Page 30 of Beneath the Surface

"It’s not always about control, though," he clarified. "It can be as much about care and protection. The Dominant doesn’t just call the shots; they’re responsible for the well-being of the submissive. It’s a balancing act—a relationship like any other, but with specific roles that both partners find fulfilling."

He shrugged, his tone easy, as if they were discussing any other relationship. "At the end of the day, it’s really about what works for the people involved. It’s not one-size-fits-all. It’s a dynamic that can be as intense or as light as they want, but what matters most is that both partners feel secure, respected, and connected."

Isobel looked thoughtful, her initial hesitation giving way to understanding. "I’m starting to get it now," she said softly, almost to herself.

Brad nodded, smiling once more. "It’s just another way people connect, you know?" He reached for her hand. “Think about what I said and what you are reading. I’m always available for you.”

The soft hum of chatter and the clinking of glasses filled the air as Isobel sat across from Brad, her hands cradling a warm cup of Chinese tea. She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice so only he could hear.She swallowed, then finally asked, "You said you... belong to a club?"

He nodded and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms casually over his chest. "Yeah... The Loft."

“What’s it like there? How is it different than Hot Shots?”

Brad didn’t leave her hanging. "It’s safe; everything is done with respect and consent.”

She seemed to need clarity, more answers."Have you... I mean, doyouhave sex there?"

Brad held her gaze, a mix of sincerity and calm in his eyes. “I have in the past, yeah. But not recently. These days, I go there for different reasons. It's a place where I can clear my head. It has a certain energy, a release, you know? I also serve as a whipmaster sometimes."

"A... whipmaster?" Curiosity and apprehension danced in her tone.

He smiled, but it wasn’t a cocky grin—more a sign of his comfort with his own truth. "Yeah. It sounds intense, I know. A whipmaster is basically someone who facilitates certain kinds of play for those who are into it. Use of a whip requires a level of training. It’s all consensual and safe. Trust is everything in that space."

Her expression was a kaleidoscope. "So... you enjoy doing that?"

Brad nodded. “Using a whip? It’s a way to help others safely. It’s not for everyone, but for me, it’s about control, trust, and precision. It's not just about the physical. There's an emotional connection—being responsible for someone's experience and knowing their limits."

He took the opportunity to gently nudge the conversation in a new direction. "If you’re curious... there’s an open night at ten tonight. No open sexual stuff, just a drink and a tour of the place. You could come as my guest, see what it’s about. Purely observational."

“Yes,” she said without pause.

Isobel excused herself to use the restroom, and when she returned, she made a comment about the very large lobster in a tank. Brad explained it was the resident old man, that they wouldn’t eat him.

“That info shows how often you eat here,” she teased him. They both laughed, falling into an easy conversation. They continued chatting, sharing stories about their favorite movies and hobbies.

“I like to hike, fish, and, occasionally, I dabble in some woodworking. What about you?” Brad asked.

Isobel grew excited. “I love hiking. And I’m a bit of a bookworm. I could spend hours lost in a good mystery novel.”

“Mystery novels, huh? Any favorites?” His eyes glowed.

Isobel cocked her head. “There are so many, but I’m a big fan of Agatha Christie. Her plots are just so clever.”

He nodded. “She’s a classic for a reason. Have you ever thought about writing your own mystery novel? A riff on your cases.”

Isobel giggled. “I’ve toyed with the idea, but I think I’ll stick to reading them for now. It’s less stressful.”

As they finished their dinner, Brad insisted on picking up the check. “Are you sure you want to stop at The Loft?”

“Nothing like Hot Shots?”

“No, never. But tonight, it’s a meet and greet. You can look around and ask questions.”

“Then yes. Am I dressed alright?”

“You’re stunning.” She was wearing a navy abstract-patterned silk blouse, a navy pencil skirt and navy high heels. He walked her out to his car.

On the way to The Loft, he drove through the quaint streets of Whispering Hills. The night was cool, and the streetlights cast a warm glow on the road. His radio played soft country music as they drove.

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