Safewords: Davenport and Chiffon (24 page)

"Yes, Sir. I do."

"I'd like you to look over the forms and sign them, please. That's not an order; Mr. Davis needs to have your consent, not mine."

She glanced through and quickly signed her name, laying the pen down and leaning back into Zach, her knees shaky with nerves, her blood through the roof with arousal.

The piercer removed the paperwork and Zach helped her onto the table. She was grateful for the bondage; she'd feared for a moment he might expect her to hold still, and her control wasn't that good.

They attached her in so many places she couldn't move any part of her body but mouth and eyelids. No sooner did she have the thought than he came to her with one of her most hated gags. It was a large ball fastened to a wide neoprene band. She could breathe through the hole, but it stretched her jaw to the point she couldn't use her tongue or lips, especially with the band sealing off the lower part of her face. She could scream, but only a portion of the sound would make it out, and words would be impossible.

He draped the rawhide flogger over her stomach and ran his hands through her folds until she was crazy with need. He switched his microphone off and said, “I don't have much time to get you into subspace, pet. I'm not upset with you, but I know this will get you there faster than anything else. The gag is there so you don't embarrass yourself in front of the audience. I love you."

He turned the mic back on, picked up the flogger, and said, “Show me your safe signal."

She opened and closed her hands three times, paused, did it another three times.

He let loose with the flogger on her inner thighs and she immediately began screaming, fighting the restraints in futility, struggling to evade the lash as he hit hard, fast, and without mercy. She counted to thirty in her head and lost count, the hits merging into one another, her screams trapped behind the huge gag so they were louder in her head than in her ears. Her body immobilized, she was frantic from the pain, with no way to escape it.

When it finally stopped, all she could do was fight for breath, try to breathe. She was still screaming in her head, but too weak to keep struggling.

She felt a cool cloth on her face, opened her eyes, and melted as she met Zach's tender gaze. She felt fingers on her pussy lips, pulling them out—and then on her clit.

"It's okay. He's looking everything over and he'll get started in a minute. He's good; we'll be through this in no time, right?"

Dana felt pressure on her pussy lips and suddenly,
pain
. She'd done needle play before and had been expecting a similar feeling, but this was different. She heard herself screaming through the hole in the gag, and tried to move, but couldn't. Zach caressed her face, told her it was over, the needle was through and the jewelry in.

The piercer wasted no time, it seemed like less than a minute later a needle was pushing through a spot just a little lower than the first piercing, and Dana could feel the distinct popping of skin on one side, felt it pushing through, and screamed as it broke through on the other side. She couldn't figure out why it was hurting so bad, something was wrong, needle play had never felt like this before. Zach was right there with her, caressing her face, talking to her, helping her breathe through it.

When Mr. Davis finally finished the eighth on her labia, she was exhausted, and barely felt the clit hood piercing—a tweak with the needle, nothing more.

The ceiling began moving as she was rolled offstage, Zach holding her hand and telling her how well she'd done, and it was over now.

Brent met them as she left the view of the audience and released her from the table while Zach removed the gag. Someone brought her dress and boots, but Zach put them into his bag. She looked around for Jacob when they stood her up, saw him sitting in a chair close by, met his eyes, sensed he was fine, and relaxed back into Zach's arms.

Brent's voice rumbled near her ear. “He's good. Let's get you taken care of and we'll all go home."

Zach wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and held her a few minutes before saying, “We have permission to leave by the side door so you won't have to walk far. I emptied both lockers while the three of you were onstage, and Brent has all of our things. Do you think you can walk about twenty yards to the car?

"Yeah, just not sure I can sit in the seat."

"Not a problem. Here, I brought your fleece lined Crocs, slide your feet in."

He fastened her coat around her, tied the belt, and helped her through the club to the emergency exit. One of the dungeon masters was there to let them out without setting off an alarm, and Dana breathed a sigh of relief to see the Escalade outside the door. Brent opened the back, and Zach eased her down on an inflatable mattress and then lay beside her, holding her.

"Go to sleep if you want. Jacob's up front with Brent. If you're asleep when we get there I'll help Jacob walk in and Brent will carry you."

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Jacob and Dana were treated like royalty—no one had to go in to work for a week after New Year's, and their days consisted of having their piercings cleaned four times a day, lots of good food, video and board games, and conversation.

Dana didn't get a chance to see her piercings until the next afternoon, and she finally figured out why it'd hurt so bad—the piercer had used a huge needle, and the rings penetrating her labia were much thicker than she'd imagined they'd be. They still had a ways to go before they'd be as big as Zach wanted them, but he'd started out with large holes so the stretching process wouldn't take so long.

On the third morning both submissives were laid side-by-side on the bed, their heads backwards over the edge, and the two Doms used their mouths and throats.

Later that afternoon they were leaned over the arms of the sofa, facing each other, and thoroughly ass-fucked with neither allowed their own release.

When Brent flew them home seven days later, Dana's piercings were still sore but no longer kept her from sitting.

Zach used her mouth and ass plenty over the next three weeks, but neglected her pussy until she thought she'd go crazy.

The wedding date was set for early April, and it was mid-February when Zach broke the news that he wouldn't make use of her pussy again until they were married.

"But, you haven't fucked me since
last year
, Sir. I can't wait until April! That'll be nearly four months!"

"I suggest you watch your attitude, you're coming close to a punishment."

Dana took a breath, tried to calm down, but wasn't managing. “Sir, I'm afraid I need help with my attitude."

She focused on his feet as she spoke, because he'd see the hostility she was feeling if she looked at him. She'd learned it was better to be honest, to let him know when she wasn't viewing one of his edicts as a happy submissive should, so he could help her get there, but it was damned hard, sometimes.

His voice softened. “Who do you belong to?"

"You, Sir."

"I want our wedding night to be special. I'm going to make love to you, and it will have been so long since I've been in your pussy, it'll be memorable for both of us. I need you to kneel, please."

She did, and he walked to a chair, sat, and patted the side of his leg. She crawled to him, resenting him for making her, but once she was in her familiar kneeling-time position, leaning comfortably against his leg, something inside her slid into place and she belonged to him, wanted to please him.

"Tell me where your head is, pet."

"I was thinking of my own pleasure instead of your wants and needs. I'm sorry, Sir."

"Anything else?"

"Yes, Sir. I miss Jacob. Brent removed his phone privileges for a week, and it feels like I'm being punished along with him."

"He's only on phone restriction two more days. There's nothing I can do, and you know it. I've grounded you from the phone a few times, and Jacob felt the same way, I believe. What else?"

"I'm mad at you, Sir, for ignoring my pussy. I understand your reasoning, but I can't help the way I feel."

"Ah, there it is. We're getting married in seven weeks. I won't be fucking your pussy until our honeymoon—that's not negotiable. What do you propose we do to keep you from becoming resentful?"

"I don't know, Sir."

"Well, I do, but I think I'll let you find out as a surprise. Meanwhile, perhaps a little maintenance is in order, to remind you of who you are."

"Yes, Sir,” she said miserably, “You're probably right."

He laughed. “Probably? Go upstairs and get into your cage. I'll be up in a minute to lock you in."

He blindfolded and hogtied her, letting her hear the cage door shut and the lock click.

She had no idea how much time she spent trussed backwards, but her body hurt long before he finally got her out, and instead of massaging her as he'd usually do, he only rearranged her bondage, putting her on hands and knees on the bed, then pulling her arms through her legs to reattach wrists to ankles.

"What are you?"

"I'm your pet, Sir."

"Tell me what you want."

Oh god, her pussy needed attention so bad, but he wanted it empty, and suddenly, she wanted it to be special for their wedding night, too. “Use my mouth or my ass, please, Sir. I'm yours, and I want our honeymoon to fulfill every fantasy you have about it."

His hand caressed her bottom, comforting her. “That's my girl. It's good to have you back. Are you craving pain, pet?"

"Yes, sir. Please?"

"We'll start with ten."

The first strike hit and Dana screamed. He was using the thinner Loopy Johnny, but even the small one was too intense without a warm-up. The next strike was brutal, the pain encompassing more than skin and muscle, and she managed an
Ottoman
amongst her shouting. She hadn't intended it to sound like she was crying, but the word came out as a sob.

"I'm sorry. Sir."

He gently rubbed across the strike zone, soothing the pain. “Don't apologize. You aren't being punished, and I didn't ask you to take it for me. You're
supposed
to tell me when it's too much.” He began disconnecting collar and cuffs as he talked. “I don't want to go downstairs to get a flogger right now, and I think a nice over-the-knee hand-spanking sounds rather appealing. Back to basics, yes? Keep your eyes closed."

His fingers stroked her face before gently removing the blindfold. She felt soft feather kisses on her back, and his hand caressed her bottom again. “Open your eyes while you're looking down. Once they've adjusted you can sit up, and then come to me. I'll be in the seating area. Don't stand until you're sure you have your balance."

The lights weren't bright, so within a few minutes she found herself walking to him. He'd pulled her vanity stool into the bedroom, so there'd be no arms to get in the way of bending over his lap.

The act of draping your body over a lover's legs, putting yourself into position to be spanked, is one of the most intimate and trusting acts a submissive can do. It's so simple, but bare stomach and thighs on clothed legs, your side against his cock, your naked bottom sticking up, and all of your girly parts exposed to his view—it's a terribly humbling experience.

Dana had forgotten how bad a simple hand-spanking could hurt. A hand can deliver sting and thud at the same time, or can produce one or the other. Zach kept things changed up, so she never knew what kind of hit she'd be experiencing next, and once he saw she was getting into it, he sped up, his hand coming time and time again with no pause until she was kicking her legs and fighting to get away, tears rolling down her face. It never occurred to her to safeword, she was so into the moment. The only things that existed in her universe were Zach's legs, his arm wrapped around her torso holding her in place, her hands on the floor under her, her unclothed thighs on his pants, the staccato rhythm of his hand, and the wonderful heat emanating from her bottom.

When at last he stopped, a little out of breath, he said, “Okay, pet, this time I'm asking you to take what I give you. I need to hurt you, and I need to see you accept it. Can you do that for me?"

Without a doubt, she'd find a way. “Yes, Sir. I can."

"Go into your closet and brace yourself. I won't make you wait long."

He'd found the perfect position for her to stand against a wall, and appropriated an unused section in her closet to paint silhouettes of hands on the sheet rock and feet on the floor.

She situated her arms first, then her feet, and finally made sure her back was arched, her already throbbing ass pushing up. The stance was comfortable enough to hold for five or ten minutes, but beyond that, muscle strain set in.

She heard his footsteps within minutes, her head turning to look, anticipation growing in her gut. She spotted the thick loopy in his hand and her pussy lit up as dread settled in her heart.

"I'm not giving you a number today. I'll start with the small one and progress to the heavy one. You don't have to be quiet, but if so much as a finger or toe moves outside of a line, what's the punishment?"

"Twelve hours in mitts and hobbles, every time I move. Sir."

The first two strikes had her fighting to stay in place as the walls of hanging clothes absorbed her screams. The third strike wasn't so bad, and somewhere around the sixth she felt her ass pushing back and up, no longer trying to avoid, but wanting it harder, faster.

He switched implements without giving any indication, and she came very close to moving when the heavy loopy hit. She bent her legs a little, pulled her ass in some, but only for an instant. He gave her a predictable rhythm, but she struggled against it for the longest—fighting her reflexes, battling against the fight-or-flight response that insisted she flee the agony.

Until she didn't anymore. Now she
wanted
the next strike. She was adrift without the pain searing through her body. Her ass was hot, swollen, and ached when he took too long between swings. Each blow was like nourishment, a vitamin that kept the muscle from aching.