Page 17 of Valentine's Slave

As if I’d insulted her.

I chuckle. “I wanted to enjoy my dessert first.” I give her ass a little slap, and she actually smiles for a second instead of looking as if she wants to flay me alive.

“I’ll take a shower,” she says. “Dessert better be on the table when I get back.”

“Oh, do we have a switch here?” I tease.

She throws me a dirty look as she walks out of the room, hips swinging, ass still red from my hands. I’ll leave marks on other places next time. And there will be a next time. We both know it.

6

Ava

Holy shit, he didn’t even use his dick, and he fucked me better than Shawn had in the last five years. Why did I stay with Shawn for so long?

I was familiar with the dysfunction that we had, I guess. Hailey told me I was too comfortable, not that she has much better taste in men, but at least she gets rid of them faster. I was scared I wouldn’t find someone better. Boy was I wrong.

Valentino’s shower is the fancy kind that has rain from the ceiling and water shooting out from all sides like a massage, plus a little bench on one side. It’s big enough for two people or more, and I imagine what we’ll do in the shower on other occasions.

Part of me liked the way he ordered me around, the way he punished me, the way he worshiped me. It made me feel . . . worthy, something I’ve never felt before, even if I won’t say it out loud.

I won’t let him know how much I enjoyed it, though. He may be paying me for my body, but he isn’t paying me for mymind, for my communication and my openness. He isn’t paying for my heart, and that’s mine to keep. A business transaction is smooth and impersonal and exactly what I need. Especially with the depression I’ve been experiencing these past few months, something carnal and simple gives my brain easy steps to follow, nothing else to distract or depress me. It keeps me in the moment, like mindfulness, which Hailey is trying to get Mom to do.

It’s what the therapist from the BetterHelp site recommended I try in our few sessions that I could afford. Easier said than done, obviously. But that’s what Valentino did to me, kept me perfectly in the moment, in the palm of his hand.

I take my time in the shower, letting the hot water roll over me, massaging my fiery skin.

At one point while I’m showering, the door opens, and my heart races again. The glass walls of the shower are blurry to see through, so Valentino can only make out my vague form. Not that he didn’t just see me naked before and stick a huge plug up my ass.

“Your clothes are here,” he says, and then he leaves without further ado.

Well, that was nice. He folded each article of clothing and a fresh towel nearly next to the sink. Seems like a Type A.

I come out of the bathroom fully clothed and find Valentino in the kitchen. There are two small plates on the table, a chocolate fudge brownie with a dollop of ice cream.

“Let me guess, vegan ice cream?” I say with a sly grin.

He chuckles. “Vegan frozen yogurt.”

We both sit down and eat the melt-in-your-mouth dessert as if we hadn’t just done a master–slave preliminary round.

“There are several things in the contract we haven’t discussed,” Valentino says, going straight to business. “Why don’t you finish reading it over, and then we can chat.”

“After I eat,” I say, trying to eat the brownie slower so it’ll last longer. I’ve always had a sweet tooth, and this is heaven.

He chuckles and nods. “Perhaps someone would like to add afood fetishaspect to the contract?”

“It’s not a fetish,” I snap. “I just like chocolate.”

“Noted.”

I feel like he’s the one with the fetish.

When I finish the heavenly thing, I study the contract. My buzz has somewhat subsided, and with the sexual tension toned down, I’m able to think more clearly.

The contract starts out by defining the arrangement, what ‘slave’ actually means, which is submission in the bedroom with safe words always applying. Green isgo, yellow isslow down, let’s talk about this, and red isget the fuck out.

“The contract doesn’t mention what we’ll be doing for the rest of the time when we’re not fucking,” I note. “It only talks about a slave in the bedroom, so I assume I’m a free person between sessions.”

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