The Second Rule

Sera's bare feet carry her to the desk, the scuffed tile cool against her soles, and she stops where Bella's sweat still darkens the oak. Sir Julian's crop taps once against his palm as he says, 'The second rule: you will ask permission to touch yourself, and you will name plainly what you want to touch.' Sera's throat works, her pale eyes fixed on his grey ones, and she feels the ache between her thighs pulse as she whispers, 'May I touch my cunt, Sir?' The crop lifts, and she braces, her hands curling at her sides, waiting for his answer.