"Please—"
"Please what? Use your words."
"Touch me. Please touch me, Sir."
"Not yet. Fix your skirt. We're talking first before we do anything else."
I drop the fabric, frustrated and aching and desperate. He pulls me back into his lap, positions me so I'm straddling him this time, my skirt hiked up around my thighs, my bare pussy pressed against the rough denim of his jeans.
"Patience, baby girl. Good things come to those who wait and follow the rules."
The endearment makes me shiver all over. "You called me baby girl."
"Too much? Do you want me to stop?"
"No! I mean, no, Sir. I liked it. I really liked it."
"Good. Now, let's establish real rules. Not just for tonight, but for our actual dynamic if we decide to do this."
We spend over an hour negotiating every detail. Bedtime on work nights with a wind-down routine. Healthy meals with actual vegetables, not just coffee and pastries from the bakery downstairs. Check-ins throughout the day by text. Permission required for book purchases over thirty dollars (negotiated down from fifty after I pointed out that hardcover books are expensive). Praise when I follow rules. Consequences when I don't.
"What kind of consequences?" I ask nervously.
"Depends on the rule broken and whether it was deliberate or accidental. Spanking for most things. Corner time if you're being bratty and deliberately pushing boundaries. Orgasm denial if you're being really bratty and need a reminder of who's in control. But nothing done in anger, and you can always safeword if it's too much."
"Oh." My voice comes out tiny and breathy.
"Too much? Do you want to slow down?"
"No, Sir. When do we start? When does the dynamic actually begin?"
"Already started, baby girl. You followed your first order today. The panties. And you've been good all evening - letting me lead the conversation, being honest even when it's embarrassing, sitting pretty in my lap like you were made for it."
"Do I get a reward for being good?"
He laughs, dark and promising. "Greedy little librarian. Yes, you get a reward. But not what you think you're getting."
He stands easily with me in his arms, carrying me like I weigh nothing. Sets me on my feet. "Bedtime."
"It's only 9! I don't have to work until ten tomorrow morning!"
"Work night. You said 10 PM bedtime in your requirements. I'm giving you an hour to shower, get ready for bed, read a bit, wind down properly. Tomorrow's Friday, so tomorrow night you can stay up later if you're good."
"But—"
"Charlie." That command voice that makes everything inside me go liquid. "Be a good girl for me."
I melt at the words, at the tone, at the way he's looking at me. "Yes, Sir."
"Tomorrow night. Library. After closing. We'll talk more, set up a regular schedule, discuss logistics."
"We're going to...?"
"Talk more. Maybe kiss you if you've been good. But we're still taking this slow like you asked. Building trust before we move to anything more physical."
"How will I know if I've been good enough?"
"You'll know. I'll tell you. Communication, remember? I'll always tell you when you've pleased me." He cups my face with both hands, forces me to look directly at him. "And if you're very, very good tomorrow... I might kiss you properly. The way you've been thinking about since we met."
