Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire

by Aleatha Romig

  But I had a plan B. It wasn’t a nice plan, and it wasn’t a fair plan, but it was my last chance to make her consider what I’d asked. After I left the bistro, I made some phone calls to my assistant, and later, to her landlord.

  I thought maybe, just maybe, this next step was going a little far. I felt guilty, sure, and somewhat evil. But I’d always been a firm believer in the cult of “the end justifies the means.”

  *

  I was huddled beside my things on the stairs when he found me. He didn’t say anything, and I didn’t acknowledge him. He leaned down to pick up the eviction notice, holding it between his perfect fingers and scanning it with a frown.

  “I’m sorry, Nell. Just think of it as tough love.”

  “You’re a sociopath.”

  He sat down beside me, taking off his sunglasses and holding them loosely in his hand. “I’m not a sociopath, just desperate. I’m supposed to leave in four days. And I really, really want you to come with me.”

  I breathed deeply, considering my next step. Punch him? Call the police? Gouge out his eyeballs? Listen to what he has to say…

  “There are a million girls in L.A.” I said, hugging my knees more tightly to my chest. “A million girls who would probably jump at this opportunity. So why me?”

  “Because I want you. There may be a million girls, but I want you. Kyle told me…” His voice trailed off as he thought better of it. “I heard that you were different. That you were smarter, deeper. That you were tough. That you were petite and beautiful. When I met you, I saw it was all true. I want you, not anyone else. If there’s someone better out there, I don’t know where she is and I don’t care. My mind’s made up.”

  “I’m a person, Jeremy. I have a life. I have the right to self-determination.”

  “I do too. If I want you, I can do whatever is in my power to attain you, within the law.”

  “Within the law? You used slander and entrapment to get me fired from my job. Then you had me wrongfully evicted from my apartment! Now I’m homeless, and I can’t even… I can’t even…”

  God, I needed my mom, but we hadn’t spoken in years. I was estranged from my whole family. I could call my friends, but they wouldn’t believe the story of what was going on with me, even if I could make it make sense in the retelling. And I’d signed his stupid confidentiality contract, on top of everything else. I hugged myself, feeling powerless and confused. Why was I even sitting with him? Why, even now, did some part of me want to insinuate myself into his arms?

  “The thing is,” Jeremy said, “I really just want to help you. I think you and I could have a lot of fun together. I think this could be mutually beneficial, this arrangement I’m proposing. The only reason you can’t see that is because you’re so angry and afraid of how I went about making it happen—”

  “It’s not happening! I hate you so much, I can’t even explain how much I hate you right now.”

  “It’s okay to hate me, to be afraid of me, to despise me. I don’t care. Just know that I would never do anything to hurt you, really hurt you, no matter what it seems like. Come with me, and belong to me for a while. Relax into it. Don’t think about it so much.”

  “You’re a psycho,” I muttered, burying my head in my knees.

  We sat there for a few moments, and then he reached over and put his hand on the back of my neck. He threaded his fingers into the wavy curls of my shoulder-length hair and started to rub my scalp and nape. I wanted to tell him to stop, but I couldn’t. It felt so good, so comforting. My mother used to caress me that way to soothe me when I was tired or afraid.

  “Listen, what do you want more than anything else in the world?” he asked quietly, when I was reduced to putty in his hands.

  I didn’t answer.

  “Because you know what I want? I want you to come traveling with me these next four months. That’s all I want. A partnership with you. Simple and erotic and enjoyable and exciting and fun. That’s what I want most on earth. Now, what do you want more than anything else? Something I can do for you. Tell me.”

  I shouldn’t have answered, but I did.

  “I want to go to college. I want to finish my degree.”

  “Finish?” he asked in surprise. “What degree have you already started? Medical school? Law school?”

  “Comparative cultural mythology.”

  He laughed. “I see now why you turned to waitressing and sex work.”

  I pulled away from him and didn’t reply.

  “Well, listen, if you stay with me for the term of the contract and work for me, then when you’re no longer in my employ, I’ll pay your way through college. Any university, any degree you want—bachelor’s, master’s, doctorate, whatever. If you can’t get into the university you want, I’ll pay your way into it. Anywhere you like. That’s in addition to the salary I’m already prepared to pay you, the salary I quoted you before. That’s what I can offer you. Maybe it sweetens the deal.”

  And damn it, I guess it did.

  A little-known fact about me—I attended Harvard University for two years following a stellar high school career and a perfect score on my SATs, and began what I hoped would be a lifelong career in the study and publication of papers on mythological tales and documents. But I had to leave because of my fucked-up family; a father sent to jail, a suicidal mother spiraling out of control, siblings with their heads up their asses. I did what I could, then finally washed my hands of the whole morass, but it was far too late to return to my studies, and the money was gone.

  The money. Why was life about money? I’d been trying to save, but it was hard. University tuition was steep, and scholarships were hard to win when your application essay detailed your adventures as a submissive for hire. I put away what I could each month by cutting corners where I was able. I quit the gym to save money and exercised at home with workout DVDs from the public library. I stayed out of the pricier lingerie boutiques and shopped the end-of-season sales at Victoria’s Secret. I turned down dinner invitations, bowed out of barhopping with friends to put money away for the future. Still, after five years of determined saving, I barely had enough saved to cover one semester at Harvard, much less an entire degree.

  But now, after a short stint of indentured servitude, I could get my life back on track. Maybe he was some twisted gift from the universe, this horrible man. He was the money, the influence I needed to move forward.

  I crossed my arms over my chest, still refusing to look at him.

  “I don’t know you at all,” I said. “I don’t think this is completely safe.”

  “That’s what all the paperwork is for. You know how this works. If you would have looked over the papers completely, I think you would have felt better about everything. Jesus, I paid a lot of money to have them drawn up. Fortunately my lawyer is very discreet.”

  “And perverted. To write up contracts like that.”

  “Yes. Sure. The contract is perverse, and by no stretch of the imagination admissible in court. But it’s a job, Nell, a job that I think you’d enjoy very much. You live the lifestyle. It’s in your heart, it’s in your blood, it’s in your will. I think that’s why this is so hard for you. You want to be my submissive, but I think you’re ashamed.”

  It was true. I despised myself for secretly craving the arrangement he suggested. “You hide too,” I pointed out. “You hide the way you are. From the public, from your fans.”

  “Only as much as I have to. I do have a public persona to uphold. But I’m not ashamed of it. I think power exchange is beautiful. I think you are too. I think everything about you is beautiful.”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “Not yet. But if I get my way, I’ll know you very well.”

  I rubbed my eyes. I was too tired to come up with any more protests or recriminations. Deep inside, I knew I’d already made up my mind. He knew it too.

  “Finished sulking?”

  “For now.” I looked over at my things, then back at Jeremy Gray sittin
g beside me. “But what do I do? What now?”

  Jeremy pulled out his phone.

  “I’m going to call someone to pick up your things, and we’re going to go to my place. We’re going to sit down with my lawyer and go over the paperwork page by page. When we’re done, I think you’ll agree to start a relationship with me, but if you decide not to, I’ll get your eviction reversed.”

  “And if I do agree to this ‘relationship’?”

  “We’ll go to dinner tonight and tip off the paparazzi. Our first date.” He turned away from me to bark into his phone. “Kyle, come over. She’s ready now.”

  *

  I stood with a scowl on my face as Kyle and Jeremy loaded my meager belongings into their cars. He was Kyle Gorgeous to me once, but now I just hated his guts.

  He didn’t look at me, not once, and he and Jeremy didn’t talk much. Like me, it was obvious Kyle was just a means to an end. An errand boy, and I would be the sex toy. Smart movie star, Jeremy. He had all his bases covered.

  He drove me to his house in Hollywood Hills, through monitored iron gates that slowly swung open and reminded me of jail. “It’s just for security,” he assured me. “Overzealous fans. You can come and go as you please, always. I promise.”

  I nodded, but I still felt imprisoned by circumstances, if not actual bars. His lawyer, a fit, stylish man of about fifty, ogled me as he leaned against his car in front of the house. Or maybe I should call it what it was, a fucking mansion, not a house.

  The lawyer, in his smart, tailored suit and shiny Italian loafers, shook my hand and introduced himself as Martin Richards. Nice sex contract, Mr. Richards, I wanted to say. Your mother must be very proud of you. But I just shook his hand and stared down at his shoes, already feeling submissive and cowed.

  “Come on,” said Jeremy, leading me toward the door, enthusiastic and bright, like a kid on Christmas morning. Why shouldn’t he be? He had me exactly where he wanted me. He directed Kyle and another man, Carson, to take my things upstairs. A housekeeper greeted us, and I learned there were two other housekeepers who ran the place and worked for Jeremy, in addition to Kyle, his driver, his bodyguard, and, well, myself.

  One big, happy family, although I assumed I was the only one who would serve as his kink toy. My heart hammered painfully in my chest. His house was amazing, his staff was friendly, and the wine we sipped was incredible.

  But I still wondered what the heck I was doing here, and what kind of ledge I was about to jump off.

  Chapter Five

  Friends

  ‡

  “Now, my dear,” said Martin, passing copies of the papers to me and Jeremy. “I’d like you to read over these first and then let me know exactly what questions you have. It’s not our intention to trap you into any service or duties you aren’t willing to give as a salaried employee of Mr. Gray, so this is the time for you to raise any concerns or misgivings you might have. What Mr. Gray wants, first and foremost, is to find a work agreement that benefits you both.”

  “Yes, certainly,” said Jeremy. “I want you to understand that these documents and agreements are for your benefit and safety, should you choose to accept the job. Please take your time.” He nodded to the papers I held cradled in my trembling hands.

  I began on page one, rereading what I’d read before. It really was an excellently written document as far as BDSM contracts go. It covered public vs. private comportment, methods of address, acceptable expressions of affection, general parameters of sexual availability, and as eloquently as it was written, the meaning behind every clause was implicitly clear.

  The applicant agrees to maintain a superlative level of tone and fitness… The applicant shall not get fat and lazy dining in fine restaurants and lying in luxurious beds.

  The applicant shall comport herself at all times as a civilized, polite, and well-educated companion… The applicant shall not behave like a ho-bag.

  The applicant will maintain a constant and meticulous level of bodily care and hygiene… Every hair shall be plucked, waxed, or otherwise banished from her pubic region, and the sex slave shall shower and brush the cum from her teeth twice a day whether she needs it or not.

  The applicant agrees to wear, both in public and private, clothing and underclothing that is either provided by or approved by Jeremy Gray, and will wear whatever accoutrements she is instructed to, even if the applicant finds said accoutrements uncomfortable or unflattering… The applicant will be dressed like a whore at all times under her clothing, and whether she finds the corset, harness, and/or butt plug uncomfortable will not matter to Jeremy Gray in the least.

  Sexual subservience and use may include but is not limited to sexual intercourse, the use of erotic toys and aids, the use of multiple partners and multiple penetration, the withholding and control of orgasms, sexual objectification, and diverse sexual practices, which the applicant may or may not find repugnant… In other words, the man you are considering working for is a pervert of the most extreme kind.

  Punishment and humiliation will exclude control of natural bodily functions (including breath control and asphyxiation) and punishments related to natural bodily functions… So even though he is a pervert of the most extreme kind, don’t worry, he’s not going to try to choke the life out of you or piss or shit on you, no matter how naughty you are.

  It was all standard, reassuringly standard, quite similar to the contract I’d signed to work at Eden, similar to the contract my clients had to sign to play with me, similar to the contracts dominants and submissives drew up in wildly varying relationships all over the world. This one was more sexually oriented than my contract at Eden, though, since at Eden, I hadn’t been expected to provide actual sexual intercourse.

  Well, that was certainly a thing of the past. I got the feeling my job duties to Jeremy would include quite a bit of taking his cock in my holes. I wondered if he was good in bed. A man as kinky as he obviously was—he had to be.

  I put the papers down and looked up at Martin. I couldn’t quite meet Jeremy’s gaze.

  “Did you understand everything in the agreement?”

  “Yes, I did. I’ve signed similar employment contracts before, at the club.”

  “Of course. So this is not totally foreign to you. But somewhat different in a lot of ways, isn’t it?”

  I blushed. “Yes, in some ways.”

  “It’s important to understand that my client will expect a level of sexual availability that you may not have encountered before, certainly not in your work at the club.”

  “Yes, I do understand that clearly.”

  “But his sexual requirements will fall within certain parameters meant to protect you. No third parties will engage in unprotected sex with you. Ever. Mr. Gray will not engage in unprotected sex with you until it is deemed medically safe and secure. Are you on any kind of birth control?”

  “I was on the pill,” I said, blushing even redder. “I can go on it again.”

  “We’ll see my physician tomorrow,” Jeremy interjected. “For blood tests and birth control for you.” He looked hard at Martin, who cleared his throat.

  “It is exceedingly important to my client that no unwanted pregnancies occur as a result of carelessness.”

  “It’s important to me too,” I said. “I assure you I won’t be careless. I’m not on the pill right now because I hadn’t… I didn’t… I wasn’t…”

  “In a sexual relationship?” Martin provided.

  “Yes.”

  “You will be now,” Jeremy said with a broad smile. “And I hope you will find it a mutually satisfying relationship. Most of the time.”

  I looked down at the papers again. “What about collars?”

  “What about them?”

  “Will I be expected to wear one in private?”

  He studied me, his eyes narrowed. “Do you want to wear one in private?”

  I blushed. “I will if you want me to.”

  “That’s not what I asked. Do you like to wear co
llars, Nell?”

  I could feel the flush burning my cheeks. “Sure. Sometimes.” Why was I feeling embarrassed about my own kinks in front of a world-class pervert like him?

  “Well, sorry. I’m not much into collars.” One corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. “I’ll be perfectly capable of controlling you without buckling anything around your neck.”

  He flirted. I had to hand it to him. He was attractive and incredibly masculine. For someone like me, someone who got off on being dominated, he was eroticism defined. But he’s a job. He’s just a job. He’s your ticket back to Harvard. He’s a new life, nothing more.

  “The only thing…” I began. Both men stared at me intently.

  “I am… I don’t… I would prefer not to be caned. I find it nearly intolerable. The pain of it.”

  They were quiet a moment, considering. I forged ahead.

  “I know my job as a submissive is to accept pain, and I do, but it’s not as easy for me as, perhaps, some submissives who really enjoy pain. Pain is different for me.” I stopped, embarrassed, but Jeremy was watching me in fascination.

  “Why is pain different for you?”

  “Because I…just… I mean, I want to accept it to please my dominant, but it’s not easy for me. And severe pain—it panics me a little—”

  “You’re not a pain whore. Is that what you’re trying to say?” asked Jeremy.

  “Yes. I’m sorry if that disappoints you, but I can’t change the way I am. I’ve tried. And I’m just telling you honestly that I can take most pain, but I can’t… I really…”

  “You can’t deal with being caned.”

  “Yes.” Why did I suddenly feel ashamed?

  Because submissives, good submissives, were supposed to take everything their dominant wanted to dish out.

  “Okay,” said Jeremy after a moment. “Okay, no canes. We’ll put it on the ‘hard limit’ list. If that’s your only hard no, I’m happy with that. You’ll find I try to be reasonable as far as I can. I really do wish for you to enjoy your life with me. It won’t always be wine and roses, but I want you to be happy. Do you know what I mean?”