Page 32 of Resist

On the tray she also has a spread of crackers, cheese, nuts, and chocolate covered pretzels.

“I figured you might be snackish.”

“Is this a trap? Because I’m always snackish. There’s never a time of day or night you could offer me food, and I’d decline.”

“Never?” She watches me pick up a chocolate covered pretzel and take a bite.

“Never. Iamhowever, afraid of getting crumbs on your couch.”

She laughs, but it’s hollow. “It’s not that bad in here.”

Another glance around the room, and I’m convinced it’s a show apartment. The bookcase is perfectly arranged, and doesn’t even have dust on it. Whose bookshelves don’t have dust on them? Like what weirdo has time to go and dust every book and shelf regularly enough that there’s no dirt?

Apparently Cecelia is exactly that weirdo. I’m glad wedidn’t meet at my place, if we had, she’d be fighting the urge to clean up around me right now.

I take another sip of wine and toss a few nuts in my mouth. “Let’s just say, you’re never allowed to see the shit hole I call home.”

She smirks. “I bet it’s not that bad.”

I shake my head. “It’s not, but it’s also nowhere as clean and well put together as...” I wave my hand around. “That’s an impressive book collection, you know. I have book envy.”

She smiles, and it might be the most beautiful smile I’ve seen from her yet. “I got my love of books from my parents. The first editions are all in my bedroom. Dad used to give them to mom and I as gifts. He’d scour the world to find unusual copies or translations of our favorite books.” She stares at the deep ruby liquid in her glass for a while. “I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Had someone over to your home?”

She half-snorts. “That too.” Her cheeks darken. “I let my ex come over sometimes. But we largely stayed at his place.” She grabs a pretzel but toys with it instead of putting it in her mouth. “I meant this.” She points between us. “I don’t even remember how to vet someone. Hell, we kind of skipped that step on Friday night.”

I nod. “I know. I wanted to apologize for that, too. As DM of the club I generally hold myself to higher standards than the average person. We should have had a conversation before we played on Friday night.” I sip my wine, staring at a tall, pyramid-shaped glass award sitting on the front of the bookcase.

“I told you, I don’t do long-term kink dynamics. I’m generally...” She doesn’t seem to want to say “one and done.”

“I know. I’m not trying to change that, but I try to at least ask potential playmates what they’re into, what they’re wanting from a scene, and most importantly, the safetyelements like what their safe word is and what aftercare you prefer.”

Her shoulders soften. “That’s more comforting than you probably realize.”

I shake my head. “It may be my job to enforce safe, sane, and consensual sexual activities within the walls of Protocol. I live my personal life in the same way.”

“Well, you already know I’m a domme. I like to be in control.”

I gesture around her room again. “I’d never have been able to tell.”

She rolls her lips between her teeth, and then rolls her eyes. “Old habits die hard I guess.”

I put my hands up, palms facing her. “No judgment. You already know I’m a switch. I can go either way depending on what my lover needs.”

Her cheeks sizzle just enough for a tinge of pink to appear. She shifts her weight on the couch cushion, pulling her leg toward her as she settles.

I swirl the liquid in my glass before taking another long drink. “I will say, up front, before we do anything else, that part of me wonders, do you have to be in control because you enjoy it, or because you’ve never had a choice and experienced anything different? But I’ll give you whatever you need me to give you.”

She stares me down for a long moment, then a second, silently assessing me, daring me to say more, or less, I’m not sure. She definitely seems rattled at my observation, and the stain on her cheeks darkens.

“I like it,” she eventually announces with a nod of her head.

I’m not going to fight her, or argue, or challenge her. At least not yet. Maybe down the road if we play more than once. But right now, I simply want to please her. And if she says shewants to be in control then I’ll resist any urge to contradict or defy her.

I finish my glass of wine, polish off some of the crackers and cheese while she does the same. As we eat, we talk about our kinks. She likes to be on top, no surprise. She’s hard to make come, again, no surprise. She’s never tried wax play. She’s curious but has no provisions on hand to try it today.

With each sliver of information she gives me, her profile develops and grows. Essentially she wants a human sex toy. A warm dick she can fuck until she’s done. Then she moves on.

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