Vey doesn’t like being patted on the head.
But that’s just the second point—after the first time the sub finished, she told her, “You worked hard,” and she was stunned for a moment. Then she saw Blyne with red ears, trying to stay calm: “Didn’t you say that the dom sometimes needs aftercare too, and that it’s a mutual act? You comfort me, so I certainly have to comfort you.”
Clearly, she mustered quite a bit of courage before doing this. Vey was initially somewhat displeased, but seeing her like this, she was left speechless, feeling both amused and exasperated.
It was untimely thoughtfulness, unpredictable behavior, and it caught her off guard.
She took the initiative and asked back, “Does this mean I’m your dom now?”
Blyne blinked in confusion: “Isn’t it?”
“But you’ve never called me ‘master.'”
“……”
Blyne suddenly became nervous, thinking why she hadn’t asked herself earlier to prepare psychologically. At least at this moment, saying those two words felt as difficult as passing an exam—she had finally built up her emotions, was about to close her eyes and steel herself, when Vey chuckled.
“I was just teasing you; you can call me by name too. Take your time.” In utter exasperation, she pinched Blyne’s cheek, “But don’t worry about the etiquette of reciprocity. Remember that?”
“…Okay… I mean, I got it.”
“Drink some water.” Vey tapped the cup with her knuckles as a reminder.
At such times, she was always lazy, satisfied yet unsatisfied, still not fully out of character, and her tone sounded like a command. Blyne knew she couldn’t resist her at this moment and obediently replenished her fluids.
It’s strange; Vey was still wearing that same perfume, but only when she was held like this did Blyne feel that the scent had warm undertones.
Vey seemed to like her a little, but Blyne couldn’t quite discern what kind of liking it was. She wasn’t in the mood to dig deeper, because it was obviously Vey who was dominating her, and in this role-playing game, she was the submissive one, having to follow Vey’s lead in rewards, punishments, actions, and even sounds. Yet, perhaps due to the other’s overly gentle and considerate demeanor at this moment, she inexplicably felt like she was being served, and strangely developed a sense of indebtedness, wanting to do something to compensate.
“Aren’t you tired?” Blyne asked, tilting her head, “Is there really pleasure in this?”
She remained skeptical about this question.
Vey slightly frowned: “I think I’ve already answered that once.”
“Yes. I just find it a bit, a bit hard to understand.”
Maybe it’s because I haven’t experienced it; after all, she was also skeptical about the pleasure of being beaten while kneeling before.
Blyne explained: “I used to be a teacher. But I taught high school students, and now corporal punishment is not advocated anymore… I’ve never hit anyone’s palm, so I really don’t know what it feels like.”
What is this, practice makes perfect?
After staring at her for a while, Vey actually laughed, and even she couldn’t tell if it was amusement or annoyance: “That expression of yours, you’re not planning to say you want to hit me one day and see how it feels, are you? I’m not a switch, you better not have such thoughts.”
Blyne understood these terms too; she nodded, remembering that Vey had repeatedly required her to respond, so she suppressed the urge to curl up in embarrassment and said softly: “Got it.”
She seemed to instinctively know when to be obedient, although sometimes her obedience caught people off guard.
“Was that intentional?” Vey furrowed her brows, asking the question she had always wanted to ask.
Blyne looked up in confusion: “What?”
“…” Vey was speechless, pressed her forehead, “Never mind, you don’t have to answer that.”
Blyne drank the last sip of water, handed the glass back to her, and licked her lip corner, asking her to help get the tissues from the bedside table.
Just now, her own bitten lips were dampened by water, and after her tongue licked over them, they appeared even redder. At this moment, her eyelashes were half-dry, hanging down obediently, and the unconscious dependence made her exude a sense of vulnerability that invited harm. Vey couldn’t take her eyes off her lips, wanting to reach out and rub them, and for a moment, she even wanted to kiss her.
“Ve…!”
She didn’t move; Blyne wanted to remind her to get the tissue, but her voice was abruptly cut off because Vey raised her hand to wipe the moisture from her lips, letting her hand slide down gently onto her shoulder.
Blyne’s heart trembled with the touch of her falling hand, she raised her head, and under the dim and ambiguous light, her gaze collided with Vey’s eyes.
This was a distance perfect for kissing, their warm breaths intertwining; if either of them tilted their heads slightly, their noses would touch.
The phone on the bedside suddenly rang, and both of them paused in unison. Blyne regained her composure first, awkwardly coughed and lowered her head, then took the phone. It was a strange local number, and she answered it.
“Hello, who is this?” “Sister Blyne.”
Blyne’s back tensed up in an instant.
…It’s Livia.
A woman’s voice came from the speaker. The hand that had been around her shoulder was lowered.
She climbed out of bed and went outside the bedroom to answer the phone. The temperature in the air seemed to drop little by little. Vey silently stared at her silhouette, watching her speak softly with the person on the other end at the door. She didn’t know what the other person said, but in less than a minute, she went from relaxed to tense, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her shirt, and finally, her head drooped as she leaned against the door frame.
With a soft sound, the room door closed.
With her view obstructed, Vey irritably closed her eyes.