My days were once again full with rehearsals. We'd meet up for dinner if it wasn't a night where I was scheduled to perform. And we did get to the club a few times on Sunday nights. It became a new routine that we quickly settled into.
But my new job seemed to be over before it had begun. When the troupe's original member returned, I was back to feeing like I was floating in the ocean without a life preserver. It was boring sitting around the loft all day. I was so lonely with him at work all day. So I got his permission to follow up on an ad for an agent that I'd seen while performing. The only stipulation was that I had to discuss the details with him before accepting any jobs. It wasn't until I was sitting in her office that I realized the agent represented models, not actors, but she wanted to take me on.
Within a week, I had been set up for two photo shoots. While it wasn't what I had gone to school for, I found it enjoyable. Plus, it required less work and it paid a hell of a lot more than acting.
But even the modeling gigs didn't fill my time. When I suggested going back to Starbucks or looking for another part-time job, Jimmy finally put his foot down. He said he preferred knowing that his woman was home waiting for him.
He had already sacrificed our sacred weekends at the club to my dreams of acting, even if it had been short-term. He was fine with the occasional photo shoots since they were local and during the day. But If I got a regular job again, he said he feared I wouldn't have any time for him at all because he knew I would be required to pick up extra shifts or work odd hours. He wanted our schedule to be predictable, even if it wasn't regular.
When I still pressed him, he insisted that I didn't need to work at a real job; he would take care of me. He set deadlines, instead, for different chores for me to do to keep me busy. Primarily, it was cleaning the loft which included washing the sheets and towels twice a week. I was also to cook him elaborate dinners that he planned out in advance which required me to go to the local market for fresh ingredients, usually on a daily basis. He was lucky I was as equally talented in the kitchen as I was on stage or in front of a camera.
But he began withholding orgasms and eventually sex if he didn't like something I said or did. Trivial things like not having all of my chores done by the time he got home from work despite the fact that I had been at a photo shoot most of the day. Sometimes, he wasn't in the mood to eat what he had asked me to cook for him. Then there was not being available or in the mood when he wanted to fuck me. Eventually, it was apparently my fault when he couldn't get hard from me sucking his cock.
Spanking turned into punishment. He would prolong it past the point of pleasurable release for me. He spanked me so hard on one occasion, I couldn't sit for two days. I was close to passing out when he finished. I could hear him jacking off nearby before feeling his release on my back. I thought of how my ass must look. How thankful I was that I didn't have any booked photo shoots for the rest of the week. That he was giving me time to recuperate before he used a switch on me again.
If I questioned him, he yelled at me that if I wanted to be his submissive, I needed to learn to follow his rules. The problem was, we had never discussed any steadfast rules, and he wasn't consistent with the arbitrary ones he gave me. I wasn't allowed an orgasm for a week after going to lunch with another girl from a shoot. But the next week, after he saw a message on my phone that an old classmate of mine was in town and wanted to meet up but I said I had declined, he asked why I wasn't being more social. He was constantly changing, and I struggled to keep up with his moods.
I had no idea that this wasn't how a BDSM relationship was supposed to work.
I lost count of the days since we'd had sex. The last time I'd gotten pleasure from his pain. Instead of anticipating the high, I now dreaded his touch.
He continued to excuse away his behavior by making me believe that it was what a Dominant partner did. That I'd better get used to it or leave. But I had no place to go. While I had some income, it wasn't enough to survive on yet. I was dependent on him. He'd made sure of it.
Jimmy preferred going to the club over having a scene at home. In the beginning, we'd actually dance before and after spending an hour in a private room. He said he liked to show me off, especially in the risqué clothes he bought me. But after the first year, he headed straight upstairs once we got to the club. We stayed up there until he was tired—which could be anywhere from thirty minutes to four hours—and then we went back home. We no longer stopped to dance or relax. I missed the old days.
When we were in the private room, he required me to suck his dick until he came. Then he bent me over the bed or the padded sawhorse bench the
