“Come here,” he said.

Quickly, she put down her book and approached him. He was settled comfortably in his chair, a plush leather recliner. He was not reclining.

She hesitated just inside the room, thinking he might need her to bring him something. “Yes, Sir?”

“No, come here,” he said, gesturing to the kneeling bench at his feet.

“Yes, Sir, of course,” she said, quickly moving closer, settling herself on the bench. He had made this concession to her aging knees, and she was grateful for that comfort. For her birthday, he had given her the mat to put under it, which allowed her to kneel for even longer without too much discomfort.

She settled herself, checking her posture. Back straight, hands on her thighs, head up, eyes downcast. She had automatically assumed what he called Listening Position – her thighs slightly open, hands resting palms down comfortably. It was the same position she assumed for meditation, so it immediately calmed her.

“Clothes off,” he said.

She smiled, “Of course, Sir.” Now that he kept her in dresses all the time, it was easy enough to kneel up and pull the dress off over her head. Folded it and placed it to the side. She was wearing a half-bra that effectively lifted her breasts and exposed her nipples.

She looked at him questioningly, hands poised to unhook.

“Everything,” he said.

She unhooked the lacy bra, folded it in half, and laid it on top of the dress. Naked now, she placed her hands on her thighs, resuming her position.

To her dismay, he picked up the book lying on the end table beside him and began reading.

Some time passed.

She was wearing a smart watch, but would have had to move to light it up, so she just waited. Peeking up from half lowered eyelids, he seemed absorbed by his book.

At last, he set the book down.

“I’ve been thinking about your sense of guilt,” he said. “All this guilt you’ve been carrying secretly, without letting me know what you were feeling.”

She started to say something, but was silenced by his look.

“Of course there was no reason for you to feel guilty. No rational reason.” He paused, shook his head. “But it seems you’ve tortured yourself with it for a long time. Is that right?”

“Yes, Sir,” she admitted, reluctantly.

“Well,” he continued, “No need to worry about it now. But I think we need to make sure you’ve purged the guilt. Let go of it, you would say.”

“Yes, Sir?” she said uncertainly. That sounded kind of sweet, but she doubted whatever he had in mind would be sweet at all.

“People feel guilty because they think they’ve done something wrong. Right? Would you say that’s true?”

“Yes, Sir.” Still a bit tentative, but that sounded right.

“So you thought you’d done – or were doing – something wrong. You didn’t bring it to me or talk about it openly or do anything to remedy the situation. Is that right?

“Yes, Sir,” she said, pretty sure she was yes, sir-ing herself into some kind of trap.

He nodded. “And I know you. On some level, you’re still carrying that guilt.”

She wanted to disagree, but he knew her too well for that.

“So I think the best way to assuage that guilt is through punishment!” He sounded so pleased with this solution that she felt giggles bubbling up inside her. She bit her lip, trying to hold them back. “Any questions?” he asked.

She opened her mouth to say she had SO MANY questions, but the giggles burst out instead. She managed to say, “Yes, – Sir, – I have – a few – questions,” in between bursts.

He grinned. “I love that you’re amused. I’m pretty sure that what I have planned will settle you right down.”