Being told what to do makes me lose my temper. Oh, hell yeah. Again, who wouldn’t get their back up by being bossed around? Ten again.
I’m happiest when I have nothing to worry about. Oh, for heaven’s sake. Who wrote this questionnaire, Captain Obvious? Who enjoys worry? Shaking my head, I mark down another ten.
There are some questions I can answer “one” to just as easily—no humiliation for me, thank you very much—and some where I’m definitely in the middle. Pastels can be cute, but some days I like to be grungy and wear black T-shirts and ripped jeans.
I finish my answers and turn to the rules.
Dom Fitness is a safe and secure environment for all trainees and trainers. Anyone found to be in violation of the below rules will have their membership immediately revoked and escorted from the premises.
Rule #1: There will be no physical contact between trainers and trainees on the premises, other than for instructional fitness purposes. This includes bodily contact or contact via implements.
No actual spanking and stuff goes on here, then. I breathe a tiny sigh of relief.
Rule #2: The trainee is to speak to their trainer politely and respectfully at all times, and address them as ma’am, sir, mistress, master, mommy or daddy etc., to be agreed on between each trainer and trainee.
“What the actual fuck,” I mutter to myself.
Over my head, Dom clears his throat. When I glance up, he’s glaring at me.
“I don’t tolerate any bad language,” he says.
“Is that in these rules?”
“I have additional rules.”
I roll my eyes and keep reading.
Rule #3: A trainee will commit one hundred percent to each workout and follow their trainer’s instructions to the letter. If a trainer feels as if a trainee is deliberately underperforming or being willfully disobedient, the trainer reserves to the right to set punishments for their trainee, including but not limited to: extra exercises, cold showers and corner time.
Yeah, well, we’ll see about that.
Rule #4: No trainee or trainer will comment on or stare at another trainer and trainee’s session unless invited to participate in public scoldings or praisings. Neutral abstaining is also permitted.
Rule #5: Trainees and trainers will act in a safe, sane and consensual manner toward each other at all times.
“Do you have any questions about the rules?” Dom asks when I get to the bottom of the page.
“Not really. They’re written in a way that even a five-year-old would understand.”
He casts his eyes over my tiny pink chair. “Then you and I shouldn’t have any problems, should we?”
Yeah, no. We’re going to have problems.
He holds out a hand for the clipboard and I pass it to him. “You will listen to me at all times and obey my instructions. If you have any questions you will say, Please, I have a question. If you feel as if you’re about to do yourself an injury, say, red alert. If you have done yourself an injury, say black alert. If you can’t speak, hold up one finger for the former and two for the latter. Being out of breath or tired or generally being a whiny little baby is not an injury. Is all that clear?”
Jeez, this dude is off the charts. How many thousands of rules does he want to give me? “Yes. All right. Fine.”
I look up at him, startled. “Excuse me?”
Dom leans down from his great height so that his lips are very close to my ear, and he says quietly, but firmly, “You’re going to call me daddy. Say, yes daddy.”
Oh, hell no. I haven’t even called my own father daddy since I was eight years old. I’m not about to start saying it to some stranger.
Dom just looks at me, his face very close to mine, and waits.
Amelia is staring at me with her mouth wide open. She sure is one hell of a brat.
“Well?” I snap, raising my voice. “I haven’t got time to stand around all day while you catch flies. If you understood everything I just said, say, yes daddy.”
Her eyes dart left and right as if she’s conscious of people listening in on our conversation. I catch her chin between my thumb and forefinger and turn her face back to mine. Her eyes are as wide as saucers as she stares up at me, still open-mouthed. I become distracted by the extremely clear image of slapping my thickened cock against her cheek and then pushing it into her sulky mouth.
Best way to shut a little brat up. Shame I have to keep this completely professional.
“Amelia. Look at me, not them. I asked you a question.”
Amelia licks her lips, and then mutters, “Yes, daddy.” She visibly squirms in her tiny pink chair. I can’t help the grin that covers my face. What a picture she makes.
“Good girl. Up on that bike over there for a warm-up.”