RequiredSurrender

by Riley Murphy

  “You’re right. At least not before I get him in the sack. Jesus, Jo, if the guy can get me that hot with mere words through IM chatting, can you imagine what he’ll be like skin-to-skin between the sheets?”

  Jo gave her a squeeze. “Just don’t fuck it up with him, okay?”

  Lacy squeezed her right back. “Yay, you swore. I feel so much better now.”

  Jo wished she was feeling better. The closer she got to her car, the more her stomach knotted. Too bad she couldn’t bring Lace with her because no matter what, nerves weren’t going to get the best of her. No way.

  But then half an hour later, when she stood at Ted’s front door she wasn’t so sure. In fact when the door swung open and she saw him, her heart skipped a beat. His expression was dark, unreadable and completely unforgiving when he stepped aside without a word and indicated for her to come in.

  * * * * *

  Jo reread attachment twenty-eight and shook her head. “I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure this one could kill me.”

  Ted bent and she waited while he drew his index finger along the text in the sentence and silently read. Once he stood he said, “You’re right. You’re no expert because I’m pretty sure it won’t. Woman deliver babies, don’t they?”

  “But your hands are,” she pointed to them, “huge.”

  He brought one up in front of him and spread his fingers. He examined front to back and sighed, “True, but who said it would be mine?”

  She gulped.

  “Refer back to stipulation eight or was it nine?”

  Jo shuffled through the contract and found it. “Nine.” She took a moment to read and frowned. This was the condition that said that she was giving herself freely into his care, and should his care include other participants in their relationship, sexual or otherwise, she would be one hundred percent accepting of that. This was crazy. She wasn’t the kind of woman who liked to share, but then what he was suggesting wasn’t her sharing him, but him sharing her. Did that make a difference?

  She was still thinking about it when he threw the pen and it landed in a sweeping roll on the papers in front of her.

  “What did I tell you? This is the time to go through each point and decide. This will be the only opportunity you have to make changes. You can cross off or add anything you want, and after you’re done I’ll look over the adjustments, and if I can live with them we’ll have a deal. If not? You go your way and I’ll go mine. No harm no foul.”

  Jo picked the pen up and tapped it against the sizable stack of papers. Sure, there were about twenty things he’d included in his list of wants with her that she’d liked to ax right off the list and bleach the knowledge of from her brain, but some bells were blaring in her head, warning her not to change a thing, despite the possible ramifications. Instinctively she knew if she changed one T or added a dot over an I he’d use it as an excuse to get rid of her.

  “Change it.”

  “N-no. I think it will be fine. I’m good.” She straightened the papers and went to twenty-nine. He’d already told her there were thirty stipulations so just two more to accept. “Here.” She held the pen out to him.

  “Ah, I’m sure you may want to hold on to that. Twenty-nine’s a personal favorite of mine but not yours.”

  She snatched the page up and read out loud. “I understand and agree that any failure by me to comply fully with your desires shall be regarded as sufficient cause for punishment by way of flogging. Flogging?” She jerked and let the page flutter down from her hand when she shot a look up at him.

  “Yes.”

  “But—”

  “Read thirty.”

  Cautiously, she slid the top paper aside. It took a moment for the words to sink in and when they did she was lightheaded.

  “Now out loud.”

  “I understand and unconditionally accept as your prerogative anything you may choose to do to me, whether as punishment in fact, or solely for your amusement by any means, including flogging and all other corporal dictates set within this contractual confines hereto no matter how painful or humiliating to myself these may be.”

  She gasped and looked up.

  “Keep reading.”

  She was trying even as her hands shook and her cheeks burned. “Figging?”

  “Yes. Once you mentioned it I found myself thinking about that grand old Victorian practice and it’s piqued my curiosity. I’m dying to explore some of those techniques, so with this one I won’t bend.”

  Of course he wouldn’t. Now she was getting mad. No doubt he’d hear it in her voice when she read the last few sentences aloud. “I renounce all my rights to privacy. I shall not conceal anything, any part of me from you. I will answer truthfully and completely to the best of my knowledge any and all questions you put to me. I will tirelessly seek to please you better, and will welcome with grace all your criticisms in order to improve my service to you.”

  Silence.

  And not the comfortable kind either. She was boiling inside because she knew she had no choice in all this if she wanted another shot with him. He’d warned her right from the start that he required her honesty and the first chance she’d gotten, because of her own fears she broken that trust. Surely, agreeing to this would make him see how serious she was about trying to recover from that mistake.

  She poised the pen over the dotted line ready to sign.

  “Wait.”

  She didn’t look up—she just let her hand hover in a tremble over the signature line.

  “Put the pen down for a moment because I want to discuss a few additional things.”

  “A few additional things?” She dropped the pen and picked up the stack of paper, fanning it under her nose. “I think you covered everything,” she eyed him over the last page flop, “in here.”

  “I covered the nitty-gritty, yes, but nowhere in there is the reality, and that’s what I want to talk about before moving further.”

  “You think this isn’t reality?” She cut the stack in half. “At my Master’s discretion the use of wax and fire play shall be tolerated, providing there is no immediate danger to my person. Should branding be his desire, and mine also at the time, I will willingly accept the marks he places upon me or, ah,” she cleared her throat, “in me. That certainly spells, screams, reeks of reality to me.”

  For the first time since learning she lied to him, Ted grinned at her. And dammit all to hell. Her heart kicked up speed and her insides melted.

  “Such a little drama queen.” He sat down and ran a hand through his hair. “This also says that it’s a temporary contract. Three weeks of discovery before we move forward with a more binding arrangement or decide to go our separate ways. You’ll be free to do your work from nine to two Monday through Friday. Your money and possessions are all your own. For now. It’s nothing more than exclusive time with you that I will own. That’s the reality.”

  “I see.”

  “No you don’t, but I want you to. I know that Colin has filled your head with fancy ideas about the concept of a woman’s surrender. To me that’s all bullshit. I prefer raw and real, not glossed-over niceties. That’s the difference between entering into a consensual D/s arrangement and a Master/slave relationship. In most things in life they say the devil is in the details, with this it’s just the opposite. It’s the broader picture that’s more important, because the concrete details can always be tweaked, changed or deleted but the intellectual execution in itself can’t be.”

  Jo prided herself in being fairly intelligent, but he lost her with the broader picture stuff. “Do you have a better way to say what you mean, or should I fire up my laptop and Google this?”

  He sat back. “Look at it this way. If a sub’s gift is her surrender to her Dominant and one day they find things don’t work out between them, what happens to that gift when they split? He goes his way and she goes hers, taking back that gift. So what then? Does she polish it up and put it back in a box then rewrap it until another Dom comes along to be gifted
with it? How special is that?”

  Jo waited for him to say more. When he didn’t she prompted, “Your point?”

  “When someone gives you a gift, they shouldn’t have control over how or when you use it. They shouldn’t be able to take it back because it’s yours irrevocably. The difference between a D/s relationship and the one we will be entering in together is simple. The moment you sign those pages you will have consented to surrender to me your will, control and decisions. That’s the only choice for you to make because the rest of the choices are then all mine. You can’t take back your gift, because in this case?” He patted the pages. “It would be no better than stealing as that gift is now mine and in my possession. It is my property to use and enjoy at my discretion. You have no claim to it.”

  It was Jo’s turn to sit back. He was right about one thing. This was reality.

  “I want you fully aware of how I’m looking at this. You’d be wise to be cautious. The first few weeks are the hardest. I’ve allotted for three weeks between us, because you’re stubborn, Jo, and that stubbornness could cause us both to regret doing this. Once this starts I can’t stop it, you understand? It’s a process that needs to be followed, so there will be no turning back. If you recall, there’s only one way to end this sooner than the contractual timeline, and that too is under my control. Only I can release you. Another vast difference between the D/s arrangement and full binding consent. Now do you understand why I’m asking you to think this through carefully before you sign?”

  “I think you’re trying to scare me away.”

  “You certainly have a lot of faith in me if that’s what you think.”

  When he continued to stare at her she found the courage to say what she’d wanted so badly to say since messing things up between them. “I never meant to break the trust between us. I hope you can forgive me.”

  “And I hope that isn’t the reason you’re consenting to this.”

  Mostly it was, but she wasn’t going to lie again, so she remained silent.

  “It would be a high price to pay looking for forgiveness. And for what? Tell me how you think I felt after learning you’d seen him?”

  Finally a chance to clear the air. Jo took a deep breath then blew it out in a rush. “You were upset—”

  “Not upset.”

  All right. “You were mad because I… Why are you shaking your head?”

  “I wasn’t mad either.”

  “Surprised?”

  Again he shook his head, but his gaze remained fixed on her.

  “W-what then?”

  He leaned forward and braced his arms in a cross on the table. The steady and determined action made him appear bigger than he was, which was ludicrous because he was huge. Yet, as she felt the heat falling off him, and was held captive by the fire in his eyes, all she wanted to do was sit back. Instead she gulped and pretended she wasn’t freaking when he said, “I was destroyed.”

  And he meant it. If the cold flint of his gaze hadn’t assured her, the hot ice of his stare would have. “I-I’m sorry.” She reached out to lay a hand over his forearm but stopped when one of his brows shot up in warning. Feeling awkward and awful all at once, she repeated, “I’m sorry.”

  “How often do you say that phrase, Jo?” His voice was low, but the tone deep enough she paid close attention. “How often have you said it in a lifetime of mistakes? Did you always mean it? Or is this a phrase thrown out like a blanket to camouflage the remnants of things you haven’t taken the time to truly understand and be sorry for?”

  “I don’t know about that, but I do know I am sorry about what happened between us.”

  He moved so fast, slapping a palm down on the table between them, she gasped. When he sat back she remained watchful until he spoke, “I don’t doubt that you’re sorry, I just don’t think you understand what you should be sorry for. You haven’t taken the time to think about it fully, because if you had you’d know an ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t enough.”

  “I should have told you. I was going to. I—”

  “Stop. This is what I don’t want. I don’t want you to think we can recover from this. It happened, and it isn’t that it happened that makes forgiveness impossible. You were hurt and scared. Desperate, I understand these things especially in a strong woman like you, but it’s your damn strength that leads to your downfall every time. You didn’t just decide not to tell me the truth that night. You steered us away from it by using me. Getting me to expose my personal and private truths instead. Tell me,” she imagined he turned that phrase on her as a reminder, “were you relieved when I did?”

  It was one glimpse. A flash, really, of naked vulnerability that cut her to the quick and took her breath away. A person’s pain was always difficult to face, but seeing it on a man like him totally unnerved her. And knowing she was the cause left her completely numb.

  “I…” She wanted to say that she hadn’t done it on purpose, but now that he brought it up, she wasn’t so sure. “I…”

  A full thirty seconds ticked by before he said, “Now do you understand why there’s no going back for me? You used me because you didn’t trust me enough. Respect me enough as a man in your life deserving of those things that night, so if we move forward now it will be by my measure. My making. I will demand your respect and expect your trust. Not as a man, but as your Master.”

  Jo thought she couldn’t get any more numb, but then he added, “This is a gift I am offering to you. It’s the gift of ultimate freedom. Of never having to be in control again. If you make a mistake, like you did that night in the bath, it will be my job to correct you. Every single triumph and all your failures I will own, do you understand?”

  “Forever?”

  He nodded. “If we move forward after the three-week trial, yes.”

  She searched his face as her blood started to circulate again. Reason returned and so did sanity. “That’s…this is no better than…”

  “The way a true marriage was intended to be?”

  “No. Yes. Maybe in the dark ages.” She crossed her arms over her chest and tried to calm down. He’d dangled the carrot right in front of her, and just before she took a bite out of it, he’d snatched it away. She couldn’t agree to this. This went against every grain in her feminist body. She’d be no better than a fifties housewife locked up for her husband’s pleasure until she didn’t please him anymore, and then what? He’d be entitled to divorce her anytime he chose to, but if he didn’t please her, she was expected to deal with it? Screw that.

  “I’m glad you’re thinking about it.”

  Her brows rose, she couldn’t help it because if he had any idea what was going on in her mind right now she was sure he’d be pissed.

  Ted watched Jo trying to wrestle with the concept. He’d purposely made this as difficult and gut-wrenching as possible for her on the hopes she’d change her mind and walk away. One of them should and he knew it wasn’t going to be him.

  “So, um,” she used her thumb to flip through the corner stack of papers, watching the fanning sheets, while one leg bopped up and down, “if I agree to this for the three weeks and find that it’s not ideal for me, that’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  She eyed him and nodded. “Okay, I trust you.”

  He grabbed her hand just before she got the pen to paper. “Don’t.”

  Frowning, she tilted her head. “I’m going to sign it.”

  “I meant don’t sign this unless you truly mean to trust me.”

  “I do,” she yanked her hand out of his grasp and shrugged, “I will.”

  Every muscle in his body tensed, and he held his breath.

  “There.”

  The air rushed out of his lungs by the time she finished executing the last page with a flourish. He didn’t let her straighten them He was too intent on claiming them. Owning them, like he did her from this moment on, until their three weeks together was up.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Me?” He eased
his grip on the pages and nodded. “Yes, I’m fine. Now,” he put the contract into the drawer of the desk and the moment it was safely locked away he felt infinitely better. Back to himself. Connected. “Did you do as I instructed?”

  “Yes. My suitcase is in the car.”

  He looked up. “Suitcase?”

  “Yes. With my clothes and personal items.”

  “Any personal items you’ll need while you’re with me, we’ll buy this afternoon and who told you to bring clothes?”

  She frowned. “Of course I’m going to bring clothes. You don’t expect me to be naked 24/7, do you?”

  “I expect you to wear the outfit I want you to wear when you are not naked, that’s what I expect.”

  “The outfit? As in one?” She held up her finger and stared at him.

  He nodded.

  “That’s crazy.”

  “No. It’s practical. Have you ever heard Einstein’s theory on clothes?”

  “He had a theory about fashion?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can’t say as I’ve heard that one. Relativity,” she recited her limited list, “M equals M C squared…clothes? No.”

  “He believed that the choosing of one’s clothes was a distraction. The matter of choice took away from the brain’s power to concentrate and focus on more important issues.”

  “Do you have a point you’re getting to?”

  “Yes, for the next three weeks your more important issue that I don’t want you distracted from will be me and the training I’m going to put you through. For the duration you will wear your outfit or nothing at all. Today however, you’ll go as you are while we shop and go to your fitting.”

  “A fitting for my outfit?”

  “No.”

  “And it’s not a fitting for more clothes?”

  “After what I just said, wouldn’t buying you clothes be counterproductive?”

  “So what am I being fitted for? A little French maid’s uniform?”

  “Don’t be glib. You’re going to be fitted for a collar and cuffs. As to the outfit you’ll wear, it has two pieces. Do you want to see a set?”