Page 13 of Resistant

The Trade Game

Brynn

I find the gumption to contact my Provider and schedule my first client appointment. The client asks for a 30-minute appointment for a blow job, which earns me 75 credits.

I swallow over the lump in my throat. Guilt and shame swim through my mind until I give over to the rage that’s been hiding in the darkest corners of my mind.

What will I tell Wyatt when he gets home? Will he forgive me? Can I forgive myself?

I try and console myself with the fact that it’s oral sex and nothing more.I don’t know who I think I’m fooling.

The following day I receive a notification from the client asking for sides of the menu (aka accessories) to tack on to the blow job.What the actual fuck?How am I going to get through this?

I send a message asking the client to be more specific. His response nearly knocks out my breath, and my stomach sours.

“I want to fuck your face. I want you to cry, I want you to gag around me. You’ll take everything I have to give.”

Dude either has anger issues, or control issues, maybe both.

“How many extra credits are you willing to pay for the sides a la carte?”

“100 credits.”

That’s not near enough for my humiliation and extreme discomfort. If I have to do this, my boys will have hot meals for weeks and go to school.

“650” I counter.

“250”

This guy is unbelievable. I’m not going to let him low ball me though. My kids are too important.

“550 and I promise to make my misery very real.”

“500 for your fear and misery, and you do exactly as I say.”

“Define Exactly.”

“I want you on your knees, I want you to fight me. I want you to cry and beg me. And I want you to suck me off how I tell you. If you don’t play well, I’ll lower your extra credits to 450.”

“Agreed.”

My Provider confirms the a la carte items and the 500 additional credits and reminds me the appointment is transactional in nature only. The marketplace does not advocate dating and there will be no relationships. Which is good, becauseI am definitely not interested in any kind of relationship. I just want to feed my kids.

My first client is not a stranger. There are rules about taking on clients whom we know. There are even rules about touching anyone who is not immediate family, due to sickness scares. Of course, the exception to the rule is any kind of sex a client wants from a trades worker.

I am astonished when he walks into my bedroom close to midnight. I don’t know what my client’s name is, but I’ve seen him at my home. He is the burly soldier, the watcher who came to deliver pamphlets and restore order as the new government rolled out new laws.Should I report him?

His profile does not show his whole face. There is no way I would have recognized him from the photo and I’m uneasy at best watching him enter my bedroom.

He does not seem surprised to see me, and I imagine he planned this.Is he an enlisted soldier or does he have more rank and power than I thought?

I study him for a moment; he is captivating. His features are perfect. His skin is tanned, and his brown eyes shine at me as I study him. His full mouth is curved in a smirk. His dark hair is longer in the front, the gray at his temples adding a distinguished flair and the rest is cropped close around his ears and neck. He’s much younger than I initially thought, maybe in his late 30’s. He says nothing as I gaze at him.

“Why are you here? This is supposed to be a transaction between strangers.”

“Brynn, we are strangers,” his voice is deep and under different circumstances I would be attracted to him.

Suddenly, I’m nervous and I take a deep breath. My hands shake, and adrenaline spikes through my body.

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