Free Brokered Submission by Claire Thompson Page A

let her recover.
    Slowly, he eased the flogger’s stroke until the leather was once again only brushing her skin. Zoë was sagging against her cuffs. He moved to face her. Her eyes were closed. She opened them when he touched the handle of the whip once more to her lips. “Kiss the whip to show your thanks,” he ordered.
    She obeyed.
    Reaching up, he quickly released the clips that held her cuffs, catching her arms as they fell forward. She leaned heavily against him as he guided her toward her bed. Fantasies of making love to her while she was still cradled in the arms of a submissive flying experience receded with each step. He hadn’t yet earned the privilege. He would just have to try harder.
    ~*~
    Zoë lay on her stomach on the bed. Dylan sat beside her. His hands felt good as he massaged her hot, stinging skin with a soothing lotion. She’d been terrified at the thought of the flogging, even more scared than she’d been of the spanking. Ironically, the spanking hurt more. Or no, that wasn’t precisely accurate. The spanking packed more of a wallop than the flogger—Dylan’s hard palm crashing down again and again against her ass. The flogger had been more sensual, if that was the right word, the leather like a lover’s kiss, at least at first.
    Those initial gentle strokes had lulled her into a false sense of security, the slow buildup easing her into accepting more and more, until suddenly she slipped over the edge of pleasure into a stinging, biting pain that radiated from shoulder to thigh. She’d wanted to take it, to embrace it, as Dylan had urged, even though she wasn’t really sure what he meant. She wanted to prove to him, and to herself, that she could do this—she could handle whatever he meted out.
    She had a sense she’d been close to something more—something somehow profound, but whatever it was, it had slipped away. For the second time since she’d agreed to their bizarre arrangement, she’d nearly shouted out her safeword. He’d stopped literally within seconds of her opening her mouth. She sensed his disappointment, and this upset her more than she cared to admit.
    I’ll do better , she silently promised herself, and him, even as she wondered why it mattered.
    “You did great, Zoë,” Dylan said, making her wonder for a second if she’d actually spoken aloud. “You really are a natural, perhaps even more so than I suspected. In fact, if I hadn’t been so eager and pushed you too fast, I do believe you might even have flown. You’re really something, you know that?”
    Warmth moved through her body at his praise, the feeling she’d somehow failed replaced with a sense of accomplishment and hope. “Thank you,” she said, her mouth lifting into a smile. “I’ve read about that concept—flying. It’s a kind of endorphin release, right? Like a runner’s high.”
    “You’ve read about it, huh?” Dylan countered. “So you know a bit more about BDSM than you’ve led me to believe?”
    Zoë’s face heated. She was glad he couldn’t see her blush. “Well, yeah, I guess so,” she admitted. “I mean, it’s just fiction. I like to read erotic romances and sometimes they lean a little toward bondage and stuff like that.”
    She was relieved when Dylan didn’t press the issue. “Flying,” he elaborated, “ is kind of a like a runner’s high, physiologically speaking, but there’s so much more to it. How do I explain it?” He paused, no doubt gathering his thoughts, and then continued. “I’ve heard it described by subs as a descent into fire and then a rising into the heavens. I know that sounds rather vague, but it does seem to be the process—moving through something really difficult and intense into something sublime. Maybe it’s like a rocket when it’s burning its way through the atmosphere and then the sudden break into outer space—into this vast, profound place of utter peace. As a Dom, when I’m truly connected to what’s going on, I feel transported