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“If you disobey me,” I add, “you will be punished.”
She gasps so softly I barely catch it.
“How will I be punished?”
“Not the way you’re imagining.”
Her cheeks take on an adorable pink glow.
“Would you flog me like you flogged Fiona?”
“I wasn’t punishing Fiona when I flogged her. And flogging you would require touching you, and I’ve already said I’m not going to do that.”
Grace chews her thumbnail. My clever ballerina is doing her best to parse through my reasoning, to understand why I’m proposing this watered-down version of something she’s already seen me fully commit to.
“You still think I’m too young,” she says.
“Because you are too young. I know this isn’t what you were envisioning, but it’s what I’m offering you now. Do you still want to serve me, Grace?”
I know I should hope that she’ll come to her senses and return to her movies and books. It would be simpler for both of us. But, on this, the sadist and the protector in me are in agreement: Grace is safer with me than she would be with anyone else.
“Yes, Sir,” she says, smiling.
Relief washes over me, leaving anticipation in its wake. The radiant creature seated on my couch is mine.
“I just have one question,” she says.
“What’s that?” I perch my right ankle over my left knee, hoping to make it harder for her to see how tight my pants have gotten.
“If you aren’t going to touch me, then what are we going to do?”
Now it’s my turn to smile. “You, little one, are going to do your homework.”
