HIs words lingered in the air. “Good girl.”

I bit my lower lip, embarrassed at the rush of pleasure those words gave me. I couldn’t look at him, I knew he was watching me, but I don’t want him to see my reaction.

We sat in silence while I carefully avoided eye contact and tried to think of something – anything- to say to break the silence. Frozen, I couldn’t think of a thing. My hand was still laid on top of his hand on the table, palm exposed, and I wanted to pull it away, but didn’t want to -I didn’t even know what I didn’t want to do. I just knew that I couldn’t move.

He leaned forward and laid his other hand on top of mine. Now my hand was sandwiched between both of his, warm and comfortable and soothing. I felt protected somehow. I still didn’t look at him, I focused on our hands instead.

“Your hand is so small,” he said. I nodded, I felt small, my hand disappearing between his. His hand was large, the fingers more slender than I would expect, but long. Gently, he squeezed my hand, massaged it a little bit, and I smiled.

“You are a good girl, aren’t you, Alina?” His words echoed in my mind. A bit unreal, I mean, I’m not a girl and maybe not so good, but in that moment, I could only think, ‘yes, yes I am.’ And I wanted to be, I wanted him to think I was a good girl, to be pleased with me.

“Look at me,” he said.

Slowly, I raised my eyes, nervous and unsure of myself. His eyes were smiling, his lips just turned up a bit. “I want to ask you some questions, please. Will you answer some questions for me.” His voice was gentle.

I couldn’t look away, I nodded and bit my lower lip again.

“Say yes if you agree to answer my questions,” he prompted me. “Can you do that?”

I could feel my heart pounding, I could barely breathe. I felt like a rabbit, trapped by his hands, by his voice. I wanted to answer his questions, and I was afraid of what he might ask me. But he was waiting for my answer, I had to speak, even though my mouth was so dry I could barely form the words.

“Yes,” I said, hesitant, tentative, “I will.”

He grinned then, and I felt my heart melt.

His attention was so powerful, so seductive, I was happy to answer his questions.

“Alina,” he said, “Have you ever been in a relationship where your partner expected you to please him by doing what he asked of you or what he told you to do?”

I shook my head, no, but “use your words,” he said, which made me laugh. “No,” I said, “No, not really.”

“Not really?”

“No, I mean, of course your partner always kind of expects you to please him and do what he asks. But half the time, you can’t figure out what they want, and I’m not sure they even know what they want either.”

He nodded, quite serious. “So they weren’t clear about what they wanted, and of course you couldn’t just figure it out. Is that right?”

“Yes, that’s it exactly. I mean, maybe I would have done what they wanted if I knew what it was!”

“Yes!” he said. “I think – no, let me ask you. Are you someone who likes to please the people in your life, who likes to give from your heart?”

I felt so uncomfortable, I didn’t know what to say. I mean, yes, I did like to please people, but that was stupid and weak, and maybe I was too giving, and I didn’t want him to think I was stupid and weak or easy. But I couldn’t lie, I couldn’t say no. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I couldn’t speak at all.

“It’s ok, little one,” he said, and his voice was so gentle that my tears spilled over. With my free hand, I started to brush them away, but he stopped me. He caught both of my hands in one of his, and with the other hand, he gently traced the tears on my cheek.

So many feelings rushing through me. I felt that he had captured me, was containing me, my hands still held firmly in his hand. And that felt good, secure and comforting, I didn’t want him to let me go. At the same time, my heart was pounding and I could barely breathe. I had no idea where he was taking me, I was terrified and thrilled.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice deep and silky, “I will ask again. Are you someone who very much wants to please, do you open your heart and give generously of your love and of yourself?”

My voice trembled, “I – yes, I do want to please and – and I try to give – to give my love. I don’t think I’m very good at it though.” More tears fell, and he held my chin and stroked my cheek with his thumb. I leaned into his hand, welcoming his touch.”

“I think maybe you have not been with anyone who could teach you how to please them, or who would appreciate all that you have to give,” he said. “Even now, you are pleasing me with your openness and giving me parts of yourself that I don’t think you share with everyone.”

I felt a warmth that started at my core and spread through my whole body. Now, I definitely wanted to please him. I think he could have asked me anything in that moment and I would have happily done it. I sighed, content for the moment.

But he wasn’t finished.

“Has anybody every spanked you? Maybe just for fun, or maybe when you were a naughty girl?”

The heat between my thighs was fast and fierce, I squirmed in my seat, this was my guilty secret, the one I had never told anyone. I longed to be spanked. For fun or for punishment, it didn’t matter, it seemed like I had always wanted to. But I had never, ever told anyone.

And he didn’t ask me if I wanted it – just if anyone had! I could say no, and he would never guess. I started to say at, to say no, but –

“Or maybe no one has done it, maybe you’ve just thought about it. A little fantasy here or there.” He was watching me closely, and I was blushing, I knew I was, I might have well had “spank me” tattooed across my forehead.

He grinned, “Maybe I should ask if you touch yourself when you think about it. If you slip a hand between your thighs, stroking your hot wetness…”