The clock on the dash of her SUV reads 8:51 am. Eve glances down the street towards Jonathan's house, seeing just a few cars remaining in their driveways. Most of the people who go to church on Sundays would have left by now, and the few remaining sinners seem to still be asleep. She finds herself staring off into the distance, contemplating her feelings. She doesn't need this—any of it. She could quit tomorrow and spend the rest of her life as a hermit, easily able to support herself. Perhaps she should just get rid of her clients and solely get her fix from the club on Fridays and Saturdays. And, perhaps, from Octavian as well...when he wants her.
Domination and submission has been her life, consumed almost every waking moment of her existence since college, since she met Paul. It is possible that she went overboard after he passed, possible that something within her snapped. Eve wonders if she is doing all of this simply to remain close to him, despite the fact that he is never coming back. She recalls his handsome face, his brilliant smile, choosing to remember him from before the cancer—before he spent months wasting away, before she took care of him because he was too feeble, too weak to do it himself.
Eve shakes her head, pushing those thoughts from her mind when her eyes begin to burn.
Fuck it—fuck all of it,
she thinks. She needs to move on, to find her own way and stop dredging up the last remaining connection to him. Nodding, she decides that she is done. One by one she will prune her clients until she has no more. Then she can figure out what the hell to do with her life. She will start with the newest, working back to the oldest, which means that Jonathan must go first.
The clock reads 8:57 am. Eve opens her door, grabbing her purse, briefcase bag, and the newly packed sub bag of Jonathan's.
Might as well use some of it to push him over the edge.
Being Sunday, she tried not to dress too much like a slut, not that it matters much to her either way. Her dark hair is swept into victory rolls, the length of it pulled back into a high ponytail by a bright yellow scarf. Her matching yellow dress has thick straps, a tight fitting bodice and a flowing puffy skirt that extends to her knees, a very 50's feel. Her matching yellow high heels click on the pavement as she walks down the side walk.
As if he operates on a schedule, the old man two houses down from Jonathan stands in his yard, watering his roses. Looking up at Eve, he offers a smile, "Beautiful day, isn't it?"
Returning his smile, she nods and replies, but keeps walking, "Yes, it sure is lovely out."
She lets herself into the gate, heels clicking up the steps. Reaching out to push the doorbell, her finger barely touches it before the door opens.
Jonathan stands behind it, peeking his head out, "Hello, Eve. Please, come in."
She wastes no time entering the house; when the door shuts and she turns around, she is somewhat surprised to find Jonathan naked, just as she asked. Simply nodding, she walks across to the living room, he scurrying behind her.
Eve drops her bag next to the plush, black chair. Carefully, she maneuvers the coffee table out of the way and towards the fireplace; then, she stands and points to the ground in front of her, "Kneel," she snaps.
Shocked, Jonathan walks over and lowers his large frame down to his knees. Without a word, Eve walks away and begins inspecting the house. She starts with the bedroom. It is clean, his bed made, floor vacuumed and the air smells fresh as if he took the time to open the windows and light a candle earlier. She opens his dresser drawers, finding neat little stacks of folded clothing, matched socks and even folded briefs. In the closet she discovers an army of perfectly hanging pants and shirts, as well as hampers with dirty clothes divided properly. His desk is free of all debris and appears to have been polished as well. Flicking the mouse to wake the computer up, she quickly checks his browser history and activity, discovering only a few random searches in regards to cleaning and a program he used to balance his checkbook.
Eve moves to check both bathrooms, finding each one scrubbed to perfection and smelling of freshly laundered towels. Her heels click across the wooden floors as she peeks into a few closets before heading to the kitchen. All of his cupboards are neatly organized; his freezer is stocked only with chicken and turkey, some frozen fruits and vegetables. His fridge is perfectly arranged and it only takes her a brief glance to discover that he has alphabetized the condiments in the door. She peeks into his trash can to discern that he was honest with his breakfast message.
Despite that he has proven his capabilities, it brings a frown to her face. He truly is making an effort, but she is still determined to get him to break their contract.
Eve returns back to the living room, standing before him with her legs slightly spread, arms crossed over her chest. She taps her finger on her elbow, trying to think.
Jonathan watches her curiously, "Did I do something you disapprove of? I made sure to keep everything clean and organized, just as you said."
Eve lets a smile slowly grow on her lips, "This is all untoward, Jonathan. You see, normally I ease into client relationships, take my time to get to know a person before I...well, regardless, normally a client doesn't disobey me within the first twenty-four hours. The contract you signed essentially means that I own you. I own your body, I own your mind and I own your soul. You are to do as I instruct and should you disobey, you will be punished at my whim. Now, I want you to keep in mind that the contract also states that anything I choose to do will never leave any lasting harm to your body—i.e., I will not physically maim you, disfigure you or scar you. It also says that at any point, if you are overwhelmed, you may bow out," she pauses, watching his brows furrow while he wonders where she is headed with this, "Abracadabra. Say it."
"Abra...cadabra..." Jonathan repeats, confused.
She uncrosses her arms, letting them rest on her hips, "That is the magic word. If you want me to stop, you say that word. But take care, Jonathan, because once you utter those syllables, not only will I stop, I will leave and never return. You say the magic word and you void our contract," Eve leans over, her face hovering inches from his, "Do you understand?"
"Yes, Eve, I understand," he says somewhat exasperatedly.
Smiling, she whispers, "Good."
Then, without warning, she slaps him across his face, hard enough that he has to throw his hand out to prevent his body from falling over. Angry, he looks up at her, but she just stands there, with a wicked smile.
"From this point forward, you will only address me by my title...to you, I am your
