Page 12 of Thor (Heavy Kings MC #2)

Thor

I stood in the private office above Crowns, hands fidgeting with the stack of papers I'd been arranging and rearranging for twenty minutes straight. My fingers felt clumsy—an alien sensation for a man who could strip and reassemble a Glock blindfolded. The leather cut on my shoulders seemed suddenly heavier, like it was questioning what the hell its wearer was doing preparing a DDLG contract instead of busting heads or patrolling territory. But this mattered more than any club business ever had.

The mid-afternoon quiet of the club settled around me like a blanket. Crowns wouldn't open to the public for hours, but I could hear the occasional clink of bottles and thump of speaker tests as staff prepared downstairs. The office itself smelled of leather, polished wood, and the faint trace of Duke's preferred whiskey—a space designed to intimidate business associates while impressing legitimate partners. The mahogany conference table gleamed beneath the carefully arranged documents, each page representing a piece of the relationship I wanted to build with Mandy.

I checked my watch again. Thirty minutes until she'd arrive. My stomach clenched in a way that hadn't happened since my prospecting days with the Heavy Kings.

The contract had taken me days to put together. I'd drawn from my own experience in the lifestyle and researched extensively, determined to create something comprehensive yet flexible. Each section had been carefully crafted: roles and expectations, rules, rewards, punishments, boundaries and limits, aftercare protocols. It wasn't just about dominance and submission—it was a blueprint for trust.

Duke, of course, had helped.

Telling Duke had been its own special kind of hell. As Sergeant-at-Arms, I'd faced down rival MCs without flinching, but admitting to my president that I needed advice on a DDLG relationship had twisted my guts into knots. I'd expected judgment or at least surprise—what I hadn't expected was Duke's immediate understanding.

"About fucking time you found someone worth the effort," he'd said, clapping me on the shoulder before offering not just the club's private space for the contract negotiation, but his personal assistance as well.

Obviously, I knew that he and Mia shared a DDlg dynamic. Maybe I shouldn’t have been worried about telling him. But sometimes, rational thought lost out to worry.

I smoothed down my beard, a nervous habit I thought I'd abandoned years ago. The tough biker with Norse warrior tattoos and a reputation for violence, fretting over paperwork like a damn lawyer. The irony wasn't lost on me.

My reflection in the window showed a man at odds with himself—leather cut, tattoos, and the hard lines of a life lived rough contrasting with the uncertainty in my eyes. Below, the empty dance floor of Crowns stretched out, the crystal chandeliers hanging still and silent. The club was a new venture, and it had been a shrewd move by Duke. This place attracted a different clientele than our usual haunts, bringing in money without the constant hassle of bar fights and police attention. Legitimate business.

The weight of what I was attempting settled deeper. This wasn't just about sex or kink—although that was part of it—it was about building something real with a woman who saw past the patches and reputation to the man beneath.

Footsteps in the hallway pulled me from my thoughts, and I turned as the door opened. Duke entered first, his commanding presence filling the room without effort. Even in casual clothes—dark jeans and a gray button-down—he carried himself with the authority that had made him a respected president.

Mia followed him, petite beside his bulk, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. Diesel padded silently at her heels, the German Shepherd's alert eyes scanning the room before settling on me with quiet acceptance. The dog had become as much a fixture at club gatherings as any patched member, his protective instincts toward Mia something we all respected.

"Nervous, brother?" Duke asked, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he took in the meticulously arranged papers and my obvious restlessness.

I grunted, aiming for nonchalance and missing by a mile. "Just making sure everything's in order."

Duke wasn't fooled. He could read me too damn well after all our years together. "Relax. This should be the easy part—it's living up to it afterwards that takes work."

The advice carried the weight of experience. Duke and Mia had been together for over a year, their relationship strengthening the club in ways none of us had anticipated. Where Duke had once been all business and cold calculation, Mia had brought out something warmer, more human. The loyalty he inspired had transformed from fear to genuine respect.

I wanted that. Not just the submission Mandy offered, but the partnership that came with truly knowing someone.

"He's right," Mia said, her voice gentle as she settled into one of the leather chairs. Diesel immediately sprawled at her feet with a contented sigh. "The contract is just a beginning. It gives you both structure, but it's how you honor it that matters."

Her hand found Duke's automatically, their fingers intertwining in a gesture so natural it seemed like they'd been doing it forever rather than months. Something in my chest tightened at the sight—a longing I hadn't let myself feel until Mandy crashed into my life.

"You've set everything up perfectly," Duke said, gesturing to the papers. "Good call using the conference room instead of my office."

I nodded. Duke's office, with its wall of security monitors and locked weapons cabinet, wouldn't have set the right tone. This space, with its polished wood and comfortable chairs, struck the balance between serious and welcoming.

"I put together the tea service Mandy likes," Mia said, drawing my attention. "And some of those little sandwich things without crusts. Fancy. For after."

This was club family at its best—supporting each other beyond business, beyond the road. My throat tightened unexpectedly.

"She likes the cucumber ones," I said gruffly. "And anything with cream cheese."

Mia smiled. "I remembered from what you said. There's a plate of just those."

Duke squeezed her hand, pride evident in his expression. Then his focus returned to me, his gaze sharpening. "You sure about this, Thor? Once you start down this road—"

"I'm sure," I cut him off, knowing where the question led. "More sure than I've been about anything."

Duke nodded, satisfied. "Good. Because she deserves your absolute commitment. This isn't casual—not with what she's trusting you with."

"I know that," I said, bristling slightly at the implication.

The tension eased as quickly as it had risen. Duke and I had butted heads enough over the years to know when to back down.

"She'll be here soon," Mia continued, changing the subject smoothly. "I've set up tea and snacks in the lounge for us girls to chat first. Give her a chance to ask questions without you two intimidating bears hovering."

I frowned. "I don't hover."

Duke's laugh was short and genuine. "Like hell you don't. You've been circling that girl like a hawk since day one."

He wasn't wrong, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of admitting it. Instead, I moved back to the window, scanning the parking lot for Mandy's car. Not there yet.

My phone buzzed with a text message. Mandy, letting me know she was five minutes out. My heart rate kicked up another notch.

"She's almost here," I said, pocketing the phone and doing one final check of the documents.

Duke moved to the bar in the corner, pouring three fingers of whiskey into a glass and bringing it to me. "Liquid courage. Just one."

I accepted the glass, our fingers briefly connecting in the brotherhood grip that said more than words. I tossed back the whiskey, welcoming the burn down my throat.

"Remember," Mia said as she stood, smoothing down her dress, "this is supposed to be a good experience for both of you. Not an interrogation or a test."

I nodded, setting down the empty glass. "Thanks. For all of this."

"That's what family does," Duke said simply, and in those four words was everything the Heavy Kings meant at their core.

A few minutes later, I watched Mandy's borrowed Dodge Challenger pull into the reserved parking space behind Crowns. She cut the engine but didn't get out right away. Even from three stories up, I could see the rise and fall of her chest as she took several deep breaths. Something fierce and protective coiled inside me—not the familiar rage that served me in fights, but something warmer and equally powerful.

"Is that her?" Duke asked, appearing at my shoulder.

I nodded, not taking my eyes off the car. "Her Audi's still at the shop. Should have the parts by tomorrow."

I'd been working on her car personally, refusing to let any of the other mechanics touch it. I wanted everything perfect. Wanted her to know that what belonged to her would be treated with care and precision.

Mandy finally opened the car door and stepped out. She wore a simple green dress that hit just above her knees, highlighting her curves without being overtly sexual. Her glossy hair fell loose around her shoulders instead of in the tight ponytail she wore at work. She looked beautiful.

She glanced up at the building, squinting against the afternoon light, uncertainty written across her face.

"I'll go meet her," I said, already moving toward the door.

Duke's knowing smile followed me. "Good call."

I took the service stairs two at a time, impatient to reach her before she had to navigate the club alone. The Heavy Kings owned the building, but Crowns attracted all types—most respectable, some less so. The thought of Mandy dealing with any unwanted attention from staff or early arrivals set my teeth on edge.

I found her just inside the staff entrance, looking slightly lost among stacked crates of premium liquor and sound equipment being prepped for the night. She stood with perfect posture but her fingers twisted nervously at the strap of her purse.

Her face changed when she saw me—uncertainty giving way to relief and something warmer. The smile that spread across her face was genuine, reaching her eyes and softening the professional mask she usually wore.

"Hey," she said softly. "Nice place."

I drew her into a gentle embrace, breathing in the vanilla scent of her hair and feeling the slight tremble in her body as she relaxed against me. My hand spanned her lower back, holding her firmly but carefully, like something precious.

"You look beautiful," I murmured against her temple.

She pulled back slightly to look up at me, a blush spreading across her cheeks. "Thanks. I wasn't sure what to wear for . . ." Her voice trailed off, embarrassment coloring her words.

"For negotiating a DDLG contract with a biker at a nightclub?" I finished for her, keeping my tone light. "You nailed it."

Her laugh was soft but real, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. Our fingers intertwined as I led her through the backstage area, past staff members who nodded respectfully and kept their distance. Everyone who worked at Crowns knew better than to stare too long at a woman walking with a patched member.

"Club bought this place a few months ago," I explained as we navigated the corridor. "Good investment. Legitimate business."

"I know," she said, “I’ve been doing the accounts, remember?”

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m an idiot.” I was nervous.

“No, you’re not. I think it’s a good idea, the club. Diversification."

"Duke's idea, as you know. He's got a head for this shit. Better than most of us."

We reached the door leading to the main floor, and I paused with my hand on the push bar. "Ready for the grand tour?"

Her green eyes met mine, curiosity replacing nervousness. "Lead the way."

I pushed open the door, and Mandy's soft gasp was gratifying as she took in the main floor of Crowns. Nothing about it matched the rough biker bars typically associated with MCs. Crystal chandeliers hung from high coffered ceilings, their facets catching afternoon light streaming through tinted windows. Plush leather booths lined the walls, each with its own privacy curtain that could be drawn for VIPs. The expansive dance floor was polished black marble swirled with gold veins, surrounded by a state-of-the-art sound system currently silent but capable of filling the space with perfect acoustics.

The bar stretched along one entire wall, its surface gleaming dark wood topped with black granite, backed by mirrored shelves holding top-shelf liquor in artistic displays. Staff members in crisp black attire were arranging glassware and checking inventory, their movements efficient and professional.

"This is . . ." Mandy seemed at a loss for words, her eyes wide as she took in the upscale surroundings.

"Not what you expected?" I guided her further into the space, my hand resting at the small of her back.

"Not exactly," she admitted, craning her neck to look up at the mezzanine level circling the room. "I was thinking more..."

"Sticky floors and broken pool cues?" I suggested dryly.

Her laugh was genuine this time. "Maybe."

"We have those places too," I said. "King's Tavern has its share of bar fights and bikers. But this—" I gestured around us. "Attracts a different clientele. Less trouble, more profit."

As we walked through the club, I pointed out details—the private dining area where we hosted business meetings, the DJ booth with equipment that cost more than most cars, the discreet security measures that kept everyone safe without being obvious.

"The bouncers are all club members or prospects," I explained. "Trained to handle problems without making scenes. High-end crowds don't want to see the dirty work."

Mandy nodded, her analytical mind visibly processing the operation. "It's impressive. Very well thought out."

Pride swelled in my chest—not just club pride, but satisfaction that she approved. That this part of my world didn't repulse or frighten her.

We approached the private elevator at the back of the club, accessible only with a key card I pulled from my wallet. "This goes directly to the upper level. Private offices, conference rooms, and a lounge."

The elevator doors slid open silently, and I guided Mandy inside with a gentle hand at her back. The space was small—deliberately so—forcing us to stand close. Her scent filled my senses, and my body responded immediately. I shifted slightly to maintain a respectful distance despite my growing arousal.

Mandy's breath hitched when she glanced up and caught me watching her. Her pupils dilated, the green of her eyes darkening. In the confined space, the chemistry between us was almost overwhelming.

Our fingers brushed as the elevator began its ascent, and I felt a jolt run through her—a small shiver that mirrored my own reaction to her proximity.

"You nervous?" I asked quietly.

She nodded, honest as always with me. "A little. Maybe a lot."

My hand found hers, engulfing it completely. "Duke and Mia are already here," I said, squeezing gently. "Mia's excited to meet you properly."

"I've only seen her at the garage before," Mandy said. "She seems nice."

"She is. She understands what we're doing." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "They have a similar arrangement."

Surprise flickered across Mandy's face. "Duke and Mia? Really?"

"Yeah. Duke’s always been a Daddy Dom. And Mia’s a sweetheart. It works for them."

Relief softened her features. Knowing she wasn't alone, that others—especially within the MC world—shared this need made her stand a little straighter.

"And the contract?" she asked, vulnerability creeping into her voice. "Is it . . . very detailed?"

The elevator slowed as we reached the top floor. I turned to face her fully, taking both her hands in mine. Her fingers were cool despite the warmth of the day, betraying her nervousness.

I kissed her temple gently. "No rush," I said against her hair. "We'll talk, get comfortable. This is about making sure we both get what we need, princess."

The endearment slipped out naturally, and I felt her melt slightly against me. The little whimper that escaped her throat told me everything I needed to know about her headspace.

"It's not a test," I continued, drawing back to look into her eyes. "There are no wrong answers. Just honest ones."

She nodded, taking a deep breath. "Okay. I can do honest."

The elevator doors slid open, revealing the tastefully decorated corridor of the upper level. Dark wood paneling and subtle recessed lighting created an atmosphere of discreet luxury. Several doors led to various rooms, but I guided her toward the largest at the end of the hall.

"Conference room first," I explained. "That's where we’re set up. But Mia mentioned wanting to talk with you first—girl time or something."

A small smile played at Mandy's lips. "Probably wants to make sure I'm not being pressured."

"Are you?" I asked, pausing before we reached the door.

Her answer was immediate and firm. "No. I want this, Thor. I'm nervous, but I want it."

Something fierce and possessive surged through me at her words. I cupped her face in my hands, tilting it up to mine. "Then we'll make it happen, exactly how you need it."

Her eyes searched mine, looking for reassurance. Whatever she saw there satisfied her, because the tension in her shoulders eased.

"Ready?" I asked, my hand on the door handle.

She nodded, squaring her shoulders slightly. "Ready."

I opened the door to find Duke and Mia waiting, their welcoming smiles genuine. Diesel's tail thumped against the floor at the sight of new company, but he stayed obediently at Mia's feet.

After stiff introductions and handshakes, Mia made good on her promise and suggested they take some girl time, throwing me a look that clearly said "make yourself scarce." It wasn't a request I'd take from many people, but Mia had earned her place in our weird family.

"Give them space," Duke murmured, steering me toward the small bar in the corner of the conference room. "Mia knows what she's doing."

I reluctantly allowed myself to be guided away, but kept my position where I could still glimpse the women through the partially open door. Duke's knowing smirk told me I wasn't being subtle.

In the lounge, Mia poured tea from an elegant pot into delicate cups. She handed one to Mandy, who accepted it with a polite smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"She's nervous," I muttered, more to myself than to Duke.

"Of course she is," he replied, pulling out two crystal tumblers from a cabinet beneath the bar. "She's about to lay out her deepest needs to a man built like a Norse berserker."

I shot him a glare, but there was no heat behind it. He wasn't wrong.

Through the doorway, I watched as Mia said something that made Mandy's eyes widen in surprise. Then Mandy laughed—a genuine sound that transformed her face from polite mask to authentic joy. Whatever ice had existed between them cracked, and the conversation visibly shifted to something more intimate.

What struck me was Diesel's behavior. The German Shepherd had been laying at Mia's feet initially, but as the women talked, he'd slowly inched closer to Mandy. Now he rested his massive head on her feet, looking up at her with soulful brown eyes. Mia noticed and smiled, saying something that made Mandy reach down to tentatively stroke the dog's head.

"Diesel's chosen her," Duke observed, sliding a whiskey toward me. "He knows."

"Knows what?" I asked, accepting the drink.

Duke's expression was knowing. "He can sense Littles. It's like he can smell the vulnerability—the part of them that needs protection."

I sipped the whiskey, letting the smooth burn distract me from the surge of protectiveness I felt watching Mandy gradually relax under Mia's guidance and Diesel's silent acceptance.

"She's good for you," Duke observed quietly, leaning against the bar. "Never seen you this centered."

The observation caught me off guard. Duke wasn't one for personal comments unless they affected club business. But he was right. Since Mandy had come into my life, the rage that had always simmered beneath my surface had quieted. I still did my job—still protected the club with the same ferocity—but the constant storm inside me had calmed.

I nodded as I accepted the drink. "She sees me."

Duke understood completely. His eyes drifted to Mia, softening in a way few people ever witnessed. "Like Mia with me. Changed my life when she stopped being afraid of what she needed."

Our conversation shifted to the contract details, with Duke offering insights from his own experience. He kept his voice low, respecting the privacy of what we discussed despite being alone in the room.

"The boundaries are the foundation," he emphasized, turning his glass in a slow circle on the bar top. "Clear lines, clear consequences, clear rewards. But flexibility matters too."

I listened intently, grateful for his guidance.

"Don't overwhelm her with rules at first," he continued. "Start with the essential ones—the ones that directly affect her safety and wellbeing. The fun stuff can come later, once she's comfortable in the dynamic."

"What about punishments?" I asked, the word feeling strange on my tongue when associated with Mandy.

Duke's expression grew serious. "They need to fit her, not you. What works for Mia might terrify Mandy. And remember—punishment isn't about your satisfaction. It's about her growth and security."

I nodded, absorbing his words. "And the Little space stuff? The age regression?"

A smile touched the corner of Duke's mouth. "That's where the real trust happens. When Mia first went into her Little space with me . . ." He shook his head, something soft and almost reverent in his expression. "It's a gift, Thor. One you never fucking deserve, but you work every day to be worthy of it."

The weight of that responsibility settled on my shoulders—not unwelcome, but sobering. What Mandy was offering wasn't just submission or sex. It was her most vulnerable self, the core that she kept hidden from the world.

"I won't fuck this up," I said quietly, determination hardening my voice.

Duke clapped me on the shoulder, his grip firm. "I know. That's why I'm helping instead of warning you away from her."

Through the doorway, I could see the conversation between Mandy and Mia had grown more animated. Mandy's professional reserve had dissolved completely—her hands moved expressively as she spoke, her posture more relaxed. Diesel had inched even closer, now practically draped across her feet like a living security blanket.

"Looks like Mia's magic worked," Duke observed.

I grunted in agreement. Mia had a gift for putting people at ease—especially those who shared her specific needs. It made her invaluable to the club in ways that went beyond her official role as Duke's partner.

"They're ready for us," Duke said, nodding toward the women. Mia had caught his eye through the doorway and given a subtle signal. "Let's not keep them waiting."

We moved back into the lounge, and I immediately noticed the change in Mandy. The tension had drained from her shoulders, and though nervousness still flickered in her eyes, it was tempered by something new—confidence, perhaps, or at least the beginning of it.

"Everything good?" I asked, moving to her side.

Mandy's smile was genuine as she looked up at me. "Yeah. Mia's been . . . enlightening."

Mia grinned, a mischievous expression that made Duke raise an eyebrow. "Just girl talk," she said innocently.

"Which means I'll hear all about it later," Duke replied dryly, but the affection in his voice was unmistakable.

Diesel remained firmly planted at Mandy's feet, making no move to return to Mia's side. The dog's loyalty shift wasn't lost on anyone in the room.

"I think you've been replaced," Duke teased Mia gently.

Mia shrugged, unbothered. "He knows who needs him most at any given moment. It's why he's such a good boy." At those last words, her voice shifted slightly—higher, softer—revealing a glimpse of her Little side that she normally kept private around others.

Mandy's eyes widened fractionally at the change, then softened with understanding.

"Ready to move to the conference room?" I asked, offering my hand to Mandy.

She nodded, taking my hand and allowing me to help her up. Our fingers remained intertwined as we moved back to the more formal space, a physical connection that grounded us both.

Duke and Mia followed, with Diesel padding after us, his nails clicking softly on the hardwood floor.

I took my place beside Mandy, while Duke and Mia sat across from us. Duke took the lead, his presence naturally commanding even in this intimate setting. But his voice was gentler than the one he used in church meetings or business negotiations.

"Before we get into specifics," he began, "I want to clarify the purpose of what we're doing here. This contract isn't legally binding. It's not about ownership or control in the way outsiders might think."

Mandy nodded, her professional side engaging with the contractual aspect. "It's a mutual agreement of expectations and boundaries."

"Exactly," Duke affirmed. "It's about trust. About making explicit what's often left implicit in other relationships."

I watched Mandy absorb this, her analytical mind visibly processing. Her fingers tapped lightly on the table's surface—a habit I'd noticed when she was thinking deeply.

"The document itself matters," Mia added softly. "But what really counts is the conversation that creates it. The honesty required to say 'this is what I need' and 'this is what I can give.'"

Mandy's gaze shifted to me, searching my face for something. Whatever she found there seemed to reassure her, because she straightened in her chair, shoulders squaring with newfound determination.

"I'm ready," she said, her voice steady despite the vulnerability of the moment.

Pride swelled in my chest—not the possessive kind, but admiration for her courage. Few people would have the strength to lay themselves bare this way, especially with witnesses present.

"We'll go through each section," I explained, pulling the contract toward us. "Add what's important, remove what doesn't work, modify anything that needs changing."

Duke nodded. "And at any point, if you need a break or have questions—about anything—you say so. This isn't a race."

"Remember," Mia said, reaching across to briefly touch Mandy's hand, "this is meant to be a living document. It can evolve as your relationship does."

Mandy took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Okay. Let's do this."

I opened the folder containing the contract draft, revealing the first page with its formal heading: "Relationship Agreement between Thor Eriksson and Amanda Wright." The title was deliberately neutral—nothing that would immediately reveal its true nature to anyone who might accidentally see it.

"First section covers roles and expectations," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "What we each bring to the relationship and commit to providing."

Mandy leaned closer, her shoulder pressing against mine as she read. The contact was innocent, but it sent warmth through me anyway—a reminder of the intimacy we were building, step by careful step.

"This is about trust," Duke emphasized again, his eyes moving between us. "About making explicit what's often left implicit in relationships."

The first section was relatively dry and straightforward, and it was good to have Duke and Mia there. But the atmosphere shifted when Duke and Mia tactfully withdrew, giving Mandy and me the privacy to discuss the more intimate aspects of our dynamic.

"We'll be in the lounge with Diesel," Duke said, his hand brushing my shoulder in silent support as he passed. "Take your time." Alone now, I watched Mandy study the contract draft spread before her. Her green eyes narrowed as they tracked across each paragraph, her slender finger occasionally tapping a particular clause or phrase. Even in this vulnerable moment, her professional precision remained—methodical, thorough, missing nothing.

After several minutes of careful reading, she looked up at me with an expression of genuine surprise and approval. "You've included everything," she said, sounding impressed. "Hard limits, soft limits, safewords, protocols for both sides." Her finger tapped a particular section. "You even included clauses about renegotiation periods and what happens if either of us needs to pause the dynamic temporarily."

I nodded, warmth spreading through my chest at her approval. "I wanted to be thorough. This isn't something to half-ass."

"Clearly," she agreed, a small smile playing at her lips. She turned to the next page, her expression growing more serious as she reached the section on consent.

"This is important," I said, moving my chair closer to hers. Our knees touched beneath the table, a subtle connection that anchored us both. "Nothing happens without explicit consent. That's non-negotiable."

Her eyes met mine, searching my face for something. "Some Doms I've read about online don't seem to feel that way. They talk about 'pushing limits' or 'knowing better than the sub what they need.'"

A surge of protectiveness rose within me. "Those aren't Doms. They're predators using kink as cover."

Mandy's expression softened with relief. "That's what I thought too."

"This relationship—whatever we build together—has to work for both of us," I continued, tapping the consent section. "Your submission is a gift, not a right. I need to earn it every fucking day."

She nodded, some tension leaving her shoulders. "The safeword system you've outlined—green, yellow, red—is standard, but effective."

"We can personalize it if you want something different."

"No, it's perfect. Simple enough to remember even when I'm . . ." she paused, a blush coloring her cheeks, ". . . not thinking clearly."

The implication—her being in Little space or sexually overwhelmed—sent heat through my body, but I kept my focus on the task at hand. This was about establishing trust and communication, not indulging my fantasies.

We worked through the document together, discussing each point carefully. I watched the shifting expressions on her face—curiosity, embarrassment, excitement, occasional uncertainty—and adjusted my approach accordingly. When a particular topic made her withdraw slightly, I'd slow down, creating space for her to process. When something sparked obvious interest, I'd dig deeper, encouraging her to articulate exactly what she wanted.

Mandy grew more comfortable as we progressed, her initial hesitation giving way to increasingly specific descriptions of her needs and desires. She blushed but continued to articulate what she wanted—age regression scenarios that helped her relieve stress, rules about self-care that would provide structure, comfort items she responded to, and terms of endearment that resonated with her Little side.

"Being called 'princess' or 'little one' makes me feel..." she paused, searching for the right words, "...safe. Protected. But also special."

I made a mental note, already thinking of ways to incorporate those endearments naturally. "Any others that work for you? Or any to avoid?"

Her blush deepened. "'Baby girl' is nice. But I don't like 'baby' by itself. It feels too generic."

"Noted," I said, adding it to the document. "What about 'good girl'?"

The change in her was immediate and unmistakable—pupils dilating, breath catching, a slight squirm in her seat. "That's . . . yes. That works."

I smiled, filing away that particularly strong reaction for future reference.

The conversation turned to discipline, and I noticed how her demeanor shifted—nervous yet intrigued, her teeth catching her bottom lip in a way that tested my self-control.

"Punishment isn't about humiliation," I explained carefully. "Unless you explicitly want it to be. It's about growth and reinforcing boundaries that make you feel safe. But I also want it to be fun for you."

She nodded, but uncertainty lingered in her expression. "What kinds of punishment would you . . ." She trailed off, seemingly unable to complete the question.

"Depends on the situation," I said. "And what works for you. Some respond to corner time—standing facing the wall to reflect. Others need writing assignments or loss of privileges."

"Like what privileges?" she asked, her voice slightly lower than before.

"Could be electronics, dessert, certain activities," I explained. "Or more intimate things, like orgasm denial."

Her breath hitched audibly at that last one, and I stored away another piece of valuable information about what aroused her.

"The punishment always fits the broken rule," I continued. "Break a self-care rule, lose a luxury. Lie about something important, face more serious consequences."

Her breathing changed slightly when I mentioned consequences, a subtle shift that told me more than words could have. "Like what?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

I maintained steady eye contact, keeping my voice matter-of-fact despite the charged atmosphere building between us. "That's where spanking might come in."

She swallowed visibly, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the contract paper. "How would that work?" she asked in a lower voice.

I recognized the question for what it was—not just curiosity, but a tentative expression of interest mixed with apprehension.

"Safety first," I began, maintaining a tone that balanced authority with reassurance. I could see from the flush in her cheeks that she was enjoying hear this from me. "We'd establish a number of strikes beforehand, based on the severity of the rule-breaking. You'd be positioned comfortably, typically over my lap or the edge of the bed."

Her cheeks flushed deeper, but her gaze remained steady on mine.

"I'd always use my hand first, to gauge your reaction and warm the skin," I continued. "Communication stays open throughout—checking in, making sure you're processing the discipline rather than just enduring it."

"And after?" she asked softly.

"Aftercare," I said firmly. "Holding you, reassuring you, making sure you know the punishment is over and you're forgiven. We move on—that’s the point of these punishments. We don’t dwell, don’t hold grudges. Then there will be cream for any redness, water to rehydrate, perhaps a blanket if you're feeling cold or vulnerable."

Her expression softened with each detail, the combination of discipline and care clearly resonating with her needs.

"It can be erotic too," I added, knowing from our previous conversations that this aspect appealed to her. "Punishment doesn't have to be entirely separate from pleasure."

The shift in her eyes told me I'd hit the mark—this was exactly what she wanted but had been afraid to explicitly ask for.

As we discussed intimacy more directly, Mandy's professional facade dissolved entirely, revealing her desires with touching honesty. She spoke of wanting to be taken care of during sex, guided but not controlled, praised and encouraged. She admitted enjoying light restraint, hair-pulling, and being told she was a "good girl" when pleasing me.

"I like feeling small next to you," she confessed, her voice barely audible. "Safe but also . . . overwhelmed, in a good way."

I committed each preference to memory, mentally cataloging what excited her most based on her physical reactions as much as her words. We added specifics to the contract, modified clauses to better reflect our shared vision, and occasionally crossed out sections that didn't resonate with what we wanted to build.

When we reached the section about balancing her professional life with our dynamic, her expression grew more serious.

"This is important to me," she said, straightening in her chair. "I've worked hard to be taken seriously in my career. I can't have this bleeding into my work life."

"It won't," I assured her immediately. "What happens between us stays between us. I would never undermine your professional reputation."

Some tension eased from her shoulders, but concern lingered in her eyes. "It's not just about other people knowing. It's about how I see myself. I need to know I can step out of the Little role and back into being a competent, independent woman."

I took her hand in mine, engulfing her smaller fingers completely. "This dynamic exists within boundaries we define. Outside those boundaries, you're still the brilliant, independent woman I fell for. I don't want to change that—it's part of why I respect you."

The relief in her expression was immediate and profound. "Thank you for understanding that."

"This isn't about erasing who you are," I said firmly. "It's about creating a safe space where you can be everything you are—the fierce professional and the sweet Little who needs care sometimes."

She nodded, squeezing my hand gratefully. "That's exactly what I need."

“There’s something I want to be clear about though.”

“What’s that?”

“You need boundaries between work and home life. I have the feeling that you were working too hard, too much.”

She shifted in her seat.

“Yeah.”

“We need to carve time out for just you. Self care is hugely important to me. We need to find a way to make sure that your work doesn’t overwhelm you.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

We continued through the remaining sections, adjusting language and adding details until the document truly reflected our shared vision. Throughout the process, I marveled at the balance she maintained—the vulnerability to express her deepest needs alongside the strength to advocate for her boundaries.

"I think we've covered everything," she finally said, looking up from the last page.

"Anything else you want to add? Anything we missed?" I asked, determined that she feel completely heard.

She thought for a moment, then shook her head. "No, this feels right. Complete."

The pride in her voice matched what I felt in my chest—we'd created something meaningful together, a blueprint for trust that honored both her submission and independence.

"Should we get Duke and Mia back for the signing?" I asked.

Mandy nodded, an unexpected smile lighting her face. "Yes. I'd like them to witness this."

"I'm proud of you," I said quietly.

Her eyes widened slightly, then softened with understanding of exactly what I meant. "Thank you, Daddy."

Fuck it felt good to hear her call me that.

When Duke and Mia returned with Diesel, they found Mandy and me sitting close together, the contract finalized with our handwritten notes and amendments in the margins.

Something had shifted between us during our private discussion—a deepening that went beyond words on paper. The air felt charged, like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks, but with anticipation rather than dread. Duke's eyes met mine across the room, recognizing that something significant had transpired, and he gave a slight nod of approval.

"We're ready," I said, my tone strangely formal despite the intimate nature of what we were doing. The words came out gruffer than intended, emotion thickening my voice.

Mandy sat straighter in her chair, her spine aligned with new confidence. The vulnerability that had colored her expression earlier remained, but now it was paired with resolve—a beautiful contradiction that perfectly embodied the woman I was falling for.

Duke moved to a sleek wooden cabinet in the corner of the room, unlocking it with a key from his pocket. From inside, he withdrew a polished wooden box and brought it to the table.

"Thought this might be appropriate for the occasion," he said, opening the case to reveal an ornate pen set—two matching fountain pens nestled in black velvet, their surfaces gleaming silver with subtle engraving.

The gesture struck me unexpectedly. Duke understood the symbolic importance of this moment—not just as my president, but as someone who'd walked this path before me.

"They're beautiful," Mandy said, her fingers hovering over the pens without touching them.

Mia smiled encouragingly at Mandy as she settled back into her chair, Diesel padding over to lie between the two women. "The signing matters," she said softly. "Creates a physical memory of the commitment."

I reached for the contract pages we'd modified together, aligning them precisely in front of us. My hands weren't entirely steady—an unfamiliar sensation for someone whose job often required nerves of steel and unwavering precision.

"We've written commitment statements," I explained to Duke and Mia. "Things we wanted to express beyond the technical aspects of the agreement."

Duke nodded approvingly. "It's good to speak the promises aloud."

Taking a deep breath, I lifted the first page and began reading the core commitment statement we had crafted together. My voice started low but gained strength with each word:

"I, Thor Eriksson, commit to being your Daddy Dom, to provide structure, protection, guidance, and unwavering support. I will honor your boundaries, celebrate your strength, nurture your vulnerability, and always act in your best interest. I will be patient when you struggle, firm when you need direction, and consistent in all things. Your well-being—physical, emotional, and spiritual—is my priority above all else."

My voice remained steady even though emotion tightened my chest as I signed my name with deliberate strokes. The fountain pen left thick, dark lines across the paper—permanent, undeniable. I felt the significance of each letter as I formed them, committing myself not just with ink but with intention.

Duke watched with quiet approval, his hand resting on Mia's shoulder in silent solidarity. They'd walked this path before us, creating their own covenant of care and submission that had transformed them both.

Mandy took the pen next, her fingers brushing mine during the exchange. Her hand trembled slightly, but her eyes were clear and determined as she accepted the pen. She straightened her shoulders and, with clear determination, read her own commitment:

"I, Amanda Wright, accept you as my Daddy Dom, trusting you with both my strength and my vulnerability. I commit to honesty in all things, to communicating my needs clearly, and to accepting guidance with an open heart. I will strive to care for myself as you care for me, honoring the rules we've established together. I offer you my submission freely, knowing it will be treasured and respected."

As she signed, her copper hair fell forward again, catching the light and gleaming like liquid fire. The pen moved in elegant strokes—her signature more elaborate than mine, with looping curves that somehow perfectly represented the blend of precision and expression that made her uniquely herself.

Duke reached for the contract next, adding his signature as witness on the line we'd created for him. "As president of the Heavy Kings and friend to you both, I witness this agreement freely made between equals."

The formal language wasn't something we'd discussed, but it felt right—acknowledging both his official position and the personal relationship that brought him to this moment.

Mia signed next, her signature smaller but no less decisive. "As someone who shares this path, I witness this covenant of care and submission, made in trust and mutual respect."

Their roles as witnesses complete, Duke gathered the extra copies we'd prepared, handing one to each of us while placing a third in a sealed envelope. "For safekeeping," he explained. "In case you ever need to remember what you promised each other."

With quiet understanding, he and Mia then stepped away, taking Diesel with them to give us a moment of privacy. "We'll be in the lounge when you're ready," Duke said, his hand briefly squeezing my shoulder as he passed.

Alone now, I turned to face Mandy fully, overwhelmed by the significance of what we had created. I cupped her face in my hands, marveling at how delicate she felt despite the strength I knew she possessed.

"Thank you," I whispered, my thumbs gently brushing her cheeks.

"For what?" she asked, leaning slightly into my touch.

"For trusting me with this."

A single tear escaped, trailing down her cheek to meet my thumb. "I've never shown anyone this side of me before. Not completely."

The admission humbled me. In our world, trust was currency—hard-earned and easily lost. What Mandy offered wasn't just submission, but access to parts of herself she'd kept hidden from everyone else.

"My good girl," I whispered, watching her eyes darken at the praise.

I leaned forward, closing the distance between us to kiss her softly. It wasn't a kiss of passion or demand, but one of covenant—a sealing of promises made. Her lips were soft beneath mine, yielding yet active in their response, perfectly embodying the dynamic we'd defined together.

When we parted, something had transformed in her expression—a peace settling over her features as though some long-held tension had finally released.

I stood, gently pulling her to her feet beside me. Standing, the height difference between us was pronounced—the top of her head barely reaching my shoulder. Something fierce and protective surged through me at the contrast, not because she needed my protection from physical threats, but because she'd trusted me with her emotional safety.

"Should we join the others?" she asked, glancing toward the door.

"In a minute," I said, drawing her closer. "I just need to hold you for a moment."

She came willingly into my embrace, her body fitting against mine like she'd been designed for exactly this purpose. My arms encircled her completely, one hand cradling the back of her head while the other spanned her lower back.

Against my chest, I felt her release a deep breath—tension flowing out of her as she melted into the embrace. This was what she needed, what we both needed: not just the defined roles and explicit expectations, but the physical reality of connection that transcended words on paper.

In the quiet of that moment, with Mandy secure in my arms and the signed contract bearing witness to our promises, our covenant was established.