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experience. How could she feel a bite of jealousy about a man she had just met? She wanted his experience, needed it. And she was the only one in the room with him right now. She wished he would get on with it. She still trembled inside from the exhibitionism in the vehicle. God, the sense of exhilaration it had given her, displayed and brought to climax publicly, the spice the danger of getting caught adding to her arousal. Not that she believed, somehow, that Jamison would truly put her at risk. She had loved it and wondered how he had known she would. She needed a bit more time to process what had transpired, but she was okay with it. Yet it still felt like he was testing her, and she wondered why. Did she affect him as he affected her? Was he wrestling with that knowledge as well? Did the intensity worry him? Scare him? Make him think that this was different from all the other times he played? Because it was so very, very different for her.
    “Remember your safe word, Ivone,” Jamison said, interrupting her thoughts. “This is both a lesson and a punishment.”
    The whip cracked and whistled as it came down on her back, her buttocks and thighs. Again and again it sang through the air, and Ivone breathed through the sting, the burn, the pain. Jamison laid the strokes on her back with precision and intensified the ones nearer her waist and across her buttocks, just as she would have asked him to do had she needed to. When the lash curled around her thighs and close to her sex, Ivone whimpered and tried to rock into them. She felt the tears soaking the blindfold. This was what she needed, and he seemed to know. This was finishing what the paddling had started. When he came around to lash her breasts and her belly, then the tops of her thighs, Ivone was already in a different headspace. It was far deeper than her earlier experience, and it took her away.
     
    * * * *
     
    Jamison was breathing and sweating heavily, and not just from the effort of whipping this woman. She was truly gorgeous on the cross, and he wanted to stripe every inch of her. He knew she was already in subspace and that he could push her higher without ever hearing her safe word. It was his responsibility to ensure her safety and, while he felt another tinge of resentment, as she drew him ever closer, Jamison tipped her head back and pulled off the blindfold until she opened her eyes and looked into his. She was some time returning and, when she did, the expression in her eyes and the inference of the smile that curved her lips wrapped him up in layers of unfamiliar emotion. Jamison crushed her mouth against his and explored her with his tongue until he needed air. He pulled away, nearly gasping for breath, and checked her condition.
    “Where are you, Ivone?” he asked.
    “I’m green, fine, Sir,” she breathed.
    Jamison couldn’t wait. He needed to fuck her immediately, if not sooner. He fumbled the ties loose and took her sagging weight into his arms, spinning to carry her into his bedroom. He placed her on his bed and worked his leathers off, watching as she writhed in sensation against the cool sheets. Her stripes needed care, but his need was greater. The sight of the dildo distracted him for a moment. He pulled it out and cast it away, then nearly threw himself down beside her and rolled her to lie on top of him to spare her back. He lifted her, her legs falling to straddle his hips, and slammed her down on his erection, watching her breasts bounce and her head fall back as she screamed at the invasion. Such was his need that he lifted and brought her down on him again and again without feeling her weight, his muscles rejoicing in the effort. She felt so malleable in his hands that he was able to keep at it until she roused and began to follow his movements. Ivone started to ride him, her hands now bracing her against his chest, so he moved his hands to her breasts, cupping them but leaving the nipples alone, recognizing how sore they had to