Page 11 of João
A weighted pause developed between us as the chatter, the violin music, and the clatter of silverware competed for space.
“I’m keeping my options open.” The shrug that I couldn’t see was still loud.
“I respect that. I might not be God-fearing, but I recognize there is a higher power.” Now, I wouldn’t go into details of what I thought of said higher power and what it did and didn’t do for my mother…
“Mhm, there seems to be a lot in that statement,” she said. I chuckled, unwilling to antagonize her on our first date.
After that, the conversation kept flowing easily. I decided to give her space about her recent church departure, knowing it was a hard topic for her. We were just getting to know each other tonight. There was plenty of time for deeper conversations. Inthe same vein, she didn’t ask about my father, nothing to trigger any awkwardness. I appreciated her tact.
Through the courses, I learned she was a hospital administrator. Besides being in the choir, she’d also served in several church committees and volunteered with the Gifted Athletes Center of Broward. For fun, she liked going to concerts and anything related to singing.
“It’s my happy place, music, song. It uplifts me no matter my mood. I try not to wallow too much. I mean, I’m human, I have bad days, but for the most part, I’m blessed, so I try to keep my spirits up. Music helps.”
As Brad served us another glass of red wine, she went into animated conversation about her family. She was close to her mother even though she implied her mom wasn’t too happy with her latest decision, and her father had passed away a few years back. Her friendship circle seemed limited; when I asked, she demurred, explaining she had a best friend, but they were both very busy and hadn’t had time to connect in a minute.
“How about you?” she asked as we waited for dessert after a satisfying surf and turf.
“I have my siblings. They can be a pain, but they a’ight, and I’ve made really good friends with other Dominants in the community.”
“Oh, so you’re a Dom?”
“Yes, Gisele, I’m a Dom.” The corner of my mouth curled up as her voice squeaked—sweet and sudden, a popped champagne cork.
“I see. Oh, so do you, like…have a submissive right now? Like, how does it work for you?”
“You’re asking an awful lot of questions for a goody two-shoes church girl,” I drawled, and her sweet breath tickled my nose.
“I…I’ve always been so fascinated by the whole lifestyle; some of it aligns real well with obedience and stuff.” She mumbled the last words, trying to get them out so fast I might have missed them.
But I didn’t miss a thing.
“Speak up, Gisele,” I ordered, something in her calling to something in me.
“I—well. Y’know, traditional marriages and all. I mean, how different is it?”
Laughter threatened to overtake me. Here I wanted to pursue a vanilla relationship with this woman, and she couldn’t help but be intrigued by my lifestyle. Younger me…younger me would have pounced on this opportunity, loving every second of it. Loving the sweet relish in guiding her through her awakening, the enjoyment of every scene I crafted for her. Then, once she was enmeshed in the community, I would ensure she ended up with a good Dom, someone who could offer more than I could ever give.
“Do traditional husbands spank their wives with paddles when they disobey? Do they deny them orgasms until they can’t talk? Or do they suspend them in beautifully arranged bondage for other Doms to admire?” I asked, the gravel in my voice increasing as my stomach tightened, tense until she responded.
Rapid breathing was her only answer. Nah, I needed to rein in this conversation.
Tap-tap.
“And for the finale, I have dessert. I hope you have enjoyed your night with us and hope to greet you again soon! Our menus change nightly. Enjoy,” Brad said cheerfully and tapped again to announce his departure.
“Saved by the server,” Gisele mumbled, and the table vibrated as she searched for her silverware.
“Stop, I’ll help you with this one. Are you good with that?” I asked.
“Yes…yes, I am.”
I wanted to show her; she needed to see that the lifestyle wasn’t for her. Gisele was reserved, quiet, and so steeped in her beliefs. I didn’t want to be the person to guide her away from her principles, no matter how I felt about them.
With gentle touches, I found the dessert on my plate. Whatever it was felt warm in my fingers. With my empty hand, I ghosted my fingers across the table until I found hers. A jolt of energy traveled between us as I caressed her velvety skin up her arm, following the slope of her shoulder, the delicacy of her neck, my fingers gliding up her jaw. My thumb traced the edge of her jaw, then pressed up, slow and deliberate, until her lips parted with a soft hitch of breath—just enough pressure to make her flinch, just enough to make her want more.
“Open wide,” I said calmly, and another jolt traveled from her skin to mine. Her adorable squeak adorned audible pants as she attempted to remain in control. It was cute of her to try. I pressed the soft concoction between her warm lips. The pressure of her tongue shyly peeking out to taste even more coursed through me. The wet slide of the tip touched my fingers and a rush of rightness hit me square in the chest.
She closed her mouth against my hand and the purring began.
