No Safeword: Matte - the Honeymoon

by Candace Blevins

  He felt his sadism show in his face as he said, “I think you need some clamps hanging from your nipples.”

  She nodded slowly, took a breath, and held it. Ethan touched the scalpel to the plastic just outside of her areola, and made a smooth half circle. Three layers of plastic came away when he peeled them back, and he let her get a few breaths before repeating the process. He took his time and made sure he didn’t cut her, though she probably thought he was making her hold her breath longer just to be sadistic. When her left nipple was exposed and poking obscenely out of the small hole, he promptly attached a clover clamp to it before he started on her left nipple.

  * * * *

  Samantha floated in a haze as she felt her Master cutting the plastic away from her pussy with the first aid scissors. Thank goodness he’d put the horrible scalpel away. She had no doubt they’d get around to actual blood-play at some point, but was glad he’d only cut the plastic today. Still, it was a mind-fuck, to have the blade mere millimeters from her skin. She had no idea how he sliced the final layer without cutting her, but he’d somehow managed.

  When he finished cutting the plastic from her pussy and a portion of her ass, he stepped to her head and released her foot, down to her knee. Her right thigh was still pressed to her abdomen and chest, but allowing it to bend at the knee was a huge relief, and she relaxed back into her bondage.

  “Thank you, Master.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He walked to a table and returned with what looked like first aid tape, and stepped back to the lower part of her body. She felt him applying the tape near her asshole, and it took her a minute to figure out what he was doing as he ran it over her ass cheek, around her hips, to her other ass cheek, and cut it as he neared her asshole again.

  He’d taped her ass open.

  He retrieved the rubber squid whip, stepped back to her, and laid a warm, comforting hand on her left thigh. It wasn’t skin-to-skin, as he was on top of the plastic wrap, but it was contact.

  “No restrictions, Samantha. Say what you want, even if it’s to call me a bastard. Come if you want, tell me about it if you want, or not. Show me respect if you’d like, or not. Unless you tell me about a problem, something other than ‘it hurts’, nothing will make me stop. I only require you to endure it, and you have no choice in the matter, so there’s nothing you can do to earn a punishment while I’m flogging your asshole.”

  Nothing happened for several seconds, and Sam awkwardly twisted her neck to look at him. He seemed to expect a response, so she said, “You’re hoping I show respect, though. Aren’t you, Sir?”

  He looked at her a few seconds before responding, “I can see how you’d come to that conclusion, and I’m sorry if I’ve set things up so you see this as a test. I plan to take you well past where you think you can go, and I want to hear honesty from you, both during and after.”

  “Okay, Sir. Thank you.” He was fulfilling her wish of not being required to use self-restraint, and while she had mixed feelings around being allowed to dictate the scene, it never hurt to say thank you, especially when bound and helpless. They could talk about her feelings around influencing the scene later.

  He retrieved another roll of plastic wrap and raised her hips even higher in the air, so she was once again parallel with the floor, and when he placed his hand on her left leg this time, she had the distinct feeling it was more about holding her in place than in comforting her. She still valued the contact, but—

  The first slash of the cruel rubber flogger to her asshole interrupted her thoughts and brought an unexpected scream from deep in her chest. The next strike was mostly tips, and she screamed, “FUCK!” just as the third strike landed with enough force her asshole spasmed from the impact.

  She started rambling, begging him to back off, to give her time to get used to it, to slow down. Her pleading and jabbering was peppered with random cuss words given as expletives for the hardest blows, and while he didn’t seem to be striking harder for her words, he wasn’t easing up, either.

  “I love you, Master!” she screamed, hoping to get through to him another way, but he kept to the same pace.

  “I love you, too, Samantha, but you aren’t going to control the scene by professing your love for me.”

  His words sank in and she realized he was right; she was trying to control the scene instead of just accepting what he gave her.

  “I’m sorry, Sir,” she sobbed, true tears forming and spilling from her eyes. “God, it hurts so bad, but you’re preparing me.” She tried to breathe through the agony, but the strikes were coming too fast for her to get on top of the pain, so she finished her thought. “Thank you, Sir. Make me…make my asshole hot, so you’ll enjoy it more.”

  “Giving orders now, Samantha?”

  “NO! No Sir. Asking you to do…do what you intend, no matter how bad I’m hurting, Master.”

  “Mmmmm.”

  How could he say so much with just a sound? Every time she opened her mouth, it was with the intention of trying to make him stop hurting her asshole, even when she was asking him to do it. To truly submit, she needed to be quiet and just take what he gave her.

  Every muscle in her body was taut as she hopelessly tried to escape the lash, and she forced herself to relax her fingers and toes first, then her calves and forearms, and slowly worked from her thighs up her back, then up her front, and finally her face and scalp. She wiggled her toes and fingers before running through her body once more to make sure nothing had tensed again.

  Amazingly, the heat at her asshole began to spread, and she instinctively arched her back to give him better access. The rhythm of his strikes hadn’t soaked in before, but now she realized it was four medium lashes followed by two hard strokes and then two brutal blows of just the tips. Once she figured out the pattern, she was ready for them as they came, and felt her consciousness sink into the waves created by the strikes. Sound waves, pressure waves, impact waves…everything melded together to become a beautiful song of pain and agony, heat and desire, owned and owner. Sam still screamed, cried, and thrashed, but she accepted the pain as she became one with it.

  He sank a lubed finger into her a few times, as if checking the temperature, but quickly fell back into the same rhythm. When he at last deemed her asshole hot enough, and his cock spread her impossibly wide, she welcomed the stretch and burn. He owned her, and it was his right to enter her, possess her, in whatever way he wished.

  Ethan kept one hand on her left leg, the other on her right hip, and let the suspension bondage work with his tempo. He slammed into her and pushed her away from him with the same movement, and used his hands to pull her back to him as he retracted his hips and thrust forward once more. Sam had no control over the motion, depth, speed, or momentum. Her arousal level grew in increments, and while she thought she was close to coming dozens of times, she kept skyrocketing towards the outermost edges of space, with no sign of a final release on the horizon.

  It wasn’t until Ethan’s voice penetrated the fog, ordering her to come, that she finally coasted into the most blissful orgasm ever. This wasn’t an explosion of fireworks, but the space shuttle taking off and soaring into the eternal void as her body rocked and twisted, and just as the rocket ship hit some kind of outer limit of total weightlessness, Ethan growled his own release and her body went tumbling into another ethereal, otherwordly release.

  Ethan took only a few seconds to recover before he was cutting the plastic wrap on her left leg with the paramedic shears. She was higher now than when she’d started, so he put the step stool under her foot as he cut her right leg away from her body, and held her with his other hand to be sure she didn’t fall when the plastic gave way.

  When she was standing on both feet, he finally cut the plastic above her body, and easily scooped her up and carried her, still mostly encased in plastic wrap, to the bed, where he cut the rest of it away.

  “You look all floaty,” he said, with a touch of cockiness in his voice.

/>   “Mmmm. I am, Sir. Thank you.”

  He chuckled, kissed her forehead, and returned to cutting the multiple layers of plastic off her torso. “You’re most welcome. I think you need a short nap before we continue, but I want to sit you up and get some liquids into you, first.”

  * * * *

  Sam didn’t know how long she’d slept when she awakened to a warm tongue on her pussy, and she wasn’t terribly interested in asking.

  She awoke not too far from an orgasm, and didn’t know if she still had permission to come at will, or whether she needed to ask. As she was about to ask, he placed his hand on the flat of her stomach and a nice, relaxed, orgasm slid through her.

  Sometimes Ethan made her orgasms escalate, but he let this one materialize and fade before he backed off, rested his cheek on top of her thigh, and said, “Good afternoon.”

  Sam eyed the window, but couldn’t tell time of day with the rain still coming down. “Surely it’s evening by now?” She turned to look at the clock, saw it was barely three o’clock.

  “Wow, we still have a lot of the day left, Sir. Do you want me to pull the steaks out of the fridge and get them started?”

  Ethan smiled and caressed her other thigh. “The grill is under the patio roof, cleverly situated so the rain doesn’t blow in. The steaks should be finished in about ten minutes, and the veggies are on the stove staying warm.”

  Sam reached down and ran her hand through his hair. “You’re too good to me.”

  He kissed the inside of her thigh and pushed up with a mischievous smile. “No, just showing you how special you are, and making sure you have enough energy for the rest of the day.”

  He stood and gently helped her stand. “Use the bathroom, brush your teeth, wash your face, and pull your hair into a bun at the back of your head. Doesn’t have to look good, but no loose strands.”

  Sam’s libido perked up at the orders, even though he hadn’t been using his Dom voice. “I suppose that means no clothes, either?”

  He raised an eyebrow and swatted her bottom enough to sting. “I wouldn’t advise it.”

  When Sam stepped into the kitchen she took in his steak on a plate, and hers cut up into pieces in a bowl. Stir-fried veggies rested beside his steak, while hers were in a separate bowl.

  “Good,” he said as he looked up and met her eyes. “You look rested and awake.”

  “I am, Sir. Thanks for the suggestion to wash my face, it helped wake me.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Suggestion?”

  Sam grinned self-consciously, looked down, and then raised her gaze back to his with a small shrug. “Okay, it was an order, but the gratitude still stands.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, before thoughtfully adding, “Is it easier to thank me for a suggestion than for an order?”

  The answer was more complicated than she wanted to get into at the moment, so she simply answered, “Yes, Master.”

  Ethan tilted his head and considered her. Sam’s nerves drew taut as his perusal lasted longer than she was used to, but he finally nodded his head once and said, “You don’t see my orders as commands you must obey, do you? You see them as sensible suggestions you’re choosing to follow.”

  So much for not getting into the complicated part of the question. He wasn’t going to like her answer, but she wouldn’t lie. “Sometimes, Master, but not always.”

  “Explain to me when you see my orders as orders, and when you see them as suggestions.” He ground out the last word, but his deep voice had struck her from the first time she’d heard it, when he apologized for running into her backstage at the arena.

  “When I’m–” She cut herself off, paused, and said, “Do we have to talk about this now, Sir?”

  “Finish your sentence, Samantha.”

  His look was warning enough, and Sam focused on her feet and said, “When I’m horny and into it, I see them as demands. When I’m not, I see them as suggestions. Sir.”

  “And did you just realize this, or have you known it all along?”

  Again, she went for the whole truth and not just the easy part. “I must’ve known on some level, but I never really thought about it until you asked, Sir.”

  “I see. Well, first off, I’m pleased you were honest with me, so there won’t be a punishment or consequence. However, you have to know I’ll be structuring things in the future so you’ll know when I’m merely suggesting something, and when I’m giving an order.”

  He didn’t seem pissed, and Sam smiled, happy she’d found a master who knew how to handle her without being an ogre all the time. She needed someone who wouldn’t let her get away with shit, but it was nice to have her honesty valued.

  “Of course, Master. I’d expect nothing less.”

  He smiled back, blew her a kiss, and motioned to the floor. “Hands and knees. Crawl to me.”

  Well, there was no way she could convince herself this was a suggestion. Of course, his voice and the gleam in his eye had her blood warming nicely, so she didn’t really mind the order.

  He had her kneel up when she reached him, and he proceeded to use bondage tape at an odd angle around each fist and forearm. When he ordered her to crawl again and follow him, she discovered she couldn’t put weight on her fists without hurting her wrists.

  She looked to him for help and he said, “My apologies. I should have clarified the shift to your forearms and knees.”

  His smirk was anything but an apology, but she looked down before her eyes betrayed her annoyance. Crawling on her forearms was harder, but he didn’t lead her far, thankfully.

  He placed her two bowls — one with steak and the other with veggies — side by side in front of her on the floor, along with a lidded tumbler with a straw, and then casually strolled back to the kitchen island. Sam didn’t move for several long moments, and he finally said, “Excellent. You may eat, Samantha.”

  The steak was cooked exactly the way she liked, and had cooled just enough to not burn her mouth. He’d timed it perfectly and she was about to compliment his cooking skills when he said, “Tell me, do you think I suggested you eat, or ordered it?”

  “Neither, Sir. You gave me permission to do so after cooking a steak exactly the way I like it.”

  He chuckled. “I gave you permission to eat like a dog? Really? Should I give you permission to sit up and beg, next?”

  Sam felt her face grow hot as she realized the truth of his words. She’d once again subverted his authority by convincing herself she wasn’t being ordered to eat from a bowl on the floor, but was choosing to after he graciously gave his permission.

  He’d positioned her facing away from him, with her ass towards him, and she was glad her face was hidden as she took another bite, unsure how to respond.

  “As much as I like this view, I’d like you to make your way around your food as if you were a clock hand moving from six to twelve.”

  Was he reading her mind now? Shit. She circled awkwardly around the bowls and clumsily mouthed the straw before guzzling enough water to help wash down the steak.

  He alternated forbidding eye contact, with making her look at him while she put her face into the bowl, grasped the food with her lips and teeth, pulled it into her mouth, and chewed. The arbitrary directives further hammered home the fact he was just giving her orders because he could, and as she neared the end of her meal and he once again changed his mind and ordered her to look down and not make eye contact, she glared at him defiantly a few seconds before lowering her gaze.

  “Hmmmm,” he said, considering. “I counted to three in my head before you looked down. I’m inclined to call it three strikes of the cane, my beautiful, defiant little submissive wife.”

  Sam’s heart skipped a beat at his words, but she’d known he wouldn’t let her get away with it. Maybe she’d needed a reminder of what happened when she took her own sweet time submitting?

  Sam picked up another piece of steak with her teeth, and used her lips and tongue to pull it the rest of the way into her
mouth, though she suddenly didn’t feel like eating.

  “Finish your dinner, Samantha,” he said, his voice gentle and caring. “We’ll deal with your punishment later.” After a few breaths he added, “Just to be clear, I’m not ordering you to eat everything in your bowls. When you’re finished, you may stop, but I don’t want it to be because you’re stressing over something yet to come.”

  He was right, of course. One thing at a time. She started to look up, remembered she didn’t have permission to make eye contact, and leaned sideways a little to get a drink. When she’d swallowed her food she said, “Thank you, Master, for reminding me to focus on one thing at a time.”

  “You’re welcome. Tell me how you feel about being made to eat from the floor.”

  “If you made me do it a lot, I don’t think I’d like it, but it feels right for today.” She lifted some broccoli with her lips and teeth, chewed and swallowed, and added, “The arbitrary rules have been harder than the actual kneeling and eating from the floor. Also, the fact I have to stay on my forearms, I think. It puts me lower than hands and knees, even.” She shook her head as she realized she wasn’t explaining how it made her feel, only talking about what he was making her do.

  “I’m doing a poor job of explaining my feelings, Sir, and I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. You’re going around the bush to get there, but I’m willing to be patient while you work it out in your head.”

  Sam took another bite, and had to avert her eyes at the last minute to keep from looking up again. “Can I please have permission to make eye contact while I’m making my way around the bush, Sir?”

  He didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Sam bent her head to get another piece of steak. Finally, he answered, “Permission denied. You want feedback, but I’d like you to answer without the benefit of checking in with me visually. Eye contact will result in one strike of the stainless cane for each occurrence under one second.”