Page 2 of Dash

His bicep strained as he pulled the heavy instrument back. The deep thwop of the flogger landing high on her back, near her shoulders, elicited a guttural groan from her. Her knees bent and she held the cross tight. Perfect.

Thwop. Thwop. Thwop.

Left shoulder. Right shoulder. Left shoulder. Like a dance, he followed the rhythm in his mind. Each time the falls of his flogger connected with her skin, they left a rosy reminder in their wake. Spreading the red across her body evenly, he swayed in time with the momentum and weight of the swings.

Thwop. Thwop. Thwop.

The impact vibrated through his arm and spurred him to go harder and faster. The sound the flogger made when it struck her skin sent jolts through his body, straight to his dick. The longer she continued, the more mesmerized he became.

Nothing was more intoxicating than a woman allowing herself to be vulnerable. It made him pitch a tent knowing she trusted him enough to inflict pain on her, when he could easily mar her permanently or worse. The trust lay in believing he knew her limit. Like a drug he couldn’t get enough of, he chased that high.

Except this woman didn’t trust him to that extent. She didn’t pick up on the subtle things he did for her skill level. She didn’t pay attention to the fact he’d switched from the cane to the flogger because he knew she couldn’t handle the intensity. Nor did she pick up on the fact he’d known her pain preference.

He suspected she was too much in her head trying to be what he wanted. This problem permeated the BDSM community. It crippled communication and killed honesty. A power exchange relationship where the submissive wasn’t honest could never work.

Taking a break from his swings, he observed her as she trembled. Soft whines came from her while he began his check in. He walked around to her front. With the thick braided handle of the flogger in one hand, he took hold of her chin with the other. Lifting her head, he inspected her.

Her cheeks flushed, eyes glazed, and her lack of focus meant he’d done it. His cock pressed against his jeans from the look on her face. He’d gotten her to sub space with the flogger. Yes. She liked thuddy, and this was the thuddiest thing he owned.

He smirked in the face of his victory.

Before letting her chin fall, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. With a bit more swagger, he sauntered around to the back of the cross. As he lifted the braided handle of the flogger, he once more admired her curves and her backside. How wonderfully her skin marked. Pulling the flogger back, about to swing it through the air again, the chimes of the burner phone drew his attention, interrupting him.

Dash carried two phones with him most times. His personal for his family and some friends outside of the club. The other was a burner he got from the clubhouse. Club business was always handled on the disposable.

Putting the flogger down, he walked over to the chair that held his cut. Tension crawled up his spine, mingling with the excitement and anticipation blossoming from the scene. Reaching into the inside pocket, he pulled out the gray flip phone. An envelope on the front screen showed he had a text.

Club: Church in 20.

Sighing, he tucked the phone away. He wasn’t a big fan of having play time interrupted, but the club came first. Perhaps another reason he couldn’t have a full time submissive. When he patched in, he knew this would happen. It didn’t make it any less disappointing. Another reason they weren’t a good fit. She deserved someone who could take her on the journey full time. That wasn’t him.

He strode back toward the woman strapped to the wooden cross. “Something came up,” he said when he reached to undo the soft, ineffective cuffs.

If he stopped now, he could get her back to Earth with some after-care before he sent her on her way. She’d need it. That’d been the deepest he’d taken her. As new as she was, she’d have to process the experience. He’d give her what little he could. Just because he wasn’t a good fit for her didn’t mean he had a free pass from his responsibilities.

“Huh?” Her husky voice was thick with arousal, and damn if his dick didn’t twitch.

“Gotta end a little early,” he explained, supporting her weight once he’d gotten her fully released from the cross. Her legs wobbled, and he led her to the tufted sofa he kept in his playroom for this purpose.

Sitting down first, he pulled her into his lap. She rested her head on his shoulders and he wrapped a blanket around them. He may be hot as fuck, but coming down from sub space was an experience, and he wanted her warm and content.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered into his neck.

“Don’t be, Alice,” he reassured her as he stroked her spine with the tips of his fingers. “You’re new and learning your likes and dislikes. You can’t expect to be into everything or tolerate everything.”

He might as well lay the groundwork for the talk he’d have in the coming days. He wouldn’t have it now. She wasn’t in the right head space. If he were to tell her right then that this was their last scene, it could be enough to shame her into the closet. No one deserved to be in the closet. No, the conversation where he ended their little game would have to be when she was on better emotional footing.

He may be a sadist, but he wasn’t a dickhead. Contrary to popular belief, they weren’t the same thing. He understood emotions and people. Hell, he had emotions too. He just liked to play harder than most. He knew that. He accepted that. She wasn’t ready to play as hard as he did. One day, maybe, but he doubted it.

As a dominant, his responsibility was to see to his submissive’s needs. He had to make the calls she wasn’t able to make. He had to have the foresight to see things she may not want or be able to see. He saw her desire to be pleasing. It didn’t negate that she did things she didn’t enjoy because she believed it was what he wanted. It showed little understanding of the true dynamics between a dominant and submissive.

That was not the type of woman he could play with. He wanted his play partners to enjoy what he did. This one did not.

Such a shame. She was a pretty little thing. Nice too, and God, what an ass. Fuck, that ass was almost enough to forget she wasn’t into it. Almost, but not enough. Even a good ass wasn’t enough to counter that they weren’t a good fit. Even getting along on a personal level didn’t make his kink negotiable.

Chapter 2

Elizabeth “Liz” Martin

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