I awoke to the gentle chiming of my special-order Zen alarm clock. It had a digital display and a timer feature, one that Isabella would likely grow to fear the sound of before very long. But instead of jarring one awake with the sounds of rock music or shrill, discordant electronic babel, the alarm activated a series of chime sequences that were supposed to allow one to surface gradually from slumber, greeting the day with serenity rather than a pounding heart and the desire to silence the offending noise with a sledgehammer.

I actually found it rather annoying, but after dropping over a hundred dollars on the thing, I figured I'd better just deal.

I rolled over in bed lazily, enjoying the feel of the luxuriously soft sheets against my bare torso. My furnishings at home were more Spartan and utilitarian, since I had only myself to please and cared more about books than decorative frills. Perhaps, once the summer session ended and I returned home, I would invest in better sheets. They didn't cost so very much for the incredible comfort they offered.

I opened one eye and tensed when I realized that Isabella's head was only about two feet away from mine. It was a rule that she be kneeling beside my bed, naked, when my alarm went off every morning, but that didn't mean that I didn't nearly jump out of my skin, this first time, to see her actually doing it.

Isabella's head was bowed, so while she knew I had turned over, I could possibly still be asleep. The chimes started up again, this time slightly louder and a few more in number. Before long, they would all run together until an hour had passed…or stop altogether if I turned the switch off. Which I did, reaching behind Isabella's head to do so.

Leaning on my elbow, I took a moment to study her after the chimes faded to echoes and, finally, silence. Isabella's hair was gathered back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, just as I had arranged it for her last night. I had not yet instructed her on my preferences for personal grooming, and I was pleased that she was obviously storing whatever scattered information she could glean about my likes and dislikes and attempting to do what would please me.

I almost reached out to touch the top of her head, as her hair looked so soft and inviting this way…but I stopped myself. I had to stop treating her as though she were a pet. I was gentler than many Doms, such as Felix, but I knew better than to confuse Isabella with conflicting signals. It wouldn't be fair to her to be tender and then expect her to understand coldness and sternness at other times. Not until she was settled into our routine and knew me better, at least.

I rolled myself off the bed in one fluid movement and strode for the bathroom. "Make my bed, Isabella," I ordered without even looking back. We had a cleaning staff, but the first week they usually stuck to the main areas. Part of our training involved having the subs do things they might not even dream of in their "other" lives. Some had more trouble with this than others, but by the end of the week, even the most haughty and pampered of women had usually shed the worst of their false pride.

While I was in the bathroom, the door buzzed. That would be Liam with our food. I peeked into the bedroom and saw Isabella standing with one of my pillows in her hand, glancing back and forth between the living room and my face. "I'll get it this time," I said, taking the toothbrush out of my mouth and speaking through a mouthful of paste, "but after the first week, you'll put on that robe and answer the door yourself. Unless I decide to punish you by making you answer it naked." She blushed and looked down, and I smirked when I thought about what we would be doing today, and what her reaction would be to it.

But first, breakfast.

Isabella didn't need to be told what to do; deftly, she lay my plate down in front of me and lifted the silver lid, then with the edge of a spare fork she nudged the omelette and bacon into neater positions. She added a glass bowl of kiwi, berries, and starfruit and slid two potato pancakes onto my plate beside the bacon. A tall glass of orange juice completed my breakfast, and Isabella settled onto her knees on the mat a few feet away from my chair.

"Thank you, Isabella." Maybe I shouldn't keep thanking her for things that she was expected to do. I've struggled with whether or not to respond for as long as I've been training subs. Most Doms I ask scoff at the idea; Felix, as far as I know, never thanks anyone for anything. But the habit is ingrained in me; my mother never let me have anything that I hadn't said thank you for. I'd asked Carlisle about it once, but like a good headshrinker, he just talked me in circles until I forgot why I even cared. And the habit continued.

As I ate my delicious breakfast, I went over my plans for the day in my head. Isabella had to eat, of course. Normally we would use the gym right after breakfast, but I decided to wait until after she'd been waxed. I had a feeling that the friction of exercise coupled with freshly waxed skin would put Isabella in a more sensuous frame of mind. I would put the wax on to heat while she was eating, and later…I would show Isabella that even something as tiresome as waxing can be an erotic experience.

"You may eat," I said after I'd drained the last drop of juice, standing up and leaving my dishes for her to clear. She rose slowly, and I frowned when I saw that her right leg wasn't holding her weight properly, making her limp the few steps to the table. I had thought the mat would be enough to cushion her from the hard floor. She hadn't been there long enough for it to fall asleep like that, had she?

"Take these with your food," I ordered, indicating a small silver tray next to her plate that held four Advil, two zinc tablets, and a bottle of mineral water. I caught myself before I told her that the Advil would help with the pain of being waxed, giving her a slight buzz that, coupled with her own proclivities regarding pain, would make her much more likely to find it a titillating, if not entirely pleasurable, experience. The zinc purportedly helped with bruising, and it would become part of her health regimen starting now. She didn't need to know that. It was enough that I had told her to take the pills. She needed to learn to do what she was told without knowing or asking why.

I caught myself, I say, because once again I found my instinct was to treat Isabella like a girlfriend, not my sub…at least in my mind. I never found it terribly hard to get back into the Dom mindset come summer, particularly if I'd been lucky enough to have my own sub at home just recently, but even those women were girlfriends. Although I occasionally had one-night stands or did scenes with a submissive that I had no, or only vague, intentions of pursuing a relationship with, I did not treat my steady subs like call girls. And as such, I was now treating Isabella the way I would treat a girlfriend who had shed my collar after our playtime.

The collar was the thing. I was going to keep having this problem until I collared her. Best to get it over with as quickly as possible.

Isabella ate while I dressed in my sweats and a white t-shirt, comfortable and yet new and crisp enough that I didn't look like a slob. And, if I accidentally got wax on myself later, easy to wash. When I came back into the dining area, Isabella had finished her meal, neatly stacked the dishes on the rolling tray, and left it near the door. She was standing in the middle of the room now with her hands behind her back, waiting. I looked at her after noticing the tray, and I caught her nervous glance at my face before she dropped her eyes back to the floor.

"Very good, Isabella." She relaxed visibly. "I would pre…that is, you are to leave the cart just outside the door from now on, against the wall, so that we aren't interrupted when they come to collect it." One of my former students, during our exit interview, had confided in me that she found even this small task to be intensely exciting. Somehow, just the possibility of being seen naked in the brief time it took to push the cart out, and the danger of the door closing too quickly and locking automatically, leaving her exposed in the hallway, left her giddy with tension that made her that much more eager for our play.

Isabella scurried to obey me, and the sight of her tight little ass and those perfect breasts dangling as she leaned out into the hallway while trying not to cross the threshold was fucking amazing. Isabella was a beautiful creature, if a bit bony for my tastes. She looked as though she never ate quite enough, and it almost ruined what could have been the perfect body otherwise. I would have to make sure she ate well at each meal.

Isabella returned to her waiting position in the center of the room, and I thanked her for obeying me so quickly. "Today, Isabella, I am going to explain to you how I wish you to groom yourself. Come with me into the bathroom, and I will fix your hair the way I like it."

Isabella sat on the white terry-padded bench in front of the small vanity table, keeping her eyes trained on her reflection, though never meeting my gaze, as I explained how I was styling her hair into a tight French twist. "I don't wish to be bothered by hair during play, Isabella. But I know that these hairpins can be painful to the point of distraction from…other sensations…and I expect you to find the balance between hurting yourself and keeping your hair from interfering." Finished, I showed her the little drawer where the pins were kept, as well as several types of combs. "When you are alone, you may experiment with these. All I ask is that you keep it neat and attractive."

Closing the drawer again, I motioned Isabella to follow me back into the bedroom. I'd lain out her collar on the top of my dresser while she was eating, and now I picked it up and ordered her to kneel in front of me. Unlike with the vitamins, this time I was prepared to explain the reasoning behind the ritual. Some little part of me was even anxious to do so, since I needed her to trust me, and during her interviews she might have been told that collars were optional here.

Now that Isabella was on her knees, I started thinking I'd gone about this wrong. I should have collared her the night before. I'd been ordering her around since then, and now I was going to ask her to speak up if she needed to. But I also thought it was better for her to see me, the Dom me, first before agreeing—or not—to be collared. Shit, I hated it when I wasn't sure if I'd made the right decision with a student.

"I'm about to explain to you why we collar here—why I collar, at least, because it isn't actually a set school policy. It's a big step, so I want you to speak to me freely until the collar goes on if…if you need me to clarify something. Do you understand?" She hesitated. Well, that was expected, wasn't it? I'd punished her before for speaking out of turn, and threatened her with worse. "You don't have to get my permission if you need to say something while we're talking about this."

This was just too many shades of fucked up. When I made my notes tonight, I'd have to add Note to self: Collar first. Or was it just Isabella? Irina hadn't had a problem speaking her mind when I followed this format last year. Tanya wouldn't have, of that I was certain. I wondered how she was coping with Felix.

"Okay," Isabella finally whispered. "Sir." I snapped out of my reverie and took a deep breath.

"Good. Well, collaring, in this place, is a different situation than it would be outside these walls," I told her. "Your Master has undoubtedly collared you for himself, though you have followed our instructions and not brought it with you. You view your collar as a symbol of your submission, and when it's not on, you find it easier to slip out of character, am I right?"

Isabella did answer me, though there was a split second of hesitation first. "Yes, sir." Well, she might still be nervous about speaking, or maybe she wore her Master's collar always. I might ask her about it when we had our discussion on Sunday, but now was not the time. "When you wear my collar, it is so that neither of us will slip. I will take it off on occasion if you safeword or if I feel we need to talk about your progress, and then it'll come off all day on Sundays. I still expect you to be respectful, but your training will be practically useless if we can't talk honestly every so often.

"Your Master gave you his collar to remind you that you belong to him, and him alone," I continued. "Here, however, the collar does not signify a relationship between us. You are not being disloyal to your Master by wearing one. It binds you to the school, not to a Dom, and the reason for it is that the program isn't meant for us to develop an emotional relationship, nor will it last long enough to do so. The collar will help you remember your place, and its removal will leave you free to speak your mind.

"You pledged your submission when you signed on here. When you wear this collar, that pledge binds you to me," I finished. Isabella said nothing, but she was nervously rubbing her knuckles against the carpeting. "I want to hear what you think. You can refuse to wear the collar, you know. I just wanted you to understand why I feel it's necessary."

She wouldn't look at me, and it got really quiet for a time, but she did finally speak, even though her voice was small and hesitant. "You won't tell him if I wear it?"

What? "Tell your Dom, you mean?" She nodded mutely. "Isabella, this is your show here. We don't send report cards home. It's up to you to tell your Dom whatever you wish him to know. If you don't think he'd like you wearing a school collar, why not just say no?" More importantly, why are you his sub if you don't trust him?

"I want to," she said hastily. "I understand why you want it, and I agree, but I….He'd probably be mad, but I don't want to mess this up and forget about wearing a collar, but he's paying for it, so I don't—"

"It doesn't matter who's paying, Isabella," I interrupted impatiently, cutting off her nervous rambling. "You aren't here to be molded for this one Dom of yours." Although that's probably exactly how he views it, a too-rich-for-his-own-good bastard like that. "You are learning the sub lifestyle because that's what you've indicated you want sexually, and because the Dom you've chosen doesn't know how to train a sub. If you and he ever part ways, this training doesn't go away. So what's important is that you do what makes you feel like you're getting the most out of the course."

She didn't answer me right away, so I added, "You can think about it for a few moments. If you wish, we can even postpone this until tomorrow to give you time to consider things. Like I said, it's only so we remember our roles, but that doesn't mean it isn't still a big step emotionally." I waited, wondering if I should just move us along to her waxing. She might want to take me up on the overnight suggestion, and standing over her wasn't going to make it easier for her to speak up about it. I could settle onto the bed to wait her out, but if she wanted more time, even that might seem pushy.

It was an awkward couple of minutes while I tried to decide what to do, but then Isabella spoke. "I want to wear it if that's all it means. I understand about it reminding us when it's time to train and when it's time to talk."

"I appreciate your honesty," I answered, relieved that the decision was made. "And your understanding."

I unhooked the lobster-claw clasp and chose my next words carefully. With my first sub, we'd gone through a ritual that felt a lot like taking marriage vows, with me pledging to take care of her and consider her well-being at all times, and her own pledge of sweet submission to me, and me alone. But with students, it was a bit different. We weren't committing to a long-term relationship; it was more like an employment agreement, though not exactly. But that was the metaphor I decided to share with her.

"When you wear this collar, you are agreeing to accept my training of you and follow my orders without question. I, in turn, am agreeing to give you the best training possible and keep you safe and healthy. Both of us agree to keep it safe, sane, and consensual. You may safeword at any time, and I must, and will, honor those safewords. Do you agree to this, Isabella?"

"I do, sir," she answered, her eyes on my face this time, not the floor. I couldn't understand the look she was giving me. She appeared…grateful. For what? Maybe she didn't expect to have things explained for her. I wondered again about this James of hers; did he have any regard whatsoever for her feelings, or did he just expect to have a robotic sex slave at his beck and call?

"If you have anything else to say, say it now," I said. "Once the collar goes on, we can't talk freely like this until it comes off again."

Isabella shook her head and looked down at the carpeting. Her head remained bent as I fastened the heavy gold chain around her neck. It was a simple herringbone chain about three-quarters of an inch wide, with a satin finish on the facing side. It was subtle as collars go, hardly spikes and leather, but heavy enough that Isabella couldn't forget she was wearing it. "Then until and unless you safeword, I expect your full and complete obedience. You may stand." She obeyed, and the chain glittered in the early morning sunlight that spilled across the room and reflected back from the mirror above the dresser.

In that moment, she was so lovely—silky wisps of hair that I hadn't pinned back lay against her neck, as delicate and thin as the swan she was named for. She wore no makeup—I wouldn't have allowed it in any case, except perhaps a bit at our formal weekly dinners with the rest of the school, but she hadn't worn any even at registration. I wondered if she even had any with her. Truly, she didn't need it, and I had a feeling that it would ruin her lovely face, making it seem artificial and contrived, like a little girl playing dress-up. She was purely beautiful.

And, for the next six weeks, mine.

TBC...

Thanks for still reading! I took an unexpected detour when I thought I'd have a regular schedule (I hate when my favorites don't update!) First I broke my flashdrive with all I'd written so far on it, and I was screamingly upset because I know I'll never be able to put it back together the same way. Then I broke my arm so I couldn't write for weeks. I'm in PT now, but it's still really painful to type too much. I have a lot of the next chapter pieced together, but if it takes awhile you'll know it's because of that. Hugs for my readers!