I’d marked it green.
My stomach tightened. Not from fear. From confusion. Vincent didn’t sound judgmental. Just… curious. Careful.
He asked what it meant to me. Not what I’d been taught. What I actually felt. And I didn’t know how to answer.
“It was normal,” I said slowly. “Routine. At Lockswell, it wasn’t about punishment, it was about control. I didn’t hate it. I didn’t like it. It just… happened.” I looked down at my hands. “I marked it green because Ididn’t flinch when I read it. That felt like enough.” I paused. “But maybe it’s yellow. Maybe I don’t know yet.”
Vincent didn’t speak right away. And that silence—safe, patient—made it easier to breathe. Because I hadn’t been punished for uncertainty. I’d been heard.
“Changed toyellow. You can always change something to red and I won’t be upset at all. Personally, I don’t care much for it, but if my partner enjoys it, then I will too.”
He glanced down at the page again, then looked back at me. “Next item. Blindfolds.”
I felt my breath catch—not fear, just the memory of what that used to mean.
He didn’t push. Didn’t ask why I’d marked it green.
Just waited. That waiting made it easier to speak. Because this wasn’t about getting it right. It was about being honest. And I was starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, honesty wouldn’t hurt here.
I’d marked it green, but now I wasn’t sure why.
“It used to mean control,” I said slowly. “Being blindfolded meant I didn’t get to know what was coming. I wasn’t allowed to prepare. It was about power.Theirpower.”
I paused, fingers curling slightly against my thighs. “But it also meant I didn’t have to see their faces. Or the room. Or the things they used.”
I swallowed, forcing myself not to remember whattheyhad done.
“Sometimes that made it easier.” I looked up at Vincent, just briefly. “I marked it green because I thought maybe, with you, it could mean something else. Like trust. Like letting go without fear.” I wanted it to feel like the way I felt when I knelt at his feet. “I don’t know if that’s real yet. But I want it to be.”
“Blindfolds are a great toy, a tool, to be used when you have trust in me. I’ll keep it as green for now.”
Warmth filled me and he gave me a soft smile that reached his eyes. Vincent was pleased with me.
An Alpha had never been pleased with my truthfulness before.
Vincent’s voice was calm, deliberate. “We don’t have to use it in a scene,” he said. “Not yet. Not at all, if you decide against it. We can start with something simple. You wear it while sitting beside me. No touch. No commands. Just stillness. If that feels okay, we try again—with my voice guiding you. Maybe I can describe the room. Maybe I can ask how you feel. You answer only if you want to.”
I stayed quiet, listening.
Vincent continued, “If at any point you want it off, you say red. Or take it off yourself. You’re in control of that.” He paused. “This isn’t about testing your limits. It’s about helping you find them. Safely. With me.”
Vincent looked at me again, as though he was checking in to make sure I wasn't being overwhelmed.
“Next item. Verbal humiliation.”
I’d marked it yellow. Unsure of it, yet intrigued to maybe give it a shot. Words had been yelled at me my entire life. Some days, they hurt more than others.
“It depended on the words,” I said quietly. “Some things cut deep. Others just… slid past. At Lockswell, it was constant. Names. Comparisons. Degradation. I stopped reacting. I thought that meant I could handle it.” I paused, fingers curling slightly. “But now, I don’t know what’s tolerable and what’s damaging. I don’t know what’s mine.”
“Changing to red. Right now, I’m not testing that one. Not until I know for a hundred percent that you won’t be harmed by what I say. Even then, I’m not sure I’d be comfortable saying such things to you.”
“Thank you, Sir.” I liked his views, knowing that he wouldn’t do some things just because I marked things wrong.
“Next, the leash and collar.”
I’d marked it green. But now, sitting here with him—safe, seen—I wasn’t sure why. I could still feel the cold metal around my throat, and on instinct, my hand went up to rub against the front of where the collar would lie. The texture of my skin was off, and the cut was healing.
“It was always used to control me,” I said quietly. “To drag me. To display me. But I didn’t hate it. Not the object. Just the way it was used.” I looked up, just for a second. “With you, I thought maybe it could mean something else. Like belonging. Like safety. I marked it green because I want it to feel different. I want it to mean something good.”
