by Adira August
His purpose was twofold. In the case of a healthy dose of cultural humiliation, forcing her to this far more humiliating level of exposure would serve as her Discipline. It illustrated clearly that only his will determined her actions. Not submitting only led to more of what she was trying to avoid, not less. Through this process, she would also become aroused. Her panties would be obviously wet, and he’d have his answer.
If dry, he would quickly cover her, himself, apologize and explain why he was abandoning the idea of Companionship with her.
He’s not going to stop me, Avia realized, wondering which felt hotter, her face or her clit. Why is this turning me on and why am I so embarrassed?
She was no virgin, after all. Men had seen her before. But that was in the throes of lust, in bed. They hadn’t sat impassively and stared directly between her legs with almost clinical detachment. They hadn’t made her do something, while they didn’t have to do anything.
In a logical part of her brain she was having trouble accessing right now, Avia knew he hadn’t “made” her. She’d agreed to this experience, to obey him. But it didn’t feel like her choice. She felt compelled. By his commanding tone. The dangerous rasp in his voice. She was desperate to close her thighs, as much to get pressure on her clit as block his implacable stare. But he won’t let me. Her clit pulsed at the thought.
Logic was far from her mind now. Her skirt passed her stocking tops and garters, the cooler air of the room drifted between her spread legs and over the damp yoke of her panties, now completely exposed to him.
I’m wet and he can see it. At that thought, her vaginal sphincter spasmed and she rocked forward slightly. Shit. He saw that, too.
“Enough,” he said.
Avia tucked the sides of the skirt under her butt and the tops of her thighs and placed her hands on the chair arms. She endured a long minute of careful scrutiny, his eyes travelling over her body, lingering on her breasts, feeling every part of her with his intense gaze. She felt her nipples tighten. What the hell is happening to me?
“Again. You will always to sit in position in my presence unless you are told otherwise. In future, assuming you remain obedient, you may leave the skirt at mid-thigh. Do you understand?” He asked.
“Yes, Sir.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.
“I’m going to show you something and let you try it out while I explain its purpose.” He selected something in clear plastic packaging from one of the canvas bins on a shelf near the desk and tore it open. He held it up for her. It looked like the kind of dental appliance people wore if they ground their teeth at night.
“This is a type of gag. You will wear it during the datamine. Try it now,” he ordered and held it out to her.
Avia examined it. It was obvious how it fit into the mouth. She slipped it in and it settled with reasonable comfort over her bottom teeth. She bit down experimentally. It was squishy!
He looked at the chair arms. Oh. She placed her hands and arms back in position.
Satisfied, he rolled his chair forward until his knees touched the front edge of her seat. Using his thumbs to pull back her lips, his fingertips anchored behind and under her jaw, he checked the fit of the device.
“You’ll see in a minute that it’s easy for you to expel using your tongue. It’s perforated and obstructs your airway very little when your jaw is relaxed. Is it painful in any way?”
She shook her head.
He let go of her. “The purpose of the gag is to keep you from accumulating disciplinary strokes. It’s to assist you. The fact that you can expel it, does not mean you may. You will wear it when I say and not remove it until I say. Do you understand?”
She hesitated and then nodded. “Expel it now,” he said. “Keep your hands on the chair arms.”
Avia found she could lift it and push it out of her mouth with her tongue. He reached out, plucking it from her lips before it dropped. He slipped it into his pocket, and stood, taking his water bottle.
“Stay in position.”
Avia wasn’t sure if “stay in position” meant “don’t turn your head.” Better safe than - whatever he’ll do if he thinks I’m disobeying.
Avia remained as still as possible, relieved he was no longer staring at her panties. The chair she was in faced away from the rest of the room, so she couldn’t see what he was doing. She closed her eyes and listened intently. She heard a something that sounded like heavy fabric being folded or … ? He was uncovering one of the prototypes, she was sure.
She wracked her brain trying to recall what he’d said. One of them was a better version of the chair. Which doubles as a spanking table ... she thought.
“Join me, now,” he called out.
She stood, gratefully straightening her skirt. She saw it wasn’t the large blocky device, but the tall one. She approached curiously and with no small amount of trepidation.
It resembled a leg lift tower she’d used at the gym, except it was entirely open on one side. The supporting structure comprised a rectangular base from which a four-inch wide metal tube curved away, up, and back, ending about seven feet from the floor. The arm supports, a long metal support arm and something resembling half a catcher’s mask she didn’t understand, hung down from it.
Avia stopped near the … machine? “Device,” that’s what he calls all these things … and examined it. She realized she could stand on the platform and someone else could walk around her a full three-hundred sixty degrees without hindrance.
Handy, she thought. But for what, exactly?
DATAMINING
“We’re calling it The Stand, right now. It’s a vertical positioning and restraint system in the Hartfelt line.” Ben explained. “I know it looks intimidating, but I’ve been in it, myself, in all possible positions and found it effective and safe. All restraint and support extensions are padded.”
He led her over and indicated she should step onto the platform and put her feet inside two oval areas. She shoved her toes into cups obviously intended to that purpose.
He moved a lever. Something clutched at her foot. She looked down. It was a kind of rubber collar. It held her shoe and foot securely in place.
“As I said, this replaces a St. Andrew’s cross which is really just an implement of torture and one of the oldest. The back is flat and unyielding. Women are not. With her arms stretched up and out at those angles, a woman’s wrists and shoulder joints end up supporting all her weight if her legs give out. It’s an awful device for sex play,” he said, adjusting his device’s support arms to fit her height.
“We tried modifying the cross, and then scrapped it and started from scratch. We’ve been working for three years. This is the fourth iteration.” He placed her right arm on the armrest. Instead of straps, a plastic sleeve, padded inside, swung up and over her forearm.
Ben secured it with velcro straps and did the same on the other side. “Is that comfortable for you?”
Avia tried to wriggle her arms. She couldn’t. At all. It was a frightening moment. Her anxiety level spiked. She jerked at her arms, her breaths coming fast and hard.
He was at her side in a moment, opening the straps. He didn’t take off the metal sleeves, though.
“Slow breaths and hold still,” he said firmly and calmly. Avia did as she was told. “Lift your left arm to see what happens.” As soon as she lifted it, the sleeve sprang open and flipped down. Her heart stopped racing.
“Close your eyes,” he instructed. “Now, without raising your hand, slide your right thumb to the left and down to the side of the armrest … good … feel that lever? Okay, flip it with your thumb.”
She did. The velcro straps fell to the floor on both sides and the sleeve over her arm sprang open! Startled, she pulled her arms back to her chest.
He stood directly in front of her. Close to her. Searching her face.
“Avia. We do not market any restraining device that would incapacitate the user. What if her partner had a stroke or heart attack? Or was just an asshole an
d walked away? We don’t support extreme S&M, here. There are already plenty of people in that market.
“If one of our users modifies the device to make it inescapable, their warranty is voided. Which is as much as we can do.” He explained. “It does mean they take the whole brunt of any legal action if someone gets hurt. Including criminal charges. Do you have any questions?”
She switched into investigative mode for the comfort and familiarity. “You said before that the effectiveness of the restraint is tied to pleasure. If that’s true, how effective is it if someone can just get out?”
“I see,” he said. “Did you feel like you could move?”
“No, not at all.”
“Then it works. This is voluntary. You need to be doing this with me because you want to. You need to feel safe in order to submit. The device helps keep you still, which you will be ordered to do. It also supports you, so that you can relax. It’s to assist you. And me. It’s not a trap.”
“I thought you didn’t explain,” she said, teasing him just a little.
Ah, she’s back, thank God. “My goal is to always give you what you need. Which is not the same as giving you what you want. You have to trust me to know the difference.”
“Yes, Sir,” she said. She placed both arms back on the armrests, thinking it was a great deal of trouble to go through for sex when there was a couch nearby. Or that very interesting chair.
I really like this woman, Ben thought, impressed by her courage. He dismounted and returned to securing her arms and positioning the support. When he finished, her forearms were close to her sides, horizontal and just in front of her body.
The metal support extension ran along her upper arm, across her back and to the other arm. A flat, slightly curved, padded support arm dropped from the crossbeam and extended down her spine to her waist where a set of wide velcro straps were attached. Ben wrapped them securely around her, securing her to the padded arm, effectively immobilizing her upper body.
“This is the part everyone else forgets, but StagHart never does,” Ben told her as he pulled down the last extension and positioned it to the right of her head, locking it into place.
If she tilted her head slightly, she pressed into a padded surface, there was even a shallow shelf to support her chin that extended along her jaw and curved around to support her head and neck. It was amazingly comfortable.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir,” she said, sounding surprised.
“One more thing and we’ll get started,” he said. “Don’t be startled. I’m going to adjust your stance. You will not fall. Relax.”
Avia couldn’t see him, but her feet rotated so her toes pointed inward and her legs moved apart to shoulder width.
“I may change your position again during the datamine. I won’t warn you. Don’t be frightened. You’ll be safe.”
Ben retrieved the gag and his water bottle, stepped out onto the patio and poured water over the gag. He brought back the freshly-rinsed device and mounted the platform.
“Open your mouth,” he ordered.
She did and he seated the gag expertly. “You will not remove the gag. You will not speak, even with the gag in. You may make sounds. Right now, that can’t be helped. You must not fight the restraints. You are immobilized for good reason. Don’t move. You understand?”
Avia nodded, eyes wide again in the face of his impersonal tone. His serious demeanor. Her growing anticipation. Keeping his eyes on her, assessing her, he took off his suit jacket and laid it over the back of the couch. And rolled up his sleeves.
Finally, he thought. I’m going to touch her.
He retrieved an antiseptic wipe from his pocket and carefully cleaned his hands as he contemplated the woman before him. He loved this first moment of anticipation with a new Companion when they trusted him enough to put themselves under his control and he’d finished restraining them.
He always cleaned his hands in front of them before he touched them. He wanted the women to see he didn’t take their gift lightly. That touching them was important. That they were important and that he gave thought to them.
He also wanted Avia focused on his hands. Anticipating his touch. She’s perfect, he thought, noting her fascinated gaze on his fingers, struck by how it aroused him. Control, Ben, he admonished himself.
He took a position in front of her. His hands ran over her shoulders, down her sternum, swept apart and cupped her breasts, kneading them gently but deliberately, through her blouse and bra. Feeling their weight and shape. Their growing warmth.
Her pupils dilated. Her lips parted slightly, her respirations increased. The gag made her breaths louder. Easy to keep track of. His thumbs massaged the points of her hardening nipples, circling lightly with the pads of his thumbs. He squeezed them gently between his thumbs and index fingers.
She looked up and away.
Avoidance. “Watch,” he snapped. A hitch in her breathing. She resisted for a few seconds. Then obediently looked down at his hands.
This preliminary portion of a datamine was always a lesson. She had to accept that he was in control, that she dare not make a game of it. That he would not give in to her desires or, as importantly, his own.
Ben slid his palms over her breasts and up. He carefully unbuttoned her blouse. Pushing each button slowly through its opening. A performance for her. To give her time to imagine what he would do when he finished. Her breaths came a little faster.
He unbuckled her belt and pulled up on the sides of the silky white fabric, slowly freeing it from her skirt and the straps binding her. Spreading her blouse open, he exposed breasts encased in a white-on-white floral-patterned bra. Running a finger under each, he folded the fabric of the cups down and in, turning the garment into a push-up half bra upon which both breasts were now supported.
Ben paused to examine her. Lovely. Her breasts were round and full, but not overly ample. Her nipples a rose color, darkening as they tightened under his scrutiny. He took his time appreciating her, allowing her to savor her own helplessness and exposure. Modesty no longer a choice.
He used her tendency to humiliation, coupled with anticipation of his touch, to excite her, knowing sexual response came from the mind, even more than from external stimulation. Her growing arousal showed in the sexual flush diffused over her face and chest.
She squirmed as much as her restraints would allow, trying to push her breasts forward, into his hands. He knew her nipples were sending her painful itching sensations as they tightened. She wanted him to relieve her. To touch her.
He’d known she would disobey, that she wouldn’t be able to help herself, not this first time. But coming this soon into the datamine, it indicated how highly responsive she was. Better and better...
He grasped the edges of her blouse and slid them back over her breasts, eliciting a mewling from deep in her throat as he dragged the fabric across her nipples. She squirmed again, harder, her hips thrusting slightly. He left the blouse closed but unbuttoned. Her areolas showed darkly, the hardened tips peaking the soft fabric.
“You’ve already disobeyed me,” he said sternly. “I told you, ‘Don’t move. Don’t fight the restraints.’ Yet, you’re squirming and writhing. That would earn you four more discipline strokes.”
He grasped her firm, protruding nipples through her blouse. Squeezing gently as he allowed his fingertips to slip the silky fabric slowly off. Her shoulders rolled back and she moaned. “Four more discipline strokes, Avia,” he said, fingers grasping her again, firmly pulsing the hard elongated peaks.
“Please -” the word easily understood even behind the gag.
“If this were a regular session, you’d have accumulated sixteen strokes. So -”
He leaned over, so his mouth was at her ear but he was not touching her. He spoke quietly, knowing she felt his warm breath with every word. Ears, she had said, were erogenous zones. Indeed. But the softness of his voice didn’t make it less stern.
“I told you, I
will discipline you if you disobey. I don’t make idle threats. Your blouse will stay open. Loose. Hanging. If you continue to disobey me, every movement will rub your nipples against the fabric. You are your own tormentor, Avia. If you want to avoid that, submit.”
He knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Even at this earliest moment in the journey, she contended. With herself.
...fuckfuckfuckfuckfuuuuuuuuuuuuuck….
Avia felt like a fool. How could she have thought this would be easy? Not realize that this man, this man who’d made a billion dollars thinking about sex and the way it worked for years, wouldn’t be able to play her body like a master cellist?
She closed her eyes and concentrated on quieting her breathing, her deep panting pumped her chest in and out, torturing the now exquisitely sensitized tips of her breasts.
Okay, think of something else, turn off the sex. You can do this, you did it with that idiot from Georgetown who couldn’t shut up in bed. Just flip that internal switch -
“Oh, fuck!” the garbled words lost in the gag as she felt the nails of two fingers skim slowly along her labia, just inside the line of her pubic hair, from vagina to clit.
He spread her with the pads of his fingers, avoiding the sensitive organ. Pressed more firmly into her flesh, slid back between her slick swollen folds to her cunt.
“Ah - ah - ah - ah …..” she panted, the sounds involuntary, focused on his touch, on the aching entrance to her vagina, the glowing coal that was her clit, the fabric teasing across her nipples with each breath. Her hips forward, wanting more. I can’t … I can’t …. Her knees turned to jelly. The device kept her upright.
He removed his hand from between her legs and lifted the front of her skirt, folding it up and tucking it into her waistband to keep it out of his way. Then, hooking his thumbs into her panties on both sides, he slid them down, easing them over her buttocks.
