Tymber Dalton - The Denim Dom

Fuck. No one had ever affected him like that before. Taking him dangerously close to a loss of control. He hadn’t expected her to agree to nuzzling him through his pants. He would have understood if she’d refused to do it.

But she hadn’t. It didn’t take any great leap of imagination to think about sinking his cock into her throat between those delicious lips of hers as she nuzzled his bulge.

Not that he would have forced himself on her, but he had come dangerously close to coming in his pants toward the end of their play.

He opened his eyes and let out a snort. I made a bigger mess than she did. One splash had hit the tile wall at the back of the toilet. Another string had landed on the seat.

He snickered. After he relieved himself into the toilet he cleaned himself and the stall up, flushed, and went back out to wash his hands and gather the implements.

Shayla still lay on the couch where he’d left her. She’d felt so good in his arms. If the damn floor hadn’t been so hard and cold he could have easily sat there for hours with her nestled in his lap.

Don’t rush things. You’ve already rushed enough.

He put the implements away and went to check on her. “How’s my pet?”

She opened her eyes and smiled. “I think I need a nap.”

“That would be nice, but unfortunately we have a class now.”

She sat up. He wondered if that same, sweetly dreamy look she now wore was the same post-orgasmic look she always wore.

He also wondered how deep into subspace he’d driven her with that play session.

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Go get cleaned up, pet.” He handed her the thong. “You might as well keep that off for now until we go out to dinner.” He smiled. “I suspect it won’t do you much good anyway.”

Her face reddened again as she took the sodden thong from him. “Thank you, Sir,” she mumbled.

“And you can take the cuffs off. Leave the collar on, though. I want you to wear it during both classes.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“When I introduce myself, I will be introducing you as my submissive. All right?”

She nodded. “Yes, Sir.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze.

He reached out and tipped her chin up, forcing her to look at him. “Another rule. When I speak to you, unless I’ve instructed you not to, you will look me in the eyes. Understand?”

He noticed she swallowed hard. Another nervous tic, he suspected. He’d noticed her doing it several times during the course of their previous conversations and today. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.” He kissed the top of her head. “Go clean up.”

He watched her get up, carefully observing her to make sure she was steady on her feet. As she walked toward the bathroom, he laughed. “You can straighten your skirt and put it down now, pet.”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “Thank you, Sir.”

Although the view is nicer when your ass is bare.

* * *

Shayla looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was mussed and her face still pink. I should have skipped the makeup. She washed her face and patted it dry with a paper towel. Then she took a couple of dampened paper towels into a stall with her. After using the toilet, she cleaned herself up as best she could. She patted her pussy as dry as she could with yet another paper towel and washed her hands.

I look like I’ve just been fucked.

The burping laugh escaped her.

You were just fucked. Sort of.

Holy crap, if he could do that to her with just that little bit of play, what else did he have in store for her tonight?

She realized she didn’t care, and that she was eager to feel every last bit of it.

Shayla walked over to the table and tucked her thong into her bag. He was right. It was pretty useless.

Add to that the fact that she’d be plagued from there on with the memory of the feel of him slowly removing it from her, and she might as well have a vibrator strapped to her clit as wet as it threatened to make her.

Maybe I need to grab that towel from the couch to keep on my chair during class.

“How are you doing, pet?” Tony asked.

She noticed while she was in the bathroom he’d opened the other bag he’d brought inside. Two tables were covered with different kinds of whips in various colors and configurations.

“Good, Sir,” she said.

He grinned. “Ready for more?”

Why fight it? She smiled. “Yes, Sir. I think so.”

“Good girl.” He started to say something else when the door opened and a woman called out. “Tony?”

He looked around Shayla and held up a hand. “Over here, Jenny.”

The woman stepped into the area. “Oh, good. I thought that was your car. You need anything?”

“Nope. We’re all set up.”

The woman’s brow furrowed. “‘We?’”

“Yes. I’d like to introduce you to Shayla. My submissive.”

Shayla felt heat fill her face…along with a thrill she couldn’t place.

The woman walked over and smiled at Shayla. Shayla didn’t remember seeing her the previous weekend. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jenny.”

Tony let out a laugh. “You can shake hands with her, Jenny.”

Shayla sent him a puzzled glance as Jenny smiled again and stuck out her hand. “I always like to make sure first,” Jenny said.

As they shook hands, Shayla noticed Jenny wore a rainbow-hued collar made up of what looked like a small-gauged rod. “I’m new at this. Shayla. Or Shay. Nice to meet you.”

“She’s a reporter,” Tony said. “She’s doing firsthand research for a series of articles she’s writing. Loren and Ross hooked us up.”

“Oh!” Jenny brightened. “Okay. Leah did mention that. Let me know if you have any questions. I’m happy to answer. You’ve got a great teacher, here.” She motioned toward Tony. She was going to say something else, but they heard a noise in the office. “Oops, sounds like the students are arriving. Talk to you later.” She hurried back to the office.

Shayla looked up at him. “What was that about? The hand shaking?”

“Some people are ultracautious about protocols. Some Masters have strict rules about their slaves and submissives not having physical contact with others. Some slaves and submissives just aren’t comfortable with contact with others. When in doubt, it’s easier to just wave hi and not risk accidentally pissing someone off.”

“Is that really a problem?”

“Not a huge one. But all it takes is one mouthy won twue wayer to get bent out of shape and a community feud can arise. Obviously, if the submissive offers to shake hands or moves to hug you first, it’s all right.”

“That sounds complicated.”

“Not really. You’ll see what I mean.”

Tony had a full class of twenty-five students. Her initial unease at briefly being made the center of attention by Tony’s quick intro soon faded as she found herself immersed in his class. His talk about whips, how they were made, the different styles and materials was not only instructive, but entertaining as well.

Once he’d gone through the basics, he moved the class over to the play side of the space, where he hung a paper napkin from one of the suspension bars. He’d used a black marker to draw a small circle on the napkin, toward the bottom edge.

Uncurling one of the whips, a four-foot kangaroo-hide signal whip, he demonstrated the proper stance and technique.

“Your first concern is accuracy, not trying to make it crack. If you make it crack too loudly too many times in an enclosed space like this, someone’s liable to ask you to stop or leave. Remember, consent is one of the core values of what we do, and making everyone in the room deaf without their consent is generally frowned upon.”

Shayla found herself chuckling with the group.

He showed the class how to judge distance and how to properly throw the whip. The fall of the whip caught the napkin exactly at the circle, leaving a slight rip in the paper.

He turned back to the class. “You also have to worry about who and what is around and above you. I know some people think they need a six- or eight-foot whip, but good luck finding indoor venues who’ll let you use it. You’ll clear a room. Literally, because of the space they require. We have a couple of members of this club who can properly use a whip like that and who are sometimes granted permission to use them inside during play sessions. But again, it goes back to consent. You don’t have a right to inconvenience others with your kink. So stick to a three- or four-foot whip to start with. Three is better. If you plan on doing a lot of outdoor play, or your house is large enough to allow you to play with a longer whip, sure, go longer. You will, however, get more use out of a shorter one.”

He let all the students take a try with the whip, including Shayla. She liked that she was the only student he pressed his body up against as he guided her through the motions.

“Another reason not to start with a longer whip,” he explained as he uncoiled one, “is that you’re more likely to hurt yourself with it. You can easily have it come back and wrap around you, or put out an eye. In fact, wearing eye and ear protection when you’re first learning isn’t a bad idea.” He shook the whip out to its full length. “This one’s eight feet long. Everyone stand way back, and plug your ears with your fingers.”

They did.

He slipped a pair of foam ear plugs into his ears. Shayla guessed he considered his glasses adequate eye protection. Then he changed his position, judged the distance to the target, and threw the whip.

The loud crack exploded through the play space like a gunshot. The target, which he’d reset with a fresh napkin, barely moved.

But a fresh slice had appeared in the bottom of it.

He looked at them as he removed his earplugs. “Like that. Yes, shorter whips can make loud cracks, too. Usually, however, they aren’t that loud. But how would you like to be scening and be deep in subspace just to be blasted out of it by that?”

Everyone nodded.

“When you’re using a whip on a person, make sure you’ve done plenty of practice on inanimate objects first. It’s way too easy to cut a person with a whip. You can snag piercings, wrap it and dig into flesh, cause permanent injury and scarring. Not exactly the kind of pain and marks most bottoms are looking for. If in doubt, stand farther away, and always throw gently until you can absolutely control every swing.”

He coiled the whip and put it away. “Any questions?”

He spent the next half of the class working with students. Some had brought their own whips with them, some used ones he had available as loaners. Shayla’s job was to go around and keep everyone supplied with fresh napkin targets, in addition to keeping track of the loaner whips. Every available piece of play equipment that was at least four feet tall had been put into use as target holders.

Leah and Seth arrived five minutes before the class was scheduled to end. She walked over to Shayla and gave her a hug. “How’s it going? Looks like a full class, huh?”

She nodded. “Indiana Jones makes this crap look easy.”

Leah laughed. “Seth, Tony, and Sully make Indiana Jones look like a damn puss.”

At the end of class, Shayla helped Tony retrieve and account for all his loaner whips as well as make sure all the little bits of napkin targets were picked up.

“So does she get volunteered as a demo dolly today?” Seth joked with Tony.

He smiled. “Nope. I’m going to play along with the class and tie her up myself.” He winked at her, sending her heart into an overdrive of fluttering. “I’ll stick a ball gag in her mouth if she starts moaning too much.”

“Good deal. I’m going to get my rope bag. I’m guessing you have your own?”

He smiled. “Yep. I packed the pink rope especially for her.”

* * *

The rope class was just as full as the whip class. Five of the students from the whip class were also taking the rope class. They moved a giant wooden A-frame off a large carpeted section to use the carpet to sit on, everyone gathered on the floor in a wide semicircle around Seth and Leah.

“Today’s class is literally a basic overview,” Seth told them. “I don’t want to hear about any of you going out and trying to suspend someone tonight. We’re starting a biweekly series of rope classes if anyone’s interested in taking things further. Suspension without proper training and practice can be downright dangerous, if not deadly.”