In late April, I began editing the story and a couple of weeks later shared the first four chapters with a new critique partner. Among her very insightful comments was the question “How can Marc tell Angelina is submissive?” I thought, well, there are signs, of course. (I actually used some in the Karla and Master Damian scene yesterday.)
But those didn't work in the bar scene where they have their "first" meet. So, I went to some of the forums where the Dom/sub relationship is discussed and realized it’s very difficult for a Dom to tell by looking. They have to ask, which also didn't work for their story. Hmmm. What to do?
The next morning, I woke up with an idea planted I am certain by my muse. The bar scene was NOT their first meet. They have a wee bit of history, although she won’t have any recollection of that first meet (except for erotic dreams of an angel-man-wolf who plagues her nights). It turns out that Master Marc, wearing his signature wolf half-mask while patrolling the Masters at Arms fetish club one Saturday night as Dungeon Monitor Supervisor, comes upon a scene that’s gotten way out of control where a newbie sub (Angelina) has been put into deep subspace by a sadistic dom, her boyfriend (dubbed Sir Asshole by Marc).
In the snippet below, Master Marc has just put an end to the scene and is removing her from the St. Andrew’s cross while trying to educate Sir Asshole on deep subspace so his next newbie sub won’t suffer the same fate. He’s trying to remain calm and noncombative (which is his role as DMS), but he’s not finding it easy. (Note to Reader: English is his second language, having been born in the Lombardy region of Italy, so his dialogue is more formal than an American-born character’s might be.)
“For whatever reason, she didn’t say her safe word when she reached her limit. Experienced submissives might have subspace as a goal, but she’s too new to this. Her mind disassociated from the pain when she could stand it no longer.”
She grunted as the last clip was undone and her right arm lowered from its stretched position. She collapsed into his arms with a grunt and he carried her to the dark leather loveseat in the corner. Marc pulled a blanket from the basket at one end and wrapped her naked body in the microfiber cloth to quickly bring up her body’s temperature. He covered her firm, full breasts as quickly as possible, quashing a desire to bend down and take a delectable peak into his mouth.
Marc held her tight against him. So soft. Her curves molded against his body and arms and he felt a hitch in his breathing as his pene bobbed to attention.
Regaining some control, he continued with his lesson for Sir Asshole, he said, “Then the endorphins kicked in to the point where she could no longer engage her brain to make a decision to speak the safe word.” He glanced up at the man in time to watch him look away. Guilt? “Did she speak her safe word?”
The man didn’t meet his gaze. “Well, I’m not sure…”
Goddamned bastard ought to be flogged himself—with a cat-o-nines.
“Here, I should do that….”
When Sir Asshole made a move toward them, as if to wrest her away, Marc said in a calm voice, but in no uncertain terms, “Leave her alone. If you want to learn how to administer aftercare properly, watch.” But don’t think I’m letting you put your fucking hands on her again as long as I’m here to stop you.
“I still have thirty minutes reserved on the room!” he wailed, waving the contract in his hand.
Obviously, he had no concern over her welfare. Marc knew there wouldn’t be a refund coming, but really wanted to get rid of the asshole. “Go discuss it with Master Adam.”
When the wannabe Dom puffed out his chest and stomped from the room, Marc texted Adam and told him what had happened in Room 8. He told him to ban the sonuvabitch from the club—for life. Looking around the room and not seeing any bottled water, Marc continued with the message asking Adam to send over a bottle. Then added, “& a Hershey bar.”
Putting the phone beside him, he looked down at the gorgeous woman in his arms. Olive skin, dark hair. He remembered her eyes were a rich brown. Definitely Italian. His pene bobbed again, surprising him. He usually avoided Italian women. Too close to home. Too strong-willed.
Marc wiped away the hot tears still flowing from her eyes. “You did well, cara. Shhhh. Just rest now.” He kept his voice soft, soothing. Her body shook with her sobs, or perhaps from chills. He pulled her head against his shoulder and laid his chin on her hair to infuse more heat into her body. The scent of lavender surrounded him. “Shhhh. It’s over. You were so brave, cara.”
He crooned to her for several minutes and knew the moment her mind and body reintegrated. The woman screamed in pain and fought him, trying to pull away, to escape the pain. He knew the more she struggled, the more her back and ass would burn. He took his hand and pressed her cheek against his chest to hold her still.
Be sure to check back tomorrow morning for my 6-Sentence Sunday excerpt—which happens to be the next six sentences in this scene—and NOT to be missed!
Let me know what you think so far! I welcome your comment (and hope Blogger's comment function is, well, functioning!)