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"How?" I asked bluntly and I did not add sir.
I had yet to agree to any of this. He had no hold on me.
Except for waking up without the craving.
"Nothing will harm you permanently," he said, and reached out to touch my face. I shrank back then realized he was only going to stroke, and forced myself to be still. "You will not be altered. There will be no branding, no tattooing. Since your sobriety is one of the goals, you will not be subjected to any kind of substance."
I shuddered at the idea that anyone would be, ever.
He stood and walked behind my chair. I tensed, but tried not to move. Still there was no agreement between us, but it was coming. And I'd sign when he presented it. The freedom of my body this day, without the pain, the upset, the headache, the exhaustion, the confusion, the runny nose – all of it was too good to be true.
Instead of feeling the symptoms of withdrawal, I felt good. Strong, rested. Clear-headed.
I hated what I'd have to give up for it. My freedom. My self respect. My dignity. There was nothing dignified in knowing that I was going to be punished, that it might be made some version of public. That he might invite others in to do whatever it was he was threatening.
Now he said, "Make no mistake. There will be pain and there will be pleasure."
I looked up at him, angry and confused. Waiting.
"Now that you are mine, now that you are to sign the agreement, now that you know the pleasure of having body and soul back, you will be mine completely."
Oh. Sex. That I might have guessed.
"You will serve at my pleasure. I will do with your body as I wish. You may only pleasure me some days and I may choose to pleasure you on others or make you hurt for my own pleasure." He stroked my face as he moved closer and then, without warning, he leaned over me from behind and took my hands from the front of the button up and put them to my sides. His hands moved inside the shirt and he ran them hard down the slope of my breasts, found my nipples, and began to squeeze.
I sucked in a breath, then held it, waiting for him to stop, waiting for my body to even out and accept what it was feeling, to deal with it and wait for it to end even as electricity sped through me and I felt myself suddenly getting aroused, so wet there was going to be evidence of it on the chair when finally he allowed me to stand up.
"This," he said, and releasing my nipples, which started to burn with the return of blood, he slid his hands around the outsides of my breasts and began to squeeze them as though he meant to crush them.
I started to shake. My hands balled into fists around the hem of the shirt and he barked at me. "Open your hands!"
God! Wasn't I supposed to have any release? It hurts!
I forced my hands open and in response, he tightened his grip. I bucked against him and he laughed, and dug his nails into my flesh.
I screamed.
The agreement was drawn up by and witnessed by an attorney who had to be really strange. I memorized his name so I could be certain I would never hire him by mistake. I signed my name with a hand that shook.
No one notarized the documents. No one asked for my ID.
I had a feeling the agreements were, nonetheless, incredibly binding.
