Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

The enormity of Faith's trust felt like a huge weight. Topping someone wasn't a responsibility Bex ever took lightly, but somehow this scene felt more delicate, more fragile than any she'd taken part in before.

It was, she thought, because she cared so much. She hadn't even known Faith for twenty-four hours, and yet everything in Bex's body was yelling at her that she was home.

If she hadn't done as much therapy as she had, it would probably have been wildly triggering.

Home wasn't something Bex really considered much, on a day-to-day basis. If anything, she usually tried to avoid thinking about it, because home was mushy peas and fish and chips on a Friday night, plonked on the sofa in her dad's house, watching crappy panel shows and swearing at the tv. It was union rallies with her dad shouting for workers' rights and teasing her about her job as a management consultant. It was every football match she'd ever gone to, singing rowdy songs on the terraces with her dad.

Home was her dad.

And her dad was dead.

It shouldn't be possible for a woman she barely knew to bring all of those memories, all of those feelings associated with home flooding back, and yet somehow Faith had done just that.

"Bex?" Faith asked. "Are you okay?"

She met dark eyes and smiled. "You feel… familiar," she said, not wanting to say Faith felt like home, because Bex knew that was wild talk. "I don't know how, or why, but it feels as if?—"

"As if I've known you all my life," finished Faith. "Yes, I feel that too."

"It just took me by surprise for a moment," said Bex. "That's all."

Faith planted one of those hard, short kisses on her again, and Bex couldn't help but grin. The world's problems could probably be sorted with one of those intense Faith kisses, she thought.

"Come on, pickle, let's pick out some implements to play with."

They'd looked through the armoire together, marveling at the wide range that Rawhide had on offer and settled on a handful of different floggers.

Bex tested each one, doing a figure-of-eight in front of her, and then testing each one on her arm. She wanted to know how they felt for herself before she used them on Faith. Whether they were thuddy or had a sharp sting, were they soft or rough. They'd picked out an assortment of floggers, which meant a variety of sensations and Bex wanted to make sure that one led into the next seamlessly.

And then it was time.

She took Faith's hand and led her over to the cross. "I'm going to attach you facing the cross first," she said. "But just for now. After I've had my fill of flogs, I'm going to lie you down on that couch and eat you out until you scream."

"Sounds like a plan," said Faith, as if they were planning a day to the beach or something. She really was too adorable.

Bex started from the top. She stretched each of Faith's arms up until she could encircle Faith's wrists with the cuffs. They were faux-leather, probably a type of pleather, with soft cushioning on the inside. Vital if Faith was going to have them round her wrists for any extended period of time. Tightening them up, she adjusted the height so that Faith's arms lifted higher above her head, and Faith tugged on them experimentally. "Just wanted to make sure I couldn't get out," she said to Bex, grinning.

"There's something sassy about you, isn't there?" said Bex. She wasn't complaining. She thought Faith was so darn cute when she answered back and tested Bex's boundaries as a Domme.

"Yes, Bex," said Faith, her accent suddenly very pronounced.

"Well, that had a cowgirl's twang to it," muttered Bex under their breath. "Riley would love that."

"Who's Riley?" demanded Faith, catching the words.

"My best friend," said Bex. "And no, I've never slept with her. Never particularly wanted to either, but any case, she'd love that accent of yours."

"How'd you like it?" asked Faith slyly.

"Oh, I like it just fine," said Bex. "It's very cute indeed." She ran her hand down Faith's back, stroking her through the fabric, and watched as Faith's concentration shifted. "Shall we talk about your accent some more?"

"No, thank you, Bex," said Faith dreamily. "Floggings please."

There was a moment when Bex considered teasing her about that, about being demanding, but she stopped just in time. Faith wasn't being demanding or playing up. She was just expressing what she wanted, clearly.

That deserved a reward.

Bex prepped the first flogger, and swung, the sound a sharp crack .

Faith gasped, and then sagged against her restraints.

"What are those legs doing together?" asked Bex, using her foot to nudge them apart. That had Faith shifting on the spot. Changing a sub's center of gravity—particularly when tied with their hands above their head—really made a difference to how they stood. "A bit more, that's it. Good girl, Faith."

Even though Faith was facing away from her, Bex could sense the smile that spread across the other woman's face.

"Would you like more, Faith?"

"I wasn't even really aware that you'd started."

That was sass Bex hadn't expected, and she dealt with it more from instinct than anything else and delivered an almighty wallop.

A strike like that had made more experienced subs than Faith cry, but Faith didn't cry. She threw her head back and laughed . The joy pealed through the playroom, and Bex was taken aback but just how happy Faith was. She'd played with people who enjoyed impact play, of course, but not with such deep-throated pleasure.

"Come on, Bex, give it to me!"

Faith was being demanding now, but it didn't bother Bex, didn't make her feel like she was failing as a Domme. If anything, it made her appreciate Faith's complete trust in her. She'd been hurt before, and she wasn't holding anything back because of it. Instead she was full-throated in her approval of Bex's technique.

As stroke after stroke fell, Faith remained open, happy and exuberant.