“The safeword here is red,” he said. “Pretty standard.”
She’d seen it on the waiver. Still, his reminder reassured her that he knew the basics, and she relaxed a little.
“If I can convince you to change thatmight beinto a yes, I have a bench reserved,” he said. “Presence, control, a light flogging. Nothing extreme.”
She glanced toward the benches, a pang tightening in her chest. Not for the amenities, or lack thereof, but for the things that were missing. The things that actually mattered: caring, warmth, and a sense of belonging. She’d always thought Devil’s Pointe was special. It hit harder now, realizing she might not find another like it.
That was on her, though. Leland had ended it, but she’d walked away. Before him, she’d been submissive. After him, that hadn’t changed. She had a choice: walk out the door or give Daniel a chance.
Minutes later, she knelt on the padded bench. As negotiated, her uncuffed hands were braced in front of her. Her dress pulled tight across her hips, the short hem baring almost all of her thighs. He circled her once then paused at his bag to retrieve the flogger. After testing it with a few practice slaps against his palm, he stepped behind her.
The first strokes were measured and light, a mere warm-up. Her skin prickled a bit, and she tried to relax into the rhythm. It was only fine. Nothing more.
He must have noticed.
“Are you ready to step it up a little?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He waited before correcting her, “Yes, sir.”
She repeated the words easily, but they held no weight tonight.
Daniel resumed. The flogger’s falls, leather now instead of soft suede, landed evenly: shoulders, back, ass, thighs, and repeating.
Her body responded as bodies do—nerve endings awakening, skin flushing where the flogger landed, warmth spreading over her shoulders and down her thighs. Reflexive. Biological. Nothing more.
He was competent, his technique solid. He did exactly what he said he would, but none of it reached her.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes, sir,” she lied.
It lacked everything. The catch in her breath, the involuntary softening, the sense of the room narrowing to a single point of focus. She was present in the most technicalsense, kneeling, answering when spoken to, but merely going through the motions. The same as the disinterested bouncers and the woman at the door.
He slid a hand along her spine, adjusting her posture.
“How are you?”
“I’m good, sir,” she replied, forcing a soft, agreeable tone but feeling the opposite at another check-in.
He wasn’t wrong to ask. He was a responsible, attentive dom doing what he should with someone new. Any submissive here would have been lucky to end up with someone like him.
But Julia didn’t want careful. She didn’t want proficient, predictable, and, if she were honest, boring. She wanted… Leland.
From the beginning, he’d known when to push, when to pause, and when silence affected her more than words ever could.
With the next stroke, a sound of longing escaped—almost a sob.
Daniel stopped immediately. “I thought I was going easy.”
“You were, sir.” She swallowed. “I’m fine.”
“You went somewhere.”
Julia blinked, refocusing. “I’m right here.”
He stepped closer, crouching slightly, so she could see him. “We can slow down,” he offered.
