Sitting behind the desk, Dylan tossed the last two women’s applications into the circular file underneath. The Mistress who had just left had been so intoxicated that she’d get nowhere near Cooper’s backside, even though Coop willingly submitted to whatever drunken rage she’d toss at her. That was the difference between safe and sane. Cooper might have been sane when she begged for the stumbling Domme to unleash a torrent of inebriated slashes from a jagged-edge flogger, but it definitely wasn’t safe.
The submissives, though, had been clean and sober, pushing through Dylan’s heavy-handed lashing until their ass cheeks were so red they looked like blisters ready to pop. The last woman refrained from using a safe word, but when she didn’t offer a word of thanks and burst out the door in tears after her torment, Dylan wasn’t about to offer her one of the coveted positions. There were two Mistresses in the hire pile, though only one would make the cut. As for the submissives, Dylan had two auditions left: Angela and Ariel.
“I think we scared Angela away, so that leaves us the last one. Ariel Delgado,” Cooper said as she stuck her head between the door and the frame.
She didn’t even have enough of a moment to relish the thought before Cooper swung the door open to Ariel’s entrance. Perhaps the world had slowed to a sloth’s pace because as soon as the woman entered her space, it was as if everything morphed into slow motion. Her hair caught in the breeze, bouncing with each precise step, shifting her hips from side to side. If they had been on the beach, this would have been one of those picture-perfect moments. But that wasn’t life. Dylan shook away the mental image when Ariel extended her gracious hand across the mahogany desk.
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