How I Met My Submissive 9: How to Train Your Submissive

People think being dominant is tying someone to a bed and whipping them until they shout "harder, daddy." What a load of nonsense. Being dominant is like being a driving instructor - you have to constantly ensure that the newbie doesn’t kill themselves, doesn’t kill anyone else, and also get them to learn something along the way.

And yes, I know that comparing BDSM to driving schools is not very sexy, but I’m fed up with all this "50 Shades of Grey." Newbies come in thinking they’re going to have some mystical experience of self-discovery, and all they find out is that no, you can’t stick an anal plug the size of a beer can up your backside on your first time, no matter what you’ve seen on PornHub.

As a dominant, I have the responsibility to make sure that newbies don’t hurt themselves. That they understand their limits. That they learn to say no. That... damn it, I’m sounding like a bloody informational brochure from an NGO. The point is that you have to take care of the newbies because these idiots are capable of saying yes to anything just to please.

And speaking of newbies who say yes to everything...

Alex had been coming to my house after work for two weeks. All very innocent, of course. Just two buddies having a beer, watching a show, and... other things.

"Alex, when I say 'on your knees', it doesn't mean you throw yourself on the floor as if I’ve shot you," I explained for the fifth time in two weeks. "It's a fluid, controlled movement..."

"I’m sorry, sir," he murmured with a perfectly modulated voice while rubbing the knee he had just banged against the floor. My frustration with his clumsiness prevented me from noticing how natural that "sir" sounded.

"Again," I ordered, wondering if my neighbors would think I was training a particularly clumsy dog. "Slower."

This time he tried more carefully, but somehow ended up tripping over his own feet and fell face-first. And this is why I don’t take newbies.

"Are you okay?" I asked, struggling not to laugh.

"Yes, sir," he replied with his face as red as a tomato, looking down in a perfectly executed gesture of submission that I attributed to pure coincidence. "It's just... the floor is slippery."

The floor was carpeted.

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At work, things weren't any better. The other day I almost had a meltdown when I heard him say:

"Sir, would you like to review my pull request? It's quite large, and I need your help to fit it all in."

I spent ten minutes trying to calm myself before I realized he was literally talking about code, and any attempt to further the conversation led to pure technical jargon. And so we are - him unwittingly being the walking fantasy of any dominant, and me reminding myself to be responsible with the newbies.

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The first time I tied Alex up was a revelation. Not only because the little bastard turned out to be naturally flexible, but because his way of giving in, of trusting me blindly, awakened something inside me that I didn't know existed. That’s why it’s my duty to be responsible and teach him well.

"Color?" I asked as I tightened the ropes around his wrists a little more.

"Green, sir," he responded with that trembling voice that drives me wild.

"And now?" I tightened a bit more.

"G-green..."

"Alex," my voice became more serious. "What did I say about lying?"

"I'm sorry, sir... yellow."

"Good boy," I slightly loosened the ropes. "Newbies need to learn to know their limits."

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At work, keeping things professional was... complicated. Especially since Laura seemed to have made it her mission to play matchmaker.

"Do you know what?" she commented one day during lunch. "You two make a great couple."

Alex choked on his water, and I had to resist the urge to pat him on the back. It wasn’t the kind of pats I had been giving him lately.

"As a boss and employee, I mean," Laura added, as an apology.

"I'm a good boss," I replied dryly. "I like... training the new ones."

Alex blushed so much that I had to distract Laura so she wouldn't jump to conclusions.

And with newbies, you have to have patience. A lot of patience.

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Like when I tried to teach him about edging:

"Don’t come until I tell you," I ordered while my hand went up and down his cock.

"Yes, sir," he moaned.

Two minutes later he was apologizing through tears while I wiped the remnants of his totally uncontrolled and explosive orgasm off my face.

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The following week wasn’t any better.

"Alex, when I say bring me a beer, it doesn’t mean you have to crawl with the glass in your mouth."

"But I wanted to be authentic, sir," he replied, accepting the correction with a naturalness that I mistook for simple obedience.

"Authentic? Have you been watching furry porn or what?"

His blush gave me the answer. Great. Now I had to unlearn everything he had "learned" on the internet.

"Okay, new rule: no ideas taken from PornHub."

"Yes, sir," he murmured while cleaning up the spill. The immediacy of his acceptance seemed like good progress in his training. Slow, M, slow, he’s a newbie.

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My protective side (which I try to ignore, but the little bastard always comes out) was becoming a problem. The other day during a tense meeting:

"Does anyone else have any objections?" I asked after some idiot from the sales department questioned Alex’s work.

"I do..." started an imbecile who was there purely for seniority.

"That was a rhetorical question," I cut him off. "If you have doubts, first learn to delete your search history so we don’t know that you spend more time watching pirate soccer than working."

Later, Alex thanked me.

"Don’t pay attention to that idiot," I grumbled. "He can’t even turn on his computer without help."

"You’re very protective, sir," he smiled.

"And so what. I just like things to be done right."

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At home, things were progressing. Alex was learning quickly when he wanted, though his enthusiasm sometimes made him go too fast.

"Harder, please, sir," he pleaded one night.

"No," I replied firmly. "First, you need to learn to endure what you already have inside without flinching in pain."

"But..."

A change of position along with a strict denial silenced him. Well, maybe the fact that he had his throat blocked by a cock helped, but I prefer to think it was the strict denial.

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And so we came to yesterday. We were at my house when he dropped the bomb:

"Sir, could we try using a chastity cage?"

"Not a chance," I told him, "you’re too green for that."

"Well, it’s just that my ex had one..."

"Wait," I interrupted. "Your ex?"

"Yeah, you know, the dominant I was with for two years."

Ah, of course, typical of newbies, you spend two years with a dominant and suddenly think you can afford... Wait, WHAT?