The Seduction Rebecca's Lost Journals Volume 1(12)

            He turned me to face him again. “Follow me,” he ordered. He turned and started walking. I followed him like his slave, and I know that is what he intended. Master. Slave. He owned me then, but would he in the future?

            We ended up in a large bedroom with a massive bed in the center and cabinets on the walls that I guessed held erotic toys that would terrify and thrill me. I was right. He ordered me to stand by the bed, and then opened a drawer and pulled out some sort of band with two arm cuffs on either end.

            Adrenaline poured through me at the idea of being tied up, but I didn’t feel scared. I felt like I was on fire, burning alive with the need to have this man inside me. When he ordered me to raise my hands I did. Before I knew it, I was in the center of the bed, my hands attached to the headboard above me, and he was naked and straddling me with some sort of crop in his hand. A momentary fear overcame me until he promised me he was only going to let me get a feel for what the leather felt like this time. No pain. Only pleasure.

            And it was pleasure. The snap and pressure against my nipples, my clit, even my legs and arms, was shockingly exquisite. The things he did to me . . . I can’t even write some of them down. I was bothered, though, by how he hadn’t kissed me, uncertain what that meant. What this relationship really was. How it seemed to demand so much in some ways and offer so little in others.

            But it’s the things that happened this morning that affected me more than last night. I don’t remember falling asleep. I just remember the nightmare and waking up. I’d been back on the trolley, the air a cold arctic blast around me. So very cold that my lips were purple and my teeth chattered. My mother wasn’t there. No one was there.

            The car began to go faster and faster into this eternal black hole, and I could see nothing but darkness. The splash of icy water came in a blast and pain splintered through me. I pushed away from the steel machine that threatened to take me under and my mother was in the water above me, but she wasn’t alone. There was someone else there. Someone she was fighting with. They blocked my way to the surface and I tried to swim around them, but something grabbed my legs and sucked me deeper.

            I sat up in the bed screaming bloody murder and he was there, holding me, telling me I was safe, that he was there for me. The hard man who’d ordered me to suck him and fuck him was now gentle and caring, a total contrast to the night before. I’ve never in my life felt safe because of anyone except my mother, but I felt safe in his arms. I felt right there. And it terrified me almost as much as the nightmare.

            I can’t be with him. I can’t need someone else as much as I think I will come to need him. I just . . . can’t. I haven’t told him. He didn’t ask. I’m not sure why. Because he changed his mind? Because he didn’t like what he thought my answer would be? And if I don’t want to enter into this agreement with him, why do I care?





Monday, February 7, 2011

            The day that started out with me fretting over my would-be “Master” was made better when I got a call from a local retiree I’d been trying to buy a painting from. He was willing to sell. Mark was beyond impressed when I told him I had landed a Georgia O’Nay for the Riptide auction. We drove out together to pick it up, and my day ended with a promotion, thanks to the small fortune Riptide will make when the painting sells.

            I am now in charge of all Riptide auctions for the gallery, and Mary will now go through me for approval. I will get 10 percent of every sale I organize. She wasn’t happy. I’m ecstatic. My life is changing. I don’t need someone’s protection. I don’t need someone to control me. So why does the absence of any attempt at an agreement send me to bed tonight feeling so very alone?





Monday, February 14, 2011

            Once again it’s Valentine’s Day.

            Josh and Ricco both sent me roses. Ricco attached a nice note about celebrating my new career. Josh signed his “your friendly fuck buddy.” I cringed. Mark didn’t give me anything. He was just Mark, forever sexy and enthralling, and judgmental, and too many other things to list. Mary gave me the cold shoulder. Ralph stole two roses from me for his desk. I worked late and locked up the gallery. When I exited, a car was waiting for me. To my surprise when I got inside, he was there. He fucked me right there, in front of the gallery, with the driver inside. I let the man in the front seat watch. I let him hear me moan. I just . . . did. I don’t even talk about my sex life, but I let a stranger watch me fuck another man.