Lindsey
RULES, JOURNALING, ACCOUNTABILITY, CORRECTION, obedience, praise, objectification…
My most likely soon-to-be Dom’s questionnaire replays in my head as I lie on my bed after a long couple of days.
I thought I was turned on before from simply answering mine, but after reading his answers, my body is a live wire.
I know we won’t be having sex in any way, shape, or form, but is it bad that I can’t stop imagining it?
How do the people who work with him NOT want to have sex with him?
How does he not want to have sex with the people he works with?
What if I wanted to just play?
Yet the more research I did online, the more I realized how much I wanted this—to be dominated in a way that was intentional and consensual. RACK, as it’s called in the kink world: Risk-Aware Consensual Kink.
Am I part of the kink world now?
I’ve always considered myself kind of vanilla.
Since I grew up going to church, and it took me awhile to get over the “sex before marriage is bad” line I was fed, Jeremy was only the second man I had sex with.
Nearly everything I’ve tried in bed has been with him.
We mostly had missionary sex, sometimes doggy.
Then after I had Kas, our sex life fizzled out to near nothing. Later, I found out he was cheating, but I try not to think about that because I’ll end up spiraling, and I don’t need to do that right now.
“Mom!”
I lift my head from my pillow as Kas appears in my doorway.
“Yeah, honey?”
“Can I go over to Moira’s and spend the night?”
“It’s seven thirty, and I just got home.”
Kas shrugs. “We’re gonna play a new game she got.”
I sit up and make eye contact with my eight-year-old.
She’s maturing more every day. I swear, each time I go to work and come home, something has changed about her.
The one positive when I was with Jeremy was that while I still worked, I did work less.
I was able to watch her grow up, but now I’m missing it.
Soon, she’ll be eighteen and going to college far away from here.
“Why don’t you stay home with me? We can make our cinnamon popcorn and watch a movie.”
“You’ll fall asleep halfway through.”
“I won’t.” While she’d usually be right about that, I have my meeting with Sir at ten PM. There’s no way I’ll fall asleep, no matter how tired I am.
Kas rolls her eyes, and I sigh. “You really want to go to Moira’s instead of spending time with me?” I know that sounded pathetic and manipulative, but I miss my kid.
“Please, Mom.” She pouts. “I already said I could come.”
I should argue, put my foot down like I did the other day with lunch, fight for her to stay and watch a movie with me. But I don’t want my kid to hate me. “Okay.”
Kas jumps up and down, excitement lighting her features as if I said I was taking her to Disneyland. I wish she got that excited about watching a movie and eating cinnamon popcorn with me, something five-year-old her would have been all for.
“I’ll ride my bike there.”
“No, the sun’s going down. I’ll drive you.”
Kas jumps again. “Thanks, Mom, I’ll go pack a bag!”
I flop back down on my bed and stare at the high ceiling with exposed beams. Another point in the bank of “bad parenting.” I’m racking them up real fast.
With an audible sigh, I grab my phone and check the time. Not long now until I meet DomInTheWoods. I really hope he’s ready to whip me into shape.
Too bad his rules won’t let him use real whippings. I probably need one for being such a pushover of a mom.
I’m sitting at my desk in my living room, legs bouncing.
It’s two minutes before ten PM, and I’ve already logged on for the video chat via the link Sir sent me—I didn’t want to be late and give a bad first impression.
I’ve got my camera off, figuring if he isn’t showing his face, I’m not going to show mine, either.
Plus, if he does live in Starlight Haven, it’s better to stay unknown.
The clock on my laptop switches to 9:59, and my stomach rolls over.
Sitting here, staring at the screen that says “Waiting for the host to join” makes everything more real.
I mean, it was real when I filled out the two-part questionnaire and even more real when he sent me his, but this is real real.
We’re about to talk to each other with our words, and if all goes well, I’m signing an agreement with him.
To be his submissive. I never thought I’d be excited about something like this, but here we are.
At exactly ten PM, the wheel on my screen spins, and the black square turns to an image. Not a static image like I expected; it’s moving. Oh god, it’s him. I mean, of course it’s him, but I thought it would be a black screen.
While I can’t see his face, the camera shows from his chest down. He’s wearing a black T-shirt that’s tight across his chest. His biceps are huge, and his forearms look like they could have their own porn site. Bet they’d make a lot of money, too. They’re veiny but in a hot way.
“Hi, Lindsey.”
I shiver from the echo of his deep voice, and I’m grateful my camera is off because it’s a visible shiver. “H-hi.” I clear my throat. “Hi, Sir.” This is the first time I’ve addressed him as such out loud, and I said it directly to him. It feels a little weird, but it’s not bad.
Then I realize I’m not sure if I was supposed to say that yet. Should I have only said hi?
Before I can ask, the low sound of a hum echoes through the speakers, the timbre of it zipping straight to my clit. “Very good, Lindsey.”
A blush rises to my cheeks, and I take a sip of my water next to me. If I’m going to last this entire hour with him, I need to keep it under control. This is a professional relationship, nothing more.
“Um, thank you.” I flush harder, glad he can’t see me turn the color of a lobster.
His arms flex, and I notice an interesting compass tattoo on his left forearm. “You’re welcome. Thank you for being on time. Punctuality is a trait I appreciate in people, especially my submissives.”
“I’ll always be sure to be on time, then.”
He chuckles, the same warmth of his hum moving through my body. There’s also a familiarity to it I can’t place.
“Good.” He shifts in his desk chair. The background behind him is a simple black backdrop. Smart of him—nobody can guess his location.
He continues. “Before we get started, I’d like your verbal consent.
You’ll sign the agreement after we review it here together, and I’ll countersign once you’ve sent it to me.
But before that, I want to make sure you’re here of your own free will and that I have permission to speak to you as a Dominant. ”
I squeeze my thighs together under my desk and nod. Then I remember he can’t see me. “Yes.” I suck in a short breath when the yes comes out high-pitched, then clear my throat. “I am here of my own free will. And I give you permission to speak to me as a Dominant.”
“Good. Please know that while you’ve given me your consent, you can tell me to stop at any time. We’ll discuss a safe word you may use in the future, but for now, the word stop will suffice. How does that sound?”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
“First lesson.” His voice somehow gets deeper. “If you’re comfortable with it, I ask that you answer with ‘Yes, Sir’ or ‘No, Sir.’ How does that sound to you?”
I wet my lips. “I think that sounds good.”
“Hmm, I never like when the answer has the word think in it. It means you’re unsure or you haven’t thought about the answer before you spoke it. Can you tell me which one it is?”
His gruff and commanding tone means business, and I sit up taller in my chair.
It feels weird to have someone question me this way, and a swell of embarrassment builds in my stomach.
At the same time, I can’t deny that my throat itches to answer him.
To please him. And he’s right, I hadn’t thought about my answer before speaking.
“I answered without thinking,” I say. There’s silence on his end, and the itch in my throat tells me I missed something. Once I figure out what it is, I swallow and speak again. “I answered without thinking, Sir.”
He lets out a pleased hum, and my body tingles with what I can only describe as the feeling of happiness.
“Does it feel uncomfortable to call me Sir as my honorific? We could try something different.”
“Like King or Commander?” I muse with a tone of sarcasm, the words out of me before I can stop them. I want slap my hand over my mouth, but I’ve already said them.
To my surprise, he chuckles. “There’s the woman who commented on my videos and emailed me while inebriated.”
Inebriated. He could just say drunk, but maybe that’s too informal for him. “What do you mean by that…Sir?” I see the muscles of his forearms flex, and my mouth automatically waters.
“You’ve been so agreeable since our first interaction.
Your emails are perfect, your answers are perfect.
But that first time we talked, and in your very first email to me, your guard was down.
Your smart-aleck question just now reminded me of what I believe to be underneath the personality you’ve carefully shown me.
Some answers in the questionnaire revealed it to me as well. ”
“And what did they reveal to you, Sir?” I ask, suddenly feeling bold.
“What do you think?”
I start to answer with something along the lines of you already know, so tell me but then remember his words from before, so I pause and think.
I consider all the research I’ve completed on , all the journaling I’ve done, and the questionnaires I’ve filled out.
I even took a BDSM test I found that said I was one hundred percent submissive and eighty-four percent brat.
Awareness tingles up my neck, and I know now what he’s looking for.
“A brat.”
His forearms flex again. “You thought about it that time, very good.”
My skin warms, and I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Thank you, Sir.”
He leans forward on his desk, his strong pecs closer to the camera. “Thank you for being honest. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but addressing me as Sir is getting easier the more you say it, yes?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Hmm.” He leans back in his chair. “If Sir does not work, you can call me Dom. King and Commander are not titles I identify with, though I would never shame or judge Dominants who do.”
“If you like Sir, I can address you as Sir. It was only uncomfortable because it’s new.”
“I appreciate your honesty. Is there a way you’d prefer me to address you?”
My heart beats faster in my chest. “I—what would you call me besides my name?”
“Pet, sub—or if there’s something else you think of, we can discuss it.”
I sit with each name and remember how, on his videos, he would call his pretend sub “baby.” But if he called me that, I think I’d end up falling in love with him.
“You can call me Lindsey.”
“That pleases me just fine.”
Warmth stirs in my belly, and my head dips naturally, my gaze falling to the keyboard. I really need to get a grasp on my bodily reactions, or I’ll fall in love with him regardless of what he calls me.
“Do you have your email open, Lindsey?”
I look back up at the screen. His arms are now folded in front of him. I click over to my email and reply, “Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Open the agreement attached, and we’ll go through it section by section. Let me know if you need any further explanation or if you don’t like something. We’ll discuss it and edit it together. Does that sound good?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Tell me when you’re ready, and I’ll begin.”
I click open the attachment, and everything becomes more real when I see the letterhead.
DOMINTHEWOODS, INC.
Professional Dominance and Submission Agreement
This agreement is entered into on Wednesday, July 19th between:
Dominant (hereafter referred to as “Dom”): D. Woods
Submissive (hereafter referred to as “Sub”): Lindsey C.
Purpose: This agreement establishes a structured and consensual dynamic between Dom and Sub ensuring that all interactions remain consensual, professional, and nonsexual while encouraging discipline, accountability, and self-improvement.
There’s a part of my brain that says Are you really doing this? But a larger part is screaming You’re really doing this, yay!
I smile softly and I fill my lungs with air quietly. I focus my gaze back on the screen where the agreement stares at me. D. Woods. Is his last name really Woods? What if his first name is really Dom? Dom Woods. I almost snort. That can’t be it.
“Lindsey?”
“Sorry.”
“Do you want to continue?”
“Yes, Sir,” I say without hesitation.
“Then let’s begin.”