Chapter 3 #2
So why was I suddenly tearing around my suite, tucking away the blanket and stuffy from earlier, smoothing my hair into something halfway respectable, and spritzing a little vanilla perfume I usually saved for special occasions?
When the knock came, my stomach lurched.
I opened the door to find Mistress V. One hand was wrapped around the handle of a large wicker basket, her hazel eyes trained on me with a seriousness that made my throat go dry.
She looked… too put together. Black jeans, crisp white blouse rolled at the sleeves, hair pulled back into a braid that made her look both intimidating and unfairly gorgeous. She could definitely be Daddy.
“Hi,” I managed, stepping aside.
“Evening, Seraphina.” Her voice had that warm, smooth depth that always seemed to vibrate in my chest.
I blinked when she laid everything out on the rug. Sandwiches wrapped in wax paper. Crackers and cheese. Grapes and strawberries. Two bottles of fruit juice—apple and berry—bright plastic cups patterned with little stars. Even the utensils were cheerful colors.
I frowned, arms crossed, not sure whether to laugh or bolt. “You raided the kids’ aisle in the Ranch store?”
She smiled just faintly, settling onto the floor. “I thought it might make the atmosphere less… heavy. Less like an apology and more like a start-over.”
Something in me softened, though I tried hard not to let it show. I sat opposite her, legs tucked under me, and reached for the apple juice.
“So.” I popped the top and took a sip. “You wanted to talk.”
Her eyes searched mine, steady but not sharp. “I wanted to listen. You were right, Sera. About Emerson. About me not being present. About the program. I mishandled everything.” She drew in a breath. “I don’t expect forgiveness tonight. I only ask for the chance to do better.”
I studied her, torn between suspicion and the confusing warmth curling in my chest. “You want to listen?”
“Yes.” She leaned forward slightly. “But on your terms.”
The way she said your terms made my pulse skip.
I fiddled with a cracker to avoid her gaze. “That book you gave me…”
Her mouth curved, not smug but knowing. “You read it.”
“I did. And I don’t appreciate you labeling me without asking.” My voice came out sharper than I intended. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I want. You don’t know how much of that—” I cut myself off, clenching the cracker. “It felt… intrusive.”
Her brows lifted in surprise. “I wasn’t labeling you, Seraphina.
I was complimenting you before and giving you a safe way to explore who you are or are not.
Noticing doesn’t mean judging. But you’re right—I don’t know you yet.
” She leaned back, giving me space. “That’s why I gave you the book.
Not to force you into an identity. To let you explore without anyone watching. ”
My throat tightened. She said it so calmly, like it was obvious, like she hadn’t just unraveled me with a single word earlier.
I swallowed, then forced myself to meet her gaze. “Fine. We’ll… discuss terms. But if you screw this up again, Mistress, I’m gone. No take-backs. No pleading. Gone.”
Her smile was small but real. “Fair enough.” She turned serious and the way she stared into my soul shook me. “I want to listen. To know you.”
I nodded, afraid to say a single thing to her.
We ate in silence for a while, the colorful cups between us, the ridiculous little picnic somehow both childish and grounding. But the whole time, I couldn’t shake the way she’d looked at me when she said I want to listen.
Like maybe she actually meant it. Like a part of her wanted this too. I understood that Tops had needs, but could it be that she needed to take care of someone just as much as I needed to be taken care of?
I wiped my fingers on a napkin and reached for the folded sheet I’d tucked under the picnic basket. My cheeks heated just looking at it—those confessions of green, yellow, and red answers staring back at me like a dirty secret that nobody was supposed to know even existed.
“I, um… did the quiz.” My voice felt too small in the space between us.
Mistress V didn’t snatch for it, didn’t lean forward like she was starving for answers. She simply set down her cup and nodded. “May I?”
Reluctantly, I handed it over. Mistress V had this calmness about her that seemed to settle over the entire room. Maybe I was mistaken. She wasn’t desperate for a romantic connection. It seemed to make her world come full circle. This seemed to be where she thrived. Control.
She read in silence at first, her eyes scanning neatly down the page. I wanted to crawl out of my own skin. Every green mark—ice cream as reward, cartoon pajama nights, lap time—felt like I’d stripped myself bare. Every yellow and red screamed broken, shameful, too much.
Finally, she looked up. “You’ve thought this through more than you give yourself credit for.” There was that calmness again, ready to keep me from falling off the edge in full blown anxiety.
I bit the inside of my cheek. “Or I’m just confused.”
“Confusion is allowed.” She tapped the paper gently. “Let’s look at your yellows first. Spankings as punishment or physical punishments. Public displays of affection.” Her gaze softened, holding mine steady. “What makes those yellows for you? Not hard limits, but not comfortable, either.”
I shifted, wrapping my arms around my knees. “Spankings I understand. But what other punishments could be physical? And I don’t want to be humiliated. Public stuff scares me. I can barely handle people knowing I’m lesbian, let alone”—I gestured vaguely at the paper—“I don’t know.”
She nodded, slow and thoughtful. “So it’s not no—it’s not now. That’s an important distinction. Yellows are allowed to shift over time, or never. Either way, they’re yours.”
I blinked, caught off guard by the gentleness in her tone. “You’re not… disappointed?”
Her mouth curved faintly. “I’d be disappointed if you lied. Honesty is what I value.”
I stared at her, unsure how to handle the weight of that.
“As for what other punishments, there are a lot of them. Flogging, paddling, kneeling, slapping, orgasm denial, vaginal spanking…”
My mouth went dry and I took a sip of my juice.
“Good to know.” Mistress V chuckled.
“I didn’t say anything,” I said after swallowing juice.
“Not with words. Your body is saying something, alright.” She smirked at me and I frowned, not liking whatever inside joke this was.
“Don’t be mean,” I muttered.
“You’re breathing heavier, making your chest rise and fall faster.
Deeper. Your pupils dilated, indicating your arousal.
Nervous sipping of juice, tells me that you’re uncomfortable with being turned on by all that stuff.
If you’re a good girl for me, I’ll let you sample each and every one of those things and more. ”
I whimpered. Like a bitch in heat, a whine escaped.
Embarrassed, I didn’t dare move or say a single thing.
I wanted to squeeze my legs together, but that would only draw more attention to the problem.
She’d aroused me with only spoken words, a firm tone, and promises of letting me experience things and I was ready to roll over to do whatever she asked.
All she had to do was touch me right now and it would have been the perfect combination.
She’s the enemy, girlie. Get it together. Take it easy.
Mistress V glanced back at the paper, but I could tell that she was holding back a smile.
“Now your reds. Diapers. Pacifiers. Breastfeeding. Messy play.” She set the sheet down and folded her hands over it. “Those are your hard limits. I will never push them. Do you understand that?”
My breath caught. “Never?”
“Never,” she said firmly. “A hard limit is sacred. You set the line. I respect it. Those are things that we’re never to explore.”
Something cracked open inside me at those words, though I tried to hide it behind a nod.
She leaned back against the couch, giving me room again. “Now tell me what boundaries you need, beyond the paper. Time? Privacy? Words I should never use?”
It took me a moment to find my voice. “Privacy, yes. My family can’t know. Not yet. And I don’t like… being called baby. Or princess. It feels fake. Maybe someday, but right now… I’d rather Seraphina. Or Sera.”
Mistress V inclined her head. “Sera, then. Until you choose otherwise. What about babygirl?”
The way she said it—like it was my choice, not hers—made my chest ache in a way I didn’t expect.
“I like it.” I swallowed hard and whispered, “And you?”
Her brows rose. “Me?”
“What are your boundaries?” I asked, surprising myself.
For the first time, she hesitated. “My son always comes first. That won’t change. And I don’t mix my work stress into scenes. If I’ve had a bad day, I won’t take it out on you. Ever.” Her jaw flexed. “And I expect honesty. Even if it’s ugly. Even if it makes you afraid.”
I nodded slowly, feeling something settle between us. A fragile thread of trust, maybe. Or the beginning of one.
“Sometimes I want to just sit with you curled in my lap and not talk. My escape would become you, and all I expect in return is for you to enjoy yourself. If you don’t, tell me.”
“Yes, Mistress.” I spoke so low that I was afraid that she didn’t hear me. When I looked up and into her eyes, something burned there between us. She definitely heard me.
The quiz sat between us on the rug, the mostly eaten picnic between us, the weight of everything unspoken humming in the air.
Though the fire seemed to be rock steady between us, staying lit in the atmosphere, we didn’t say another word for what felt like eternity. Part of me wanted her to lean forward and stoke it. The rest of me was trying to think of the quickest way to exit this suite without walking past her.
Mistress V was going to be trouble and every fiber in my being welcomed the challenge.