Safeword: Davenport (3 page)

"I didn't think The Mansion was doing public reservations anymore?"

"They aren't."

Dana had eaten there once and it'd been the best food she'd ever had. “Yes, to both. Assuming we don't crash and burn tomorrow evening."

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Dana slid the chain over her neck and paused, fingering the two wedding rings. She'd stopped wearing hers a few months back, allowing it to join Garnet's on the necklace.

Tonight she'd opted for a sexier look—a simple light green dress with clean lines, and her hair in a loose bun at the crown of her head, curls spilling out. She'd known when she picked the outfit that the chain would have to stay home, but habit had taken over. Sighing, she pulled it over her head, bringing the rings to her lips before gently placing them in her jewelry box.

It wouldn't do for him to know she still wore something so sentimental, anyway. She'd be hesitant about a widower who still wore his dead wife's ring around his neck, and she wondered if she were truly ready to date again, since she hadn't been able to put Garnet's away for good.

The buzzer pulled her from her reverie and she walked to the foyer to unlock the elevator before taking one last look in the mirror, her stomach queasy with nerves.

She opened the door to Zach in a hip charcoal suit, crisp black shirt, and a fresh haircut; and her pulse skipped a few beats as their eyes met. Her body was certainly eager to date again, even if her heart wasn't. “Come in while I grab my purse. If we have time I can give you the grand tour."

"Please do—I'd like to see what a superb designer does with her own place. I love your view."

Her gaze followed his to the panorama of the river with the aquarium and art museum across the way, and the four bridges, each echoing a distinct era. “Thanks, it was one of the biggest selling points. My balcony is a primo spot during the Riverbend Festival and the concerts in the park. This is the living and dining room, kitchen is in there.” She gave him a few seconds before heading towards the private areas. “I've turned the spare room into a combination office and workout space."

He looked over her drafting table before walking to her computer station. “I believe you may be as much of a tech person as I. How long have you lived here?"

"A little over a year and a half. I put our house on the market three months after he passed away, and moved before the six-month mark. My sister is using some of my old furniture with the understanding I may or may not want it back, eventually. I sold or gave most of it away."

She walked out of her office and into her bedroom with him on her heels. She'd used simple lines in the rest of the condo, evoking a feel of modern city living. However, for her private space, she'd gone over the top with fabrics and color reflecting the Victorian era. The contradiction was striking, giving the sensation of traveling through a time machine.

"Wow. After all your talk of finding a style and keeping it consistent, why the difference?"

"Interior decorators are allowed to break the rules, especially while they're in the process of recreating themselves as an individual.” She turned away, looking at the room instead of into his eyes. She felt as if he saw too far into her soul sometimes. “My former home was a combination of my style and Garnet's—mostly Mediterranean, leaning heavily towards Italian Baroque. When deciding on a design approach for the condo, I opted for clean lines with lots of glass to give the illusion of a bigger area. But for my personal space I needed warm and comforting."

She shrugged and faced him. “The room was big enough to handle it, so I indulged myself."

He stepped to the French doors and opened them onto the balcony, whistling a surprised note that gradually faded off to nothing. “I hadn't imagined you'd be able to get a hot tub up here."

She laughed. “It wasn't easy. Play your cards right and I'll invite you to join me on a night the Lookouts shoot fireworks after a home game."

The butler looking fellow at the front desk of The Mansion seated them and left, closing the door on his way out, and she raised her eyebrows. “Considering we aren't staying here and shouldn't have reservations at all, how'd you manage a private room? Not that I'm complaining, just curious."

"This is a case of who I know more than anything else. I love the food and hoped you'd feel comfortable discussing kinky things this afternoon, so I opted for a place with privacy."

Dana smiled, feeling a bit of a tease as she said, “Kinky things? I'm sure I have no idea what you might be talking about."

He grinned back, but more serious. “We've spent a lot of time together and you've learned a great deal about me. You know my tastes, you even sensed when I was about to lose patience and you needed to get the contractors on the ball and moving faster."

He gently placed his hand over hers. “You're very good at your job, but I don't know much about you, personally. You have wonderful vision, you're efficient, you hire the best artisans, and you're not easily flustered—but that's the business side. I saw glimpses of the personal when you schooled your face to keep from reacting to the cage, or to the additions I had Frederick arrange for the bondage table, but I want to get to know the rest of you, and I learned just enough from my friend to whet my curiosity. He told me of a demo where your Master put four large hooks into your back and left you suspended for hours—perfectly still, no sounds. Living artwork above the other activity."

He glanced at their joined hands, raised his eyes to hers. “I find myself both disturbed and turned on by the idea. I researched the practice, read some first person accounts, but I have to ask what goes through your mind during such a powerful scene. And how often you need something so intense."

Dana looked away, focusing on one of the wall murals. A knock sounded as she opened her mouth to answer, and four waiters came in—two with soup bowls, another with a bottle of wine, and a fourth with a basket of warm bread. The latter spoke while the others arranged table settings and poured wine, giving them a rundown of the exotic cheeses and spices in the broccoli soup, and an explanation of why this vintage was chosen.

The wait staff trailed out as a group and she tasted a spoonful of her soup, moaning as the tastes mingled before exploding in flavor. It was subtle at first, but different flavors burst through as they slid their way down her tongue, various taste buds experiencing the same bite in distinctive ways.

Zach grinned. “Yes, I love this soup. I've tried to get a recipe but they won't consider it. I even offered an outrageous sum of money once, but... no."

Dana savored another bite before attempting to explain why it was unlikely she'd sink so far into subspace again. Not so long ago, she couldn't have talked about her submission to Garnet without crying, but she'd finally progressed past the bottomless despair to the point of bittersweet memories.

"He began preparing me days before an intense scene. I was stripped naked, my closet locked, and he was the only one with a key. He'd store my laptop and e-reader, the power cord to my desk computer, my drawing supplies, TV remote, cellphone —— all my work and leisure stuff. He had a cage built in his closet, so he could store me away when something else needed his attention."

Zach smiled when she mentioned the cage and she grinned, a little of her tension flowing away. He didn't look judgmental and seemed interested and accepting, so she took a breath to settle her emotions and continued. “I wasn't twenty-four/seven, but scenes lasted for days, as did punishments. If I needed correction, he added the time onto our original agreed upon session, and there was no way to end the power exchange until the he deemed the punishment over. We'd have a scene maybe once every three to six weeks with his control pretty much total for the duration."

Her grief threatened to surface and she sipped her wine, working to keep a lock on it. Crying over her dead husband on a date would be bad form. His fingers folded over hers and she looked up, the warmth from his hand and eyes giving her the bolster she needed, allowing her to continue. “Besides denying clothing and leisure activities, he'd occasionally take away the right to use furniture, and...” she paused, not sure she wanted to share so much, but quickly inhaled and plowed ahead. “He kept me cleaned out so I could wear a plug for extended periods. My liquids and calories were closely monitored—sometimes there was little food and I was hungry, other times he provided plenty, but only things I disliked. Or, maybe it'd be a favorite. I never knew what to expect."

She looked for signs of disgust but saw understanding. “Over the course of a few days I became someone else, some
thing
else—no worries, no decisions, just his. Sometimes loss of choice is frustrating, but it can also be freeing, and he usually helped me find the place where I was relieved to let him be in charge."

She turned her hand over, reaching for his and giving a brief squeeze before finally answering his question. “For public demonstrations I was often blindfolded before we left the house, occasionally my hearing was blocked, too. Sometimes I had no idea where we were. If you researched the practice of using hooks in the body for suspension, you know it was historically a Native American ritual and they fasted for days beforehand. Garnet had withheld all food, so I was in the same type of meditative state. I remember the pain and euphoria, but almost as if it were a dream. I was so far into subspace, or... I don't know, another kind of space—more a mystical experience than a sexual one. He didn't often go for spiritual over carnal but when he did, he managed a darn good job of it."

Zach breathed out, as if he'd been holding it while she talked. “So, when I said I might like to micromanage a few days here and there, I was describing the relationship the two of you had?"

Dana shook her head. “Not exactly. There was no power dynamic during our everyday lives. He didn't demand sex or a blowjob just anytime, and we scheduled scenes beforehand to clear both of our calendars for a set number of days. We had quickie ones too—where he'd ask at six o'clock if I wanted to go into a scene that'd end at five the next morning—but if I said no, it didn't happen. Or, if I'd brought work home, I might tell him I could be ready to play at nine."

Through talking about herself, she asked, “What about you? I know a little since I've seen some of your toys; I saw a TENS unit but no straight electricity, which surprised me considering what you do for a living. There were floggers, crops, canes, paddles, clamps, clothespins, and probably a mile of various kinds of rope. What have you done? What's your most extreme?"

"Never anything that brought blood on purpose. No needles, hooks, or knives; and I know you've done all three. Most of my pain involves impact play, clamps on sensitive areas, fisting, and uncomfortable positions. My most exotic is probably electricity—I keep the equipment in my shop."

He took a sip of wine as he seemed to consider his next words. “I'm more about control than pain. Bethany wasn't allowed on furniture without an invitation. Even amongst vanilla people, I'd ask her to have a seat, or pat the spot beside me, or pull her down with me as I sat. When she asked for permission at home I usually gave consent—the rule wasn't there to keep her on the floor, but because she needed constant reminders of her status throughout the day in order to feel secure."

Dana's heart broke for him when he closed his eyes, grief shadowing his face as he remembered. She couldn't reach his hand so she caressed his leg with her foot. His gaze met hers, his smile a sad one, but he pulled himself together and continued.

"She sat at a party without permission once and her punishment lasted forty-eight hours. She spent the night hanging vertically in her sleepsack, and the next morning I strapped her onto one of those ugly metal and plastic toilet seats they put beside your bed when you can't walk. I tied her legs and arms to the chair, and used a shibari harness to hold her torso in place."

His eyes were inquisitive and Dana hoped her face looked interested and not judgmental. He nodded and said, “I cleaned her out with an enema first so there was only urine in the bucket, and I emptied it right away. This wasn't about being gross but rather a way to make her sit for twelve hours. She was also in a posture collar which kept her from looking around and assisted with short naps."

He paused to take a bite and she said, “I suppose it proves how demented I am that I recognize the posture collar was a kindness and not a torment."

"Not many understand the finer points—I appreciate that you do. However, this was only the first stage of the lesson; I gave her another enema that night, and she slept vertical in her sleep sack again. The next morning I put her on the treadmill, keeping it on the slowest settings, but constant—with no stopping allowed. She'd walk fifty minutes, followed by a five-minute spanking at the top of the hour, and five minutes in the yard for a potty break, before going back on the treadmill for fifty minutes until time for her next paddling. I either put in or took out the plug at each break so she had an hour with, then without. It worked out to around nine hours of this until we reached the time of day the original infraction had taken place, and her punishment ended after a final ten minutes over my knee."

Dana's body wanted to squirm and she worked to sit still. She'd have used her hand to get off if she could've figured out how to do it discreetly—it wouldn't have taken more than a few seconds. “What did you spank her with?"

"I mixed it up—leather, maple, and Lexan paddles; bath brush; wooden spoon. The last was with a tawse but she was already so tender I didn't lay into her very hard, just enough so it was the worst of the ordeal, as I knew she'd need a final cry to feel cleansed of her misdeed. She'd had a total of fifty-five minutes of spanking in one day, spread out so the endorphins didn't have time to kick in, and were gone before the next started. For some, just the point of sitting for a day and then not sitting for a day would've been sufficient. She needed more though, so I gave it to her. It worked; she never sat on furniture without permission again."