“Have you ever practiced your kink in any way?”
“No.”
“You don’t have any clothes or toys or stuffies that help you feel Little when you’re alone?”
“No, Sir.” As I begin to let myself believe this might actually be real, I slide under his spell more readily. It feels natural to call him Sir. It did before he forced me to admit my kinky side.
“So everything you’ve experienced has been strictly in your imagination?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And your fodder is all from books?”
I nod. “I’m sure I’m a terrible Little. I have no experience.”
“Stop fretting about what you do and don’t know, Baby girl. There won’t be a test. You just need the freedom to explore and figure out what you like.”
And he’s going to offer me that freedom…
“Do you know what age you prefer?”
“No,” I murmur. In my head, I flip around to all different ages as if I’m experimenting. It has always felt naughty to me. If it weren’t for the internet, I wouldn’t even know age play was a thing that actual people participate in. Just because there are a ton of books on the subject doesn’t mean people do that sort of thing in real life.
Mace is stroking my bicep with his fingertips, making me shiver from the gentle touch. “I know you’re embarrassed, and I’m pushing you, but I have one more thing to ask, and then I’ll stop badgering you.”
I inhale deeply. I’m not sure I can take another question.
“Is your Little sexual, Baby girl? Do you masturbate when you’re in that headspace?”
Pulling my knees higher, I curl into myself.
“There isn’t a right or wrong answer, sweetheart. I’m just gathering information, so I know how to take care of you. Do you touch yourself when you read your books?”
I give a slight nod, totally embarrassed. It doesn’t matter if my mortification is misplaced. I can’t help feeling exposed, as if my soul is ripped open and naked. I’m also nearly naked on his lap. The hem of the T-shirt is bunched up between my thighs, and I’m gripping it tightly to keep from baring my pussy.
I’m also wet. There’s a solid chance that when I stand, the front of the shirt will have spots on it from my arousal. I wasn’t sure about this before, but it would seem I secretly enjoy being humiliated. Not in general. Just with him.
Mace keeps his arms wrapped around me, holding me close, rocking me gently. I’m raw, as if he’s removed my skin. I like that he doesn’t continue to bombard me with questions. Hopefully, he’s dragged every detail he needs out of me, and he’ll let me breathe now.
He stroked me everywhere he can reach, both above the T-shirt and on my exposed skin. He even touches my feet.
After a long time, he asks, “Do you want to watch some TV, Baby girl?”
I shake my head. “Can we just sit here?”
“Yes, sweetheart. I like this a lot.”
Part of me is still exhausted from not getting any sleep last night and from crying so much, but I’m fully alert on Mace’s lap, aware of every part of me he touches. It’s like he’s exploring. I would probably spread my legs and let him reach between them or even take off this shirt if he asked, but he doesn’t.
I’m kind of glad. As much as I crave his hands on every inch of me, I’ve had the longest, most emotional twenty-four hours of my life. I don’t think I’m in a headspace that could accommodate one more thing, and letting Mace see me naked could cause me to faint from overload.
Every once in a while, he kisses my temple. I love it, and I think I sigh each time. My brain is racing as I wonder what he’s thinking and planning. I don’t ask, though. I’m not sure I could internalize the answers.
I don’t know how long we sit here. I don’t care. I never want to move. I’m so content. But eventually, Mace says, “Let’s get you to bed, sweetheart. You need to sleep.”
I whimper and snuggle into him. As tired as I am, I don’t think my brain is going to slow down and let me rest. I need…
I know what I need. I keep circling back to his threat to spank me. Perhaps if I misbehave again, he’ll do so. I can’t explain my actions and thoughts. They’re all over the place, but I shake my head petulantly. “No.”
