
“Sophia, I’m a little concerned about your past training. You seem to have the wrong idea of punishment in your head and we need to fix that. My expectations will be clear—and you will have to be clear on yours. We can compromise and come to an agreement. I won’t do anything that you don’t agree to. If you say no, that’s the final word.
“But know this, I can read your body, even now, and I know what you’re thinking before you do. When you’re simply afraid of the unknown, I will push you past your limits if I’m certain it will bring you pleasure. I’m not into causing you pain just for the sake of pain, though. In fact, I am certain you willwantthe kind of pain I can offer,” I explain, hoping she understands the difference. I want to get in her mind and find out where she’s been, where she’s at, and where I can take her next.
“You won’t make me do things I don’t want to do?” she asks for reassurance.
I shake my head, “Never. If you have to safe-word on me, it means I’m not doing my job in taking care of you. I’ve already told you that I take that job very seriously. I enjoy doing it—taking care of you, giving you pleasure. Taking you to new heights gives me pleasure. I just need you to trust me, but I willearnit from you.”
She is so visibly relieved at my answer, it makes me furious inside to think about some other man taking such obvious advantage of her. The light in her face is back, her smile is warm and inviting, and the muscles in her body are relaxed. Her hands are no longer clenched together, and while she still has great posture, her shoulders aren’t nearly as tense as they were just minutes ago.
“I love the sound of that, Dominic. While we have some time alone, can you start telling me whatyouneed? Should I call you Sir?”
I control the intensity of my voice. I donotwant to be calledSirunder any circumstance in a relationship. I can barely stand it when people outside of my circle call me that, but definitely not Sophia. “No,” I state simply, not feeling the need to provide any explanation.
Her brow furrows as she considers other titles. “Daddy?” she asks tentatively, her face twisted as if she’s just bitten into a lemon. I withhold my belly laugh—I don’t want to her to be offended or feel foolish for asking.
“No, not that one, either. Just call me Dom. Even if we’re in public, no one will question it since it’s a shortened version of my name. No one else is allowed to call me that, by the way, so it’s really a term of endearment for you to do so,” I explain with a smile. Taking her hand and gently brushing my lips across her hand, I place a kiss each of her knuckles. She melts under my touch, becoming more pliable and open to me.
“What will my pet name be? What will you call me?” she asks on bated breath.
