The panels parted and revealed Juraens clad only in his maroon leather trews, flicking a medium weight, suede-like flogger from right wrist to left palm. Mark’s eyebrow c****d as he anticipated the heat. He rose and crossed to Juraens to examine the whip. It looked to be about twenty some tresses, of maybe seventeen inches each. This baby would sting. The handle held a double braid in dark maroon and black with black knots and a short loop that was attached to a D ring on Juraens’s trews. Mark tried to control the intensity of his inevitable, inescapably fierce arousal.
“How did you know?” Mark asked simply.
“You are angry and unsettled and need centering. I know, Treasured, because I am your BondMate.”
“It’s not often…”
“But it is, at times, necessary for all of us who are off chart,”
