His expression softens. “You're sure?”
“Yes.”
He reaches for his phone. “I’m going to type these up and text them to you. We start simple. I'm going to outline some basic expectations. You tell me if anything feels wrong or too much. Nothing is set in stone, Madi Baby. Everything is up for negotiation and adjusting until we've both agreed.”
“Okay.”
“First, your safety is my priority. That means delayed posts, scrubbed metadata, and checking in with me when you're filming somewhere new. Not because I don't trust you, butbecause I need to know you're safe. No texting and driving, no meeting strangers in private places, things like that.”
“I can do that.”
“Second rule is honesty. Always. If something's wrong, that includes if you're scared, overwhelmed, or just need space, you use your words. You don't hide it. You don't push through alone. No passive aggressiveness, no ghosting. I can’t help if I don’t know what is bothering you.”
“What if I don't know what I need?”
“Then you tell me that too, and we figure it out together. There’s a good chance if you don’t know what you need, your Daddy will.”
I nod.
“Third rule is basic self-care. You need to be on a sleep schedule, not necessarily a bedtime, but adjusting to events. If you have an event and don’t get home until two in the morning, you don’t schedule another shoot at seven the next day. I want you eating regularly and slowing down. Taking breaks when you're working. You know I went back and watched your previous videos. You’ve built an amazing platform, but I watched you run yourself into the ground for content. The dark circles under your eyes, the exhaustion and dehydration, stops now.”
Something in my chest loosens at that. “You've been watching my videos?”
“I told you. I pay attention.”
“And if I break these rules?” I ask, even though I think I know the answer.
His eyes darken slightly, not with anger, but with determination. “Then there are consequences. Nothing harsh that you don't consent to. But enough that you remember why the rule exists.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, Madi Baby. I have a toolbelt full of creative punishments for a naughty little girl who needs a reminder of her rules. Starting with a loss of privileges, an early bedtime, extra check-ins and accountability, and if it's serious—if your safety is actually at risk—more direct discipline.”
“You mean spanking.”
“If it’s not a hard limit for you, yes. I will spank your gorgeous behind a nice shade of pink, so you remember exactly how much you mean to me. Among other things.”
My breath catches. “Have you thought about it? About spanking me?” Because I’ve definitely thought about being spanked by him.
“Every day since you called me sir in that coffee shop and went pink all the way to your ears.”
Oh.
He sets his phone down and reaches for my hands. “But that only happens if you want it. If you consent. If it serves a purpose and helps you feel grounded. This is never about me getting off on hurting you.”
I bite my lip. “Can we... try? Just to see how it feels?”
His gaze sharpens, assessing. “Right now?”
“Yes.”
He's quiet for a long moment, and I can practically see him running through scenarios, considering angles, making sure this is right.
“Stand up, Madi Baby.”
I do, on legs that shake slightly. He stands too, and suddenly the space between us feels charged.
“Come here.” He crooks his finger and points to the space directly in front of him.
