BitchBoy Ch. 02

Training Day

Claire learns the ropes, so to speak.

I started the next day.

Fuckboy's brother, whose name is Gale, insisted that for the next three days I learn the ropes. The 72-hour orientation, he calls it. I'm to learn everything he's taught me on the day of Testing Day, and I'll be a bonafide Dominatrix.

I'm sitting at his island countertop, watching as he grills the bell peppers for breakfast paninis.

"Now, Claire," he begins, "I want you to know the basics. BDSM is a sensual, erotic ordeal but it could be dangerous and lethal to those who don't know what they're doing. Do you remember what we went over just now?"

"Safe, Sane, and Consensual," I answered.

"Good. We're going over Safe today. Safety is very important. A Dom who knows what he or she is doing is better than a newbie any day. We need to establish safe words, and go over the tools."

The paninis are done; their spicy aroma makes my mouth water. I reach to grab one but his hand swats me away.

"Ask first. Don't you have manners?"

"Not if I'm starving. I have literally nothing edible in my fridge."

"I'm supposed to care because?"

"A beginning Dom shouldn't do anything on an empty stomach."

"This is a job. It's your responsibility to make sure you are well prepared for your tasks. I'm responsible for your payment, not your nutrition."

"Do you have to be this difficult?"

"Do you have to be this rude?"

I inhale sharply and slowly exhale. Gale is really starting to grate on my nerves.

"May I please have a panini?"

"May I please have a panini...?"

"...sir,"

Satisfied with the answer, he hands me my grilled sandwich and I bite into it. Flavors of tart bell pepper, creamy cheese and savory steak zaps my taste-buds in orgasmic bliss. I moan my approval as I tear in for another bite. God, can this man cook!

"Like it?"

I can hear his smirk, the asshole.

I nod anyway, licking the cheese that escaped the corner of my mouth.

"My cousin Acapulco taught me how to cook," He began, looking down at his plate, "He used to make these New York style paninis every Thursday afternoon when he got off work."

"Where is he?" I asked.

"Six feet under," He answered. He then grabbed knife and fork and sliced through the sandwich. Neat, clean, and fast, he destroys his panini in minutes when I'm on my last three bites.

"Let's talk about the tools."

He leads me to his room. With a flick of the switch, I'm introduced to Eros himself. The wallpaper is a rich maroon hue, illuminated by the glow of the soft lamps. Dark mahogany furniture stands out against the red like black outlines. His black curtains are drawn, giving me no idea if it's night or day. His bed is of black silk sheets and a simple red comforter set with plush-looking pillows. What caught my eye was the headboard: iron enforced with vertical bars that have large spacing. The glint of something silver hanging on one of the gaps peaks my curiosity.

Gale walks into his closet and pulls out a large black toolbox. A few twists of the combination lock and the box is popped open. He pulls out everything and lays them out in single file.

"This is a flogger," he says, holding up this whip-like thing that reminded me of Caligula. "This is used for stimulation of the senses, for punishing, and for pleasuring. However, you must not hit someone on their stomach. The stomach is one of the most sensitive places to be hit at."

Without warning, he hits me on the arm with the flogger.

"Ouch! What the hell, man!" I yelp at him.

"I want you to get a taste of what you'll be using. You're getting paid to try out all of these tools so you'll have a better understanding of how to use them."

"Try them out as in...you're using them on me?"

"Well, I'm clearly the one with more experience in this."

"I don't see why. You're younger than me."

"I'm 19, not 12. And how old are you?"

"...Shut up and test these things out on me."

For the next three hours, I've been introduced to floggers, whips, paddles, O-rings, and wax-play galore. I now know how to take good care of handcuffs, where the right places are to pour hot wax, and even how to bind someone with rope. I lie on his couch, panting, sweaty, and strangely satisfied as the wax cools on my tits and inner thighs. He stands over me, his fingers slowly peeling off the wax from one of my nipples.

"How you feel?" he asks, but his voice is so far away. I'm coming down from my sexual high; everything around me is white noise. I just want to lie back and enjoy it, until I feel a hand grab my locs and yank them so hard my neck snaps up. Gale's eyes are boring into mine; his once chill greens are now piercing blues.

"I think you've forgotten that for the next three days, I'm your Dom. And what is the main rule we went over when you agreed to this?"

"Answer when spoken to," My lips say, but my voice is so foreign. It sounds airy, docile, and complacent; it scares me.

"Very good," he purrs. His hands slide down to cup my sex.

"Tell me what your punishment is for disobeying that simple rule."

"Twelve whacks to the pussy."

"Are you going to count them for me?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, sir."

"Spread your legs for me."

I do; I doubt they could spread any further than they are now. Gale stares at my pussy like he's inspecting it; those eyes and fingers rubbing and prodding make me feel I'm visiting the gynecologist all over again. Not. Sexy. At all.

I jump when he blows hot air on it, his lips brushing against the freshly grown hairs. I feel myself getting hot and bothered when he kisses it gently, his nose nuzzling against me. I bite my lip to hold back my moan; I won't fall for that trick again.

He gets up and rummages through his trunk of doom, fishing out the flogger.

"Ready to start counting, whore?"

"Yes, sir."

Whack. The first hit graced over my mound.

"One," I yelp.

He hits me again, this time catching the right lip.

"Two."

His blows become calculated and timed; he knew when, where, and how hard to hit. It wasn't painful, but it lit my senses on fire. I counted each one, fighting the urge to ask him to touch me, to rub my sensitive clit, to give me a reward I don't deserve.

After strike ten, his last two were a little more harsher than the previous ones.

"Eleven," I cry out.

"Twelve,"

It's over.

Satisfied, he brushes his fingers over my wounded area, thumbing the parts that are known to get me horny.

"How was it?"

"Pretty ok. Not unbearable."

"Good. Because it gets harder from here. I want to push you past your boundaries. I want you to go past your limits and pain threshold." He stops his motions and looks at me.

"Can you handle it?"

"You underestimate me." I smile at him. Gale smiles back and looks at the clock.

"Time's up."

"Fuck," I groan out. I really wanted him to reward me for handling my punishment, like he promised in the agreement. Instead, I stumble around his apartment looking for my clothes. My babydoll dress is hanging on the kitchen counter, I found my panties floating in the kitchen sink and my bra draped over the kitchen chair. Gale watches me dress; he sits at the table as I wring out my panties and debate whether or not to wear them.

"I can wash them for you, if you'd like." He offers, but I want to hear none of it. These are by far the most unattractive panties I've ever regretted buying. Instead of seductive lace and cutesy frills, it's 100% cotton panties with a snarky slogan chipping off. The color: yellow. Can't get anymore unattractive than that.

"I'll throw 'em in the trash. They've seen better days."

"Walking out my apartment not wearing any panties? Pretty naughty," He winks at me.

"Maybe I'll have you doing that more often when you come here for work."

"Shut up, Gale. Same time tomorrow?"

"You know it."

"See you at the café in a couple hours."

"Same."

"I still think you're an asshole."

"Still think you're a bitch."

"Good to know. Thought I was slippin'"

He chuckles.

I close his door with a soft click.

I hop in my car, drive home, lie in my room and fuck myself silly over thoughts involving witty banter and kinky fucking with an asshole who makes amazing mochas.