Handoff, Part Six 

(Parts 1-5 here.)

If I can be honest: I wasn’t even aware of how much of his hand was inside me at that point. Just that at least a pretty sizeable majority of it was, and that it felt strange and good and somehow a little bit like an accomplishment.

D withdrew his hand to roll me over onto my back, leaving me empty a moment before easing his fingers in once more. “Look at you, little one,” he taunted, something akin to mirth shining in his eyes. “Going back to a hotel with a bad man and letting him do this to you.”

I was perhaps a little embarrassed at how easily my body was yielding to his hand. At how pliant I could be made by hands that had never even touched me before. But he was right, I had gone back with him to his hotel room and taken off all of my clothes. I had let him tie me up, spread me with a speculum and then with his own hand, all without betraying much of his composure at all.

Early on, I’d rubbed him briefly through his pants while he kissed my neck, back when I was still dressed and unencumbered. But since, save for a moment or two where I bit down on his fingers in my mouth, I had been made just to receive. Which was, as it turned out, its own form of domination. One that I had come to realize I actually enjoyed.

We laid in his bed when it was over, chatting idly until my head stopped swimming. He’d untied me and my wrists were still looped in the vague indentations left by the ropes.  It feels strange to say that he was gentle in the aftermath when in some infinitely frustrating but impossibly hot way, he’d basically been gentle the whole time.

But nonetheless, he pulled my jacket on for me and smoothed my hair off of my face. In the lobby of the hotel, he fetched me a lollipop from the front desk. Outside, we waited on the curb for the Lyft I called to arrive. I stood, sucking the lollipop and holding D’s hand. And I felt both incredibly small and – really – rather grown up.