Journal 5, entry 1
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Master. Submission. A contract that says he owns me for his personal pleasure. It’s my decision whether to dare to tread that path or not. Sitting here on my bed in fluffy pajamas with a glass of wine in hand, these things seem like they are meant for someone else’s life, not mine.
Truly, I’m surprised that this decision wasn’t the only thing on my mind at work today. I was certain that it, and the man involved, even the call to Dr. Kat, would consume me all day. But art is a gift to this world that I’m passionate about, and its allure enticed me away from my fretful worries about handing over control to a man I barely know but find impossible to resist. Being able to separate him from my art is actually quite comforting. I don’t have to lose who I am to be a part of who he is.
By midmorning I wasn’t even thinking about the contract points I wanted to discuss with him, or of having been tied to his bed. Or all the wicked things he’d done to me while I was tied there, or even all the wicked things he might do to me in the future. A customer gave me a tip about a man in Seattle who had a rare masterpiece he was thinking of letting go for a steal. It took me hours to track him down, but I actually managed to get through to him. I talked him into meeting with Mark about auctioning it off through Riptide. Mark was in NYC at Riptide today, so I had to call him. I’m smiling just replaying the way the call went. I do enjoy verbally sparring with my new boss.
“Ms. Mason, this better be important.”
I replied with a happy gloat. “If you call a chance to get an original ‘Mercury’ worth a cool million for only half of that important, then I guess it is.”
He was silent a moment and then said, “Are you certain?”
“I spoke with the owner myself. He’s in Seattle and he’s agreed to see you.”
“Why would he let it go at this price?”
“He wanted 600k. I told him I could get him 500k within the week.”
“You’re very confident with my money.”
“I’m very confident in how much money this can make us both. His business is in trouble and he needs the cash.”
“He told you this?”
“People tell me things. I’m a much better listener than talker.”
“Indeed,” he surprised me by agreeing. “Email me the details.”
“I already did.”
He was silent a moment. “I’ll say good work if I get the painting for 500k.”
“I’m looking forward to it, Mr. Compton.”
If that painting sells for a million, I’ll make 10 percent! It’s too good to be true. How can this be my life? Of course, the auction is six months from now so I won’t get my hopes up, but it’s truly amazing to have the potential to make this income.
But now, it’s time to think about the contract in front of me. It’s long. It’s scary. It’s so not me, so why am I reading it?
Dr. Kat said to talk through my limits, and the first four items on the contract all bother me. That doesn’t seem like a good start.
• I accept that I shall be placed in and kept under strict discipline without time limit.
Without time limit is a No Go for me.
• I accept any form of punishment meted out to me while under discipline.
What is punishment? And why the hell would I say yes? Hmmm—the flogging had been rather erotic. Is that what is meant by punishment?