Page 18 of Ashes of Sin and Stardust

I decided I had found my new hobby and distraction for the next few months: annoying the absolute shit out of Reuben Weston.

Chapter 5

The dreams about Alicedidn’t stop, they only got worse. While before I just saw her face, now I saw her standing before me in a black leather dress, fishnet stockings, and her studded Doc Martens. She stared at me with her supernova eyes, all dark and big and mysterious, a look of deep gratitude and respect painting her face. The collar I had made for her years ago sat securely around her neck.

Every time I saw her at the clubhouse, the urge to dominate her, to take her, grab her, make her mine, and make sure she knew it, got worse and worse. Even though I knew taming her would be deeply satisfying, I was fighting it with everything I had.

Because I knew from other lifestyle friends that one never truly tames a brat. Brats liked to break rules, to frustrate their Dom on purpose because they wanted attention and punishment, to manipulate them into getting what they want.Nothing about that is appealing to me,I told myself.Besides,I do not have time for a brat.But my body wasn’t getting that memo.

For the first time in years, I was waking up aroused. I was shocked at first because I was pretty sure the thing had shut down on me permanently. Hardly anything affected me anymore. Maybe I was so jaded, so over-exposed, that nothing seemed to hold my interest. When I’d given up sex, I’d barely missed it. The thing I’d truly missed was my sadism and the companionship of having my own little sub to do with as I pleased. But the look of serenity and pleasure on Alice’s face in my vision was enough to get my blood pumping the right direction.

Her piercings and tattoos only added to that.

When I saw her around the clubhouse, she was always dressed in her gothic style: leather, fishnets, crop tops showing off the tiniest hint of that jewelry in her belly, and perfect eye makeup that I was desperate to see ruined and running down her cheeks.

Damnit. This is not good.

I thought back to her comments and her scoffing at my discussion with Cat. Her attitude was the exact reason I couldn’t stand brats. They didn’t follow the rules, they had no respect for tradition or authority, and they held middle fingers up to what the lifestyle was all about: respect, communication, service, and what submission really meant.

No, I was not going to cave to her antics. Alice could keep on being a little bitch, I wasn’t interested. At least, that’s what I told myself while I tried to block out the visual of my collar around her neck, and her big eyes looking up at me while I put her on her knees.

I resumed my regular schedule, refusing to let Alice’s presence affect my visits with my friends. Unfortunately, her new favorite hobby seemed to be finding ways to annoy me.That’s fine,I told myself.She can try. If I don’t respond, and if I ignore her long enough, she’ll stop.

She did not stop.

It was little things, mostly. On top of the verbal back and forth, the arguing, and the whining, she liked to do little things to mess with me. She sat a few seats down from me during lunch one day and blew the paper from her straw directly into my face, giggling and laughing like a maniac when I jumped and swatted it away.

Another day, she sat beside me, occasionally reaching over and moving my glass of water just slightly, for no particular reason. An inch to the right, then a few minutes later, an inch to the left. Back and forth, reaching over and moving my cup, and then resuming her meal. She never spoke, never looked at me, just kept moving my cup. When I moved it to the other side of my plate, she repeated her game with my napkin until I just gathered my things and moved to a new seat.

And she always had a lollipop in her mouth. The girl seemed to live on candy. And she only ate the red ones, staining her lips and tongue an even darker color than they naturally were, and making her breath smell like cherries. Sometimes while sucking on one, she’d glance up at me, make eye contact, and flick her tongue, running the piercing in her tongue against the hard candy.

I did my best to ignore her, but it was making my blood pressure rise. She knew she was getting to me, and the only option I had was to ignore her or engage with her. And I knew that engaging with her would just make it worse.

I was looking forward to the week of meetings I had scheduled in DC, because it meant I could get a break from her. Although that mood soured quickly when some unexpected issues came up and I had to throw almost twenty grand into one of the restaurants because of water damage that we hadn’t known about when we’d bought the building.

Then there was a situation in the steakhouse with someone not changing their gloves while cooking shellfish, and a customer had an allergic reaction.

Then there was a fire in the Atlanta branch ofReuben’sbecause someone had put a wet fry basket in the fry cooker.

And then there was a girl at The Weston Housewho tried to jump out of a window.

The week ended with me arriving home on Saturday night, exhausted and pissed off. I fell asleep in my clothes and once again seriously considered finding myself a service sub or a live-in slave and PA who wanted a non-sexual relationship, regardless of my future relationship with Alice Benson.

The next morning, I debated skipping church, but elected to go and try to relax with my friends. Sophie was rumored to be making her famous chicken-fried steak, and I needed some decent soul food to ease my suffering. Though my waistline lately was demanding a protein shake and a salad.

That Sunday afternoon during our weekly church potluck, Alice plopped down across from me with two Hawaiian sweet rolls, some chocolate spread, and a blended chocolate coffee drink topped with whipped cream. She ignored me, smiling down at her treats, and began dipping pieces of the rolls into the chocolate spread. She sighed and closed her eyes, then sucked on her fingers and licked the chocolate off, smacking her lips obnoxiously.

She’s messing with you. You’re a forty-year-old professional Dom, and you have the willpower to ignore a snotty little girl.

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