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“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?”
