Page 36 of Cherry Auction

There’ll be no more Domhnall.

The odd twist in my guts at that thought only shows how much I need to get the hell outta here. He’s climbing into the empty crevices in my mind left behind by the amnesia. In the parts where ghosts and black boxes live. I had another nightmare last night. I was getting closer and closer to the black box, and all I wanted to do was run away. But I couldn’t move, except somehow I was still getting closer to the box, and it was all I couldseeand I couldn’t escape, couldn’t move, couldn’tbreathe?—

It has to be a metaphor for this place. I need to get thefuckout of here.

In the next four days, I’ll get whatever information I can about my past, and then I’ll dip the fuck out.

At some point, I’ve got to say fuck the past, right? Everything I learn about it is bad. I should be focusing on the future. I can go to Chicago and stay with my friend, Ria, from the shelter, for a few weeks while I try to get my feet back under me. During my six weeks at the shelter, they had classes on making healthier choices. Getting away from here as soon as I can is the healthy choice.

But until then, I’ll keep playing chess with Domhnall. I’ll be the perfect little sub he’s been looking for. I’ll let him knock off all my pawns and feel in control.

Only to have my queen positioned perfectly to win the game.

So when I hear the elevator ping, I rush over to get into position, falling to my knees and dropping my head just in time.

I hear his satisfied grunt of surprise right as the doors open as his perfectly shined black dress shoes and pants step out and stop in front of me. With my face down where he and the cameras can’t see, I allow myself a secret little smile, then make my face blank as a doll. That’s what he’ll get from me for the next five days. A pliant little doll.

“Good girl,” comes his deep rumbly voice.

Ha. If he only knew.

He makes clicking noises like you would for an animal ashe takes hold of my chain and starts to walk back towards the dungeon room. “Come.”

I keep my eye roll internal as I turn around and crawl at his side.

“What’s elicited this little change of heart, pet?” he asks.

Shit. I try to think fast. I thought he’d just be happy about it, not question me. “Why fight the inevitable?” I say, head still down since I’m on my hands and knees. “It’s easier this way. And I thought maybe if I obey, you’d be more willing to tell me about our past.”

“Ahh,” he says.

I frown. What’s that supposed to mean? Does that mean he’ll be more willing to share if I do what he wants? Gah. I just told myself fuck the past, but here I am waffling again.

“Take off that ridiculous outfit. Then up on the spanking bench.”

Double shit. It’s not like this nightie is any kind of real cover with my breasts exposed and no underwear on, but it’s still felt like…something.And the spanking bench. An unconscious little shudder goes through my body.

I remember all too well when I was last up there. Butcompliant petis my M.O. today, so I unbutton the collar of the nightie and unzip the side, then slip out of it. I shiver a little and not because the nightie ever provided any warmth. Then I crawl up on the bench, arranging my limbs on the supports.

I’m in control. I’m in control. My cheeks floodwith heat as I climb up on the strange piece of furniture that leaves me so exposed. Dammit, I’min control—but my burning cheeks reveal my lie.

“W-what are you going to do?” I ask.

Domhnall has been moving around elsewhere in the room, and I suppose I should have expected the blindfold he’s carrying when he comes back.

“You’ll see. For this scene, since it requires touching, you may say red if you want it to stop.”

He doesn’t immediately blindfold me. He moves behind me, and his hand comes into view as he reaches around with what looks like a make-up wipe.

I’m so startled, I lay still as he begins carefully swiping the leftover make-up from the auction off my face. I’d scrubbed at some of it with the edge of my bedsheet over the last couple days, but I’ve been left feeling gross because I couldn’t get it all off. Especially the mascara. It’s just been crusted on my lashes.

My eyes fall closed as Domhnall swipes the make-up remover carefully over each eyelid several times, returning with a fresh wipe when one is dirtied. His hands caress the cool wipes over my cheeks. Then down the slope of my nose, careful with the nooks and crannies of my nostrils and mouth. Over and over, his gentle hands attend to me until my face finally feels clean. From the roots of my scalp at the top of my forehead to behind my ears and underneath my jaw. My pores can finally breathe.

Only then does he lower the blindfold, and I can tell he’s being careful not to tangle the back strap in my hair.

His hands return after a short pause, moving on to my neck. But where I expect another cool wipe, now suddenly he’s gently caressing my skin with a warm, wet cloth that feels more like a soft towel. Where the hell did he get that from? I didn’t see it on him when he got off the elevator. Then again, my head was down the whole time.

And god, how does that feel so good?I’m supposed to be pretending to be a good pet anyway, I tell myself as I give myself permission to sink into the sensation.

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