Safeword: Davenport (20 page)

When Jacob finished with the sanitizer, Brent exchanged it for a condom and lube. Dana thought making Jacob prepare the statue for his own invasion was especially sadistic, but it was apparently doing something for him, as Jacob was hard as a rock. Dana was secretly glad she didn't have a neon sign broadcasting how much this was turning her on, too.

Brent stepped forward and took the empty condom wrapper and lube. “Turn around and bend over. Legs spread, grab your ankles."

Brent had put larger plugs into Jacob as the day progressed, and Dana realized he'd intended this all along—planning to mount Jacob on a statue while he spent time with her. He'd even told Jacob things would be rough for him later tonight, to reassure him he wouldn't be ignored all evening.

Brent motioned for her to step into the cage with them, and she moved into a corner of the cell, wanting to stay out of the way.

"Impale yourself Jacob, and don't take all day about it."

Jacob leaned against the statue and slid to the top of the huge veined cock, positioning himself and pushing, his entire body straining as he bore down hard, forcing his ass over the thick metal head.

Dana could see the pain on Jacob's face as he impaled himself, slowing when it hurt, speeding up when Brent showed annoyance. When his ass finally touched the base, Brent attached chains hanging from the top corners of the cell to his wrist cuffs. They were very long, allowing Jacob free range of movement.

Brent said, “Arms behind his neck, brace yourself,” and walked to the door of the cage, pushing a silver button and turning to watch as the statue slowly rose out of the floor, more of its legs showing as it grew taller. Jacob had been in a seated position, and he straightened his knees and stepped his feet in as long as he could, until he was lifted away from the ground.

Brent released the button when the statue was at full height, and he attached short chains hanging from the figure's side to Jacob's thigh-cuffs, pulling his legs up so his cock and balls showed obscenely. Dana winced as she got a view of Jacob's stretched asshole, but her wince turned to a shiver as a thrill shot through her.

Touching Dana's arm, Brent said. “This next part's quite painful, maybe you could give him five or ten seconds of your mouth first?"

Jacob's arms were bent backwards, wrapped around the statue's neck, desperately trying to hold his weight off the phallus, and Dana trailed her hand down his stomach to his clean-shaven cock, caressed his balls. She leaned forward and licked, as if it were a lollipop, and abruptly took him completely into her mouth, pushing hard so he descended into her throat. His groan was like music to her pussy, she was so horny, and her back was craving the lash something terrible. Odd, how she could feel Dominant while hungering for pain.

She stopped when Brent's hand touched her shoulder, sucking her cheeks in hard and pulling away with a pop.

"Please, no. This is enough. Please Brent.” It was the first she'd heard Jacob beg, and his appeal for mercy sent a jolt of fire through her even as she felt sorry for him.

"I want the full effect. Count to fifteen and you'll be able to hold yourself up by the chains, it won't last forever."

"Please don't."

Brent's voice was soft—no anger, just curiosity. “Do you wish to deny my pleasure of seeing you spread in every way? Arms, legs, ass, mouth? You think you can handle this all night with your arms bent backwards?"

Jacob closed his eyes, and when they opened, she could see the apology in them before he spoke, his voice coming out in pained gasps. “I'm sorry Brent, I shouldn't have asked. Please, put me the way you want.” His voice tore at her heart because she knew where he was—the urge to please his Master stronger than the fear of pain.

Without turning Brent said, “Dana, will you please push and hold the small silver button beside the larger one? You can let up when the mechanism stops moving."

The chains attached to his wrist-cuffs drew up until he was forced to let go of the statue, his arms pulled towards the outside corners of the cell. His weight now on his asshole, she could see him fighting the pain, a look close to panic on his face. When the motion stopped he grabbed the chains and lifted himself—his arms, shoulders, chest, and abs showing the strain as he pulled up, trying to take the weight of his body off his rectum.

Brent stepped forward and wrapped his hand around Jacob's balls. His eyes flew wide open, focused on Brent's face. Silently Pleading.

"This is for arguing. Count of five."

Jacob gasped as Brent's fist slowly compressed them. Dana couldn't believe how far he squeezed, and his count didn't start until he'd reached the desired pressure; she could've made it to twenty by the time Brent made it from one to five. At three, Jacob's eyes filled with water, and at five, one of them spilled over—a tear slowly making its way down his face. Jacob didn't make a sound. She wasn't even sure he was breathing.

When Brent finally released his balls he said, “Breathe, Jacob,” and skimmed his fingers over Jacob's now flagging cock. “I realize this ordeal will be made more difficult without a hard-on. I suggest you find a way to bring it back, you'll be here awhile."

He pulled a sandwich bag from his pocket, and retrieved a ring-gag from the plastic as he climbed the steps behind the statue, inserting the gag from behind and buckling it. He caressed Jacob's chest and stomach before leaving the cell, pulling Dana with him, closing the door with an audible click.

A dungeon master was observing, and Brent nodded to him. “Mark, I'm glad you're on duty tonight. I'll be at the poles and will keep an eye on him. However, I'll be focused on Dana, so if you feel he needs my attention, please let me know. Unless there's an emergency or safeword, no one enters this cell but me or Dana here."

"Understood.” He turned to Dana. “I don't believe we've met. Do you use a safeword other than Red? I assume you're getting the Max and Brent treatment, and I saw Max throw a few practice tosses of the single tail. Sure you're up to it?"

"I'm sure. I'll use Red if there's a problem, but my back's itching for the whip, so I don't think you'll hear any colors coming from me. I was once a member, and Brent's my friend, not some random stranger. We'll be fine, but I appreciate you checking in with me."

He opened his mouth to respond but Brent interrupted. “I know it's your personal policy to interrupt edge play for a safeword check when you don't know the submissive, and I understand and appreciate it, but I'd rather not deal with interruptions tonight. I noticed Dave on duty earlier, if you talk to him, he'll assure you she can handle what we'll be doing."

Dana left the two of them to talk, taking her dress off without thinking as she reached the poles. She'd been nude in the club before, and was looking forward to the whip. It didn't take long for Max to string her up, arms straight out from her shoulders at a ninety-degree angle, attached to suspension cuffs, since the pressure would have been rough on her wrists with normal restraints.

Narrow thigh cuffs were secured a few inches above her knees, marking the lowest spot she'd be hit tonight. They were snug but not tight, their only purpose to hold the short spreader bar forcing her knees apart. A longer spreader bar was connected to ankle cuffs, which were also tied off to the poles.

A wide belt was fastened around her waist, and it, too, had attachment points going off to the sides, keeping her from twisting sideways to avoid the lash.

There were smaller statues spread around the play area, and as Dana looked around now she saw mostly women on them, with the majority of the statuary out in the open, not in a cell. A woman thirty feet in front of her was mounted by her pussy, facing the statue, arms and legs wrapped around the metal as a man vigorously fucked her ass from behind.

Her focus shifted from the woman to the hood in Max's hands and she shook her head, not able to get the words out for the adrenaline spiking through her veins.

"Hear me out; if you don't want it we'll do something else.” His hands splayed it open. “It's not a traditional full face hood, there's one large hole for the nose and mouth, see? It fastens under your chin, and will fit snug across the back of your head."

He rotated it. “I can use these four attachment points to secure it to the poles, to keep you looking forward. There are holes for your eyes and ears—this isn't about sensory dep; I need to ensure your head stays away from the floggers. I've got a posture collar we can use instead, but I'm told this is more comfortable."

"Can you put it on me and let me decide? I know what a posture collar feels like; let me see how this compares."

He nodded and worked it onto her head, careful to keep her hair smoothed back. It didn't close her off from the room, and made her feel secure in its bondage without being claustrophobic.

Max looked at her, a question in his gaze and she let him know it was okay. He finished tying it off to the poles, and she couldn't turn her head from side to side, but Jacob was at about two o'clock to her and she could see him by shifting her eyes. He was still straining to hold himself up by his arms, struggling to keep his weight off the phallus. Dana wondered if Zach would want to mount her on a statue, let her be his own dramatic art piece.

The first strike of the flogger landed on her right shoulder blade as the thought went through her mind, chasing it away.

Max quickly fell into a comfortable rhythm using a moderate flogger with restrained strength to warm her up. He gauged her comfort level well, gradually upping the intensity, staying just ahead of her endorphins and thoroughly thrashed shoulders, back, ass, and thighs before moving to her front and flogging breasts, stomach, pussy, and thighs. When her front was on fire he switched to her back, changing floggers as he stepped around her. The world went hazy and her body began trying to move into the strikes instead of away. She wanted more, forgot she could ask.

The rhythm stopped and he circled to her front again—her breasts hot and swollen, as if they'd grown twice their size, but she couldn't wait for the first strike to fall. She was lost without the relentless pounding of the flogger, a ship on the sea with no wind.

The music changed to nineties techno, an insistent beat coming through the drumless instrumental, and her world erupted in wind and sensation. The hits came to the beat of the music—a strike to her left shoulder blade and left breast at the same time, quickly followed on the other side. Right-Left-Right-Left. A continuous loop. Her body tried to react, even though her mind welcomed it, but she was restrained in so many places she couldn't move away from, or towards, the constant sensation of impact. She tried to keep up with it but with four floggers moving so rapidly all she could do was let go and
feel
.

She felt her consciousness grow bigger than her body, at one with The Universe; and sensed the delineation between soul and body, could see them as two separate units.

Her body was being flogged, not her soul.

The wind stopped and she opened her eyes and howled as her spirit merged back into her body, the sounds and smells of the club assaulting her.

Max was in front of her, his face inches away. He moved in, his lips on hers, giving her another anchor. Not the leather of the floggers, not the wind, but his presence, his warmth. He pulled back and she opened her eyes again, still in her comfortable fog, but more aware of her surroundings. Brent was walking towards the cage, and Jacob had finally stopped holding himself up. His elbows were slack, head resting back against the statue, eyes closed. Dana thought he must be in that beautiful millimeter of space sandwiched between heavenly bliss and excruciating torment, where you could simultaneously experience both.

She heard the snap of a single tail, didn't feel the pain. He hadn't hit her. She tried to relax, realized she hadn't tensed.

The snap and the pain hit her brain at the same time as the center of her right ass cheek blossomed in delicious agony. Her body strained, tried to run, struggled to move; her muscles writhed under her skin as her heart slammed in her chest, and the throbbing between her thighs became more insistent.

Left ass cheek. Not a blossom, but a pinpoint of magnificent anguish. She heard herself say, “Yes,” very low, and opened her eyes in shock at the sound of her voice.

Her right shoulder and then her left, only seconds apart, and both were on fire. The inferno always raged more on her back, the focused strikes going from skin to bone without the muscles in the ass to absorb the impact, and she needed that intensity. She remembered she was supposed to tell him, it wasn't Topping from the bottom. Not today.

She licked her lips, tried to make her tongue work. Finally got her brain firing the right way and said, “Yes, more up there."

A voice repeated what she'd said, and then Max was behind her, his hands lightly resting on her upper arms. “Talk to me. What do you need?"

She struggled to put it into words, into a sentence. “Shoulders, where you hit... more intense. Need that. Stay there."

"I'm going to keep moving around, to draw this out for you. Do you not want more on your ass, or are you saying you want the level of pain your shoulders are getting?"

"Need the intensity. Feel it more. Want to hurt. Please."

"Okay. I'm going to move back and forth so I can make it last, but I'll give you plenty on your shoulders, okay?"

She tried to nod her head, wasn't sure there was enough movement for him to see, and said, “Yes."

She wasn't expecting the floggers, but he began the relentless Florentine pattern on her shoulder blades, striking over the single-tail marks, and Dana heard herself howling, the merciless pleasure/pain of the continuous blows pulsing through her body, catapulting her to dizzying heights.

The flogging stopped and she moaned in disappointment, but soon felt the single-tail on her ass again, the most violent strike yet to her right ass cheek. She finally screamed, shocking herself with the sound. Max was behind her again, his hands stroking her arms, sides, hips—coaxing her into taking deep breaths, reminding her to relax and not fight the restraints. She hadn't realized she was struggling. She didn't want to be let loose.