The Story of The Contract, first part

So the story begins.

I was reading 50 shades of Grey. It was sweltering hot at the place we were staying at and we were lying on a bed under a fan. The purr of the fan weighed more than words most of the time.

Look, I said. I showed Wonderboy the contract they made in the book.

What do you think?

He laughed and said something to dismiss the subject. But I didn’t give up that easily.

You want to do something like that?

A contract?

Yeah. We used to do a lot of stuff like that. You sometimes even ruled out outfits. Once you made me take off your socks and shoes when you came home. I liked that.

But we haven’t been doing it anymore. And I know it’s been too hard with the infertility and everything. Maybe a contract would help.

Would you like that?

Would you like that?

I might. I have to think about it.

We danced around it. We came back to it on many instances. We were both obviously drawn to the idea, but neither of us had the guts to go for it, to really suggest it. We had so many uncertainties. What would it entail? How would we keep it up? Does s/he even want it?

*

We were having drinks in a trendy hotel terrace bar. The tall and colourful coctail glasses sweated as we did on the plastic couch. We could hear the sound of the waves or maybe it was just the cars passing by. We could see the sea glistening in the night.

Before I would’ve never agreed to a contract like that, I start. I couldn’t have accepted that physical part… about doing workout just because you say so.

He got more vigilant, straightened himself up.

I’m listening, he said and encouraged me to keep on going with his waving hand.

I don’t think so anymore. I mean. I want to be pretty for you. And I have already been doing the butt workout because of you. It could even help for me to keep in shape. And I don’t see it as such a power imbalance anymore.

Why? he asked.

Well, for once, I’m not an example of feminist agenda, I said and laughed. I’ve just been so tangled up with the idea that I can’t jump into this, I can’t even like it, because I’ve been granted the freedom to choose. I don’t have to follow the man’s lead. I’ve known that I can, but I’ve just felt too… threatened by it.

So, what’s changed?

Well. This is what I want. I guess I was uncertain of that for long. This is what I’ve been trying to get you to agree to for the longest time. So if this is what I want, why couldn’t I give it to myself?

He smiles.

Things are really gonna change, he says in a sinister voice, pressing his mouth to my ear.

Days later I have to make sure, I need to know, becauuse it gnaws my innards not to know.

Do you only like it because I will get thinner or do you like the control? I ask in a small voice.

I feel like I’m fat and ugly in his eyes, if he needs to change me. I need to know this to be able to go on on the contract.

Well, both, he says. But mostly the control, he adds and takes my hand as we walk.

Me too, I say.

*

We sit facing each other in a restaurant cellar. The stone walls are brusque and grey, but the table cloth is linen and every dish more delicious than the one before.

What do you want? he asks when he slices down his cheesecake in a small cup.

There are men sitting across from our table, the only other people down at the dim lit cellar, but they have their own conversation in a different language and can probably neither hear or understand us.

I want… you to tie me up. I want you to tease me more. I want you to focus on me, touch me more. Don’t just touch my places, touch me everywhere. Tie me to the ceiling and keep me standing there for your pleasure. And it doesn’t have to always lead to sex. I think we would do well to give that thought up. Just play and see.

His face lights up. He sips his white wine with his lips twisted in a smile.

That sounds good, he muses and I’m happy.

But then I begin to wonder.

What about you? What do you want?

First he doesn’t answer and I’m afraid he’ll say what he always does. I don’t know. But he doesn’t. He says:

I want to get you handcuffs.

I shriek just a little shriek of joy.

*

We start with an empty page. We write all the things I am expected to do.

45 minutes of exercise 3 times a week. 3 butt workouts a week at home with the ankle weights he’ll buy me.

No snacking with the exception of fruit. Healthy meals. I can’t buy any kind of sweets, not even diet coke, without his permission.

He will decide when we have sex and what we do… but I can always ask.

I have to ask his permission to change my hair or makeup style and at home I have to wear what he chooses for me.

I have to obey his direct orders, but he has to take my wellbeing into consideration.

And if I disobey… Well. He already spanked my once because I did something he didn’t approve of, I can’t even remember what it was. And it wasn’t fun. It hurt. It just hurt. But it felt right.

And now. Now we have a flogger! It’s purple and it’s pretty and it stings. We also have pink suede restraints for me (because why should they not be pretty as well?), false eyelashes with sparkle, different kinds of stockings… and a pink jelly dildo. He didn’t tell it to me before hand, but he plans on using it on my ass when he fucks me from behind.

But how it came to pass that we even got to talking about this?

To be continued…

Ps. Sorry for the delay. I was suffering from a stomach flu and got a fever to boost.  I’m fine now, though.