36. Eden
EDEN
“Do you want to eat?”
I’m still not over the flowers, and now he’s going to feed me up here? This man sure knows how to plan a date…I’ve never had any guy make a fraction of the effort Connor has over our three outings.
“I’m a little hungry, sure.”
He brings his hand over the one I have resting on his knee. “Okay, so I’ve been studying.”
Studying? “Like how to cook?”
He shakes his head, laughing. “Sorry, I jumped subjects on you. No, on our personal research project.”
Oh, studying that.
“In the articles I’ve read, one of the important foundational things for us to do is work on our trust. I need to deserve your trust, as your Dom.”
It’s the first time he’s said that word out loud to me—Dom—and my chest tingles with anticipation. How does this connect to dinner, though? “I trust you.”
“I know you do, in general. This is a different kind of trust, in the context of a power transfer.” He says those two words like it’s the first time they’ve left his lips. Slow, and heavy.
“You have done your research.”
“You know what that is?” I nod. “Of course you do. My smart girl.”
I do now, after the last two weeks of reading.
In simple terms, I’d be yielding authority to Connor, subject to any rules we set and my safe word.
I initially assumed the dom-sub dynamic was sexual in nature, but I learned while studying it can be broader in scope.
The power transfer can be about everyday things.
“So…trust exercises are what you have in mind. Not dinner?”
He smiles. “How about both?”
“Okay.” I glance around. Isn’t this a public space? “What will your neighbors think if they come up here?”
He stands up. “I reserved it, so we should be good. But let me lock the door.” He heads over to the exit and turns the lock.
“Cameras?”
“Checked on that too. They only have them on the stairwell and door. Not out here.” He walks over to a basket, sitting next to the cooler.
Okay, he’s got everything covered. I relax in the couch. “Thanks.”
“Thanks, what?” He winks. The cue we’re starting.
“Thanks, Sir,” I say softly.
“My perfect Rosy.” He pulls out a piece of black fabric. What’s that for? “So first things first, safe word?”
“Red.” We should probably come up with something more original, but not a priority right now.
“Good girl.” He comes behind me with the black fabric. I think it’s a…
“Blindfold.” He raises it up. “I’m going to put it on you now.”
He waits to see if I speak up, but I remain silent. I’ve never done anything like this before, in any scenario. I’m as curious as he probably is whether I’ll like it.
After seeing me stay quiet, he slips the soft fabric over my eyes. It’s fastened together with an elastic band that rests comfortably around the back of my head. Everything goes pitch black.
“You alright?” His voice, rougher than it was a moment ago.
“Yes, Sir.” I can’t see anything, but I’m still on the same chair, on Connor’s roof, with him watching out for me. I feel safe—and there’s no part of me that doesn’t trust him.
“I’m going to feed you to start. Just dinner right now. And then we’ll…play more later.”
“Mmmm,” I hum in agreement. In the outside world, I’d probably ask a million questions about what that means. But here, now, I let go of all of it.
The anxiety of not knowing what’s next.
The strain of making certain he’s taken care of, that he’s happy.
The pressure to make a choice of what comes now.
I let it all go.
Because Connor’s got this.
Sir’s got this, I say to myself, to fully immerse myself in the experience. The blindfold blocking any visual stimulation accelerates the release into my new reality.
An easy contentment floods in to fill the void.
“Rosy, I’ve got some penne with feta here for dinner. I’m bringing a bite up, on a fork.” I hear the scrape of the utensil on whatever container the food is in. “Open.”
I part my mouth. The intake of his breath is loud as the food hits my tongue, and I bite down, then chew.
Shutting down all thought of anything else, I eat the pasta as I would normally.
“Very good. One more.” Then, “Open.”
He feeds me the pasta four more times. By the last bite, his instructions are confident. Peace spreads across my mind as I’m certain of what I’m expected to do.
“I’m going to feed you some cherry tomatoes next. They have a vinaigrette on them.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Another “open” is followed by the crisp sensation of the tomato, the tangy flavor of the dressing…and something else. The salty taste of his fingers—he’s feeding me by hand.
I make sure not to bite down until his fingers retreat. Like with the pasta, he keeps giving me tomatoes several times.
“Open.”
“Open.”
“Open. Atta girl.”
Finally, he breaks the chain. “I have the dressing all over my thumb and index finger. Suck them clean for me.” Despite the command, he doesn’t move. Is he waiting for affirmation?
“Yes, Sir.”
“Open.”
This time, the rough skin of his thumb stays in my mouth, zesty from the vinaigrette and his natural taste. I close my mouth and do as he asks. I suck.
A choking sound comes from him, but he cuts it off quickly. His heavy breathing fills the air around us instead, as he moves his index finger into my mouth to replace his thumb.
I wrap my mouth around the finger, and clean it off too.
“You listen so well, my perfect girl.”
He’s happy with me. Warmth at his praise threads around the contentment I was already feeling.
When he withdraws it, I wait as he rustles around. “Wait” means something different from usual, though. My body is blissfully free of any nerves, any anticipation. He’ll tell me what I need to do, when he’s ready. I stay snug on the couch, melting into the cushion.
After another few seconds, he explains what’s next: grilled salmon bites. We do the same steps for the salmon, him hand-feeding me again. He’s more vocal this time, his voice confident.
“What a good girl.”
“My beautiful Rosy. Listening so well.”
“I’m proud of you for eating every bite.”
Pleasure thrums through my chest at each affirmation. My world is simple. His voice, his commands, his approval.
Once we’re done with that round, something else clicks open. “Time to drink. I put a straw in this water for you.”
His “open” is followed by the feel of plastic against the tongue. “Drink.”
He holds the water there, as I take several sips. After I lift my head, satisfied, he crouches down, and I can feel his breath on my face.
“So now, Rosy, I had some ideas about how I would eat.” His hand glides up my leg. “What I would eat. If you don’t want to keep going, you can say your safe word.”
I keep my mouth closed. His touch, his warm hand on my leg, sends sizzles up my thigh. All I want is whatever he’s planned next for us.
When I don’t speak, he moves on to his next direction. “Take your cardigan off.” I quickly shrug it off. “Good girl. Next, stand up.”
When I bring myself to my feet, he brushes his hand against the waist of my dress, then stops on my side. “This zipper. If I undo it, I can remove your dress?”
I nod. He pauses to make sure I don’t interrupt him with “red.” When I remain silent, he moves to the top section of my dress and brings the zipper down.
The blue fabric falls to the floor, and I’m left in my black satin strapless push-up bra and matching panties.
The air is warm enough that the temperature is comfortable. I tremble anyway. Still blindfolded, I imagine his eyes running over every inch of my body, all of my exposed skin on display other than what’s covered by my bra and panties.
He’s in complete control of me.
A thrill shoots down to my core. As my breathing picks up, I can feel the press of black fabric on my breasts timed to the movements of my chest.
“You seem to like this, Rosy.” His breath is also raspy. “Excellent.”
“Yes, Sir.”
There’s a gentle touch on my right arm. “I’m going to help you lie down on the couch next.”
He guides me where he wants, draped across the couch, and places a cushion under my head.
I feel him still hovering. “Those fantastic tits, they look like they’re about to pop out of that bra. I haven’t really spent a lot of time with them before today.”
Another shiver runs through me at the promise in those words. I want him to do his will, with my breasts, with my body. But I can sense him step away, and there’s more rustling in his supplies.
“I’m not hungry for pasta and salmon myself. I thought I’d enjoy my dessert instead tonight.”
Through my haze, what he says sounds familiar. “Dessert for dinner can be fun, Sir.”
“Tonight will be very fun.” He bends down near me again. “I have some more ambitious food ideas too, when it’s not our first time.”
I stay still, waiting for instruction.
“I’m going to touch you now. And taste you.” Ah. “If you don’t like anything, what do you say?”
“Red,” I reply quickly.
“My smart girl.”
Two of his fingers slide underneath the upper elastic of my bra, and then travel across the length of the front, following the ridges of my cleavage. Delicious prickles erupt from the brush of his hand across my soft skin.
“I’m going to take this off now.” A second later, he reaches underneath me and unclasps the back. He pulls it free and drops it to the ground.
My nipples pebble almost immediately in the open air. He’s so close, his hot breath tickles them as well.
“You have the prettiest tits. Rosy there too.” He rubs his hand down between my cleavage to the top of my hip, and I can feel him holding himself close. Like he’s shielding me with his body.
“In terms of my meal, I’m not a whipped cream person. Not a vanilla person, rather.” He’s reaching for something with his free hand, but of course I can’t see what. “So I went with chocolate frosting.”
Oh. Oh. The word “whipped cream” triggers a memory of why his earlier line sounded familiar. He’s recreating the Forbidden Fortnight scene I liked.
My heart melts. He’s doing all of this for me.
“Stay still. I’m going to put a dab on you, and see what it tastes like.”
He waits. Then I remember why.
“Yes, Sir.”