How I Met My Submissive 8: Better Call Safeword

There are two types of dominants: those who enjoy the pain of others and those who enjoy control. I've always been the second type. It turns me on to see a submissive yielding to me, how they tremble when I get closer, how they groan when I mark them as mine. But there is a very fine line between control and abuse, and after seeing what happened at work, I knew we needed to talk.

But here I am, sitting on my sofa at eleven at night, with Alex next to me trying to maintain an "adult conversation" about limits and expectations. As if I hadn't made my boundaries clear by fucking his throat until he was hoarse. As if his expectations weren't obvious every time he blushes and says "yes, sir" in that little voice of his.

The problem is that I have too many maxims that are going to hell because of him. "Don't fall for a submissive before they fall for you" - too late. Just watching him bite his lip while reviewing code was enough to send that one to hell. "Always maintain control" - just seeing him bow his head while listening is enough to lose all the control I thought I had.

The third is my favorite: "Start hard and ease up slowly." The problem is that with Alex, I started being a bastard, and now I find myself wanting to hug him when he seems worried. Pathetic.

And well, what can I say about the fifth: "Don't mix business and pleasure" - no words are needed.

Alex, who blushes when I shout but works better under pressure. Who constantly seeks my approval but has the guts to contradict me when he knows he’s right. Who trembles when I touch him but stands firm when he has to defend his code. Are we really ready to push forward a relationship like this?

"Do you want... do you want a tea?" Alex asks, and I realize I have been silent for five minutes, lost in my thoughts like a teenage girl imagining she’s with a K-Pop star.

"I'd prefer a gin and tonic," I respond dryly. "How about you?"

"No, thank you, sir," he says, looking down, and damn, that whispered "sir" turns me on more than if he had asked me to fuck him right there. We sit on the sofa, maintaining a prudent distance. Alex looked small and vulnerable, and I had to resist the urge to pull him towards me and protect him. Or fuck him. Or both.

-----------------

"Alex," I start, watching how he moves uncomfortably on the sofa. "About last night... how are you?"

"I'm fine," he murmurs, but I notice how he unconsciously brings his hand to his neck.

"Alex," I repeat more firmly. "I need to know if I hurt you. If it was too much."

He blushes and avoids my gaze. "No... well, yes, but... I liked it. A lot."

I suppress a growl. "Even so, we need to establish some limits. And a safe word."

"A safe word...?"

"Something you can say if I go too far," I explain. "And when you say it, everything stops. Immediately. No questions."

"Like in Fifty Shades of Grey?" he asks with a shy smile.

"Like in... damn it, Alex, tell me you didn't learn about BDSM from that crap," I grunt. "What's next, you asking me to spank you with a tie?"

His blush intensifies, and I have to hold back a laugh. Damn, he’s adorable when he’s embarrassed. "Okay, no more Amazon erotic literature. But yes, we need a word that means 'stop everything, right now.' And if you say it, I stop. No questions, no doubts."

"Like... red?"

"Okay," I sigh. "Red. But let it be known that it is the least imaginative safe word in history."

"About yesterday... I'm sorry if I overstepped," he interrupts quickly. "I don't usually... I mean, I've never..."

"Shut up," I order, and his body reacts instantly, tensing. "Don't apologize for something we both wanted."

He blushes, and I have to suppress the urge to hug him and tell him that everything will be okay. Damn, my protective side is starting to be a problem.

"And at work?" he asks quietly. "How...?"

"At work, I'm your boss," I interrupt him. "Nothing changes. No blushing when I give you orders. And for the love of God, stop biting your lip every time I correct your code."

He nods, but I notice disappointment in his eyes.

"Not even when we're alone in your office?"

I grabbed him by the neck, pulling him closer. "Is that what you want? For me to fuck you over my desk?"

His moan was all the answer I needed.

"We can play at work," I conceded, "but with rules. First: if you say 'sir' out of a work context, I assume you want to play. Second: if I call you by your last name, it means I’m not playing."

"Yes, se... okay," he corrects himself, and I can almost see how hard it is for him not to add the "sir."

His breathing visibly quickens, and I have to resist the urge to push him against the sofa right then and there.

"And outside of work?" he asks with that shy voice that fires up all my hormones.

"Outside of work..." I stop because I have no fucking idea how to continue. What are we outside of work? A dominant and his submissive? Two guys who fuck? Something more?

"Sir?" he asks softly when my silence stretches too long.

"Outside of work, you’re mine," I blurt out before I can filter my words. Shit. That’s not how I wanted to say it.

His eyes widen, and his breathing quickens. "Yours as... as your submissive?"

"Mine as..." I run a hand over my face, frustrated. "Damn it, Alex, I like you, okay? And not just to fuck your throat until you can't talk."

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I want to shoot myself. So much control, so much domination, to end up sounding like a fucking teenager confessing in the schoolyard.

But Alex... Alex smiles. It’s a small, shy smile, but it lights up his whole face.

"I like you too," he admits softly. "A lot."

"Yeah, that's pretty obvious by how you get when I shout at you," I joke, trying to regain some dignity.

He blushes to his ears, but he doesn't look away. "It's not just that. I like... everything about you."

"Even when I’m a bastard?"

"Especially when you’re a bastard," he admits, and we both laugh.

The silence that follows is more comfortable. I finish my gin and tonic while watching him nervously play with the edge of his shirt.

"Okay," I finally say. "Basic rules: if you don’t like something, you tell me. If something makes you uncomfortable, you tell me. And if you say 'red' - which I still think is the least original word in the world - everything stops immediately. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," he whispers.

"Outside of work..." I grab him by the chin, forcing him to look at me. "Outside of work, you’re mine. To use, to take care of, for whatever I want. But only as long as you want it too. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," he whispers, and his voice has that tone... he has to be doing it on purpose. It can’t always be like that naturally.

"And Alex..." I add, letting go of him. "If at any time you want to stop, if I go too far, if you need space... tell me. I'm not a fucking psychopath."

"I know," he says with a smile. "That's why I trust you."

And there it is again, that impulse to hug him and protect him from the world. To whisper to him that everything will be okay, that I will take care of him. But instead, I pull his hair and tilt his head back.

-----------------

"Do you trust me?" I growl against his neck. "Prove it."

His moan is all the answer I need.

"Over the knee," I order, and the speed with which he obeys makes my cock tug in my pants.

"Sir?" he murmurs, and his voice trembles slightly.

"Shh," I hush him as my hands roam over his back. "Let’s see if you’ve understood the rules well."

I slide one hand under his shirt, feeling him shudder at the contact. His skin is on fire. I gently dig my nails in, and his back arches.

"Color?" I ask, testing limits.

"Green," he whispers, and the urgency in his voice makes me growl.

His hips move involuntarily, seeking friction against my thigh. I grab his hair and tilt his head back.

"Still," I order. "I haven't given you permission to move."

"I'm sorry, sir," he pants.

I run my tongue over his neck, savoring the sweat and anticipation. When I reach his ear, I bite the lobe and whisper, "Do you want me to fuck you?"

"Yes... yes, sir. Please."

"Here?" I ask as my fingers play with the waistband of his pants. "On my sofa? Or would you prefer I take you to bed like the romantic little slut you are?"

He shudders at my words but doesn’t answer. I give him a light smack on the ass, not too hard, just enough for him to know I expect an answer.

"Here," he moans. "Please, sir. Whatever you want."

"So obedient," I murmur as I lower his pants. "So eager to please."

I take my time preparing him, remembering how tight he was yesterday. My fingers enter slowly, gradually opening him while he trembles and moans beneath me.

"Please," he pleads as I add a third finger.

"What please what?" I demand, curling my fingers inside him.

"Please, fuck me," he moans. "I need..."

I interrupt him with a harder smack. "What did I tell you about giving orders?"

"I'm sorry, sir," he gasps. "Please, do whatever you want with me."

"Much better," I growl, and finally I sink into him with one thrust.

He is so tight that for a moment I see stars. I stay still, letting him adjust, until his hips start moving against me.

"So impatient," I tease as I begin to move. "So needy."

Each thrust draws a moan from his throat. His hands grip the sofa as if it were a lifeline, and when I slightly change the angle, he practically screams.

"Color?" I ask, because I still have some common sense left.

"Green, green, fuck, green," he gasps, and that’s all I need to hear.

I fuck him mercilessly, marking each thrust with a slap to his already reddened ass. His moans become sharper, more desperate, and I know he's close.

"Do you want to come?" I growl in his ear.

"Please, sir," he pleads. "Please..."

"Come for me," I order as my hand finds his cock. "Now."

After a minute (though if you ask, I’ll say it was right then), he comes with a stifled scream, his whole body convulsing beneath mine. His muscles hug me so tightly that it pulls my orgasm out, and I come inside him with an animalistic grunt.

We stay like that for a moment, panting, until I finally pull out and turn him to face me.

"Are you okay?" I ask, inspecting his face for any signs of discomfort.

He nods with a sleepy smile. "Better than okay, sir."

"Come here," I murmur, pulling him until he's curled against my chest. I take to counting his breaths, and by the fifteenth, he’s already asleep.

"In the end, it turns out that yes, talking things out serves a purpose," I think as I carry him to bed. "Though it also helps to continue the conversation with a good session of wild sex. You know, to ensure that the limits are clear."