Does a Dominant have to be rich and successful? Well no. In fact they usually ordinary everyday people, in everyday jobs and blend in without being noticed. Yet my Dominant is a wealthy CEO.
As a child I loved to write SciFi stories. The unbelievable could be made believable just because it is fantasy. If the characters need to travel to one end of the galaxy to other, they can; wormholes, transporters or simply no explanation given. Fantasy is a wonderful platform to deliver whatever story line you wish. It’s all imagination and nobody can argue with you.
Wealth brings the same platform. In a fictional setting it means creating scenarios where money is no object. If he wants to whisk her away for a romantic weekend he can. If he wants to buy her expensive gifts he can. If he wishes to know her past, her secrets, money will buy those services.
Imagine a three week holiday on a luxury yacht in the middle of an ocean. A three week voyage of D/s and no escape – or is it escapism?
There is another reason I set the story amongst the wealthy elite and it is the Pygmalion transformation. Not only does the heroine have to discover the extent of her submission, she has to adapt to being rich, in the public eye and unable to do ordinary everyday things. Simple actions, like catching a bus or the subway, become challenging. Secrecy is paramount and privacy has to be protected. There is the transformation as she is shaped and changed; discovering designer fashion, elegance and deportment. If she has to appear on his arm, she must look the part and he will not tolerate her to be anything other than a reflection of himself.
I splashed out on Thursday shopping for clothes. By then Jason’s instruction for me to have a female escort had worked its way through the system. Gibson, as she was known to me – what happened to first names? – drove me to the shops, the kind I would have never dreamed of shopping in a few weeks earlier. Trying on clothes, I discovered Gibson may be my security escort but she was not going to take on the role of personal shopper. I was left indecisive and unsure of what to buy.
I wandered up and down the aisles, picking up hangers and holding clothing against my body without a clue as to what worked or did not. In Harvey Nichols, I saw the names of designers who normally I would only read about in fashion magazines: Vivienne Westwood, Alexander McQueen, Donna Karan…. The prices were exorbitant and made me gasp. Everything was so gorgeous and stylish and I could not imagine wearing any of it.
Colours I could manage to judge for myself. I had my own particular way of handling shades and my artistic brain helped. It was the styles, the cut and fabric, which lost me. I gave up on the high and mighty end of the clothing market and tried Top Shop. The prices were not as shocking but still I had no idea how to change my image. Did I want to though? Was the real reason I was not succeeding due to my humble origins?
My mum and I always shopped together and Marks and Spencer’s was a typical store or other common high street brands. Much of the time, we ended up at the local supermarket buying anything on offer or on sale. We did not go to high-class functions and it was easy to pick clothes for work or leisure. Nothing I chose made me feel out of place or lowly.
Being with Jason things were going to be different. His suits came from Savile Row and were tailored made. His buffed leather shoes were elegant, his watches were the brands advertised by Hollywood stars and he even made a pair of jeans voguish.
I was faced with the reality of being inept at changing or refining my appearance. Whatever Jason wanted on his arm was unknown to me for the simple fact we had never gone anywhere posh together. My dreams of evenings spent at fancy restaurants, box seats in theatres or lavish social occasions had all come to nothing. I gave up after four shops and returned to the house with less bought than I had anticipated.
I briefly summarised my day to Jason over dessert. He was less distracted and seemed happy to communicate.
“I’m crap at buying clothes,” I slumped in my seat, playing with my spoon. “It’s alright for you, just shirts and suits,” I grumbled.
Jason smiled at me. The first time he had smiled since showing me around the house.
“Silly girl. Go up to an assistant and ask for help. They get a commission for helping you. I’m surprise they weren’t falling all over you in. Or hire a personal shopper.”
“Well I suppose I don’t look the part. It is a vicious circle until I look the part they won’t wait on me,” I shrugged my shoulders in mock despair.
“Assert yourself, Gemma. You’re going to be on show soon, you need to play the part well. I’m not a Professor Higgins. You’ll have to sort this out yourself.”
I grinned at Jason’s reference to Pygmalion. “On show?” I gawped.