Meg Turner needs to relax. Between her job, her mother and the loss of a good Dom, she’s all wound up and needs a good flogging to relieve her tensions.
Rand Arthur is a busy man with a company to run. He doesn’t need commitments, but when his friend asks him to take Meg on as a new sub, he agrees, knowing there’s nothing that relieves stress like flogging a willing back.
But by the end of their first session, both see something in the other neither expected. Now they need to decide if they want to change the rules…and risk losing it all.
The whip fell across soft white shoulders that had never done hard lifting or heavy labor. These were shoulders used by friends to cry on, shoulders that pushed nothing stronger than a pen, shoulders that carried little more weight than a heavy wool coat in winter.
But now the whip cracked across their whiteness, leaving a trail of raised skin behind, forcing a cry of pain from the woman who hung from chains by her wrists. The woman who gave her shoulders to another to abuse—and excite.
Her head see-sawed back and forth as second crack raised another welt across her shoulder blades. The penis-gag in her mouth gave her the freedom to scream as loudly as she wanted and she gave into the urge, channeling the pain out of her body through the use of her voice. Her muffled cries came out as moans as a third stroke left its mark on her unblemished skin.
With her legs cuffed to a spreader bar that, in turn, fastened to the floor, keeping her balance was out of the question. So was keeping her sanity. When a fourth and fifth blow followed in quick succession, she threw her head back and howled, the pain forcing a catharsis of all her pent-up stresses. Tears that never came easily coursed down her cheeks as her cries turned to sobs and the bottom of existence came up to hit her in the face.
All the troubles her friends had laid on her shoulders, all the issues with money, her parents’ divorce, all the problems facing the world came pouring out of her soul. Barely aware that her legs were released, Meg’s heart poured out all the poison she’d held inside for far too long in salt tears that striped her cheeks in sympathy with the stripes borne by her shoulders. Each crack of the rawhide whip pulled the pressures from her, and when Jack released her wrists, she collapsed into the strength of his arms as he lowered her to the floor and held her tight.