The Contract Rebecca's Lost Journals, Volume 2(4)

            And here I am, sitting at my kitchen table in my oh-so-glamorous cotton PJs and eating cereal. With the contract next to me. The one thing I keep thinking is that when I was with my would-be “Master,” I felt beautiful. I felt safe. I felt like I was his world. I had an escape from things like today’s stresses.

            That escape had to be (is?) the allure of the relationship. I’ve considered the punishment clause and it doesn’t bother me all that much now because I do feel safe with him. Maybe that’s naive, but it’s how I feel. But the sharing thing—that still bothers me. What if it was with another woman? How inferior would I feel? How incapable of pleasing him?

            I just need to tell him this won’t work. I don’t know why I haven’t already.

            He won’t come to me, he’d said when he’d given me the contract. I have to go to him, he’d said. I have to make the willing choice to pursue him as my Master.





Wednesday, February 23, 2011

            Morning . . .

            I dreamed of him. . . . He’d tied me to his bed again, only this time I was facedown, unable to see him. I wanted to see him but I didn’t feel a fear of the unknown. He wasn’t touching me, but as crazy as it sounds, I could feel him. There was something about him in that dream that just reached inside me and slid straight to my soul. I had no idea what he was going to do to me. I was certain, though, that he knew best. He’d make whatever we did, whatever he did to me, pleasurable. He’d know what I needed.

            I know it wasn’t real, but it seemed like it was, and I’ve never felt that with anyone else except my mother. It’s odd to compare my mother and a Master tying me to a bed, I know, but I have nothing else to compare it to. There is no one who has ever been close enough to me to gain my trust but these two people.

            In the dream, and it was a dream, not a nightmare, I waited with breathless anticipation for what he would do to me. He spread me wide, his fingers sliding intimately between my thighs, stroking me, teasing me. I cannot believe how vividly I can remember the feel of him touching me. He’d been gentle in a way I didn’t expect, taking me to the edge of orgasm and then abruptly withdrawing.

            He’d returned to snap a crop against the mattress, making me jump. He’d warned me he wasn’t going to be as gentle with me from that point forward. He’d told me it was time to leave it behind, to experience more. I’m surprised to remember how much that warning pleased me. And even more surprised at how I’d welcomed the snap of the crop on my backside, and reveled in how it became harder with each touch. I’d been shaking and panting with the sting of the leather, but I’d been aroused. And when finally (and yet too soon) it had been over, he’d kissed me from top to bottom, licking every spot he’d used the crop on. He’d been gentle again and he’d ended up between my legs, pressing my backside in the air and lapping at me until I came. And then he’d been inside me, filling me, stretching me, and it had been glorious until the dream had shifted and faded.

            Suddenly I was inside my recurring nightmare of my mother, but I can’t remember what happened. I just know there had been icy water, and I’d sat up in my bed gasping for air. Then the smell of my mother’s perfume had permeated my nostrils. And the sense of doom I keep trying to escape returned, and now it won’t go away.

            To have the dream become this nightmare is unsettling. What does it mean? Is it my mind warning me that my mother betrayed me, and he will, too?





Evening . . .

            I’m sitting at my kitchen table with the contract by my side and yet another box of cereal in front of me. I’ve just hung up from a disastrous call with Josh and I feel sick to my stomach. Since nothing else has worked, I told him I was seeing someone new and I couldn’t see him anymore. He’d asked who it was and then got pretty ugly with me when I wouldn’t say. I’m shocked at how he talked to me; the things he said were just unbelievable. He was nothing like the sweet guy I feared I was going to crush. His anger was downright vile. It scared me, and I don’t scare easily. Really, it’s been a bad day overall. I’m ready for it to be over.