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 saidI 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 screamedbroken,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.
