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Mal pulled on a bra and panty set, moving gingerly.
“Are you okay?”
Mal didn’t look up from stashing her street clothes in her locker. “I’m fine.”
She knew why the other sub asked. If their situations had been reversed, Mal would have been worried too.
Most of Mal’s ass and thighs were bruised or striped by welts from her recent caning.
When Mal turned around, she heard the other woman suck in a shocked breath.
Mal’s stomach bore a crosshatch of faint scratches from knife play. They’d been raised, almost like welts, last night, right after the scene.
The aftercare had made up for the fear and tension. Benson had been wonderfully gentle with her. He’d applied cream and ice, helped her shower, tucked her into one of the bunk beds.
“Xavier?” She heard one sub ask another.
“No, Benson.”
“Benson?” The shock was obvious.
“Mal wants to explore some harder elements.”
“Ahh.” That sound was full of understanding.
Mal let her hair down, though she carried a hair tie around her wrist in case Benson needed it out of the way.
She headed out of the Subs’ Garden, thinking about what the sub had said. In the past few months, ever since her nipple piercings fully healed, she and Benson had gone hard.
And it had been her choice. All of it.
From a weekend of high protocol—which they hadn’t repeated as Benson didn’t enjoy topping that way—to heavy impact play and extreme forms of bondage. Much of it…so much of it…had been physically and sexually satisfying.
It was the quiet moments with Benson had given her something she hadn’t even known she needed. Their conversations as they had dinner together on Friday nights before they started, or when they sat together in a chair, his hands roaming over her in a casually possessive way that was maddening, because it kept her constantly aroused.
They’d started scening together on a whim, a casual conversation about their first names, the impetus for a little friendly impact play.
Neither one of them had been with anyone since.
Mal had accepted that she needed submission. It was her outlet, and a far better one than any of the other things she’d tried. Plus, it offered intimacy and sexual contact that she couldn’t get anywhere else, since she’d also given up dating.
But Mal had a problem.
She was in love with Benson.
She had been for months now, though she couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it had happened. Falling for her scene partner was a bit of a cliché, but the situation would have been manageable.
Would have been.
If loving him hadn’t also changed what she wanted from him as a Dom.
And Mal did not know how to tell him.
They’d had multiple hour-long conversations about her desire to try more intense and dangerous forms of BDSM play. They talked through her worries around attempting any of these things, given the inherent danger in some of them. She admitted to him she sometimes worried there was something wrong with her. After all, what normal person wanted to be caned or caged? What normal person wondered what it would feel like to have the tip of a knife flicking their nipples?
She told him these things, because Benson taught her exactly how important honesty was. The first few scenes together, he’d trained her not to hide her reactions, which ran counter to who she was and how she acted outside of here.
She’d been honest with Benson about everything except her newly developed feelings.
