Safeword: Davenport (10 page)

With her hips held immobile, and her legs trapped in the stirrups, opened wide with no way to close them, she had to take whatever he gave her. He must have kept her right on the edge for half an hour when he stuck a lubed finger in her ass again, while his lips were sealed around her clit, and several fingers of his other hand were already in her pussy. The orgasm came out of nowhere and shattered over her, drowning her in its intensity. She heard herself screaming, but only as the climax began to fade did she realize she was lamenting, “I'm sorry,” repeatedly.

As her breathing fought to normalize, her eyes wide as she looked at him, he slowly withdrew his fingers and reached for a baby wipe, taking a moment to clean himself before walking to her side.

Eyes kind but stern, he touched her cheek softly with the back of his fingers. “I know you're sorry, but those were words coming from your lips, and you weren't asked a question.” One corner of his mouth tilted up, ever so slightly. “However, considering the words were to express your regret, and since you screamed them through the entire climax, I'm inclined to make the punishment for speaking a touch less harsh. The speech and orgasm were a joint lapse, so we'll tie the consequences together."

He returned to the armoire and strode back with a short leather flogger and something hidden in his fist. Tossing the flogger on the cart, he reached for her right nipple, already sore from the clamps and leash this morning. His fingers rolled, squeezed, and deftly clamped it, the pain sharp and overpowering as he moved his attention to her left nipple, quickly giving it the same treatment. She looked down and spotted a third clover clamp, a chain running in a Y between the three of them.

Looking up, gasping in pain, she saw compassion in his eyes as he said, “They'll be on for as long as it takes to give your punishment strokes. You won't have to bear it five minutes. You broke two rules at once and this is a fitting consequence. Offer your tongue to be disciplined, pet."

He looked into her eyes, waiting for her to acquiesce, and she didn't make him wait long—her fear and dread igniting into an enormous glowing orb of lust as she stuck her tongue out. It wouldn't do for her to come while being punished, but she was very close to another orgasm.

He dried her tongue with a washcloth before pulling the clamp up, the chain drawing her nipples towards her face.

It took all of her willpower to hold her tongue still as the clamp approached, her eyes crossing as she tried to follow it. He allowed the pressure to slowly increase, giving her time to deal with the unfamiliar torment, but her eyes were watering long before he finally released the handles. The clamp wasn't on the tip, but farther back, so she felt the compression on the muscle within as well as on the surface. She'd never had her tongue clamped before, so this was a new sensation—completely different from the pressure on her nipples.

The chain leading to her mouth must have been shorter than the one between her nipples, and as the chains tried to reach equilibrium, her nipples were pulled towards her face as her tongue was stretched farther out of her mouth—all three clamps tightening to their maximum as they strained against each other.

The pain rapidly neared the unendurable as the muscles at the base of her tongue were strained. She dropped her chin close to her chest, her vision focusing in on the flogger in his hands as he stepped towards her again. She hadn't realized it would be rawhide, and she was suddenly terrified.

He draped the flogger over her stomach, and wrist cuffs were quickly buckled on and secured over her head, making it harder to hold her face close to her breasts.

Drool formed, but she had no way to control it, and was helpless to stop the trails going down her chin onto her chest and neck.

Retrieving the flogger, he walked to the foot of the table, looking into her eyes for several long seconds before saying, “You're being punished for orgasming without permission, and for speaking when you weren't asked a question. You'll receive ten strokes to the inside of your thighs."

Her nipples were on fire, her tongue felt huge—the pain swiftly approaching the point she'd need to safeword. She didn't want to stop him, especially during punishment, and she wanted him to get on with it, already.

The first two strokes came one after the other—left, right. The inner thighs are one of the most painful places to be flogged, and she cursed the author of
The Story of O
for letting that particular cat out of the bag. The first strikes were bad, but felt more like a broken in flogger than a new rawhide one. However, the second set left no doubt it was rawhide.

The third set felt as if it ripped skin away from muscle, and though she knew on an intellectual level he wouldn't draw blood, nothing could stop the screams coming out of her throat and around the clover clamp. The knowledge she'd made it past the halfway point was the only thing that kept her from safewording.

On the fourth set, the pain was so intense her head instinctively tried to pull up, jerking her tongue and nipples and making her scream in agony again, without having a chance to gasp in more air. He was immediately beside her, the compassion showing in his eyes as he rubbed her face, encouraged her to take deep breaths, and helped her deal with the pain. When she could breathe normally he said, “Last two,” and returned to the foot of the table.

He looked grim as his eyes met hers. “These are going to be rough. When I take the clamps off you'll have permission to speak freely, just be sure to use the proper respect."

She watched his arm come up and swing down. Once. Twice. She heard herself screaming, desperately struggling against the strap across her hips as she tried to move, her insides writhing, her muscles trying to find a way to answer the fight or flight response coursing through her veins. She felt the stirrups around her calves and ankles as her legs attempted to break free, the cuffs on her wrists as her shoulders and elbows fought to move.

He was immediately at her side, releasing all three clamps, and she screamed and jerked frantically when they came off, still fighting her restraints, frantic with the pain. His firm but gentle hands provided reassuring warmth, soothing her as he kept repeating it was over in a calm voice.

As soon as she stopped thrashing he used the washcloth to wipe the tears, sweat, and drool from her face, chest, and neck. He released the strap over her ribcage and disconnected her wrist cuffs, saying, “You don't have permission to rub.” Stifling a groan, she pulled her arms down and placed them on the table to her side, desperately wanting to rub her inner thighs, and the base of her breasts.

He unfastened the remaining bonds and gently set her heels on the table beside her bottom. His strong arms lifted her, cradling her like a baby, and he carried her to the big overstuffed chair, situating her in his lap as he sat. She buried her face in his shoulder and let him hold her.

Dana wasn't sure how long she lay in the secure cocoon of his arms, but was certain he'd allow her all the time she needed, or even wanted. Once her brain started working again, it wandered back and forth over the things he'd done since she'd stepped into his kitchen. A peek at the window told her it was still daylight, nowhere near evening.

Eventually, she spoke. Something she'd seen in his eyes nagging at her. “You didn't enjoy punishing me, Sir."

His hand rubbed across the top of her head, down the back, his fingers stroking her hair, coming to rest between her shoulder blades. “No, pet. I don't like causing you real pain. It's necessary—if the punishments aren't genuine, neither is the power exchange. I know there're couples who disagree, but to my way of thinking, if you can't enforce your authority, it doesn't exist. I very much enjoy giving you erotic pain, seeing how far I can take you... but punishments are a different animal entirely. And since I dislike giving them, and I'm not fond of having to change my plans to dole them out, I tend to devise consequences that'll make you think twice before you commit the same infraction again."

She finally raised her head, looking him in the eye to ask, “What plans did I mess up? Sir?"

He grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischievousness as he said, “Since we'll be doing it later, I'll have to wait to tell you.” He twirled a piece of her hair around his finger, spiraling the curl and letting it go, watching it bounce. “Our dinner will be delivered in about an hour, and we need a breather—I recall you telling me you enjoy a good game of poker?"

Dana wrinkled her brow, but answered quickly. “Yes, Sir."

He stopped fiddling with her hair, his smile warm and playful. “How about this. We each start out with fifteen chips, and we play until one of us is out, or our food arrives—whichever comes first. If you win all the chips you'll have thirty, and that'll mean thirty minutes of my giving you pleasure. If I collect them all I'll have thirty minutes to give you pain. If we each have fifteen when the food's delivered, it's a draw. If I have twenty and you have ten, we subtract the ten from the twenty and I give you ten minutes of pain. If you have more, we'll subtract it and you get pleasure."

She smiled. “And what of the chips in play when the doorbell rings? Sir?"

"If bets have been placed on the hand in progress then we'll finish it."

"I'm assuming I can come as often as I want in my thirty minutes of pleasure?"

He quirked his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth a subtle smirk. “Yes."

Her smile grew wider. “I'm looking forward to your mouth on my pussy, and then maybe some intense flogging, Sir."

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Four minutes of pain. Shit. She'd been so close to having all of the chips once, but he'd lucked into a great hand and pulled himself back.

They had a blast playing poker, their conversation and camaraderie reminding her of why she'd been so attracted to him while he was her client. Her feelings for him were beginning to scare her, but she wasn't going to think about it now, she'd think about it later.

Dinner had been steak with mushrooms and vegetables—all of which he'd fed her with his fingers. He'd allowed her to sit in the chair, but tied her hands into her lap, making her dependent on him to feed her. She'd licked his fingers as much as possible, trying to turn him on, but he'd done nothing to relieve the hard-on she was pretty sure she'd given him.

They'd put clothes on and walked around the neighborhood to let their food settle, with conversation flowing freely again. Dana enjoyed spending time with him—which would scare the pants off her later, when she stopped being Scarlett O'Hara and decided to actually think about it. Did she really want to lose herself in another relationship, when it'd taken her so long to recreate who she was without being ‘Garnet's wife'? She closed off that line of thinking, reminding herself, again, she wasn't thinking about it today. She'd deal with those feelings later.

Currently, she was on her knees and elbows atop the big padded bondage table in the center of the playroom—her ankle cuffs attached to the outer edges, as were her thigh-bands, spreading her legs wide and making it impossible to pull them together. A broad strap over her lower back arched her spine down and forced her ass into the air—she was sure it looked obscene. He'd put the wrist cuffs back on her when they returned from their walk, but for the moment her hands were free, though she'd been told that'd change shortly before the four minutes began.

Meanwhile, Zach was in and out of the room, whatever he was planning apparently needed a lot of preparation.

She'd asked him, on their walk, if he'd arrange an alternate way to hurt her if she safeworded out of her four minutes. They agreed if she safeworded then she'd spend an hour on the cross with a hefty plug, a large ball gag, and four-inch heels with tacks in them, forcing her onto her toes. He'd assured her he'd stay in the room, but since he'd be reading, she'd have to keep quiet.

It sounded fair, something she could survive but would certainly rather avoid. She could safeword and end whatever four minutes of hell he was planning if it was truly too much, but with an extremely uncomfortable hour on the cross hanging over her head, she knew she'd only do so as a last resort.

She was pulled out of her reverie when he wheeled a cart behind her. She turned her head to look but was quickly told to keep her eyes forward.

She tried to jerk away as his fingers touched her pussy, but the restraints wouldn't let her.

Her body attempted to escape again as clamps pressed onto her outer lips, and she flinched in anticipation of the pain, but there was only minor discomfort. She looked at the timer, set at four minutes but not started, confirming this wasn't the painful part. He applied three more clamps—two on each side, followed by one on her clit. Pressure for all of them, but no pain.

He inserted something in her pussy—a small bullet vibe? A butt plug came next and was bigger, but not huge.

He disconnected the rope from her thigh-bands and said, “Lay down, please."

As she lowered herself to the table, he allowed one of the trap doors to swing away, creating an empty place for her breasts to hang through, and making her pussy clench in fear. She couldn't see them, but could feel them hanging, and wouldn't be able to see what he did to them. It was different from being blindfolded; it turned her breasts into objects, separate from her body.

Her wrist cuffs were secured over her head, and straps situated over her shoulders and lower back, pressing her to the table. Her thigh-bands were re-attached to the side, assuring her legs would stay spread. She felt him touching things to her upper back in a few places, wondered what they were, but realized he wanted to keep her in suspense, so she didn't ask.

Zach bent under the table and she tried to lift up, escape; but the straps held her firmly in position. He placed something on both sides of her breasts, near her nipples without touching them. It didn't hurt, just felt odd. Band-Aids? Stickers?

Her stomach did a flip as she understood what they were, and recognized what everything else was at the same instant.