How I met my submissive 10: The Paper Leash

People think that BDSM relationships are like the computer tutorials of an Indian on YouTube – you follow the steps in order and everything works perfectly. What nonsense. They are more like those projects where the client says they want something simple, and when you already have everything developed, they drop, "Oh, by the way, I've been doing this another way for 20 years."

I stared at Alex, trying to process what I had just heard. Two years. TWO FUCKING YEARS with another dominant. And here I was, explaining to him like an idiot how to kneel.

"Sir?" he asked in that soft voice he used when he needed my approval. I didn't know if it was instinct or strategy, but it sounded suspiciously rehearsed. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Stay still," I ordered, and the way he froze instantly only confirmed my suspicions. Too perfect. Too trained. "Explain to me exactly why you didn’t tell me about your previous experience."

"You never asked, sir," he replied without looking up, and damn, he was right. Then he added, almost in a whisper, "And I liked how you took care of me too much to risk that changing."

Great. My protective side, the one I worked so hard to hide, had been completely obvious. And apparently, appreciated.

"Look at me," I ordered, and when his eyes met mine, I saw that glimmer of vulnerability that made me think he hadn't been manipulated. "Have you been having fun at my expense?"

"No, sir!" he exclaimed, but he maintained the submissive posture even in his agitation. "I just... wanted things to work. For you to see that we could... fit."

There was something in the way he said "fit" that suggested much more than his words conveyed.

"What else have you not told me?" I asked, using that tone that always made him shudder. He did not disappoint – a visible chill ran through his body.

"Nothing important, sir," he murmured, and that evasive answer made me growl. "It's just that... sometimes I like to appear more inexperienced because... I enjoy when you take complete control."

I studied him closely. He was still in the same submissive position I had taught him – one that he apparently didn't need me to teach anymore. His hands rested on his thighs, his head slightly bowed, his breath controlled but slightly quickened.

"So you've been playing with me," I said, my voice heavy with authority.

"No, sir," he responded with a softness that contrasted with the firmness of his words. "I just... waited for the right moment. And the right dominant."

That last phrase hung in the air between us, heavy with implications.

"What exactly were you waiting for, Alex?" I asked, noticing how he shivered at hearing his name in that tone.

"For someone who wanted more than just... occasional sessions, sir," he replied, and there was something in his voice, a mix of hope and fear that made me want to protect him and dominate him in equal measure.

I stood up and walked around him, murmuring "someone." His breath quickened as I stopped behind him, out of his sight. He made to turn.

"Eh eh eh, eyes forward."

Absolute rigidity again.

"Are you telling me you've been manipulating me? Shaping me to be that someone? Evaluating me perhaps?" I asked, and my tone made him shrink back slightly.

"Not exactly," he said, "I just... took the opportunities."

The honesty in his voice hit me harder than any manipulation. I leaned down until my lips brushed his ear:

"And have you already decided if I was that someone?"

He trembled but maintained the position. "From day one, sir."

I straightened up, processing his words. The implication was clear – this was not just about BDSM. This was about something more.

I sighed and switched to work mode. Cold, indifferent, analytical gaze. "Look at me," I ordered again, and when he did, I saw in his eyes everything he didn't dare to ask directly, and he saw nothing in mine. "You've been playing a very dangerous game, little one."

"I know, sir," he replied, and for the first time, I saw a glimpse of true fear in his eyes. Not physical fear, but fear of having risked too much. Of having shown too much.

"You've played your cards very well," I finally said, my voice cold. "Calculating every move, every reaction."

I saw the fear cross his eyes, how his breath became erratic as he tried to maintain composure.

"It wasn't a game, sir," he whispered, and for the first time, his voice trembled. "Please..."

"But of course, I couldn't expect such clever moves from my brightest programmer, could I?"

His breath became erratic, and for the first time since I had known him, he seemed to completely lose his composure.

"Please," he whispered, and there was genuine panic in his voice. "Please, don't..."

"Please what, Ruiz?" I asked, deliberately using his last name, another show of returning to the disinterested work professionalism. "Please forgive me for manipulating you? Please give me another chance to pretend to be the person you wanted me to believe?"

He visibly recoiled at every word, and I could see how he struggled to maintain position while panic took hold of him.

"I just wanted a chance..." he began, but I interrupted him.

"A chance for what exactly, Ruiz?" I pressed, my voice cutting. "To play the perfect submissive? To see how much he could manipulate his superior before he realized?"

"No," he whispered, and there were tears in his eyes that refused to fall. "A chance to be what you needed. To show you that I could be..."

"Silence," I ordered, needing space, needing to think. Needing him to stop saying things that shook my resolutions.

He obeyed instantly, though I could see how his entire body trembled with the effort of maintaining composure. With the effort of not begging, of not pleading. And that instant obedience, which had previously excited me, now only served to fuel my doubts.

For the first time since we started this, his perfect submission did not help clarify my thoughts – it only made them more confusing. How much of that obedience was real? How much was training? How much was... strategy?

"I just wanted to be yours," he finally whispered, breaking the silence and my order at the same time, as if the words slipped out uncontrollably. "Truly. Completely. Not for a few hours or a few days, but..."

"Enough 'truly' to lie?" I interrupted, and my voice sounded more hurt than I intended. - Unforced error here -. "Enough 'complete' to only show 10% for months?" - I said work mode, M, what the hell am I doing. -

His breath caught as if I had hit him. I saw him swallow repeatedly, looking for words, looking for a way to fix what he had broken. The perfect submissive, always so eloquent in his obedience, now seemed incapable of forming a coherent sentence.

"I never meant to..." he began, but stopped as if he didn't know how to continue. For the first time since I had known him, he seemed totally lost, totally out of control. No longer remained the perfectly trained submissive. Just a terrified man who had destroyed something precious with his own hands.

Did I want to find him?