“I heard you were the best,” Parker said.

His words were hissed out as the first sting of the whip faded and the slow burn of the after pain radiated in warm circles across his skin. Wap! The second strike across his back knocked out his breath. Suddenly there was a volley of slaps. Darkness crept into the corners of his vision. If he hadn’t already been on his knees Parker would have fallen. Delicious pain bloomed. Parker leaned into the sensation.

Few understood. People thought dominance and submission was a sex thing. As if Parker and those like him were kinky freaks. Disgusting. Of course there was a luscious endorphin rush after the fury of a punishment. But the gift was in submitting, letting go completely, not having to be everything to everyone for a few moments.

The tip of her bull whip prodded his left inner leg. Parker jerked. He heard her click her tongue in warning. Using all of his strength he remained still. Smothered in the perfume of red rose petals and his own sweat, Parker focused on his pose of supplication. Knees together, forehead on the floor, back exposed, Parker took slow even breaths.

The tip of the whip handle teased up Parker’s thigh, tantalizing his damp skin. Her high heeled boots made music as she circled his pliant form. Her vermillion silk robe redolent of dark amber swept past him. Head down nestled among her rose petals, Parker smiled on the inside. Gently she lifted Parker’s chin with a gloved finger. He shivered in expectation; the Red Queen was pleased.