The Agreement

by Lund, S. E.

  SUBMISSION CONTRACT BETWEEN _____________________ hereinafter referred to as "Master", AND _______________________, hereinafter referred to as "slave" in this Submission Contract. Said Contract refers to total dominance and control of Master in his relationship with said slave.

  A total novice to this world, I had only my very upsetting experience with Kurt. Sure, I read a few novels and non-fiction books since we broke up, spent some time on the website reading, but I was still new to this. Lara knew the ropes. She'd done this dozens of times and had connections.

  "What's this Dom like?"

  "He's a god, Kate. He's absolutely gorgeous. Experienced. Buff. Hung," she said and wagged her eyebrows.

  "How do you know?"

  "I trained him myself. He's healthy. Safe. Smart. Wealthy. He's everything a submissive like you could want."

  "I'm not a submissive."

  "Not experienced, no. But I suspect there's one buried deep inside of you."

  I shrugged, not wanting to argue with her. "He's not into pain, is he?"

  "He isn't a sadist, if that's what you mean, although he would probably spank you for punishment. He's just a plain old sexual dominant, into a bit of bondage, especially leather, but mostly D/s and mindfucks."

  "Mindfucks?"

  "You know, getting right into your mind, knowing exactly how to get you off so you experience the most pleasure. He's studied psychology. Wanted to be a psychoanalyst. He's not into pain."

  "How old is he?"

  "Mid-thirties."

  "He isn't married?"

  "Divorced."

  "What does he do? You said he's a professor. What does he teach?"

  "Uh, uh," she said and shook her head. "I've given you as much as I can at this point. Just know that he's a friend and a real professional. Top in his field. Seriously, if you needed his services, you'd want him. Just hope you never need his services."

  "That's cryptic. Is he an undertaker or something?"

  She grinned. "No. Far from it. No more, Kate. You want anonymity. So does he. Maybe one day, you'll sign that for real." She pointed to the contract, "Then you two can know each other, but now? No. He needs anonymity as much as you."

  "All right." I read over a few more pages. "I'm just so curious." I thought of the excerpt she sent. "Who wrote that piece you emailed me?"

  "Not telling." She shook her head. "That's just something that some of us use to explain to new subs how Doms see sexual domination."

  I felt a bit saddened to think I wasn't meeting the writer and I wondered what he was like, this man who liked to control a woman's sexual pleasure. After reading that excerpt, I couldn't get the idea of sexual submission out of my mind. I told myself this was just to gather research for an investigative reporting piece for Geist. But I was really just so damn titillated…

  "Look, you know my situation," I said, anxious that I remain completely anonymous. "Can you imagine if it ever got out that the Ethan McDermott's daughter is interested in this, even if it's only academic?"

  "Academic…" She rolled her eyes at me. Then, she waved her hand. "Don't worry. Your Dom is pretty well known in his own profession, so there's no way he wants this public either. The two of you will be fine. He can tell you things from his side, maybe introduce you to some of his former submissives, if they're interested in being interviewed, take you to a few functions."

  I was apprehensive but still, a thrill went through me at the thought of meeting a real-life Dominant. The truth was that I couldn't stop thinking about this world. I wanted to understand why so many women were attracted to this lifestyle and why I was as well. What did it say about women and the feminist movement that so many women wanted to be sexually dominated?

  But as the daughter of a prominent judge with aspirations for the House, this was just research. It had to stay that way. I was just a student looking for material for a paper, not a curious might-be-submissive looking for a Dominant. This was just research.

  "What have you told him about me? Did you tell him I'm just a researcher like I asked?"

  "I did, but Kate, be honest with yourself," Lara said, shaking her head. "You're really interested. Seriously. He'll see right through you. He's really really smart. Besides, if you like him and if he likes you, things could work out…"

  "No way," I replied. "Tell him I'm seriously freaked about him knowing who I am. Tell him," I said and held up my cup, "that I'm just doing research."

  "Just you wait and see." She winked at me. "You'll be signing a contract for real in no time."

  I made a face. "Lara," I said, defensive. "No contracts. This is just an agreement so I can do research. I don't want him getting any ideas."

  Lara smiled again. "It's you who will probably get ideas. This is quite a stretch from the article you sent me, but whatever you say. Oh, and if you want the password to that website? It's leather4you."

  Leather4you. I wouldn't forget it.

  Lara packed up her files and shot back the remnants of her espresso.

  "Just as long as this is all anonymous, Lara." I read over the contract one more time. "Scandal is the last thing my father needs."

  "This man is a professional. I know him personally, and I trained him. He has to keep his two lives separate. Just like you." Then, Lara walked away, her lawyer-sized briefcase on wheels pulled behind her.

  Later that night, I used the password Lara gave me to the website where the Dom's letters to his sub were archived. I eagerly entered and opened the first letter.

  A letter to my sub.

  I come to you, my little one, where you sit naked in wait for me in the darkness, a blindfold covering your pretty wide eyes. You've been waiting for almost half an hour as I commanded, and your senses are all primed. The noises of your apartment that you never noticed before are so much clearer now that you're vision has been blocked – the hum of the refrigerator in your tiny kitchen, the sweet strains of classical music on the music system in the apartment above you, street noises outside your building, cars starting, a horn blaring in the distance. Even the sounds of your own body are clearer now that your eyes are covered. The rush of blood through your veins, the pounding of your heart in your chest, the air flowing in and out through your open mouth – all these sounds are enhanced.

  The scents around you are more intense – the vanilla of the candles on your bedside table, the floral of your own perfume on your pillows, the ozone from rush hour traffic filtering in from under your open window, your own arousal from the warmth between your legs.

  Your naked skin is sensitive now, exposed to the ambient temperature change. The silk of your pillow is cool against your calves as you sit waiting. A cool breeze wafts in from your open window, and your nipples pucker. You think of my mouth on them, my tongue wet and warm, and a stab of lust flows through you.

  My key clicks in the lock, the door creaking open, my footsteps loud on the hardwood floor, the thunk thunk as I remove my boots.

  I open the refrigerator and remove the bottle of vodka you keep just for me, pour the liquid in a shot glass, and then my lips smack in satisfaction. It's my favorite Russian vodka infused with anise, called Anisovaya. I have only one shot, for I must keep my mind clear so I am in total control of everything – you, the scene, and most of all, myself.

  Then, the zhrrr of a zipper and the swish of fabric sounds so loud. Your body tenses for a moment as you anticipate my next move.

  I stand in the doorway and watch you. You picture me there, my eyes on you, my body naked, my thick cock already hard. You're breathless, your body ready for me. Your heart is beating so fast, imagining what I will do to you after I use my leather restraints to bind you.

  What I will make you do to me.

  You're so ready, your body aching with need, wet, swollen, throbbing with desire. I stand beside you and you turn your head at the sound of my breathing. My clean skin and the hint of my male musk arouses you, sending a jab of lust through your chest to your clit.

  I lean down t
o you and my hair brushes your cheek, the whiskers on my chin tickle your skin, my tongue is wet on your neck where I lick you, my mouth soft at the base of your throat where one day I'll place my collar.

  I kiss you very briefly and you taste the anise on my tongue.

  I whisper your name and just the sound of my voice makes your body clench. My cologne and a hint of anise on my breath fills your nose. By now, the scent arouses you because I have a shot of the vodka when I come by and have my way with you. You associate the scent of anise with pleasure and your body warms even further, your flesh swelling, your pussy becoming wet.

  Leather slides against leather as I uncoil the bindings, which I will use to tie your hands to the headboard and your feet to the base. You'll be open to me, vulnerable.

  I've known every part of you – every naked inch, inside and out.

  I can't wait to bind you with my leather restraints and make you cry out my name as you come, again and again. Then, I will really kiss you, smothering your moans with my mouth...

  I would have loved to read those letters all night but I had an early class in the morning. I couldn't sleep, and since I couldn’t run because of my ankle, I got up once more and made a pot of tea, reading the pages of my book until I felt asleep long after midnight.

  ~~~

  I spent the next few days going through my daily routine, getting up, going to classes, working on my article, coming home, rinse, repeat. Dawn and I didn’t see much of each other because she was busy with her own coursework. Still, as busy as I was, I thought often of Drake Morgan, wondering why he'd warned me off, regretting that he did.

  That Friday, I dressed in my prettiest clothes – a cream cashmere sweater and black pencil skirt, black hose and heels, my black leather jacket over top. I sat at the same café where I met Lara, preparing to meet the gorgeous man-god Dom she promised me. She said it was only a few blocks from her law firm's office and so I went once more and waited, sitting at the same small table with my back to the wall, having arrived fifteen minutes earlier so I could calm my nerves. The night before, I read another of the Dom's letters to his new sub. I couldn't get it out of my mind, the words so intense, the promise of pleasure in his description of what he would do to her so enticing.

  While I waited, I re-read the letter over, thinking about what I'd ask this Dom I was meeting.

  To my new sub.

  When we are together, I expect you to surrender control to me in all things. You do so because you trust me completely. You are able to let go of all shyness and self-doubt without fear that I will judge you or harm you. I will only draw out of you what you can give, using your body and your mind to bring us both as much pleasure as we can possibly feel together.

  When we part, you are your own woman and I admire your independence. We only meet to slake our thirst for what we give each other, for the special relationship we have established that satisfies our unique needs. For me, that means Dominance; for you, submission.

  I expect you to comply with my commands without hesitation. I know your limits for we have already discussed them. You know my desires, for I have already described them. We will establish ahead of time exactly what we will do together so that you are well-prepared.

  There will be little need for conversation for we will communicate using touch, eye contact, and only occasionally, a verbal command or word of encouragement, and when necessary, correction. We have discussed your safe word, but I don't expect you to need it for I will not lose control. Of that you can be certain.

  Control is what I desire and it is what I am best at.

  Why did the Dom's words so arouse me?

  I glanced up from my iPhone when the café door opened and Lara walked in. I took in a deep cleansing breath as she made her way to the counter. I put my phone down and watched as she ordered an espresso from the barista then came to my table. She sat down, removing her coat, and glanced at what I was wearing as if to judge whether I met her standards.

  "You look nice enough," she said, rubbing the cashmere of my sweater between her fingers. "Classy but not overdressed, nice skirt, hose, even heels. He'll like you. I knew that the first time I saw you."

  "Why?" I asked, sipping my drink nervously.

  "He likes petite women. You're exactly his type."

  As we passed the time waiting for the Dom to arrive, we talked about my father.

  "You must invite me to a fundraiser one of these days," she said when her coffee arrived. "Making connections is everything in my profession."

  "I will," I said, a bit reluctant even though I liked her. What if it got out that she was a Domme?

  Lara checked her watch.

  "I wonder where he is," she said, her voice a bit impatient. "He's usually right on time."

  I took in a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. As we waited, he walked into the café – Drake Morgan, MD. Assistant Professor of Neurosurgery at the Columbia Center for Movement Disorders, Bass Player, Volunteer for Doctors Without Borders, the medical charity we both belonged to, the son of my father's oldest and best friend.

  What was he doing here?

  Seeing him once more, I realized that he was perhaps the most beautiful man I’d ever met with those impossibly-blue eyes fringed with thick dark lashes and a few days-worth of stubble on his very square jaw. Fresh from the OR at NY Presbyterian, he still wore blue scrubs under a white lab coat.

  He stopped up short, frowning when he saw us, glancing around the deserted café as if in confusion. When Lara stood and waved him over to the table, I got a very bad feeling.

  "You’re late," she said, air kissing his cheeks when he arrived as if she'd been expecting him.

  It was only then I realized why he was there.

  The look on Drake's face would have been hilarious if it wasn't the most awkward moment of my life.

  This was a disaster.

  "Oh, God," I said, glancing away for a moment. Drake was my Dom. The Dominant who was going to teach me about the lifestyle. The one Lara thought I could like for real.

  "I have to go." I pulled on my coat, gathered up my bag and put on my sunglasses. I walked away, my body stiff, mortified that Drake Morgan was the Dom I was supposed to meet.

  "Kate!" Lara called out to me, but I was out the door and on the street hailing a taxi before Lara could call me back. I practically ran away from them – from Drake.

  Oh, God…

  The taxi drove down the street and before even a few moments passed, my cell rang. It was from Lara. I refused the call.

  When it rang a second time, I answered.

  "Before you say anything," I said, frustrated, not wanting to speak to her now. "I want you to remind Dr. Morgan that this was purely academic. This was research – nothing more. No matter what you think Lara, I'm not interested. This was nothing personal—"

  "Kate, Kate, shhhh," Drake Morgan said, his voice soft. "Don't worry. I know. You’re a serious student. This is just research. If anything, it's me who should be embarrassed."

  I hung up and threw my phone into my bag.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I was numb the entire taxi ride back to my apartment, my cheeks hot despite the chill air. The adrenaline shock that went through my body when I realized Drake was my Dominant left me weak.

  Drake Morgan?

  MD, brain surgeon, bass player, philanthropist, my father's example of perfect manhood? Now I knew what he meant when he said my father didn't really know him.

  I felt a bit nauseated that he knew I was the one who wanted to meet him. No, make that I felt completely nauseated that he knew.

  He was a Dominant? Dawn said he was dangerous when she saw him in the bar. As usual, she was right.

  Holy crap… I looked down in my lap. My hands were shaking.

  Lara said he liked to tie women up and control their pleasure, fuck them senseless. Mindfucks. The thought of it – even now – even mortified as I was – titillated me. My body couldn't help but respond, a twitch between my legs w
hen I thought of him naked, being all -- dominating. Like that Dom in the letters.

  This was terrible. This was horrible. This was… oh, hell, what if my father found out I was looking for a Dominant? Even if it was just research for a course paper, if he knew I was really interested in the subject…

  Total and complete mortification.

  Humiliation.

  I didn't even admit that I read the books that everyone was talking about when both his wife Elaine and my sister-in-law Christie giggled together about it in front of him.

  Oh. God. It would be comical if it wasn't so mortifying. I couldn't imagine what Drake thought. I'm the one who wanted to talk to him about being a Dominant… About BDSM. About submission. I was mortified by my curiosity and, yes, real interest.

  I was already in my father's bad books for changing focus from politics to popular culture and not even going for the internship interview he arranged with an editor friend at the NY Post. If he knew…

  My cell vibrated in my bag again – probably Lara calling back. I fished around in the bottom, searching for it and checked out the call display.

  Drake Morgan, MD.

  He was using his own phone now. I ignored his call.

  No freaking way.

  I paid the taxi driver and ran up the stairs to my third floor flat in the old brownstone, slamming the door behind me. I removed my shoes, threw down my bag on the coffee table and paced my tiny apartment. What was I going to do now?

  I flopped down on the couch and tried to get control over myself.

  He wanted anonymity as well. As Lara said, he was a professional. Top in his field, he didn't want it getting around that he was kinky.

  Drake Morgan – devastatingly gorgeous Drake Morgan – was kinky. Not only was he about the most handsome man I've ever laid eyes on, he was wealthy, powerful. And kinky. I felt an uncomfortably warm and swollen sensation between my legs at that thought.