by L. DuBois
Non-verbal safe word. Right.
Trying not to look like he’d forgotten to grab something out of the stock box—though that was exactly what had happened—he turned and walked away from her. Damn it, he needed to think ahead, to plan this better so he wouldn’t have to run to get something at a critical moment. He’d never been great with details—not just in BDSM, but in life. He knew what he wanted, but he didn’t always know, remember, or figure out what elements he needed for that outcome.
Such as getting a non-verbal safe word tool for Sejal to use at the same time he grabbed the gag.
He rummaged around in the box, taking far longer than he wanted to, and finally found a small bag of clickers, the kind used to train dogs. They were probably meant for puppy play, or more aggressive formal training—but for Sejal it would make the perfect non-verbal signal.
He selected a rectangular box-style clicker, with an oval cut out on one side that showed the metal plate responsible for making the actual clicking noise.
There were others that had wrist or finger loops, but he'd chosen this one in part because it didn't have anything like that.
Sejal watched him walk back. He didn't miss the way her eyes lingered on his bare chest, and some of his inward-directed annoyance faded. He trailed two fingers down her right arm. When he reached her wrist he circled it with his fingers, raising her arm and turning her hand palm up. He placed the clicker into her hand.
"This is what we'll use for a non-verbal safe word." He helped her position the clicker in her hand, her thumb against the metal plate. "One click means yes. Do you understand?"
She clicked it once.
"Two means no. Do you understand?"
Another click.
"Double click so we both know what 'no' sounds like."
Click. Click.
"Three or more clicks are the equivalent of a safe word. I will immediately stop what I'm doing and remove the gag, or take you out of bondage if you're in a stress position. Understand?"
Click.
"If you drop the clicker, that will also be the equivalent of a safe word, and I will stop what I'm doing."
Her eyes widened and she made a muffled noise. Then they narrowed with irritation that she wasn't able to talk.
“Does that work for you?”
Click. Click. No.
"Because you might accidentally forget about it and drop it when you're close to orgasm?" he asked with a smile.
She looked at him suspiciously, then clicked once. Yes.
He leaned his thighs against the end of the exam table and skimmed his hands up her sides. He cupped her breasts. They were glorious. He wished they had some more breast-centered items on their list.
There was nothing that said he had to only do what was on the list, so a bit of breast bondage and play could be added to their scenes. That was something to look forward to.
He skimmed his lips against her temple, and down her cheek until he hit the rubbery strap of the gag. He kissed her lower lip, which was vulnerable and soft against the hard rubber of the gag. "Then I suggest," he murmured, "that you don't drop it. Because if you do, I will stop.”
"My fingers will stop." He pinched and rolled her nipples, then slid one hand down and scraped a nail over her fabric-bound clit.
“My tongue will stop.” He traced the curve of her upper lip with the tip of his tongue.
“My teeth with stop.” He leaned down and gently bit the soft skin on the side of her neck.
“My mouth will stop.” Moving fast, wanting to surprise her, he shifted his hands to her ribs and pushed her back, forcing her to lie on the reclined section of the exam table.
She squeaked and the clicker dropped from her hand, clattering to the floor.
Cort lifted both hands into the air in the “don’t shoot” position and took a single, long step back from the exam table.
Her eyes widened and she sat up. She looked at him, mumbling something into the gag. He kept his face impassive, enjoying her predicament the way only a Dom could. By rights he should have removed the gag, but he knew dropping the clicker had been an accident, and besides she wasn’t in bondage yet and could have pulled the gag out herself. More importantly, he wanted to see what she’d do.
Sejal hopped off the table, grabbed the clicker, and then jumped back on. As she did her breasts bounced enticingly. He liked that, liked watching her wiggle to get into position.
He waited until she was positioned with legs spread once more before saying, “Get down.”
She hit him with a baleful look, and then wiggled back off, breasts bouncing and swaying. His cock throbbed, the leathers, which were purposefully loose in the front, too tight. Once she was standing he reached out and tugged on the front of her panties.
“Time to take these off.”
Her gaze leapt to his face, then slide to the floor, but not as if she didn’t want to look at him, more as if she were savoring this moment, and closing her eyes to help focus her other senses.
She tugged her panties down and off with more haste than grace, which he found ridiculously sexy. He undid the tie of his pants, tugged the lacings to loosen them, and then retied the ends in a loose bow. For once he was thinking ahead, and now the leathers would be relatively easy to get out of.
Thinking about taking off his pants, about freeing his cock, made him think about the two items on the checklist he hadn’t told her about. He now knew she was not only okay with “given away” but seemed to be enjoying it, but he wasn’t sure he was willing to do those two items.
For a BDSM Dom, he realized he had a rather prudish streak.
“Back up. Legs spread.” The words came out harsher than he’d meant them to.
Sejal picked up the clicker, then resumed her position straddling the end of the exam table. This time he could see her bare pussy—just the hint of wet flesh in the shadows cast by her body.
“Lie back.” He made sure his voice didn’t have that hard edge this time. “Arms up, grab the top with the hand not holding the clicker.”
She obeyed, moving into position. Her breasts shifted as she moved, falling to her sides with their own weight. He wished he’d clamped them, so he could watch her squirm as her nipples were pulled, the chain a tightrope over her breastbone.
He trailed his fingers up the midline of her body, from just above the mound of her sex, over her lightly curved belly, sternum, all the way to the hollow of her throat, then up the graceful line of her neck. He swiped his finger through the saliva that had gathered at the corners of her mouth. As he did, he saw her swallow, trying to stop herself from drooling.
“The gag will make you drool; there’s nothing you can do about it.” He rubbed his wet finger on one of her nipples, felt the skin tighten. The other nipple got the same treatment. Once that was done, he shifted so he was at the top of the bench. Some helpful person had left adjustable canvas straps attached to the rear legs of the exam table.
He’d forgotten restraints.
Cursing himself for being a disorganized dumbass, he dashed back to the supplies box. This time he found a small velvet bag, dumped out the glass dildo inside it, and stuffed the bag full of things he might need. Not wanting to have to go back, no matter what he decided to do next, he grabbed a pair of padded suspension cuffs with safety releases. They were bulky and heavy, with short straps extending from the side, perpendicular to the cuff itself. They were overkill for what he was planning to do right now, but he was not coming back to this box again tonight.
He tucked the velvet bag under the exam table, where he wouldn't trip on it, then slid the cuffs around her wrists, buckling them in place with three small buckles on each wrist. She turned her head to look at what he was using to restrain her. As she did, spit slipped out of the corner of her mouth. She made a disgruntled noise and tried to wipe her face on her arm. He finished closing the restraints, then attached the six-inch straps to canvas leads using a simple pull clip. He adjusted the straps so there wasn't sla
ck, but also weren't tight. She had enough play to bend her elbows, which would make sure she didn't accidentally lock them in an effort to keep pressure off her shoulders, which could happened when a sub had his or her hands bound above their head for too long.
Now for her legs.
He skimmed his hand along her as he circled towards her feet. She shivered in response to the delicate touch. Her legs were spread, but because her lower legs were hanging off the edges, the angle of her hips was wrong for what he wanted to do next. Cort crouched to look at the end of the exam table, took a minute to figure it out, and then pulled out the stirrups, which could be hidden inside the base of the table to keep them out of the way. She made another noise.
He looked up. "Don't forget your clicker."
She hesitated and then clicked once.
He fished around for the bag, found the Velcro straps he'd put in there, and pulled them out. Then he grabbed her right leg.
She planted her bare foot on his chest and pushed. He hadn't expected that, so he fell back a step. He stilled, examining her face for signs of distress, then checked to make sure she still held the clicker and hadn't dropped it without him hearing. It was in her hand.
Testing, he grabbed her leg again. She tried to push him away, but this time he was ready, and leaned forward, countering her kick with his body weight. Her heel dug into his abs, but he didn't move.
“This is the last time I’ll remind you about your safe word. Or safe clicker in this case.” He held perfectly still, meeting her gaze. “Are you in distress?”
Click. Click.
No, she wasn’t in distress. That meant she wanted to fight him. Wanted a bit of rough play, to be “forced” to obey.
Cort grinned. He was more than happy to oblige now that consent had been firmly established.
He tucked the Velcro straps into his waistband, then grabbed her leg with both hands and forced her heel into the stirrup.
Her other leg came up and she slapped her foot against his chest, shoving hard enough that her body slid up the table.
Cort grabbed that leg, tucked her ankle under his arm so he could still use both hands, and strapped the first leg down. She wasn’t fighting him with the desperation of fight-or-flight. If she’d wanted to, she probably could have kicked up high enough to break his nose. She wiggled and made muffled noises. He almost lost hold of her un-strapped leg when her bouncing breasts distracted him.
He’d assumed she was fighting because she wanted him to put her in place. Wanted him to strap her down. Liked the feeling of physical domination, the most base and brutal expression of D/s play. But maybe she was fighting because she didn’t like medical play—that would make sense because she’d only started fighting after he’d pulled out the stirrups.
In the end, it didn’t matter, because he was her Master and he wanted her strapped down, spread, naked, and helpless.
He liked the way she bucked, breasts bouncing as she tried and failed to prevent him from putting her other leg into position. She struggled harder as he clamped a hand over her ankle, holding it against the stirrup. He exerted pressure, leaning his body weight onto that hand as he fished the second strap from his waistband. Then he adjusted his position, turning his back to her, clamping her knee between his elbow and ribs. That freed up both hands to quickly wrap the strap around her ankle, then slap the Velcro into place. There was a brief ripping sound as she tried to get free, but then the hook and eye closures caught and held. Cort smiled in satisfaction as he turned and looked at her, bound and spread. She was glaring at him and breathing heavily from her exertions. She squeezed her knees together. Her ankles were too far apart for her to close them all the way, but still, he couldn't, wouldn't allow that. He wondered if that was her way of asking for more bondage. He wished he knew more about her, wished they'd had more time to talk. Or that she could respond verbally.
She had the gag in because he wanted it there, and he could take it out just as easily, but he realized having the gag out would be exactly that—easy. He was starting to understand what the overseers had wanted when they started the checklist game. Without the requirements of the game, he would never have had this woman submit to him, would never have had her gagged and bound the way she was now.
He grabbed the velvet bag, pulled out two more Velcro straps, forced her knees open and then bound her calves to the arms of the stirrups. He could have forced a spreader bar between her knees, but there was something else he intended to have between her legs. Himself.
7
Sejal wiggled on the exam table. Whatever it was covered with, it wasn't the industrial vinyl of a real exam table, as her sweaty skin would have stuck to that. She was able to wiggle around without feeling like she was glued down, which was nice. Not that she could go far. With her legs spread and strapped to the stirrups and arms above her head, all she could really do was scoot back an inch so her lower back was resting on the reclined part of the table, and not strained. She flexed her teeth around the gag, hoping she wasn’t drooling, but knowing she probably was. He’d been right about that.
Master Dowell checked the Velcro bands at her ankles and calves, adjusting one so it was more secure. The ripping sound when he unfastened it was loud in the quiet room, and seemed to echo off the dungeon-like walls.
She should be afraid. He was a stranger, and she was helpless. Her lifeline was a little plastic box and flimsy bit of metal, and all it did was make a noise. It would be easy, ridiculously easy, for him to ignore her if she did use it as a safe word.
The logical part of her insisted that was always the case—that the clicker was no less "flimsy" than a verbal safe-word. Yet it felt different—darker and more dangerous. Maybe it was because it had been so long since she'd been the sub. Maybe it was because he was a stranger. Whatever it was, she was breathing a bit harder than normal, she was more aware of her own nakedness and the way she was exposed. When she'd "fought" him, pushing at him with her foot he hadn't backed off and frowned the way Hach would have. He'd grinned and then proved that he was more than capable of controlling her physically. He hadn't even been breathing hard while she'd been panting and thrashing.
She wanted to do it again. She wanted to feel him overpower her physically. Wanted him to force her down over a bed, table, chair, and then fuck her roughly.
Lost in that fantasy, she missed that he'd stooped to pick up something from his little bag of tricks. He pulled out a metal rod that was too thin to be a dildo. One end had a slight bend just before the round ball at the tip.
He laid the item on her stomach. It was cold and she shivered. It rolled down her body, stopping when it caught on her raised thighs. She peered at it, but despite being a well-versed BDSM player, she didn't recognize it.
Master Dowell rolled a stool over. She winced internally—they must have bought both the exam table and the stool from a medical supply company, because it was the kind of stool she rolled around exam rooms during consults. He positioned it between her legs, and then plopped down. He grinned at her, his too-handsome face marked by anticipation and desire. He leaned down and blew over her pussy.
Sejal's eyes fluttered closed.
“I have some lube, but I don’t think I’ll need it.”
Another stream of air touched her pussy. It was enough to make her aware of her own nakedness, and of how wet she was. It wasn’t enough to stimulate.
Picking up the metal wand-like item, he held it up then cocked a brow at her. The way he was holding it clued her in to what it was. A g-spot stimulator.
Once again she got a flash of discomfort as the scene veered towards medical play. Legs spread, heels in stirrups, a man on a rolling stool between her legs, silver implement in hand—if she concentrated on those aspects of their play enough she would mentally pull away. Sejal closed her eyes for a moment, focusing on the physical instead. The heavy suspension cuffs weighed down her wrists. Saliva slipped from the corner of her mouth along her cheek to the corner of her jaw. Her nipple
s were hard points, still a little damp. She flexed her legs, listened to the small sounds the Velcro made as she pushed against it. That felt good so she did it again, this time straining in truth, her thigh muscles tight as she tried to pull her knees up to her chest. At the same time she drew her hands down until there was no slack in the restraints on her wrists. She flexed, but the bindings didn't move.
Master Dowell laid his hand between her breasts, and then slid it up, fingers encircling her throat. He did it exactly right, the V between his thumb and index finger centered over her larynx so he wasn't applying pressure to her windpipe at the same time that he pressed down gently on the sides of her neck.
"Submit," he demanded. "You are mine."
On the last word he squeezed a little tighter. She felt her pulse against his hands, felt the sweet beginnings of light-headedness.
His. Yes. She wanted to be his. Or maybe she just didn't want to be Hach's anymore.
His hand at her throat made it easy to ignore that thought, along with her dislike of medical play, and to sink into her bondage. Into her submission. She'd gone from pulling away to relaxed and accepting in less than a minute. It was dizzying and exciting the way she responded to him.
"Good. Well done. You're beautiful when you submit." He bent and pressed his lips to each nipple, the position bringing his bare stomach close to her spread, aching pussy—close enough she could feel the heat of his body, but not close enough to touch her. He flicked her left nipple with his tongue before resuming his seat. She felt the loss of his body heat keenly.
All business, he spread her pussy with one hand, his fingers making a V and holding her labia open. The round tip of the wand ran along the valley of her sex, bumping over her clit. The cold metal felt good against her hot skin, the temperature stimulating her as much as the light touch. The wand made a second pass, and this time he pressed hard, making her feel it, her clit smashed between the metal and her pelvic bone. She jumped, the touch a mix of pleasure and discomfort that wasn't enough to be true pain. He repeated the soft caress, the contrast between rough and gentle thrilling in some dark way. He was willing, able, to treat her both ways. This time when the tip of the wand slipped between her inner lips he didn't stop—he slid it into her in one firm, smooth movement.
