“Yes, Sir.” His answer had more to it shining in his eyes. I waited, hoping he’d speak the words I already knew he'd say. He didn’t disappoint. “You are green for everything on that list.”
“Green for certain partners. Each person I am in a relationship with has different needs. .” I dipped my chin, meeting his eyes. “Once we both can better read on each other-“ Although, I knew Charlie read me better than any partner ever had before – “Then I’ll have another checklist.”
“Sir? May I speak freely?” Charlie’s voice was careful, but not afraid.
I met his gaze, letting a small smile rise—just enough to show teeth, just enough to reassure.
“Always,” I said. “Your voice is never off-limits here.”
“Can I look at all the checklists? I know you don’t trust me to answer truthfully, but…” His eyes flickered away as he fought to find his words. “The things on those papers were easy. I’ve done a few with clients before, and I can handle whatever you want to do to me.”
Oh sweet boy,I thought as my hand found purchase atop his head once again.
“I’m so proud of you for speaking your thoughts. That’s a huge progress from just last week.”
“You like to hear my thoughts, Sir.”
“Yes, I do,” I said, and I was beginning to appreciate how often he asked. “What happens between us will be consensual. Every moment, every scene—you’ll be fully present and fully willing. If something feels off, even slightly, you won’t continue. That’s where the color system comes in.”
I gestured to the highlighters. “Green means comfort or enjoyment. Yellow means hesitation—something you’ll do if I ask, but not something you seekout. Red means stop. No questions asked.” I met his eyes. “And those colors aren’t limited to scenes. You can use them in everyday conversation, even now, if you need to.”
I leaned in slightly, voice steady. “I’m not here to push you. Not here to hurt you. And I will never take away your choices. Being in my care will never resemble what you endured at Lockswell. Not now. Not ever.” I let the words settle before continuing. “I want you to feel safe telling me your reds just as much as your greens. Your preferences will be heard. Respected. Never used against you.” I paused. “So no. I won’t do whatever I want to you. Not without your consent. That’s a promise. If you say red, I stop. No matter what.”
I gave him a moment for the words to settle, to make an impact on his brain.
“I don’t want to cause you pain. I don’t want to mark you.”
“But I’m yours, Sir.”
“On paper, yes. That doesn’t mean I will ever lift a hand in anger towards you. I’m not going to do what your last client did, or any of the ones before that.”
Charlie dropped his eyes, but not before I saw the shame at the reminder of what happened. His back would forever be scarred in spots, and I wish I could take it all away. Instead, I let my hand trail to his cheek, cupping it in my palm.
“Don’t get me wrong, I do want to claim you. I want to call youminein every way. But it won’t be until we are both there not just physically, but emotionally. That could take a day, or a year. I don’t care much forrushing things, as you know. I have all the time in the world to earn your heart. And it’s okay if I don’t get that part of you. I don’t expect it. But like trust, I hope to earn it.”
Charlie opened and closed his mouth before settling for just keeping it closed. When he was quiet for a full minute, I went on.
“If you want, next week I will give you the option of looking at the other lists. But that won’t be today.”
Charlie took a deep breath, gave a single nod, then lifted his gaze to meet mine. I kept my tone steady. “Looking over your responses,” I said, “you marked a lot of green in the punishment section.”
That concerned me. Red flags stood out across the page—not because of what he marked, but because of how easily he did. I had to remind myself: he was trained to endure these things. To accept them without question. But that didn’t mean I was comfortable acting on them.
Not yet. Maybe in time. When I knew the green came from choice and not survival.
I scanned the page again, eyes landing on one mark that didn’t sit right. “Charlie,” I said quietly, “can I ask about one of your greens?”
He nodded, posture still, gaze lowered.
“Face slapping,” I said. “You marked it green.”
His breath hitched—barely. But I saw it.
“I need to know,” I continued, “is that something you genuinely want? Or something you were taught to accept?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just sat there, hands resting on his thighs, like he was sorting through a dozen memories at once.
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “It was normal. Expected. I didn’t hate it. I didn’t like it. I just… took it.”
