The Contract Rebecca's Lost Journals, Volume 2(12)

At home now . . .

            Thinking has made me certain I need an answer. If I am one of many submissives, then this is over. I’m going to text. That way, if I find out I’m one of many, I can flip out in the privacy of my apartment.





Thursday, March 10, 2011

            Work came early today since I basically didn’t sleep last night. So much has happened since I sent that text to my would-be “Master.” He replied immediately and told me he was sending a car to pick me up so we could talk. He didn’t ask if he could send a car. He just told me he was.

            I remember sitting there reading the text, and it wasn’t the order that bothered me. It was the fact that he hadn’t simply said that I was the only woman he was with at present. I’d considered texting again and asking, but my gut said he wouldn’t reply until I went to him. I replied that I’d be waiting for the car.

            I didn’t change clothes or pretty myself up while I waited for my ride to arrive. I left on my navy blue sheath dress from work. I wanted answers, not sex, and that was the message I set out to deliver. The possibility of being one of several women had really changed everything for me. I don’t know why, but that idea had hit me far harder than the idea of being shared. I didn’t like either, but I really didn’t like being just a number and a contract.

            When the car dropped me at his home, I headed down the walkway. The instant I lifted my hand to knock, he appeared in the doorway. Seeing him sent a rush of heat through me and froze me in place. I always react to that first instant I see him, but for some reason it was more intense than usual. Maybe because I’d decided that I might walk away from what he’d been offering me.

            I searched his expression, but if he felt what I did, it didn’t show. His face was impassively beautiful, as usual, and I wondered how many times he’d had to calm a potential submissive. What number was I for him?

            He surprised me by taking my hand, touching me easily, when his touch always feels like a reward to be earned. Guiding me into the foyer, he shut the door and then turned to me, wasting no time answering my question from the earlier text. “The contract states exclusivity for both of us, with the option of bringing others into our play as I see fit.”

            My stomach knotted at the confirmation that he intended to invite others into our play, and I tried to pull my hand back.

            He held me easily and I found myself molded close to him, the hard length of him pressed to my body, our legs entwined. His hand had settled on my back, possessive and firm. “What did I say that upset you?”

            My fingers curled on his chest. “Exclusive and sharing. How do those two things go together?”

            “Everything we enjoy, we enjoy together. And ultimately, everything I do with you is about your pleasure.”

            “And if I don’t think sharing is pleasurable?”

            “How do you know if you don’t try?”

            “I know it bothers me.”

            “And I ask you to try everything once. If you don’t like it, we won’t repeat it.”

            Once? I wasn’t sure I could say yes. I don’t think I would have, if things had been different, but I had no idea what I’d walked into.

            “If this is your worst fear,” he said, “then it’s better that we deal with it now, not later.” He released me, the warmth of his body leaving mine, his fingers twining with mine. I let him lead me to the bedroom when perhaps I shouldn’t have. It was there that I quickly learned what I had in store.

            There was another man there—tall and gorgeous, dark where my “Master” was light, wearing jeans and a T-shirt that molded a perfectly sculpted body. To say that my heart lurched is an understatement. I could barely breathe.