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and
worked her grip free of the hook so he could slip the cuffs over her wrists. He
didn’t fasten them, didn’t mess with the loose binding of scarlet silk either.
He did wrap her hands firmly around the chains holding the cuffs in place. It
would give her something to pull on if she needed to, and having the leather
wrapped around her wrists, even unfastened, would give her some support if her
knees went weak. He had every intention of making her knees go weak before he
was done.
    There was a low murmur from the audience when he went back
to his place on the stage and once again uncoiled his whip. They knew as well
as he did that most submissives would be done for the night at this point. He
had her repeat her safe words as much to reassure them as to check on her.
    He gave Wicked a nod and the music, which had been playing
at a slightly lower volume, rose to fill the room again.
    Stephen began working with almost methodical precision,
painting fire across the center of Ginger’s back with absolute focus as
everything, everyone, in the room except his submissive faded from his
consciousness. He was aroused, cock a throbbing brand against the fly of his
pants, but even that seemed distant. The only thing real to him was the crack
of the whip and the red streaking Ginger’s creamy skin.
    She was moving still, more urgently now. Using her grip on
the cuffs, she’d pulled herself up, stretching on her toes against the whipping
post. He continued, strokes slowing, drawing the pleasure and pain out, trying
to give her as long as she needed without damaging her or crossing any of her
limits.
    She responded beautifully, as she had to everything else so
far. One leg wrapped around the post, curving her back gently even as she
ground her pussy against the whipping post with no gentleness at all. She
shuddered, and he thought she might have come, but that was okay. He hadn’t
told her not to. And she was so gorgeous this way, grinding against the post
gracelessly, back rippling with each motion, body jerking with each crack of
the whip.
    His arm was burning, shoulder on fire. He practiced
regularly, but even an hour daily of practice was nothing compared to half an
hour with a submissive. The tension, the electric connection between them,
wound his muscles tight. The energy in the room washed over him, energizing him
even as it ramped his tension higher.
    Another glance in Wicked’s direction and the music segued
into something slower, less intense. Keeping in time with the music’s
downbeats, he slowed and lightened his strokes, until he’d stopped entirely.
    Moving quickly now, he wound the whip around his hand and
elbow before clipping it to his belt. In seconds he was pressed close to
Ginger, hands wrapped over hers, blanketing her shuddering body with his.
    “Shhh…” He knew she wouldn’t hear him, not his words,
anyway. She was lost in subspace, that alternate reality where pain and
pleasure blurred and lifted a submissive out of their body, sending them
flying. In a good scene, something similar happened to him, transporting him to
a place of pure power and emotion. This had been a very good scene.
    Ginger pressed back hard against him, and he knew the
barbells in his nipples were digging into skin left raw by his whip. Either she
wasn’t feeling it, or her body was processing it as pleasure, because she kept
pushing harder, writhing in his embrace, looking for more and more contact.
    Stephen continued to hold her, murmuring low words of praise
and making soft sounds of approval. “So beautiful, pet. So perfect.” She might
not be processing the words, but he knew the meaning would penetrate the cloud
of endorphins she was floating on.
    When her shudders had calmed to occasional tremors, he ran
his hands up her arms to where the cuffs wrapped loosely around her wrists. He
was a little bit amazed, and more than a little impressed, that even as her
body had trembled uncontrollably, Ginger had kept her feet, had