Safeword: Davenport(10)

The dress had a built in bra, so she was standing before him in a thin silky thong and strappy heels. He moved his body behind hers and wrapped his arms around her, his shirt silky smooth as it caressed her back. With her shoes on, he was only about three inches taller, and she nestled easily into his front, his hard cock pressed into her right ass cheek as his hands trailed from shoulders to wrists.

"I know we said no safewords tonight, but I need you to ignore me if I say no or it's too much, because I think I'll probably say those things even if I'm capable of taking more. I mean, pay attention to the fact you've made me babble, but I'll say stop if I want you to."

One of his hands moved from her wrist to her stomach before sliding up her right breast, his fingers surrounding the base with firm pressure. Holding. Possessing. Both nipples compressed to little rocks at the end of her small breasts.

"That converts the word stop into a safeword. If I'm to disregard a no then we need an actual safeword, and I think it should be something neither of us have used. How about davenport."

"Davenport? How'd you come up with that?” She turned to the side; saw crystal clear blue eyes looking at her, smiling.

"When the delivery guy asked where you wanted the davenport, you answered him like it was an everyday word. I'd never heard the term before, had to look it up. It's just another term for sofa—who knew?” He shook his head, relaxed his arms so she could turn and face him. “You did. We're not likely to use it in conversation, and it reminds me of how we got to know each other."

"Well, okay— davenport it is. What about a signal to slow down—maybe ottoman?” she said, remembering a discussion they'd had about her trying to fancify his new footstool.

He chuckled. “Perfect. Of course, if you happen to need one in a scene you'll be forced to call it a footstool. Let's get your shoes off."

He turned her and easily lifted, gently placing her on the large padded bondage table. As he removed each shoe he gave her a foot massage, starting at the back of her heels and methodically working his way to her toes. His fingers were exquisite as they worked the muscles, bones, and tendons—alternating between pleasure and pain. His strong hands soothed and comforted, and when he found a tender spot he pushed and held while he talked to her about breathing through the soreness until she acquiesced and the area relaxed, the tension flowing out.

When he finally stopped he put an arm under her knees and another at her back, pivoting her sideways and backwards, so she was supine on the table before she realized it.

His long fingers unbuttoned his shirt, and he walked it and her dress to hooks near the door. He'd already removed shoes and socks, so when he stepped out of his pants he was in a loose pair of silk boxers, and nothing else. Blond hair framed a well-tanned body with strong muscular legs, solid arms, and a flat stomach without a defined six-pack —— the physique of someone who's active without making it an obsession.

Dana could tell by the look on his face she was about to lose the thong, and sure enough, as soon as he reached her he began pulling it down. Lucky for her, she'd shaved everything smooth; otherwise the wax would've been a bitch when it came off. He slid the scrap of fabric over her feet before massaging her thighs—fingers approaching her pussy without touching. Damn, he was going to drive her mad.

She kept her legs flat, though she wanted to bend her knees and push her pelvis up to give him easier access. Garnet had turned her into such a slut. No. Garnet wasn't here today. This was her and Zach, and there was no space for ghosts in the room tonight.

Zach walked to the wall and dimmed the lights above her, then illuminated the areas behind her and off to the side—spotlighting his work area and her lower body without shining light in her eyes. The rest of the room faded into the dark, the effect strikingly dramatic, like something from an artistic foreign film.

The flickering of the candles added to the drama of the lighting, giving a surreal feeling, and making her wonder if perhaps she'd fallen asleep, into a dream.

His voice brought her back, forcing her to focus on his face and try to process his words. “I want to restrain you tonight. Do you trust me enough?"

She saw the wrist cuffs in his hand and her insides ignited as her brain was screaming it was a really bad idea. But, was it? She knew him, and his character, and had observed how he treated the people who worked for him —— his cook and housekeeper liked him, the contractors respected him. He'd always been fair with her, and had followed through on all of his obligations.

"Yes, I trust you. With the fire though, the candles, can you use quick releases, just in case?"