Chapter 7 #3
I consider the question. "Yesterday was great, in the best way. But now I'm lying here wondering what comes next."
"I thought we clarified that yesterday a bit, but I’m happy to have a deeper conversation if you need to. What do you want to come next?"
There's that question again. The one he keeps asking. The one that forces me to be honest about my needs. The one I can’t avoid until we figure it out. I guess I just have to spit it out.
"I want to explore the dynamic more," I admit. "What it actually looks like in practice. I want to know what it’s like to be your little. I’m curious about so many things and I feel like we are tiptoeing around."
Ethan shifts so we're face to face. "Tell me what you're curious about, I promise I won’t judge you."
Heat floods my cheeks, my face feels like it’s sunburned, I’m sure if I reach up and touch it I’ll be able to feel the warmth. How do I put this into words? "Everything. I've read about it, fantasized about it, but I don't actually know what it feels like to... surrender like that."
"Surrender how?"
"To let you take control completely. To trust you enough to be vulnerable in ways that scare me."
His thumb brushes across my lower lip. "What scares you about it?"
"That I'll like it too much. That once I experience it, I won’t want to stop. I’m scared if I let go, I won't want to take control back."
"And that would be bad because...?" He looks at me and I ponder why it’s a bad thing.
"Because society says women should be strong and independent and in charge of their own lives."
"You are strong and independent, Lily. Choosing to submit doesn't change that. If anything, it takes more strength to be vulnerable than to keep your walls up. I’d love you to get to a point where you trust me enough to submit as my little girl."
I know he's right. Logically, I know. But there's still this voice in my head that says wanting this makes me weak.
"What if we practiced?" Ethan suggests, studying my face.
"Practiced what?"
"Exploring the dynamic in a controlled way. I could show you what it might look like. How it might feel. With clear boundaries and the understanding that you can stop anytime."
My pulse quickens. "Like a scene?"
"Exactly like a scene. We'd establish parameters. Use safe words. Walk through it together so you can see if this is really what you want."
"What would we do?"
His hand slides into my hair, gentle but firm. "That depends on what you need. But I've noticed some things about you, sweetheart. Things I would love to help you change if you’d let me."
"What?" Oh gosh. What did I do? I don’t pick my nose or curse like a sailor or anything. I’m suddenly feeling very self-conscious. Does he want to fix me? Change me? Fear curdles in my stomach.
"You push yourself too hard. Sometimes, you forget to eat, and you stay up too late working. During our conversations, you’ve admitted to working as a driver and shopper during the day and staying up all hours doing your virtual college and design work.
You apologize for things that aren't your fault. I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve heard you say I’m sorry this week.
" His eyes hold mine. "You need someone to remind you to take care of yourself.
To hold you accountable when you don't."
My breath catches. "Accountable how?"
"However we both agree on. But in the dynamic I'm drawn to, consequences are an important part of the care structure. I plan on spoiling you double the amount I punish you, or even triple, but it is definitely part of the dynamic I’m drawn to.
Based on the books you are reading, I think you are, too. "
"Consequences like...?" I might throw up. I’m having this conversation out loud with a real-life adult man. I’ve imagined this and fantasized over it, but I’ve never actually thought it would come to life.
"Like discipline. The kind that is administered with love and intention. It’s designed to help you course-correct behaviors that hurt you or hurt our relationship."
Oh God.
The word hangs between us.
Discipline.
My body responds before my brain catches up. Heat pooling low in my belly. Breath coming faster. Nipples tightening, pussy vibrating. I’m turned on. I’m really fucking turned on.
"You're interested," Ethan observes.
"Maybe."
"Lily." His voice drops into that commanding register. "Be honest with me, lying will always result in being punished. I don’t tolerate lies."
"Yes," I whisper. "I'm interested."
"Have you thought about it? What it would be like?"
"All the time. Reading that book, I kept imagining... what it would feel like. To be put over someone's knee and held accountable. I want to know someone cares enough to correct me when I'm being self-destructive or to give me a therapeutic spanking when I’m stressed or even a…"
"A what, baby? You are safe with me."
"A sexy good girl spanking."
Ethan laughs but not at me. I smile back at him. "I know how to give all those. Are those something you might want to explore? With me?"
I look at him, really look at him, meeting his eyes and I see nothing but patience, care and a bit of arousal.
"Yes. I want to try."
His smile is slow and devastatingly sexy.
"Then let's establish some ground rules first." He stands up from the bed and stretches and once again I check out his body. Someone needs to pinch me, I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming. He’s so damn edible.
Carved abs, wide shoulders and those forearms…
I bite back a sigh in disappointment when he turns and walks over to the desk in the corner of his room.
He picks up a notebook and pen, along with his desk chair and comes back to bed.
He sits the chair next to the bed, drops into it, crosses his legs and leans forward. It’s very professor looking of him.
We spend the next hour talking through boundaries.
Like safe words. We settle on the good old reliable ones- red for stop immediately, yellow for slow down, green for keep going.
And when we get to limits and start to talk about what's off the table, what we're curious about, what we're definitely interested in, he doesn’t let me get too self-conscious or nervous. He makes the conversation feel natural, like I’m telling him what food I enjoy and what food grosses me out.
"I want to be clear about something," Ethan says towards the end of our conversation. "Discipline is different than a funishment or sexy spanking. When I discipline you, it's about correction and it’s about growth. I will make sure it’s very clear what kind of spanking or discipline is going on. If there is any question, I am not doing my job. The line should never, ever be blurred between discipline and sexual. The goal is to help you remember why you shouldn’t do whatever it is you’ve done wrong, so you don’t do it again, help process emotions and release the guilt you carry when you break a rule. "
"How does getting spanked release guilt?" I know the answer to this question, I think. Although, I’ve never experienced it myself.
"Because it creates a clear endpoint. You made a mistake. You accept the consequence. Then it's over. Forgiven. You don't have to carry it anymore." His hand cups my face. "Does that make sense?"
"I think so."
"We can start small. I'll show you what a spanking feels like. If at any point you want to stop, you say red and we stop immediately. No questions, no judgment. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Good girl." He stands, offering his hand. "Come here."
I stand up and go to him, and I'm acutely aware that I'm wearing nothing but his t-shirt.
Ethan sits on the edge of the bed, legs spread, and looks at me with an intensity that makes my knees weak. He’s going to spank me. We haven’t had sex yet, we’ve barely only kissed, and he’s going to spank me.
"Here's what's going to happen," he says, his voice calm and controlled.
"You're going to tell me something you did this week that you know wasn't good for you.
Something where you ignored your own wellbeing.
Then I'm going to put you over my knee and give you a spanking.
Not because you're bad, but because you deserve someone who cares enough to help you do better. Do you understand?"
I nod, unable to speak.
"Words, sweetheart."
"Yes. I understand."
"Good. Now tell me. What did you do this week that hurt you?"
I think about the past few days. There are a few things I could confess. The constant work, missed meals and the anxiety I pushed through instead of addressing. I constantly hope that if I work hard enough, long enough… I’ll be enough to succeed.
"I stayed up until three a.m. working on a portfolio piece even though I was exhausted," I admit. "I skipped lunch two days in a row because I was too busy. And I didn't tell you when I was feeling overwhelmed because I didn't want to seem incapable."
"Come here."
My legs feel like jelly as I cross to him.
He guides me gently but firmly over his lap, positioning me so my hips are elevated, my hands braced on the bed.
"This is just a warmup," he explains, his hand resting on my lower back. "I'm going to spank you over your panties first. Nothing too intense. Just enough for you to feel it. I want you to focus on your breathing and tell me if anything doesn't feel right. Can you do that?"
"Yes."
"Color?"
"Green."
His hand smooths over my ass, the touch almost reverent. "You have no idea how beautiful you are like this. There’s something incredible about you trusting me and letting me take care of you like this."
Then his hand lifts and comes down with a sharp crack.
I gasp. It stings, but not unbearably. The sensation is more surprising than painful.
Another spank. Then another. He works methodically, alternating cheeks, building heat gradually. At first it’s a sting and then it starts to build. It’s layering until it becomes uncomfortable and swollen but not quite painful.
"How are you doing?" he asks after a dozen swats.