Authors: Sherilyn Gray
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Romance, #Contemporary
After rinsing out my hair and rubbing the bar
of soap over every inch of my body, I turned the shower off and walked over to
where I left my clothes. They weren’t there anymore; a towel and a folded white
full slip lay neatly on the chair instead. I was absolutely thankful that I
didn’t have to put back on my filthy clothes and spoil my cleanliness. After I
dried myself off and put on the slip, Marion returned with her clipboard.
She studied me from the top of my head down to my toes.
“It’s time for your makeover,” she said
simply while jotting down a few notes.
“A makeover?” I suddenly found myself thrown
about the house, having person after person appear out of nowhere to trim my
hair and cut and polish my nails. Worst of all was when they waxed my entire
body. I don’t think I’ve ever screamed so loud in my life.
When it was over, they brought me to this
windowless room where the other girls in white slips eyed me curiously. So here
I was, taken off the streets only last night and now in the lap of luxury.
Dirty, cold, and clinging to a piece of soggy cardboard for warmth, and now
clean, waxed, and warm despite only wearing a thin undergarment. If this really
was an illusion or a dream, I never wanted it to end.
Feeling drained from all activity this
morning, I was thankful I was able to finally sit down and have a moment of
peace. I realized all of this pampering wasn’t so bad. It felt nice and
refreshing to be so clean, to be able to run my fingers through my hair and not
have them get caught in tangles.
I ran my hand over the smoothness of my legs.
What kind of job are they going to give me, anyway? The fact that there were
only women around me made me a little suspicious, but then I remembered the bus
ticket Marion had promised me if I decided I wanted to leave. I could always go
to Southern California or Florida, somewhere with a beach and nice weather.
The door opened with a creak of its hinges,
causing every one of us to jump. Marion appeared in the doorway with a man I
had never seen before. She pointed to me and waved me over. As I walked over to
them, I saw her hand the man her clipboard. The man was middle aged or older
with dark neatly cropped hair, and had a friendly smile on his face that
immediately put me at ease. Marion handed me a pair of light pink slippers that
reminded me of ballerina shoes. I put them on my feet and was amazed by how
perfectly they fit. I wiggled my toes as the man walked forward and offered me
a jacket. It was way too big for me, but I took it gratefully. I pressed the
leather against my nose and breathed in; it smelled like cologne, and
definitely not the cheap kind.
“This is the girl,” Marion told the man. The
man nodded and put his arm lightly around my back and led me out of the
building and towards a small, red sports car.
“What’s your name?” The man asked, not
unkindly.
“I can’t remember.” I told him honestly.
The man nodded as though he expected that
answer. “Well, that will be resolved soon enough.”
I wanted to ask him more questions.
Who
are you? Where are you taking me? Is this your coat I’m wearing?
No, this
coat was made for someone much taller and much broader than him. I decided I
wasn’t going to ask questions and instead continue to be grateful for
everything that had happened to me in the past twenty-four hours. This was
probably the only chance I would get to escape from poverty and I might as well
make the most of it.
I wasn’t aware that I had fallen asleep until
the driver nudged me lightly on the arm a couple times. I opened my eyes and
stared in wonder at the change in scenery. It looked to be late afternoon or
perhaps early evening. We were driving up a gravel path surrounded by acres of
gorgeous green grass with horses grazing behind pure white fences. It felt strange
to be away from the tall buildings and busy, loud streets of San Francisco and
to find myself in such a quiet, peaceful looking place.
What caught my attention the most was the
sprawling mansion at the end of the drive. It was stunningly beautiful; however
I could not get past the feeling of apprehension as we parked out in front of
it. The mansion was dark and looked as though it were made out of stone, like
an old, gothic European castle. The roof sloped up into points with
giant, dark windows underneath. The grounds were beautifully landscaped with an
array of colorful winter flowers and large, looming succulents, but it did not
help keep away the forbidding vibe the mansion gave off.
I shook my head. Perhaps my imagination gets
the better of me sometimes. “Where are we?” I asked the driver.
“This is going to be your new home.”
Home.
In this massive house? I laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“No, miss. I’m afraid I’m not,” the man said,
his voice completely serious.
We stepped out of the car. Without saying a
word, the driver led me up the front steps and through the ornate, wooden door.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding as I walked through the
threshold and into what I later learned was the foyer. To my relief, the inside
of the mansion did not look as gloomy and desolate as the outside. Bright light
shone through the windows. Two large staircases spilled into the center of the
foyer; the steps were covered in what looked like a Persian rug, and the
banisters were leafed in gold. The floor was a white marble tile and extended
underneath the staircase where pure white columns held up an alcove where a
grand piano sat. What intrigued me the most was the vast array of artwork that
surrounded me.
Large vases that looked to be from the Ming
Dynasty sat on either side of the staircase. Intricately carved Grecian
sculptures stared back at me with their stony silence. On the walls were a
collection of Pre-Raphaelite paintings, and I swear I almost swooned at the
sight of an original John William Waterhouse. I felt like I had died and gone
to heaven with all of this art. My extensive knowledge of art theory and
history was the one link that led to my past. It was too bad that the link
wasn’t something more useful, like a name or a place to remind me of who I was
.
“Holy shit,” I whispered softly. I twirled
around in a circle, trying to soak in everything around me. “I’m actually going
to live here?”
Was there going to be someone behind a
curtain that was suddenly going to jump out and say “Just kidding!” This was
way too good to be true.
The man stopped and turned around to look at
me. We were just about the same height, I noticed. Yep, this jacket was
definitely not his.
“Yes, if you agree to the terms and
conditions that the master of the house has laid out for you, then you will
indeed be living here.” He continued walking further into the house. “Come, I
will show you to your room.”
The way he talked was so prim and proper.
This guy must be a butler, I thought as I followed him towards the staircase. I
felt slightly self conscious about walking up the carpeted steps with my shoes
still on, only to remember that everything I wore—no, every single damn inch of
me—was absolutely clean. I still felt like I could easily defile the place just
with my presence. I lightly ran my hand over the golden banister as we ascended
the steps, and quickly stopped as I realized I was smudging the smooth finish
with my fingerprints.
When we reached the top of the stairs, he led
me to a room at the far end of the hallway. I was already prepared for another
surprise—I mean, a house this fancy must also have amazing bedrooms—but my
mouth still hung open in shock as I stared at the huge, four-poster bed with
red velvet curtains drawn back, revealing plush, red and white pillows and
sheets that probably felt like clouds when sleeping on them. A massive,
mahogany armoire sat in the corner next to the bed, its dark wooden color lit
up by the sun shining through large, rectangle paned windows. I stepped into
the bedroom and circled around it, trying not to become too overwhelmed. When I
saw the adjoining bathroom, with sandstone tiles and a giant tub next to a
window overlooking the grazing horses below, I had to sit down.
I could tell the man took pity on me; he gave
me a small smile. “This will be your room if you choose to accept the
contract,” he told me. “There are a few things in the wardrobe and in the
bathroom for you to use, but if you need anything within reason, you may make
requests.” He walked over to a small desk on the other side of the room. On the
desk sat a small stack of papers and a pen. “This is your contract, and I
advise you to read it thoroughly before you sign it. However, a decision must
be made by tomorrow.”
A contract? I walked over to the desk and
glanced over his shoulder at the papers. I could understand a few words, but
there was no way I would be able to figure out all that was written on there.
Great. Now I had to reveal my complete ignorance. It seemed like blasphemy to admit
my illiteracy underneath this fancy roof.
“Could you go over it with me?” I asked
tentatively.
He seemed surprised at first. “Of course,” he
said, and I sat back down at the foot of the bed as he read it to me. “I will
summarize it for you. Let me know if you have any questions and I will... do my
best to explain it to you.” I nodded to him. “This contract outlines your
duties and responsibilities within this household, and what you can expect from
Victor Draper.”
Victor. I played the name through my mind,
mouthing it silently, getting a taste for it. I brought the collar of the
jacket I was wearing towards my nose again and breathed in the scent of the
cologne.
The man continued reading off the contract to
me:
“ ‘At this date (your name) is entering the
service of Victor Draper. In order to pay for your room, meals, and other
necessities, you will be required to perform general housekeeping duties as
assigned by the employer, Victor Draper. You will wear a standard blouse and
skirt, and you will wear your hair up. Jewelry and excessive makeup is not
allowed. You will be expected to work Monday through Friday from 8am to 5pm, or
when determined by the employer.’ ”
That seemed straightforward enough for me. I
was about ready to tell him that I would sign the contract right then and there
until the man cleared his throat. “There is a second part of the contract. Once
again, let me know if you have any questions about this:
“ ‘At this date (your name) is also entering
into a 24 hour power exchange relationship. By signing this contract you agree
to act with manner and decorum in the presence of your employer (the Dominant)
and you will be expected to address him as ‘Sir’…”
“Manner and decorum?” I wondered out loud,
confused by the wording. Before he could explain, I suddenly realized what it
meant. “Oh, that could be a bit of a struggle,” I said wryly. If there was
anything I lacked it would have to be good manners. That kind of attitude would
get me sacked out in the streets. I waited for the man to continue:
“ ‘You (the submissive) agree for your body
to be available to him any time of the day and in any way he demands, which
includes partaking in the act of sexual favors, as well as serving as
decoration during social functions.’ ”
Decoration? Is he going to hang me around his
neck like a scarf and show me off? And what was this about sexual favors?
“ ‘The Dominant will take full responsibility
for the health and well being of the submissive, and although there will be
forcible punishment for acting out and/or for not following the rules, the
Dominant will never leave a permanent mark or punish the submissive in a way
that may require any outside treatment. Instances that may require punishment
include:
Punishment?
All right, perhaps this was getting a bit weird. Why
should I let someone punish me for not living up to their standards? And what
did “punishment” actually mean? Was he going to whip me? Or chain me up and
leave me in a dungeon? I was almost positive that a house like this had some
secret underground lair. I looked under my feet. Or maybe a trap door...
He continued. “ ‘This contract lasts for the
duration of three months from the date signed, at which point there can be
discussion of whether or not to terminate the contract or renew it. At any time
the Dominant fails his duty to protect the submissive’s physical or mental
health, or the submissive decides she no longer wants to abide by these terms,
the contract may be terminated, but this is seen as a last resort.’ ”
He pointed to a line right below the blocks
of letters. “If you agree to these terms, then you can sign your name below.
Or, in your case, you can mark it with an ‘X’.” He made the symbol for an “X”
in the air with his finger, to make sure I understood. I gave him a hesitant
smile.
“I am told that you are free to rest for the
night, but please have your decision made by tomorrow morning. Mr. Draper does
not like to wait.” The man made for the door.
“Wait,” I said. “What’s your name?”
“Oscar,” he told me kindly.
After Oscar left, I stared down at the
contract. Some of the wording he used was a bit confusing, but I was able to
make out most of what it meant. What burned in my mind was the part about
giving my body readily to Victor. The thought made me a bit uncomfortable, but
the contract did say that one of his duties was to look after my well-being.
That was a little reassuring, as was the fact that I could walk away from it
all in a moment’s notice.
I sighed. It all really didn’t seem too bad.
Different, yes, but it all seemed like a small price to pay to live in a huge,
warm, house and eat what I expect to be delicious and comforting foods. Did I
really want to go back to being homeless? Even if I did take that bus ticket,
who’s to say I would be any better than I was before? I picked up the pen and
wrote a big “X” as my signature. There, it was signed. Now I was ready to see
what fate had in store for me.