Page 56 of Thor

"Could be electronics, dessert, certain activities," I explained. "Or more intimate things, like orgasm denial."

Her breath hitched audibly at that last one, and I stored away another piece of valuable information about what aroused her.

"The punishment always fits the broken rule," I continued. "Break a self-care rule, lose a luxury. Lie about something important, face more serious consequences."

Her breathing changed slightly when I mentioned consequences, a subtle shift that told me more than words could have. "Like what?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

I maintained steady eye contact, keeping my voice matter-of-fact despite the charged atmosphere building between us. "That's where spanking might come in."

She swallowed visibly, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the contract paper. "How would that work?" she asked in a lower voice.

I recognized the question for what it was—not just curiosity, but a tentative expression of interest mixed with apprehension.

"Safety first," I began, maintaining a tone that balanced authority with reassurance. I could see from the flush in her cheeks that she was enjoying hear this from me. "We'd establish a number of strikes beforehand, based on the severity of the rule-breaking. You'd be positioned comfortably, typically over my lap or the edge of the bed."

Her cheeks flushed deeper, but her gaze remained steady on mine.

"I'd always use my hand first, to gauge your reaction and warm the skin," I continued. "Communication stays open throughout—checking in, making sure you're processing the discipline rather than just enduring it."

"And after?" she asked softly.

"Aftercare," I said firmly. "Holding you, reassuring you, making sure you know the punishment is over and you're forgiven. We move on—that’s the point of these punishments. We don’t dwell, don’t hold grudges. Then there will be cream for any redness, water to rehydrate, perhaps a blanket if you're feeling cold or vulnerable."

Her expression softened with each detail, the combination of discipline and care clearly resonating with her needs.

"It can be erotic too," I added, knowing from our previous conversations that this aspect appealed to her. "Punishment doesn't have to be entirely separate from pleasure."

The shift in her eyes told me I'd hit the mark—this was exactly what she wanted but had been afraid to explicitly ask for.

As we discussed intimacy more directly, Mandy's professional facade dissolved entirely, revealing her desires with touching honesty. She spoke of wanting to be taken care of during sex, guided but not controlled, praised and encouraged. She admitted enjoying light restraint, hair-pulling, and being told she was a "good girl" when pleasing me.

"I like feeling small next to you," she confessed, her voice barely audible. "Safe but also . . . overwhelmed, in a good way."

I committed each preference to memory, mentally cataloging what excited her most based on her physical reactions as much as her words. We added specifics to the contract, modified clauses to better reflect our shared vision, and occasionally crossed out sections that didn't resonate with what we wanted to build.

When we reached the section about balancing her professional life with our dynamic, her expression grew more serious.

"This is important to me," she said, straightening in her chair. "I've worked hard to be taken seriously in my career. I can't have this bleeding into my work life."

"It won't," I assured her immediately. "What happens between us stays between us. I would never undermine your professional reputation."

Some tension eased from her shoulders, but concern lingered in her eyes. "It's not just about other people knowing. It's about how I see myself. I need to know I can step out of the Little role and back into being a competent, independent woman."

I took her hand in mine, engulfing her smaller fingers completely. "This dynamic exists within boundaries we define. Outside those boundaries, you're still the brilliant, independent woman I fell for. I don't want to change that—it's part of why I respect you."

The relief in her expression was immediate and profound. "Thank you for understanding that."

"This isn't about erasing who you are," I said firmly. "It's about creating a safe space where you can be everything you are—the fierce professional and the sweet Little who needs care sometimes."

She nodded, squeezing my hand gratefully. "That's exactly what I need."

“There’s something I want to be clear about though.”

“What’s that?”

“You need boundaries between work and home life. I have the feeling that you were working too hard, too much.”

She shifted in her seat.

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