Tonight there was a wine tasting at the gallery and I had to work at the restaurant right after the event, just like last week. I made it to work last week, so I was sure I could do so again this week. Working two jobs has been killing me, but ever since Mark let me loose on the sales floor I’ve done well.
The event this evening seemed to be going well, too. I made an expensive sale and landed a number of contacts I know will equal more sales. I was feeling good until the event ran late, and Mary had some crisis to deal with, and Mark asked me to stay. But I couldn’t, without losing my job at the restaurant. The instant I told him this, Mark called me into his office. He shut the door and I leaned against it. He was close, his gray eyes glinting with irritation.
“You work for me or you work for them. Choose now, Ms. Mason.”
“It’s not about choice, Mr. Compton. It’s about the necessity of paying my bills.”
“You’ll never turn this job into a larger income if you can’t complete duties.”
Since when was this an option? I rebutted, “I haven’t been told I have any chance to make more money.”
“You just started.”
“My bills didn’t.”
That glint in his eyes had turned sharper and I was sure he was going to fire me. Instead, he’d said, “Ten percent on tonight’s sale to get you by. If you continue to do well, there will be more. But that’s on the condition that you quit the restaurant. It’s beneath you, and I don’t share unless it’s on my terms. This isn’t.”
I had barely been able to breathe. He’d just offered me a huge bonus and given me the chance to make this job my career and actually get paid for it? I’m not going to get my hopes up. Not yet.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
So much has changed in the past two weeks. To Mark’s displeasure, I gave a short notice at the restaurant. It was so crazy busy, juggling both jobs, that I didn’t have time to write in my journals. I still haven’t, despite leaving the restaurant fully a week ago. There have been events at the gallery, and . . . there has been another big change. Him.
He’s become a huge part of my life. He, who wants to be known simply as “Master,” has swept into my world and torn away walls I never knew existed, and that I’m not sure I want torn down. But he wants to tear them down. He says he will control me, command my body, and show me pleasure like I’ve never known. He will show me trust that is the greatest bond two people can share. He will fuck me senseless, and then do it again and again until I know nothing but him.
Why does this appeal to me? Why am I considering this? If I know nothing but him, where will I be? How will I exist? He hasn’t touched me yet, but I feel as if he has. Josh showed up with wine, and nothing he could do could entice me this time. There is only him, my would-be “Master.” And that is what he wants. I share my joys and fears and pain with him. He will show me rewards and escapes.
When he first told me I was a natural submissive, I didn’t believe him. I lean on no one. But he says that makes me need the outlet he can offer: the place where I can safely hand over all that I am, and just feel. It frightens me to realize how much this idea seeps into me and flows so easily. Handing over control to this man terrifies me . . . but it also arouses me like nothing in this lifetime ever has, besides art.
He wants to meet tomorrow night, to give me a small taste of what he is offering me. He promises to start slow and give me the chance to test the waters before we go very far, and before we sign an agreement as a true Master and Submissive.
An agreement that says he owns my body.
Friday, February 4, 2011