Kellon Marecek stared at Sybil, his girlfriend and sub, in disbelief as she stood just inside the front door of his apartment with her arms crossed over her chest.
"...So, I think it's best if we end things here," she was saying.
He held up a hand to stop her. "Why?"
"You know why. What have I been telling you? What have I been telling you for weeks?" she retorted.
She looked down at the floor, and her fingers tightened on her upper arms, gouging in and reminding him that this was difficult on her. It would be difficult for any sub--basically telling off her Dom. But then, she was relieving him of that duty, wasn't she?
"I need more than you're giving me," she said finally. "I can't force you to--" She drove a hand through her short, spiky hair. "God, I sound like a complete ungrateful masochist when I say this. I need you to spank me. I need that pain and the promise of that discipline, and you won't give that to me. You refuse because of your past. I understand. I get that. But it doesn't change my needs."
"Sybil--"
"No. We've hashed this over and over," she interrupted, tossing up her hand again. "It's over, Kellon." She turned and reached for the doorknob.
"Sybil!" he tried again, grabbing her arm. "I command you to stop."
She tensed beneath his hand. Slowly, her head turned, and the pitying look in her eyes cut him dead. Stunned, he let his arm drop and backed a few feet away. She was out the door before the finality of the situation finished careening through him. Red-hot anger followed as her car started and tore recklessly down the street.
Raging, he stormed through the house, his hands fisted and his entire body vibrating with the need to punch something, to scream his fury. What could he do? Tell her how wrong she was and sound like a grasping fool? His fingers turned white on the doorframe of his bedroom, his vision dimming at the sight of Sybil's present draped over the corner of his bed.
Her gift for their one-year anniversary.
His concession to both their needs.
His silent proclamation that he'd come to terms with his past.
A flogger.
Grabbing it, he flung it across the room, spun on his heel and slammed the door behind him. This wasn't over. This wasn't over at all.
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