We start small. Little things. Like what time I go to bed. What clothes I wear. Letting him know when my thoughts start spiraling, when the noise in my mind becomes too loud to manage alone.
In the mornings, Elijah lays out my clothes for the day. Not just the outfit, but everything, down to the underwear.
He never pushes. He already knows there are certain things I’m not comfortable wearing, not yet. And he respects that without question. I never have to explain twice.
But he also made something clear from the beginning.
“As we grow into this,” he’d said one night, his voice a calm rumble against my skin as we lay curled together in bed, “I’ll start adding new things. Slowly. Things that will push you out of your comfort zone just a little, because I believe in how strong you are. But only ever with your trust. Only ever if you say yes.”
And I remember nodding, my breath catching when he kissed my forehead and added, “And if anything feels wrong, or too much,Marshmallow, baby. That’s all you have to say. You’re always in control, even when you give some of it to me.”
That word,Marshmallow, is my safe word. Soft. Sweet. Strong. Just like this relationship we’re building.
And the more we lean into this rhythm, his quiet authority, my growing surrender, the more I feel it taking root in me.
Not as something foreign, but as something I’ve always needed. Permission to let go. To feel safe being led. To trust.
And here I am now, looking at this outfit as if it's going to attack me any moment. I almost talked myself out of it three times.
The first time is when I reach for the black lace set I tucked away weeks ago, tags still on. The second is when I see the little card he left on the dresser this morning:
The third time is when I check the clock and realize it’s 6:56. My hands are shaking.
But I do it anyway. Because I asked for this. Because I trust him. Because I want to know what it feels like to be brave and still safe.
I kneel beside the bed, the soft throw rug cushioning my knees. My hands rest gently on my thighs. My heart is beating too fast, but I’m breathing through it.
I’m ready.
The door opens behind me at exactly 7:00.
I don’t look up. I don’t have to.
I hear him shut it behind him. Feel the energy shift.
Then I hear his voice. Quiet. Deep. Steady.
“You look stunning, on your knees for your Daddy. Good girl.”
My heart skips a beat when I hear his words. That quiet conviction in his voice, the way he speaks to me like I’m precious and powerful all at once, it settles something deep inside me.
Knowing that I’m doing what he’s told me to do, that I’m giving him what he needs, and that it pleases him… it’s one of the best feelings in the world. Not because I’m trying to be perfect, but because I’m seen. Because I’m trusted.
His praise wraps around me like warmth in the dark. His hand strokes softly down my spine, and his lips brush against my temple as he whispers,“You’re doing so well, baby girl.”
He walks around me, slow and deliberate. I keep my eyes down, but I can feel the weight of his gaze on every inch of my skin.
“Did exactly what Daddy told you to. I like that.”
“Thank you, Daddy.”
“And how did that feel?”
I swallow. “It wasn’t easy… but it felt good. Deep down. And I wanted to make you proud.”
He pauses, just long enough to let the words settle between us, then kneels in front of me, hands warm as they cradle my face. His touch grounds me instantly.
“You did. I am so proud of you baby girl.” His voice is low, sincere. “More than you know.”
