Chapter 3
three
Marshall
Charlie's wearing the skirt. Black pencil skirt, fitted, with a white blouse that has one more button undone than last night. Her hair's in another bun with a pencil stuck through it, and I want to pull that pencil out and watch her hair tumble down around her shoulders.
"You came back," she says, and there's something like relief in her voice.
"You're surprised? Did you think I'd just disappear after last night?"
"A little. I thought maybe you'd wake up and realize how weird this whole situation is and decide to ghost me."
"Two adults reading books together and having honest conversations? Nothing weird about that at all."
She's holding a piece of paper, and I notice immediately it's color-coded with different sections. Laminated. Christ, she actually laminated her kink list. That's simultaneously the nerdiest and most endearing thing I've ever seen.
"Is that your homework?"
She nods, hands it over with trembling fingers.
I scan it, fighting hard not to smile at the sheer organization of it.
It's sorted by category with subcategories, complete with footnotes and a rating system.
This woman put more effort into her submission list than most people put into their actual job.
"'Structure and routine,'" I read aloud. "'Clear expectations with written guidelines. Praise for meeting goals and following rules.' This is a very professional submission list, Miss Book. Very thorough."
"I'm a librarian. I like organization and clear categorization systems."
"'Permission required for purchases over fifty dollars?' Really? You want someone to control your spending?"
"I have a book buying problem! Last month I spent three hundred dollars on romance novels and had to eat ramen for two weeks because I couldn't afford groceries!"
"'Bedtime by 10 PM on work nights with thirty-minute wind-down period.' You want someone to actually enforce your bedtime like you're a child?"
She's bright red but defiant, lifting her chin. "Sleep hygiene is important for mental and physical health! I stay up until two in the morning reading and then feel terrible the next day but I can't seem to stop myself!"
I keep reading, fascinated. The list gets progressively spicier as it goes.
"'Physical discipline when appropriate, including but not limited to spanking.
' 'Sexual submission with clear boundaries.
' 'Orgasm control and denial as needed.' 'Daily check-ins and accountability.
'" I look up at her, watching her squirm.
"You've thought about this extensively."
"Three months of living alone in a new town with nothing but my romance novel collection for company. Yes, I've thought about it extensively. I've had a lot of time to figure out what I actually want versus what I thought I was supposed to want."
"But you've never tried? Never explored this with anyone?"
"With who? Dylan would have used it against me, twisted it into something ugly. And before him..." She shrugs helplessly. "I've always been the good girl. The responsible one. The one who follows all the rules and never causes problems. I've never had anyone I trusted enough to let go with."
"You trust me?" I ask, genuinely curious. We barely know each other.
"I don't know yet. But I want to. Does that make sense?"
Perfect sense, actually. Honest, too, which I appreciate more than she knows. I respect honesty above almost everything else.
"Let's start simple. Tonight, you're going to read to me. Your choice of material."
"More fanfiction about John and Bunny?"
"No. Your choice. Whatever you've been wanting to read but been too embarrassed to admit you like."
She bites her lip, worrying it between her teeth while she thinks. Then she goes to her special shelf, the one marked "Explicit Content - Request at Desk." Pulls out a book with a stark black cover. "Daddy's Strict Rules" by Amber Dawn.
"That what you touch yourself to when you're alone at night?"
She drops the book, fumbling to catch it. "I don't— I haven't—"
"Charlie. No lying. That's going to be a rule if we do this. Complete honesty, even when it's embarrassing."
"Fine! Yes! Sometimes I read it and touch myself and imagine what it would be like to have someone actually care enough to set rules for me! Are you happy now?"
"Getting there. Open to chapter three and start reading."
"Why chapter three specifically?"
"Because you've got it bookmarked with a sticky note. I noticed when you pulled it off the shelf."
She finds the chapter, adjusts her glasses in that nervous way she has. Starts reading in her professional librarian voice - all proper and controlled while reading the absolutely filthiest scene I've ever heard out loud.
"'You've been such a good girl for Daddy,' he praised, his hand tangling in her hair, controlling the angle of her head.
'Daddy's going to reward you now for following all your rules today.
' He pushed her thighs apart, spreading her open for his inspection.
'Look how wet you are for me already. Such a responsive little thing. '"
"Keep going. Don't stop."
Her voice shakes as she continues, reading about submission and dominance, rules and rewards, praise and punishment. I watch her squeeze her thighs together unconsciously, watch her breathing change and speed up, watch her pupils dilate behind those cute glasses.
"Stop reading."
She looks up at me, pupils blown wide with arousal. "Why? Did I do something wrong?"
"Because if you keep reading in that voice, I'm going to bend you over that desk right now and we're not ready for that yet. We need to talk first. Negotiate properly."
"Oh." Her voice is small and breathy.
"Is that what you want eventually? For me to bend you over and take control?"
"I... we barely know each other. This is moving really fast."
"That's not what I asked, Charlie. I asked what you want, not what you think you should want or what's socially appropriate. What do you actually want?"
She sets the book down carefully, her hands trembling slightly. "Yes. But not yet. I need... I need to know this is real. That you're not just interested because I'm easy prey or because you think I'm desperate."
"You're not prey, Charlie. And you're not desperate. You're a woman who knows exactly what she wants but has been too scared to ask for it because the last man you trusted used your needs against you. That's not desperation. That's self-awareness and caution, which are both smart things to have."
"And you're willing to give me what I need?"
"I'm willing to try. But we do this right. Safe words. Hard and soft limits. Clear communication at every step. This isn't something we rush into just because we're both turned on."
"You've done this before? Been someone's Dominant?"
"No. But I've led men into combat situations where their lives depended on my decisions. I know about responsibility. About taking care of people under my command and making sure they're safe and healthy and able to function. The principles aren't that different."
"Is that what I'd be? Under your command?"
"If you want to be. But that's not a decision we make tonight. Tonight we just talk and figure out if this is something we both actually want or if it's just fantasy that's better left in books."
She stands, walks toward me with more courage than I expected. Brave little librarian. "I have conditions before we go any further."
"I'm listening."
"We go slow. I need to trust you completely before we do anything physical beyond kissing. And I need time to build that trust."
"Fair and reasonable."
"We keep it private. This is a small town and I have a professional reputation to maintain at the library."
"Agreed completely. What happens between us stays between us."
"And you read the books too. The ones on my shelf. So you understand what I'm looking for and what good dominance looks like versus abuse disguised as kink."
I almost laugh at that. "You're assigning me romance novel homework?"
"Equal education, Mr. Le Croix. If I'm trusting you with this kind of power, you need to understand the responsibility that comes with it."
Smart. Very smart. I respect that immensely.
"Fine. I'll read your books. But I have conditions too."
"Such as?"
"You follow the rules we agree on, even when they're inconvenient.
No apologizing for things that aren't your fault - that rule starts now and doesn't end.
And you tell me immediately if something doesn't feel right or if I cross a boundary.
Immediate honesty, even if you think it'll disappoint me. "
"I can do that. I want to do that."
"And Charlie? When we're alone like this, discussing this dynamic? You call me Sir."
Her breath catches audibly. "Yes, Sir."
The way she says it, automatic and breathy and perfect. Like she's been waiting her whole life to call someone that and mean it.
"Tomorrow night. Your place. We'll discuss limits properly and set up preliminary rules. Bring that list and be ready to talk about specifics."
"My place? You want to come to my apartment?"
"Unless you want to keep meeting in the library where anyone could walk in. We need privacy for these conversations."
"No, you're right. My place is better. My apartment is above the bakery next to the candy shop."
I stand to leave, then turn back at the door. "Charlie? Tomorrow night, wear that skirt again. And no panties underneath."
Her mouth drops open in shock. "Marshall! That's— I can't— what if—"
"Sir," I correct.
"Sir," she repeats, squirming adorably. "That's very presumptuous. What if someone notices?"
"It's preparatory. Tomorrow we'll discuss your hard and soft limits in detail. I need you thinking about what you want, staying present and aware. Being bare under your skirt all day will keep you focused on possibilities instead of overthinking everything."
"And being bare under my skirt helps with that how exactly?"
"Keeps you aware of your body. Present in the moment. Thinking about what might happen instead of spiraling into anxiety about what could go wrong. Trust me on this."
I leave her there, flushed and fidgeting and already nodding agreement.
John's going to have an absolute field day when he finds out about this.
But right now, all I can think about is Charlie's voice reading those dirty words and the way she says "Sir" like it's the most natural thing in the world.