The Agreement

by Lund, S. E.

  "I'm so tired…" I said, my eyes closing. "I have to get home. I'll call a taxi…"

  "Shh," he said, cradling me in his embrace. "You'll stay here tonight. You need to recover. Just lie with me."

  "If I'm not at home and," I said, almost using Dawn's name before catching myself. "And that person comes by, they may become suspicious."

  "Katherine," he said, his voice firm. "When you’re with me, I make the decisions. You're with me. I've decided you're staying the night."

  I exhaled and just relaxed into his arms. "It's your neck, not mine…"

  "It is." Then he laid me down on the bed and went to the bathroom, bringing back a warm washcloth that he used to wipe me off, starting at my face and then moving down over my body to my pussy, touching it gently to wipe away his come, the touch of the washcloth on my sensitive skin causing me to gasp just a bit.

  He smiled, as if he enjoyed the thought I was uncomfortable.

  "Does that please you?" I asked. "The thought I'm in pain?"

  He stopped what he was doing and frowned. "Is it truly pain? Or is it just discomfort from a very thorough and enjoyable fucking?" He waited for a moment, watching me. "Answer me, Katherine. Is it because you were well-fucked? Remember the rules…"

  I watched his face, trying to decide. "Yes, Master," I said finally, a tiny bit of annoyance in me despite how languid my body felt, my eyes closing.

  "Yes, what?"

  "Yes, Master," I said, too sleepy to open my eyes. "It's because I'm well-fucked."

  "Good girl," he said and kissed me as if to reward me for good behavior.

  "Can I ask why you call me a girl? I'm really not, you know. I'm almost twenty-five." I said while he continued to wipe me off. "A quarter century." I opened my eyes to see his response. He didn't stop what he was doing, but frowned again as if considering.

  "I know you're a woman, Kate. You're an intelligent, passionate, caring woman. I respect you. I would never fuck a girl. The essence of a D/s relationship is power exchange between consenting adults. The submissive has to trust the Dominant enough to give over total control to him. In order for you to trust me, you have to feel that I truly am dominant in personality. That I can exert total control over you with confidence." He stopped his motions for a moment and turned to me, his eyes holding mine.

  "You sound like a professor giving a lecture."

  "I am a professor."

  "Of surgery…"

  "Of surgery, but I could teach BDSM. I do give lectures sometimes. You wanted to understand, Kate. You have to feel submissive for this to work. If you don't, you won't yield control to me. I have to use every weapon in my arsenal to ensure you feel it because that mind of yours is just too intelligent, too busy. When I call you girl, that reinforces the difference between us. I'm thirty five so I'm older than you. I'm more experienced. I'm more knowledgeable about sex. Most importantly, I'm able to control myself. Therefore, I'm able to control you. You can trust me to do so and you can just release yourself completely to feel whatever I decide you should feel."

  He continued wiping off my body, his expression thoughtful. I said nothing, just watched him, enjoying the look of care on his face. He was totally involved in cleaning off my body, in caring for me, and that surprised me.

  "Why are doing this?" I said, curious. "I could clean myself off. Isn't this a servant's job? Shouldn't I be cleaning you off?"

  He paused and caught my eye. "Are you in any kind of condition to wash me?" He smiled briefly. "You turn yourself over to me completely, Kate. You allow me to restrain you, elicit intense emotions in you, make you feel strong passions and sensations, to use your body as I want to use it. You're my responsibility. My complete responsibility when we're together. Your body needs to be cleaned and tended. Your mind needs to be calmed and comforted. Doing so is my responsibility as well. Submissives can be very delicate emotionally after an intense scene. They need to be cared for. It's called aftercare. I enjoy doing it."

  "So is our scene over now? We're back to normal people?"

  He stroked the cloth over my thighs. "I'd prefer that when you're here, we stay in scene. Usually, I don’t have a sub stay overnight, but in this case, I don't think you should go home."

  "Why don't you let them stay? Potatoes and gravy mixing with meat a bit too closely?"

  He smiled but kept his eyes focused on my body as he wiped my calves. "Something like that."

  "So, technically, I should still refer to you as Master."

  He nodded. "I'll give you a bit of leeway since you're new." Then he threw the washcloth across the room into a laundry hamper. He knelt on the bed between my legs, his hands on his hips. "But next time, I expect perfect compliance with the terms of the contract or you'll get a spanking."

  "Promise?" I said, unable to stop my smile.

  "Oh, you…" He laid on top of me, his face in my neck. "That's called topping from the bottom and deserves a spanking in and of itself. Or perhaps orgasm denial…"

  "Yes, please, no more orgasms tonight!" I said, giggling. Then he rose up above me, a gleam in his eye, a half-grin on his mouth.

  "Ms. Bennet, I can see you need a lesson in proper submissive behavior." He reached down between my thighs to touch my clit and I gasped, cringing away from him, for I was still far too sensitive.

  "No, please, Drake, don't…"

  For whatever reason, my emotions were still far too close to the surface and my eyes filled with tears. I bit my lip and turned my face away. How could I move so quickly from laughter to tears?

  "Shh," he said, rolling over, pulling me on top of him. He held my face in his hands, his thumb wiping my tears off my cheek. "I won't. But don't tell me what to do and what not to do. Don't even tell me what you want unless I ask you. It's not your place, Kate," he said and then added, "Katherine…" as if he, too, was having problems keeping to the terms of the agreement.

  I nodded. "I'm sorry Master."

  He pulled me down so that my head rested on his shoulder, one hand stroking my back gently, one hand stroking my hair. We remained like that for some time, until the strange sense of sadness drained out of me completely and a peace settled over me instead.

  Soon, I dozed in his arms, immersed in the warmth of Drake's embrace, waking only briefly later, checking the alarm clock beside the bed. An hour had passed and Drake was covering us with the blankets. I closed my eyes once more.

  I woke in the middle of the night and was alone in the bed. The clock radio read 3:30 a.m. and light from the moon filtered in through the sheer curtains onto the floor. I rose and peeked inside the bathroom, but it was empty. I cracked open the door leading to the living area and saw Drake sitting in the living room on a stool, his back to me, the acoustic guitar in his arms, headphones on. He was playing, but the sound was muted for the acoustic guitar was electric and was hooked into a small amp at his feet. I could hear the faint sounds of his fingers on the metal strings, sometimes sliding up and down, the sound of his fingers strumming or plucking strings.

  I went up behind him while he played. He was wearing his jeans but was bare from the waist up. I glanced over his shoulder and saw he was playing the music from earlier that my father gave to his – Old Friends / Bookends. When I rested my hands on his shoulders, he startled a bit and stopped playing. I went around and stood in front of him while he removed his headphones.

  "You woke up."

  I nodded, my arms around my own waist, facing him, acutely aware of my nakedness.

  He looked me up and down as I stood before him. "You are a vision of loveliness in the moonlight."

  A blush rose up my neck and face at that and I tried not to cover up. "You couldn't sleep?"

  He shook his head and strummed the guitar absently. "I woke up and my mind wouldn't stop. Sometimes, playing helps."

  "You still won't play for me?"

  He exhaled heavily.

  "No, it's OK," I said, hurt. "I understand. Potatoes and meat…" I sensed that this was too much – askin
g him to play for me.

  But then he unplugged the headphones and started to play, the guitar soft. After a brief musical intro, he started to sing, his voice surprisingly good, although soft.

  Emotion welled up inside of me as I listened, the image of the old men sitting on a park bench like bookends so sad. I could hear the muted sounds of the city described in the lyrics, see the old men disappearing into overcoats, their collars up, their wisps of white hair blown by the wind.

  I had to bite back tears, thinking of him losing his father, keeping all his old furniture and guitars here as a way to hold on. No matter that the relationship might have been strained or imperfect, to lose your father is to lose your rudder. This was Drake's way of preserving his memories – playing his father's music, using his old guitars, keeping this apartment, his father's old furniture.

  I thought of his father and mine – how the two shared an uncommon hell over in Vietnam and how it must have cemented a bond between them despite the differences in their politics. How my father thought they would grow old and still be friends.

  He finished and looked up at me, his eyes guarded. I went to him as he sat there with the guitar in his arms, his eyes on mine and took his face in my hands. I kissed him, my eyes wet.

  "Thank you."

  I left him alone with his music and went to the bathroom, unable to stay there with his face like that, so vulnerable, as if his heart was open for me to see right inside of him. He brought the music and photograph out specifically for me to see, but he didn’t show them to me, as if he had second thoughts. He let me find them. I wondered if he would have showed them to me on his own, or if he would have left them alone. I had the sense he would have left them if I hadn’t found them.

  They were far too personal.

  I held a wet washcloth to my eyes, breathing in deeply to control my emotions.

  He wanted to keep me separate from the other parts of his life – his work, his charity, his family, his music. I was just to stay in the kink part. Now, he'd failed at all four. He let me see the photograph, the music from my father, let me hear him sing and play – it muddied the careful order he had established over things.

  I wasn't sure I could do this – stay in this one corner of his life.

  I heard him in the doorway to the bathroom. "Come back to bed," he said, his voice soft.

  "Just give me a minute." I was barely able to speak from the emotion choking my throat.

  Then, I felt him behind me, his arms slipping around my shoulders, pulling me against him. He said nothing, just rested his chin on the top of my head for a moment. Finally, he leaned down and kissed my shoulder before turning me around, embracing me.

  "Sweet sweet Kate…" He tilted my head up and looked in my eyes, wiping moisture from my cheek. "Why the tears?"

  I shook my head, breathing in, trying to control myself, but that song, although so simple, was so filled with meaning.

  "It's so beautiful and so sad. They were old friends with so much history. My father…" I swallowed back emotion. "I can't imagine losing my father."

  He nodded, his face emotionless. He brushed hair off my cheek. Then he led me back to the bedroom and pulled back the blanket, pointing to the bed. I crawled in and he followed me, spooning against me from behind, his arms around my waist.

  "Close your eyes."

  I exhaled and tried to relax, but my eyes wouldn't close and instead of sleeping, I watched the motes of dust drifting in the beam of moonlight filtering in through the curtains, thinking of old men sitting on a park bench in Central Park.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  8th Avenue became my refuge from life, my entire existence focused on getting through the next day and night until it was time to meet him again. After that first night, I'd enter the apartment and he would be waiting for me instead of me waiting for him as I once imagined. It just seemed to work out that he was already there waiting for me when I arrived.

  I'd open the door and breathe in deeply, his cologne, the scent of leather and old wood coming to symbolize Drake to me, arousing me before I'd even make it through the door. He'd have a shot of Anisovaya waiting for me in Yelena Kuznetsova's crystal glasses and we'd drink a toast to each other before falling into our respective roles. He'd take the glass from my hand and place them both on the sideboard. Then, he'd come to me, wrapping me in his arms, his chin on the top of my head for a moment and that was a sign I had to shift into submissive mode.

  It became easier and easier, the word Master less awkward on my lips.

  The week that my period was due again, I tried to bow out of seeing him. The last time I had my period, we were separated out of necessity when I broke it off because Dawn found the contract. This time, there was no excuse. He was standing at the doorway on Sunday morning before I left, examining a wall calendar.

  "I'm free Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday this week," he said. "I hope you can make all four nights."

  I shook my head and stood beside him, examining the calendar. "I'm due on Tuesday," I said, touching the date. "It will last until Friday. I can't make Saturday night because this person doesn't work that night. I guess we have to take a week's break."

  He shook his head. "I don't like that, Kate," he said, frowning. "Just because you have your period doesn't mean you can't come to me."

  "I don't think so," I said, holding my hands up, stepping away from him and his frowning expression. "I have bad cramps and on the day before and first day, I'm what my father calls a hellcat."

  "No, I still want you here. You said you had every Tuesday and Thursday for sure and one day on the weekend that you'd always be free so I want you here then if I can't have you on Saturday. Monday as well. I have many techniques guaranteed to tame beasts, hellcats included."

  "Drake…"

  "Katherine," he said and pulled me against him, but my body was rigid. "You forget, I was married for five years to a woman who had periods. I'm also a doctor, unless you also forgot that fact. I even did a OB/GYN rotation and delivered babies, did C-Sections, cut out uteruses. Why, I even had my whole hand and part of my arm inside a woman delivering a breech twin…"

  I made a face and right away, thought about that clause in his contract about vaginal fisting.

  "There's no reason to be together if we can't do things," I said, trying to wrestle free from him, but he held me tight, nibbling my neck playfully.

  "What do you mean, we can't do things? We can always do things. Besides, a good orgasm will help your PMS and cramps."

  "I could never," I said, making a face. "I'm way too uncomfortable. I can't imagine it."

  "You can and you will," he said. "Submission, Katherine. It's what I want. I don’t want to be away from you for so long."

  "But it's disgusting! Haven't you heard about masturbation?"

  "Why should I masturbate when I can have you? You are such a good Catholic girl despite being a socialist…" He reached down to my waist and tickled me.

  "I'm not a socialist!" I said, laughing despite myself, squirming in his arms. "I'm not a good Catholic girl. If I was, I’d still be a virgin and wouldn't let you tie me up and fuck me."

  "And I'm so glad you're a bad Catholic girl, Kate. If you weren't, I'd die of blue balls."

  He chased me around the apartment, and I almost fell on one of his small carpets that slipped beneath my feet when he almost cornered me. He caught me from behind and held me firmly.

  "Now, no more arguments about it. I want you here on Tuesday and Thursday. I won't fuck you if you really don't want me to, if it really upsets you that much, but I will make you come and you will make me come. No more arguments."

  Finally, I gave in.

  I didn't know what to expect when I arrived at the apartment on 8th Avenue that Tuesday night, but it certainly wasn't what I found waiting just inside Drake's door. He was there, dressed in football equipment, elbow and knee pads, shoulder pads, a helmet on and a cup over top of his jeans. In one hand was a bottle of wine.
>
  "Oh, my God," I said, covering my mouth with a hand, laughing at him. He grinned from ear to ear under the helmet's faceguard grill. He even had a mouthpiece in.

  "I thought I'd be prepared for a hellcat," he said, mumbling around the mouthpiece. Then he spit it out. "You don't look too hard to handle."

  "You are so bad," I said, laughing as I removed my coat and boots.

  He came to me and embraced me, the equipment hard and bumpy against my body. He was laughing so hard, trying to kiss me, but unable because of the helmet. Finally, he just held me, his body still shaking with mirth.

  "You’re not going to keep that on, are you?"

  "I don't know," he said, still chuckling. "Kinda feels a bit kinky. You could get some pompoms. Shake your booty a bit…" He grinned, his blue eyes twinkling in that way. "Maybe I'll keep them on just until I see how hellish you are."

  "What's that?" I asked, pointing to the wine. I was less tense due to the laughter, but still, I felt a certain amount of trepidation about the evening's events.

  "A nice Pinot Noir," he said, a bit more in control. "Red wine is good for menstrual cramps. Helps stop the prostaglandins that cause your cramping." He leaned down and whispered, but he couldn’t get close because of the face guard. "I'm going to get you good and drunk and then fuck you."

  I stepped backwards, trying to escape his arms. "You said you wouldn't, Drake. I'm holding you to that."

  He let me go and started to peel equipment off so that he was left in his white button down shirt opened at the neck, untucked over a pair of faded jeans.

  "I said I wouldn’t if you really didn't want me to, but," he said, pulling me into his arms, putting on a fake German accent, "Ve have vays to make you vant me to…"

  "You are a dirty conniving bastard," I said and sidled away from him when he tried to prevent my escape. "I have a headache and can't drink wine."