Page 73 of Wings
The words alone made me squirm. "Maybe? I don't know what they feel like."
"Then we mark those as 'explore with discussion,'" he decided, making notes in the margin. "Nothing new without talking first, showing you the implement, maybe trying one stroke to see."
Every step was deliberate, consensual, careful.
"Bondage," he continued. "Position restrictions, rope, cuffs?"
"Yes." This came easier, memories of him holding my wrists making me shiver. "I like feeling contained. Safe. Like I can struggle but not escape."
"Rope?"
I considered, picturing the intricate knots I'd seen online. "Maybe? It's beautiful but seems complicated."
"I'd need to take classes first anyway," he assured me. "Safety with rope is complex. We'll mark it as future possibility."
We worked through the list methodically. Each item required real thought, real discussion. Some things were easy yeses—sensory play made me curious, especially wax despite the nervousness it caused. Others were definite nos—anything involving others, humiliation beyond gentle teasing, age play younger than my natural little space.
We continued through scenarios that made me grateful for his lap to hide in. Domestic discipline—yes, with specific infractions defined. Orgasm control—yes, but with limits during work hours. Public play—soft limits carefully outlined, nothing that would truly expose us but subtle things that made me squirm to consider.
"What about this one surprises you?" he asked after marking 'maybe' next to temperature play. "Your face changed."
"Ice seems scary."
"So maybe ice for grounding, not punishment?" He made another note. "That's why we talk through each item, baby girl. Context matters."
The next section made my whole body heat. "Sexual scenarios," I read aloud, then immediately regretted it.
"We can skip details for now," he offered, but I shook my head.
"No. I want . . . I need to be brave about this part too." I took a breath. "Yes to multiple orgasms. Very yes. Also yes to edging, even though it makes me crazy."
"Becauseit makes you crazy," he corrected with a dark smile that sent heat pooling low. "Love watching you beg."
We worked through positions (all yes except ones that hurt my back), toys (yes to most with discussion first), and locations (bedroom, nursery, carefully selected semi-public spaces). Each agreement felt like stepping deeper into trust, admitting desires I'd barely admitted to myself.
"Anal play," he read neutrally, watching my face.
"Maybe?" My voice came out squeaky. "I mean, not immediately. But if we worked up to it slowly . . ."
"Training protocols exist for a reason," he agreed, making notes. "Slow, careful, with full veto power at any stage."
The casualness of 'training protocols' made me blush harder, but also felt reassuring. Nothing we did would be rushed or assumed.
"Somnophilia," he continued, then paused at my expression. "Sleep play. Being touched or taken while sleeping."
"I . . ." The fantasy had lived in my head so long, admitting it felt impossible. But his patient silence, the steady beat of his heart under my palm, made me brave. "Yes. Waking up to you already touching me, or inside me . . . The vulnerability of it . . ."
"We can experiment, and of course you can use your safeword."
"You make it sound so reasonable."
"Because it is. Fantasy doesn't have to be shameful, Kiara. The things that turn you on, that make you feel submissive and small and mine—they're gifts. You trusting me with them is everything."
We reached the psychological elements section, and my breath caught. This felt more exposing than any physical act.
"Praise," he read. "I think we know that's a yes."
"The biggest yes," I confirmed, smiling despite my nervousness. "When you call me good girl, I just . . . melt."
