I straightened and picked up the nipple clamps next. I’d taken the plug without so much as a whimper, but the clover-style clamps hurt like hell. I decided to apply both of them at the same time so I could get the initial burst of pain over with more quickly. I pinched my nipples to make them stiff, then opened the clamps over the pointed tips.
When I closed them, the double bite made me hiss. I fell to my knees, sucking in air, wishing Devin was there to yank my hair or shove his cock in my mouth. Pain was easier when you had something to distract you. All I could think about now was the grave agony being done to my nipples, as my ass clenched and spasmed around the steel toy impaling me.
Oh God, it hurts. Oh God, I’m so hot. By that point, I could have reached between my legs, stroked my clit a couple times, and orgasmed, but I didn’t want it to be over that fast. Instead, I knelt with my eyes closed, sinking down into the pain Devin wanted me to endure.
When I could bear to move again, I lifted the manila envelope and opened it. On top, there was a document from a medical office: Devin’s STI test results from earlier in the week. I knew he’d be clean, because I trusted him, so I only glanced at the list of negatives. I was more fascinated by his full name at the top, Devin Miller Kincaid, his January date of birth, and his height and weight. Six-two, one hundred and ninety-seven pounds. It seemed like so much to know about him.
I set that aside, flinching as the movement tugged at my nipples, and picked up the other papers. The first was a cover sheet with Devin’s contact information and a disclaimer that the document therein was subject to the strictest privacy. I sat back on my heels and flipped to the next page to find a list that was more abbreviated than I’d expected. My ass clenched around the plug as I read the first line: Rules of The Gallery.
Number one: All submissives must be accompanied by a sponsor who will manage their conduct and care. No unsponsored submissives will be admitted. Beside that, Devin had written, I’m going to sponsor the shit out of you.
I smiled, excited by his annotation, and moved to the next one.
Number two: Any submissive brought into The Gallery shall be considered communal property and shared in any way her sponsor desires. Again, he’d added his own note: Considering the scene you were in when I met you, this shouldn’t be a problem.
Number three: The Gallery is a no-safe-word zone. The submissive’s limits will be determined by her sponsor. All he added to that one was a rough sketch of a skull and crossbones.
Number four: All submissives must strictly adhere to The Gallery’s dress code.
He hadn’t added anything to that, but he’d already offered to take me to a fitting on Tuesday, and I could learn more then. I assumed my “uniform,” at the very least, would provide access for things like anal plugs and nipple clamps. I sighed and did another horny squirm, ready to masturbate myself to death.
Number five: Any submissive not agreeing to these terms may not be admitted to The Gallery. Any resistance or refusal of these rules is cause for immediate expulsion from the premises. He’d added, You can imagine where resistance will get you.
Oh, I could imagine all right. The whole setup, with the rules and sponsors and uniforms, was so profoundly perverted that my clit was about to catch fire. I wanted to call Devin and tell him how keyed up I was, and let him hear my orgasm, the one I’d been waiting for since I’d gotten to New York. But if he was in the middle of flying a plane, I might make him crash.
Instead, I closed my eyes and pictured him in my mind. I remembered the way he’d jumped me when we got to the hotel on São Miguel, and the way he’d punished me when I kept him from leaving for New York the first time. Oh God, oh God, that feels bad…and good. I stayed on my knees and stroked my clit, pretending he was standing over me. With my other hand, I flicked the chain connecting the clamps, then tugged it to make them tighten each time I squeezed on the plug in my ass.
It didn’t take long to work my body into a powerful orgasm. I grasped my pussy, riding the pulsing waves, amazed at the strength of my climax. I tended to come pretty easily, especially when I was bound, plugged, or clamped, but those orgasms weren’t like the ones Devin gave me.
And he wasn’t even here.
When my climax subsided, I collapsed on the floor, the carpet’s scratchy texture adding another level of stimulation. The clamps had to come off, or my nipples might never recover, so I removed them, gritting my teeth against the painful detachment of the rubber end caps. Ouch, ouch, ouch. I decided to leave in the butt plug a bit longer, because it made me feel dirty and owned.
While I lay there, panting for breath, I thought how long it had been since someone excited me this way. Forever. Literally forever. I really appreciated Devin in that moment. I really, really liked him, more than felt comfortable. I reached for the phone I’d left on the bed.
Hi, I texted him, squeezing on the plug. I got your package. Thank you.
I waited to see if he would respond, mentally doing the math about what time it was in various parts of the world. Before I could come up with the times for Europe, at least, I saw he was texting back.
I thought you might like it.
I liked everything about it. Thanks also for the test results. I’ll send mine soon.
Sounds good. I’ll be back Tuesday, if you want to do something. A pause, then more blinking dots. The Gallery is only open on Saturdays. Did you read the rules?
Yes, Sir. I rested my head on my arm, wishing he were here to touch me. I’m okay with all of them. I hesitated, then typed, They really turned me on.
It won’t be as enjoyable as you think, he texted. I’ve been dreaming about things to do to you.
He called them dreams, but they were probably more like nightmares to the average woman. Not me. I can’t wait to go, I said.
There was another pause. I wondered what he was doing. Walking through an airport? Flying a plane? Masturbating in his hotel room?
Did you follow my directions? he asked. Did you wear the clamps and put in the plug while you read the rules?
Yes, Sir. They felt bad, but I came really hard. I added a couple blushing faces. I’m still wearing the plug now.
Are you? Why?
How could I answer a question like that without humiliating myself? Maybe that was what he wanted. I didn’t want to take it out yet, I texted. I came so hard. I’m lying here feeling very… I thought a moment. Very naughty.
Make yourself come again, then, he texted. One last orgasm allowed, then no more until I get back.
Until you get back?! Good God, I’d just broken the seal on my horny-urges bottle, and he wanted me to cap it again?
I knew he was grinning sadistically as he texted back. It’s only four days. Less than four days. In the meantime, you can use the plug to stretch your asshole. That plug is designed for long-duration use, so wear it at night while you’re sleeping. Three dots blinked. It’ll also be a good reminder that you’re not allowed to come.
I bit my lip, staring at the phone. Is that a suggestion, to wear the plug, or…
Not a suggestion. In fact, text me every night when you’ve put it in, so we’ll keep you honest. You have plenty of lube to work with.
I eyed the huge bottle of BACK DOOR he’d provided, and sighed. Yes, Sir, I texted.
Good girl. Now put down the phone and come with the plug in your ass. Grind on a pillow or something.
I stretched on my stomach, letting the carpet chafe my sore nipples. I’m grinding on the floor. It’s scratchy.
You little pain slut. I wish I was there with my belt.
I moaned just thinking about it. I wish you were here too.
I’d fucking light into you, he texted. I’d leather your ass until you screamed.
I didn’t need to fantasize to imagine him doing that. He’d given me a severe belt spanking in São Miguel, one I’d never forget. I rubbed my clit and slid my nipples across the carpet, trying to hold off, trying to make things last, but it was impossible with Devin. Anothe
r orgasm came, as hard and long as the last one, while my phone continued to ping beside me, delivering arousing, sadistic threats from half a globe away.
Chapter Fourteen: Devin
I arrived at Ella’s door at seven o’clock on Tuesday night, eager to see her. To touch her. When she answered, she was wearing a little black dress, strappy sandals, and those damned intellectual glasses. She was a porno scientist. I stepped inside her apartment and cupped her chin within my fingers.
“Have you been a good girl?” I asked, drawing out the words, studying her face.
The look she returned was priceless. Part scared, part guilty, and part delighted that I’d asked. Because she hadn’t been good, that was obvious. I shook my head. “You naughty little horndog.” I lifted off her glasses, glaring at her. “You disobeyed my orders. I can see it in your eyes.”
“I was mostly good,” she pleaded. “I only slipped up once.”
I tsked, gripping her chin harder. “You mean you ignored what I told you on the phone?”
“Please, Sir, I’m sorry.”
She shifted on her toes as I fixed her in my most intimidating glare. “We’ll have to take care of your behavior later,” I said. “Michelle is expecting us.”
Her lower lip trembled with such delicious fear that I couldn’t resist biting it, and once I bit her lip, I couldn’t resist kissing her. The spell took over me, the one that gripped me whenever she was around. I ended the kiss as abruptly as I’d dived into it, and replaced her glasses.
We got in my car for the ride to Michelle’s studio for Ella’s fitting. Most women ooh’d and aah’d over my car’s luxury interior and European purr, but Ella was interested in the science, as usual. She asked about horsepower and fuel mileage, and complimented the engineering behind the streamlined chassis. I wanted to fuck her brain right through her skull because she hit on all the reasons this was my favorite car.
When we exhausted my car as a topic, I asked how her work was going. She deflected and asked, “How is everything with the crash? I mean, the near-crash? The investigation?”
“Everything’s fine,” I assured her. “They traced the leak to a faulty part from a manufacturer, so Gibraltar’s off the hook, and Ayal and I were commended for keeping our cool and landing the plane.”
That was the short version. The long version had been two days of testimony, and playback of our cockpit conversations with air traffic control, which was eerie, because I’d barely remembered the things I’d said. I’d spoken in a flat, disconnected voice, doing what needed to be done, deploying the coping mechanisms I’d developed as a child when my father, my first father, my real father, had beaten me or my mother.
I shook those memories away and fielded her questions about NTSB post-accident protocols until we arrived at Michelle’s place. The truth was, I couldn’t wait to put the crash ordeal behind me. Right now, it was one of the few experiences Ella and I shared, but that would change soon, when we made new memories at The Gallery. I’d invited plenty of women there over the years, but none quite so masochistically gifted as Ella.
She was going to be really fucking fun.
Michelle was an older submissive who frequented The Gallery, who also held a degree in theatrical costuming. She spent her days outfitting the Metropolitan Ballet, but she’d been moonlighting as our exclusive costumer for as long as I could remember.
“Got a new one for you, Michelle,” I said, as we stepped into her workshop. “Ella’s anxious to try out The Gallery. She’s ready for it,” I added, as Michelle raised a brow.
“I hope so, if you’re going to be her sponsor,” she teased.
I chose not to explain to Ella that the costumer and I were good friends because I brought so many women to be fitted. Michelle, the epitome of circumspection, didn’t give that away, just whipped out her tape measure and asked Ella to undress.
Out of respect for Michelle’s workspace, I didn’t pull out my dick and masturbate to all this, but I wanted to. There was something about the process: the girl-on-girl primping, the smoothness of the tape measure against Ella’s skin, the effort to please the male gaze. As Michelle worked, she described the various aspects of the uniform, from the nipple-exposing bra to the body-skimming garter belt and stockings. I could see Ella getting more and more excited. Her nipples were hard as rocks. I wanted to hurt them.
I would hurt them. Soon.
When her fitting was done, and Michelle had all the necessary measurements tucked away in her book, I took my sexy scientist to a dim, noisy sushi bar I visited whenever I was in SoHo. Ella didn’t like to chat about her work, but I forced her to do it anyway, for two reasons. One, because it was the only thing that would keep me from looking at her like a piece of sex-meat the entire dinner, and two, because I’d grown fond of the way her eyes lit up when she talked about the vastness of the universe and the elasticity of time.
Instead, she told me about the men she was working with, making all of them sound like nerdy bores. Did she think of herself that way? She was fucking interesting to me, for all the filthiest reasons. I tried to focus on the words she was saying, not the fact that I wanted to stick my cock between her lips. Her phone buzzed on the table between us, demanding her attention.
She looked down at it, then muted the ringer. “My dad,” she said.
I didn’t know why that surprised me, that she had a dad and that he might call her on a Tuesday night. “You can call him back if you need to talk,” I said.
“I don’t need to talk to him right now. I’ll call him later.” She sighed, kind of laughed. “He only wants to talk about my research.”
“Is he a scientist, too?” I asked. “Because my dad’s a pilot. Well, my adoptive dad.”
“You were adopted?”
“Not by strangers, no. When my mom remarried, my dad adopted me so I’d have the same last name. Well, he adopted me for lots of reasons, foremost because he loved my mom, which made him a hero in my eyes.” Why was I telling her my life history? I shoved more sushi in my mouth and pointed at her with my chopsticks. “So, does your dad work in the same field as you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes.”
“You compete with each other?”
Her brows drew together and she made another face I couldn’t interpret. “My dad is half crazy,” she finally said. “He started losing it the year my mother died. Like, fifteen years ago, now. He’s gone pretty crazy in the meantime.”
“I’m sorry. About your mother, and your dad.”
She waved a hand. “I mean, he’s intelligent and he keeps up with my career, but what he really lives for is…” Her hands waved again, helpless angst. “He wants to find a way to go back in time, because he misses my mother. Isn’t that crazy? She drank too much at a holiday party and tried to drive home, so he wants to travel back and tell her not to drink, or change his own mind and go with her to the party. He hated parties, so that night…”
“Oh, man.” I felt bad for the guy, dealing with that guilt. “Sorry to hear you lost your mom that way. That’s really tough. Sudden.”
“Yeah.” She rubbed her forehead. “My dad really loved her. Really, really loved her, to the point where I remember this…” She held her arms wide. “This, like, billowing love between them. Then she died, and my dad got weird about reversing time, and getting her back somehow. Like, he really thinks it could be possible. He’s always studied physics related to time, and he pressed me to study time, although I sidestepped into the field of gravitational waves.” She stared at the table, no longer eating.
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “That must be…weird.” Jackass. It’s not weird, it’s heartbreaking. I could read all the feelings on her face. She’d lost her mom, and she still had a dad, but he was caught up in some bizarro quest to reverse time.
“It’s weird that he doesn’t want to be here, now,” she said, frowning. “All he thinks about is my mother and the past. That’s why I shy away from relationships. Watching what love did to
him…” She bit a nail, looking off into the distance. “I mean, I loved my mother. I’ll always love her, but he loved her to the point of mental illness, to the point where…” Where there’s no room for me. She didn’t say it out loud, but I could read it in her hurt expression.
“Are you the only child?” I asked.
“Yes, and I was adopted, which is why I was curious when you said you were too. But I was adopted because my mother couldn’t have kids. I guess my father did it for her, because he’d always do whatever she wanted, whatever would make her happy.” She shrugged. “Except go to that party that night. He’s not evil or anything, just more into science than being a dad. I don’t like to be around him, which makes me feel like a bad daughter.” Both of us were talking over the noise in the crowded, echoing sushi bar. She said bad daughter really loud, then fell silent, putting her hand over her mouth. “Everyone heard me.”
“Who fucking cares?” I held up a piece of sushi and aimed it at her mouth to get her eating again. Ah, those lips. No, damn, we were having a serious conversation. “You’re not a bad daughter, he’s a shitty father.”
“Not shitty,” she protested.
“Okay. Not shitty.”
“And I’m interested in time travel, too. I’m interested in anything that’s huge and groundbreaking, and unknown.”
She was such an unrepentant nerd sometimes. I’d never known anyone like her, quirky and smart and thoughtful. Maybe that’s why I opened up about stuff I’d never told any woman before. “Want to hear about my father?” Even as I debated how much to say, I spilled out everything. “My real father was a dope dealer, a criminal and an abuser. He was an angry, horrible person. My earliest memories are of him hitting my mother, kicking her, punching her, making her cry. I thought it was…” My jaw ticked as I ground my teeth. “I thought it was normal. That all men did that to all women.”
“Oh, no,” she said softly. “That’s horrible.” She thought a moment, and covered her mouth. “Wait. Is that why you turned into a sadist?”
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