by Lund, S. E.
He nods and reaches into a pocket in his shirt and removes an old metal fountain pen. He writes on the back of the contract and then holds it up for me to read.
"Does that cover it?"
I read it over.
Master retains the right to explore anal contact, including oral, digital and appropriately designed sex toys, with slave but the slave may at any time, after an initial attempt, refuse any further contact, and the act shall be moved into the "Hard Limits" section of the Contract.
I nod.
"Sign here." He hands me the pen and the sheet with a place for our signature.
I shake my head. "Not tonight. I need time."
He exhales, and I can hear the frustration in his voice. "Fine. I'll give you a few days. But only a few, Eve."
He stands once more and turns, leaving me alone on the bed with the contract.
A few days pass and he leaves me completely alone as if punishing me for delaying. Servants come in to bring me vials of his blood, food and pour a bath for me when I need it, carting in pitchers and buckets of hot water.
I go over and over the contract, imagining what it will be like, wondering if I can do this. Part of me says to just give in and sign it, but part of me resists. I gaze out the window at the city and there are fires burning because there's no way to put them out. Water stopped working a while ago, and without a pump and well, there's no fire service. When a fire starts, it burns until it's completely razed to the ground.
The servant brings me the hand-printed news that's limited to a single sheet and every morning I read it with my morning coffee and toast. People are dying of diseases that once were treated with our medicines, but they've run low and plants that once made them no longer operate. If we can't find a way to stop the plague, it will circle the globe and civilization will crumble completely.
On the third night, I sit at the piano and play my repertory, but it offers little comfort. Finally, Michel comes to me while I sit at the piano staring out the window at the dark city that used to sparkle like glittering diamonds. He sits beside me at the piano and leans close to me.
"Eve, I need you to sign."
"I know," I say, my throat closing. "I'm afraid."
"I understand."
We sit there for a few moments.
"Play something for me first," I say, close to tears.
"What would you like me to play?"
"Chopin."
I move over on the bench and let him sit in proper position. He hesitates, his hands resting on the keys. I notice his hands are shaking a bit. Is he afraid I won't sign? Or is he excited that I will?
"Nocturne No. 11 in G," he says and starts to play. It's a melancholy piece, the sadness making my throat choke. He would play such a piece, as if to drive home how serious everything is. When it's done, I sigh.
"Play something happier," I say, delaying this as long as I can.
"I shouldn’t be playing," he says. "You should play."
"I love to hear you play. It's a side of you that made me love you in the first place."
He relents and plays another Chopin piece. "Tristesse," he says. "Etude in E Major."
It's less somber, but still very emotional, the movement starting off slow and dreamy, but it builds to a crescendo and it's just as intense as the other piece he played. And I think that this is Michel – these pieces he chose to learn to play. Despite his attempt to be controlled and calm, inside there's this fury and passion.
When he's done, he turns to me, leaning against me, his arm pressed against mine as if he craves just being able to touch me.
I get up and go to the table where the contract and fountain pen lie, waiting. I hold the pen in one hand and the paper in the other.
"Why do you want this?" I say. "Why does this appeal to you?"
"You know, Eve. You've done the reading. You tell me."
"No," I say and turn to him. "Tell me why."
He comes to me and stands just inches away as if hoping to fluster me by his nearness.
"I love," he says, closing his eyes, taking in a deep breath. "I love the idea that you have willingly turned yourself over to me, that you have chosen to give me complete power over you. That requires so much trust, it makes me feel," he says and shakes his head. "Ecstatic." He reaches out to touch my face with the backs of his fingers. "I love you trusting me to take control over your body, over your pleasure. I love that you need me to free you from yourself so you can feel pleasure without judgment. My only desire is for your pleasure and fulfillment, Eve. Nothing else."
"But you've given me pleasure without this contract," I say. "Lots of pleasure. We've fucked many times and I've always come."
"You have but there is always a part of you that holds back, that judges, that prevents you from experiencing pleasure even greater than you already have."
"I don't see how I could possibly feel more than I have."
He shakes his head. "You can. You always feel guilt, Eve. Always judge yourself. Always lie to yourself because of both. To free yourself so you can feel even more, you need submission. Then, only I am responsible for your response. You have no say. If you feel pleasure, it's entirely my fault and responsibility. You don’t have to blame yourself for it. You can’t help it for I am the one making you feel. This contract just specifies how that will take place. Most of it is designed to ensure you’re in the proper frame of mind so that you feel properly submissive. If you don't, it won't work. I have to feel properly dominant for you to believe it and let go completely. These rules of behavior make sure I feel dominant and you feel submissive."
I take in a deep breath, and while his words make sense somewhere in my brain, I fight it out of fear.
"What happens once I sign it?" I say and my throat is tight, my heart pounding.
"It starts. We start."
"Right away?" I say, my stomach all butterflies.
"Right away, Eve. I'm sorry I can't give you more time, but it's the one thing we don’t have."
"If I find it hard to do? What happens?"
"At first, I expect I'll have to remind you quite a bit and correct you, discipline you in case you forget or are not attentive, and it will be frustrating but you will enjoy it. More than you can possibly know now."
"You’ve seen it?"
"I've seen it."
"Can't we wait? I'm a bit nervous…"
"We don't have the luxury of time," he says and strokes my hair. "Besides, I've waited long enough."
I feel tears biting at the corners of my eyes, my emotions building.
"But at night, when we're sleeping," I say, my voice wavering. "It's not in force?"
"No," he says and runs a hand down my back, over one hip. "At night, for eight hours, it's just you and me. No rules. No Contract."
I take the pen in my hand. He just waits.
"What's the first thing you'll do after I sign it?"
"I'll sign it," he says, tilting my head up with a finger under my chin. He's smiling.
"And after that," I say and can't help but smile back despite the tears in my eyes.
"Oh, Eve," he says, and strokes my cheek. "The first thing I'll do is kiss you."
I swallow. "And after that?"
"Shh," he says and strokes my cheek with the backs of his fingers, looking at my mouth. "Stop trying to control everything. Stop trying to know everything. Let this happen. Trust me to know how fast and far to go. But, if it makes you feel better, we'll have supper. Go for a walk. Share a bath later. Then, I want to shave you, mark you and give you your collar. You'll need to feed and we'll go to bed."
"Will you be," I say and hesitate. "Doing things tonight?"
"Eve," he says and cups my face. "Trust me to know you. To know your needs."
"It's so hard," I say, my throat tight. "To trust."
"I know. You have every right not to trust anyone, especially me. Just know that I've wanted this from that first time I saw your face in the Linguistics Building. I'm not going to ruin
things by moving too fast. Or," he says and pauses. "Perhaps I should say, trust me to move as slowly as I can, given the circumstances we're in."
I nod, and take in a deep breath, then sign my name, my hands shaking. He takes the pen carefully from my hand, our fingers touching and I feel a rush of warmth from him that fills me up, taking away a bit of my anxiety. He signs and dates the contract and then puts the lid on the pen and puts the document back on the table.
He turns back and brushes hair off from my cheek, his eyes searching my face.
"Now you're mine, entirely, completely," he whispers, cupping my cheek. Then he leans in, his lips brushing my other cheek softly before bending down to kiss my neck where he bit me, his tongue wet against my skin and it sends a shock of lust through me that surprises me because I'm so afraid.
He moves back to my face, his lips poised just over my mouth. "You want this, Eve. Deep down beneath your fear. Let yourself just have it and enjoy it. Let yourself enjoy me."
Then he kisses me, his mouth soft on mine, his lips together. A tender kiss that surprises me, for I expected him to overwhelm me. Instead, it's such a sweet, sweet kiss that goes on for a long moment. He pulls away and just smiles at me, his gaze moving over my face, his hands stroking my hair.
"You’re mine."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
"The way to love anything is to realize that it may be lost."
Gilbert. K. Chesterton
"Now, you must be starving," he says and takes my hand. "Our meal is ready. Please put on one of the dresses in the armoire. I think I want you in the white dress with nothing on underneath. Then, once you're dressed, we'll eat."
He pulls me over to the huge antique armoire, and opens it. Inside, it's lined with cedar and on a rack hang a dozen dresses – gowns of different colors and fabrics, all of them looking like they're out of couture shops in New York.
He takes out a white gown and holds it up to me. It's a diaphanous shift with thin straps and is made out of a material that feels like the finest silk.
"Here," he says and takes it off the hanger, returning the empty hanger to the rack and closing the armoire. "Dress while I watch."
He pulls up an ornate chair and sits, his hands on the armrests, his legs wide, his head to the side. I stand in front of him and hesitate. He watches me expectantly.
"Don't be shy, Eve. I've seen you naked before. Every inch of you."
I shrug one shoulder. Of course he has. But still… Things are different now.
"Eve, there's nothing you can't try, nothing you can't feel with me. No reason to be embarrassed. Nothing you can't do except disobey. Please, change into the gown."
I hang the dress over the foot of the bed and undress while he watches, acutely aware of his eyes on me. I remove my sweater and jeans, and then my bra and panties, folding each item and placing them on the chest at the base of the bed. I quickly pull the white dress over my head, and while I have the dress just around my neck, I catch sight of him and his eyes are fixed on my nakedness, his nostrils flaring, lips parted.
I imagine he's thinking of how I'm now all his to do with as he will within the terms of our contract.
It arouses me – that look of complete possession.
I slip the gown down over my body and adjust it. My nipples are hard from the chill in the air and clearly visible through the thin fabric as must be my pubic hair.
"Is this appropriate for dinner?"
"Don't question my choices, Eve. If I picked it, you can trust that it's entirely appropriate."
"I'm sorry," I say quickly, "it's just that--."
"Don't speak until I ask you a question. If I want to know what you think about something, I'll ask. For the first while, until you're used to it, when you answer a question or if you need to ask me something, start with 'Please, my Lord, or Please, Sire. Do you understand?"
I nod.
"Say it out loud, Eve, so I know you understand."
"Yes," I say and then swallow, forcing out the words. "My Lord."
"You don't mean it now," he says and his voice is husky, "That I am your Lord and Master, but there will come a day when even just saying those words will make you wet and ready for me."
I say nothing, for already, just saying the words has made my heart beat a little faster and I feel warmer, a little breathless.
He takes my hand and leads me out of the bedroom.
"What about my feet?' I say and look around.
"I want you barefoot, and please, remember the rules."
"Oh, I'm sorry," I say. "My Lord."
He pulls me into an ornate dining room lit by dozens of candles. A long dark wood table that could seat thirty people has a place setting for Michel at the end and one for me at his side. Michel pulls out my chair and seats me while the servant lays a napkin on my lap. Michel takes a seat and removes his own napkin and I hope my table manners are up to his standards as a member of the former Occitan nobility.
"I'm not sure if I know the right fork to use," I say and smile, checking out the array of cutlery. Michel leans over and places his finger over my lips.
"Eve, remember – speak only when I ask you to or when you have a question."
I grimace. "Sorry," I say when he removes his finger, flustered at breaking the rules again so soon. "My Lord," I add quickly, but then my back stiffens just a bit. He doesn't want me to just speak when I feel like it. A flush spreads over my cheeks from anger. But then I remember how Luke's slave behaved and I understand this is part of teaching me what's expected of me when we're on stage in front of Soren.
"Can I call you something other than 'My Lord'? What about Sir?"
He shakes his head. "You called Julien 'Sir' and I don't want you thinking of him unnecessarily. When you're used to it, you could call me Master when we're alone. Always My Lord in public."
I sigh. I don't know what feels the most natural. "Master, then."
"I'll have to change the Contract to include it."
"Can’t we just agree to it?"
He tilts his head as if waiting.
"Oh, sorry. Can't we just agree to it, Master?" I shake my head. "No, that doesn't feel right. I don’t know what title to use. Maybe 'My Lord' is best after all. It's just so hard to remember…"
"Don't worry," he says as he points to the servant to pour some wine for him to taste. "I expect to have to discipline you quite a bit at first. I want to, so don’t be too well behaved."
"You want me to make mistakes?"
"Eve…"
I cover my eyes. I've done it again – spoken without permission or without a question preceded by an appropriate form of address.
"I'm sorry, my Lord," I say, averting my eyes. "I was confused. I thought you wanted my complete obedience."
I glance at him and he's grinning that characteristic de Cernay grin.
"You're very strong willed. You won't be easy to tame to hand and a Master with any discernment loves so very much the whole taming process – especially taming someone with a strong will. Submission is so much sweeter when it does finally happen. But," he says and takes his wine glass, smelling it before tasting it, nodding to the servant, who pours me a glass. "No topping from the bottom or I'll have to punish you. And I will enjoy that far too much for my and your own good."
He raises his eyebrows at that and I wonder – does he want me to try? Does he want to punish me? What would he do to punish me?
"My Lord, if I may ask," I say, after taking a sip of wine. "What would you do, exactly, to punish me? Do you have a dungeon somewhere in the depths of this house? Will you go all medieval on me if I disobey you?"
"I am medieval, Eve. I was born in 1194. I grew to be a man in that time. I try to keep up with modern trends, but unlike Julien, my psyche is medieval. You have to understand that. And no," he says. "I don't have a dungeon in the basement filled with rusting Iron Maidens, thumbscrews and racks. If you disobey, you'll get a good spanking, usually with my own hand. It's far more enjoyable that way
, because your bare ass deserves to be touched, and after a spanking you always get fucked, hard. I'll use a riding crop for sensory stimulation only."
The servant comes over to our table and holds a tray of food out for Michel to inspect. I'm still focused on his words – after a spanking I get fucked – hard?
Michel examines the dish – some kind of roast meat. He nods and motions to me. The servant holds the tray out and I shake my head and turn back to Michel expectantly.
"Eve, you must eat," Michel says. "The roast venison is excellent."
"I'm a vegetarian."
He frowns and waits.
"My Lord," I say and exhale.
"Eve, there will be little protein for you, given the food shortages. I doubt tofu is in big supply in the stores and the cheese will run out very soon because of supply chain failures. You must eat the food we can get and not be so picky. When did you become a vegetarian and why?"
I sigh. "I don't remember," I say. I give in and take a slice of the roast. It looks good and smells good. Then I shake my head. "My Lord," I say, exasperated.
He grins while he inspects a tray of vegetables and roasted potatoes. "Be thankful you don't have to call me My Lord Bishop or Your Excellency." Then he glances at me, his blue eyes wicked.
"Don’t make me call you Your Holiness," I say and laugh, remembering that Soren wants him as his Pope. Then I cover my mouth. "My Lord," I add quickly.
He's smiling as he helps himself to some food. When the servant leaves, Michel takes my hand and bows his head. He makes the sign of the cross and says grace, something I remember from my own days when I still believed in the God of the Catholic Church.
Father of us all,
This meal is a sign of Your love for us:
Bless us and bless our food,
And help us to give you glory each day.
Through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen
He makes the sign of the cross once more but he can’t expect me to profess a faith I don’t possess.
"You see, Eve," he says and lets go of my hand. "We are all submissive to someone. Even a former Viscount, Bishop for a Week and eight-hundred year old vampire."
