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She relaxed against the padded leather at the center of the cross and closed her eyes. The flogger moved steadily over her ass, slowly intensifying its sting. When it landed a little lower, striking her thighs, the sting was no longer pleasurable. It just plain hurt!
He returned to her ass, lulling her with a steady, swishing stroke. When the flogger slapped across her shoulders, she cried out. It hurt far more against the thinner skin of her back than her ass or even her thighs. But oddly, this time the sting morphed into something approaching pleasure. Somehow, her skin needed to feel the sting of leather, even if it hurt.
She stopped analyzing every stroke at some point, instead just giving in to the raw sensation of the flogger’s stinging caress. From time to time, the sensual rhythm was interrupted by a sudden, sharp blow that made her yelp.
When he struck the backs of her calves, she gasped, tears springing to her eyes. “It hurts, Sir,” she cried.
“It’s supposed to. Suffer for me, slave girl.”
His voice was deep and commanding. The powerful words zipped through her, lodging directly in her cunt. She moaned softly, lust nearly overtaking the erotic pain. She was naked and bound to a cross, and the sexiest man she’d ever known in her life was flogging her!
“Ask me for more,” he commanded. “Beg me for it.”
“Please,” she heard herself moan without having made the conscious decision to speak. “Please, Sir. More. More, please.”
He chuckled softly. “That’s it, dirty girl,” he murmured. “Be who you really are. Surrender fully to your Master.”
He struck hard, the tresses smacking loudly against her ass, the tips curling painfully around her hip. Again and again, the leather crashed against her skin. He moved the flogger slowly up and down her body until every inch of her skin was on fire, her hands clenched into fists above the cuffs, her breath a ragged pant.
Then, almost as if a weighted blanket had been draped around her, a calming sense of dark, buttery warmth moved over and through her. The flogger continued its relentless stroke, but it no longer stung. She was aware of the pain, but it was a good pain. A necessary and perfect pain.
It felt…right. Just right.
Her breathing slowed, her mouth hung open as her head, suddenly heavy, fell back. More. More, more, more. She couldn’t quite form the words, but they filled her being. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop…
“Hey. You okay?”
Dahlia opened her eyes and blinked, completely disoriented. She turned her head toward the sound of the voice and tried to focus on the handsome man standing beside her. He was smiling.
Hayden.
“I-I don’t know what just happened,” she managed. She was still cuffed against the cross. Sensation was returning, her skin hot and stinging from shoulder to calf. “I was here and then…I don’t know where I went.” She managed a small laugh.
“You were flying,” he said. “You were perfect.”
The awe in Hayden’s voice caught her by surprise. He seemed to be as dazzled by whatever had just happened as she was.
He crouched behind her to release her ankles. Then, his body cool against her fiery skin, he reached up and released her wrist cuffs one at a time.
Gently gripping her arms, he lowered them to her sides. Her legs suddenly felt rubbery, and she swayed. Placing his arm supportively around her waist, he helped her from the cross and led her to the loveseat in the corner.
“You took quite a flogging,” he said, smiling as he sat and patted his knees. “Lie down over my lap for some aftercare. Then we’ll have dinner.”
She draped herself over him, elation ballooning inside her. She’d not only taken a real flogging, she’d flown, just like the sub girls in her BDSM novels. She wanted to talk about it, to understand it better, but she couldn’t quite find the wherewithal to ask permission to speak.
Instead, she closed her eyes, sighing with pleasure as Hayden rubbed that soothing balm into her skin. When he was done, he gave her a pat on the bottom. “Can you stand up?”
She rolled from him and got to her feet. She felt refreshed and calm as she beamed at her lover.
At her Master.
He grinned back at her. “A natural,” he said.
They walked together to the kitchen. Delicious aromas of garlic, tomato and melting cheese filled the air, making Dahlia’s empty stomach rumble to life. She started to remark on how good it smelled, but caught herself in time. This no speaking without permission was mildly annoying, but she didn’t want to ruin the mood by complaining about it.
As Hayden moved toward the oven, Dahlia started to take a seat at the island. Turning back, he said, “No. Don’t sit there. We’ll eat in the dining area.” He gestured toward the refrigerator as he opened the oven door. “There’s a pitcher of ice water in the fridge. Can you get that and bring it to the table? It’s already set.”
