She'd be a human pet today. Not an animal, submissive, or slave: A pet, who'd be catered to, taken care of, put away when not in use. Pets live at the whim of their masters; even human ones. Especially human pets.
She'd been Garnet's submissive, but she'd be Zach's pet. It wasn't a competition. Kirsten was right; one didn't take away from the other.
Her rules stated she wasn't to speak unless specifically ordered, and he'd explained he wanted to deny her speech from the start to help her get into the right headspace. He was right, enforced silence had a way of objectifying—a constant reminder she didn't have a voice in things, literally.
Deft fingers fastened the ultra-soft leather cuffs, checking the fit as he worked, the baby suede conforming to her wrists comfortably. He raised a hand to her shoulder, a gentle but firm grip, turning her towards the table and connecting her wrists behind her. She felt safe, taken care of... but not as if she was his, and she worried she may not be able to give him her submission without pain as a trigger.
Lightly gripping her upper arm, he walked her to the kitchen table, urging her down onto a cushion. She was grateful he steadied her—she wasn't used to kneeling anymore and it felt awkward, especially with her hands restrained. She kept her eyes on the floor, using her peripheral vision to watch him make two trips to the counter before claiming the seat beside her. She could feel the weight of his gaze, but didn't look up.
"Sit pretty for me, arch your back so your nipples point up."
She settled into the position—her weight on her feet, and arching her spine—working to find a balance she could hold.
"You're beautiful, kneeling at my feet. I won't require your legs be spread wide at all times when you're my pet, but I do expect that your knees won't touch, nor will you cross your legs. I don't mind crossed ankles, just make sure access to your pussy isn't blocked. Look up please; I'd like your attention on me, not the floor."
She did as requested, watching him dip the spoon and take a bite, return it to the bowl and lower it to her mouth. Oatmeal. She opened, pleasantly surprised at the sweet vanilla and cinnamon taste.
As breakfast continued she fell into a comfortable rhythm; opening when he held food to her lips, accepting it, chewing, and swallowing. There were also scrambled eggs, and toast with cinnamon apple butter. Occasionally he lowered a cup with a straw.
Every bite her mouth accepted made her exposed pussy feel emptier. She had no choice in what came next; her job was to open and accept, to take the food into her body. It had been so long since she'd relinquished the right to decide basic things; it was almost like submitting for the first time all over again. The intensity of a simple meal taken on her knees at his feet caught her off guard.
His hand lowered with what she thought was a black napkin until she recognized the shape. She'd agreed to a blindfold, but hadn't imagined it would happen so soon, and eating was a different experience now—the warmth of the spoon on her bottom lip her cue to open.
As her senses awakened she smelled the food as he lowered it to her face, her mouth opening before feeling the touch of the spoon. There was the earthy scent of scrambled eggs, the yeasty aroma of apple cinnamon bread, and the vanilla cinnamon spice of oatmeal. The water sloshing in the cup as he lowered it.
She was beginning to think she'd had enough to eat when she heard him scooting his chair. She sensed him moving closer before his hand was on the back of her head, coaxing her forward. Something touched her lip again, warm but softer. She opened out of instinct, closed around the firm heat of him, and used her tongue to give him more sensation as she sucked him farther into her mouth.
"That's it. Let's see what you can do. I won't fuck your face right after you've eaten—making pets puke isn't my kink today. Pleasure me first, don't try to make me come yet."
Her jaw stretched around him, lips covering her teeth, and she swished her tongue around and under the velvet surface in slow strokes, breathing in his scent as her tongue followed the ridges and veins. He didn't touch her, let her go at her own pace, and she reveled in his noises, her power to please him. When she finally felt his hips move she worked to form a seal and pulled back, almost all the way, her cheeks sucking in as she did, and her tongue swirling around the ridge. He groaned. “Okay pet. I'm ready for you to make me come. Do your best."
She gave half a dozen long strokes, in and out, neither fast or slow, stopping at the entrance to her throat. Taking a deep breath through her nose, she paused as she neared the back of her mouth and relaxed to allow him in, pushing past the bone into the soft area and swallowing his length. She moved up and down on him until her body screamed for oxygen, keeping him in her throat, before pulling off to inhale and doing it again. And again, until his hand was at the back of her head, holding her, and he growled as his cock jerked in her throat.
By the time he finished, her lungs were burning and she sucked air in as he pulled out.
"Kneel and catch your breath while I clean up, pet. You did well."
She heard a few minutes of water running and dishes clanking, and his hand was back on her arm, helping her stand. Her legs were a little shaky at first, but he gave her time to stretch them out and find her balance before adjusting his grip and walking her quickly through the house.
Dana was no stranger to walking while blindfolded, having to trust she wouldn't be led into anything, but it'd been years and she didn't feel as if she were handling it gracefully.
Finally, she was turned and told to sit. She lowered herself and recognized the toilet under her.
He waited until he was sure she was stable to relax his hold on her arm. She heard the toilet tissue roll turn, the sound of the paper tearing, and felt him place what he'd torn off in her hand. “I'll be down the hall in another restroom. Call out if you need me, I won't be far. When I return, I'll wait to enter until I hear you say Sir. Don't get up until I come for you."
She nodded and heard him walk away.
She'd lost track of where in the house they were, probably by design, so when he walked her into the heat of the day it caught her off guard. She knew the area behind the living room was enclosed with a high wall encompassing the pool, a native plants garden, and a large section of lawn—no one would see her, but she still felt so much more naked outside.
He methodically rubbed what she assumed was sunscreen into her skin, starting with her neck and working down. Her breasts and nipples were treated no different from the rest of her body—his hands were matter of fact, no more emotion in them than someone waxing a car, and making her need until she had to concentrate to keep from moaning. It also put her further into pet headspace—bound, blindfolded, and taken care of—protected without choice.
When he reached her knees he gently helped her into a chair and smoothed the lotion over shins, calves, and the tops of her feet. It tickled a little, but he held her firmly and applied it anyway.
His fingers returned to her nipples—tweaking, rolling—and then pain. A clamp, she guessed, on the left, and seconds later on the right, before she had a chance to deal with the agony of the first. She yelped, tried to wrench her hands forward, fought the restraints. Her breasts were pulled up by her nipples, the clamps biting into the sensitive skin, and she realized a chain connected them. She went on her tiptoes, but he only drew them higher. She squealed in anguish as he pulled out and up, setting both nipples on fire as they were pinched, compressed, twisted, and stretched.
The tension was gone in an instant, his hand on her arm making sure she didn't fall. She gave a short scream as the chain dragged her nipples down, the metal heavier than she'd expected.
"I've attached a leash, pet. We're going for a walk. Close your eyes and don't open them until you're told."
He lifted the blindfold, and the sharp light piercing through her eyelids caused a different kind of pain. She squeezed them shut and felt a touch to the sides of her temples as he slid a pair of glasses onto her head. The awful brightness immediately dimmed, and she relaxed her fac
e.
"Your back's to the sun, but it's a bright day. Open them slowly."
She did so, grateful he'd thought of sunglasses. When she could finally look around, she saw him waiting ever so patiently, his blond hair glowing in the sunlight.
He must've walked her on the leash for an hour, requiring she stay exactly beside him or endure the sharp torment of the clamps pulling her nipples. Her mind couldn't wander, she had to keep ultra-focused on him, anticipating his turns, speeding and slowing the instant he did.
Every so often he took the cruel clamps off, massaged the blood back, and replaced them at a different angle—horizontal one time, vertical the next. Taking them off ached more than putting them on, reapplying them hurt worse as the day progressed, and being yanked into place by her nipples when she missed a step was torture.
She'd been trained to heel before, but when Garnet originally taught her, she had no idea of the reason for such immersive conditioning—the level of submission required, the mindset necessary for one to be so in tune to another. This knowledge didn't make it any easier now, or the work less frustrating; and may have made it harder, as she had to stop analyzing before she could get into the right frame of mind.
Her breasts were on fire, the constant pulling and tugging when she didn't keep pace, the compression even when she did. But the submission the exercise demanded, and the mental places he'd stepped her through since she walked through his kitchen door, made it deliciously excruciating.
Eventually, everything faded and there were no thoughts. There was only Zach, his steps, his body. Her feet moved with his, slowing when his slowed, turning when he did, without needing her brain involved. He walked her to a shady spot and stopped, touching her arm and dragging her consciousness back to the surface.
"Stay."
He stepped in front of her and she had to stick her feet to the ground to keep from stepping with him, but the stay echoed in her head and she remained in place.
"Kneel."
She gracefully went to both knees, her muscle memory taking her down without a thought, so different from the awkwardness of the morning. The grass was cool and soft beneath her legs, and everything felt right with the world.
"Beautiful, pet. We'll call that kneel up. When I say kneel I want your bottom on your feet."
She eased into position, her legs naturally spreading apart. Remembering his instructions earlier, she arched her back and looked up, meeting his eyes. If he'd ordered her to come at that moment, she would have.
He reached for her nipple clamps, casually releasing them simultaneously before standing. She gasped at the pain, but kept eye contact, letting him see the agony in her face. “Very nice. Stay."
He walked away and Dana's gaze rested on a trillium. No thoughts littered her mind as she admired the simple beauty—three flat perfectly horizontal leaves with the flower crowning over them. Her arousal subsided until the terrible ache became an undertone, and the fire in her nipples went from a bonfire to smoldering coals.
Zach needed a few moments to center himself before beginning the next phase. They'd been so in tune as they walked, he'd felt as if their very souls had merged.
He stepped to the pool house to retrieve swim shorts and the sensory deprivation stand, turning towards her as he changed, awed by the depths of her submission. He hadn't been certain he could take her this far today, but—for someone who wasn't sure she could submit again—Dana was a natural.
Sensory deprivation of this magnitude would only work if she was already well on her way towards total surrender, and she was primed for it. He'd had his doubts when she walked into the kitchen a few hours ago, her body language showing she wanted to submit, her face broadcasting she wasn't feeling it. He was glad he'd structured the first part of the day around helping her find comfort surrendering her power again.
Watching her relinquish control during breakfast had almost moved him to tears, requiring he blindfold her sooner than planned. After losing Bethany, he didn't believe he'd be gifted with complete submission a second time, and Dana's grace and acquiescence on the leash threatened to undo him.
Maybe it would've been better to stick to sex and games, but she needed a refresher course to help her remember how to surrender. He'd designed the morning's activities with this in mind, and as he quietly walked the sensory dep device into the water, he realized he'd fallen head over heels for her already.
Dana had fascinated him from day one—such gentle strength, so skilled at her profession, and her kind eyes that missed nothing. Backing off while they worked together was the right decision; but it'd been difficult, to not show how his feelings for her blossomed during their weekly meetings.
He knew she was still emotionally fragile, and appreciated her honesty about her reluctance to engage in power exchange again. He wanted to protect his heart until she'd worked through her issues, but it was a little late for that—he'd just have to figure out how to keep her.
Their kinks lined up well, and he knew she'd expect him to remain firm, without giving leeway on rules or punishments. Her eyes had reflected the respect Garnet had earned by providing what she needed, and he hoped to do the same, but in his own way.
He paused before installing the last piece, his gaze seeking her out—her posture perfect, so far into her submission she was motionless as a statue. She'd already gone fathoms deeper than most women managed, and he was sure he could help her take the final steps towards transcendence.
Taking a deep breath, he slid the Plexiglas in place, situated the remaining items on the pool's edge, and dove under the cool, clear water, hoping some laps would help center him. He had to get his thoughts under control before he could give her the authority she needed. Too much emotion right now would make her dominant personality want to resurface, and might scare her away. There'd be time for emotions later.
Dana wasn't sure how long he allowed her to rest, but perhaps ten minutes had passed when she heard a splash and turned her head to see him swimming. He traversed the length of the pool twice, his freestyle form perfect, before walking up the steps like a god rising from the ocean, coming straight towards her.
They held eye contact, her face angling higher as he neared. Dana's heartbeat stuttered and then picked up speed as he stood over her.
"You mentioned deep sea diving so I assume you're comfortable in a snorkel?"
She nodded and he walked behind her to help her up and unbuckle her cuffs, the cool air on her wrists a reminder of where the restraints had been. His loose blue bathing suit reminded her of her own nudity, and she looked at the grass, suddenly overwhelmed.
He touched her back, his cool hand still damp. “You're performing beautifully, pet. Walk beside me, please."
She fell into step alongside him as if it were second nature.
Lined up on the edge of the pool were snorkel, diving mask, lube, condoms, and four butt plugs ranging from small to huge. A metal contraption rested underwater in the pool, and her insides tightened with fear.
"Sunglasses off and get in—get your hair wet and get used to the water while I explain."
She put her sunglasses beside the snorkel and noted the lube was oil based and the condoms a non-latex variety. Instead of using the steps, she put her hand on the edge of the pool and flipped her feet in. The water was refreshing and she ducked under a few seconds, tilting her head back so her hair flowed away from her face as she broke the surface.
Zach continued talking as he walked around the corner to the steps and entered the normal way. “I've blacked out the goggles so they'll act as a blindfold—otherwise they're a standard diving mask, to insure you don't accidentally breathe through your nose. The stand you see was made to facilitate using the pool as a sensory deprivation tank."
He touched the pieces as he explained. “You'll be face down, there's a Plexiglas sheet your head will go under, and a slot for me to fit the snorkel into once you're in place. There are handles for you to grasp to help you stay put. I'll be behind
you, between your legs. We didn't put fisting on the table when we negotiated, but there's still much I can do to you in this position."
Dana's slow burn returned to full-on ignition and she heard her heartbeat in her ears. The fear was gone, replaced with anticipation and arousal; and she wanted to come so damn bad.
He put the snorkel into his mouth, submerged, and glided into position, saying both safewords so she could hear them through the snorkel. She was allowed a run-through without the mask, and then was given time to get the fit right, going underwater while holding his hand to ensure a good seal. He didn't rush her, insisting she should feel comfortable with the set-up before they began.
As she was finally ready to go under to stay, he touched her shoulder and said, “Two very important points: You won't be given permission to orgasm while you're in the pool, and when I'm ready to bring you up I'll touch your arms and pull your body back. Unless there's a problem, don't let go of the grips until you feel my hands around your upper arms."
She nodded and moved into the now familiar position, feeling terribly vulnerable as she gripped the handles and felt him securing the snorkel.
The water in her ears blocked all sound, and the black paint on the exterior of the mask encompassed her in total darkness. She could feel the grips in her hands, the Plexiglas on the back of her head, the snorkel in her mouth—but the rest of her body floated without sensory input. She was in a cool, dark cocoon; anchored by her hands, head, and mouth.
He gripped her legs, spreading them, and she sensed his body between her thighs. Her breathing hitched, the sound echoing loudly in the snorkel. She wasn't sure she could hold back if he fucked her in this position.
Something touched her asshole, plunging in without warning. Not one finger, letting her get used to it—but two fingers thrust in all the way and rotated as they were pulled out, and immediately followed by a solid object. Remembering the line-up on the side of the pool, she assumed it was the smallest plug, and she relaxed, but it'd been a mind fuck, because before long she was sure he was attempting to press the largest of the four into her. She tried to relax, but the burn started and just when she was about to say ottoman, he stopped pushing, holding it firmly in place.
Safeword: Davenport Page 6
