Safeword: Davenport(11)

He smiled. “One step ahead of you—leash hooks for connectors and I've got a fire extinguisher under the cart."

"Sorry, I shouldn't have doubted you,” she said, embarrassed to have challenged his judgment.

"No, it's fine.” He ran a hand gently across her forehead, soothing her. “Keep double-checking me until you don't need to anymore. I want you to feel safe. No offense taken, and I like knowing you'll speak up about concerns and not just agree to anything."

As the first cuff was buckled onto her wrist, she felt her heart speed up, her breath grow deeper, and her body relax. She hadn't realized how much she missed the safety of restraint; choice taken away, held in place, forced to accept pleasure or pain at another's whim.

Zach checked the fit and reached for a long leather strap, draping it across her chest, just above her breasts. “Sit up for me, your arms at the back of your head, please."

He wrapped it around her torso, laid her down, and connected the ends of the straps to the table. More tie-offs were run between the strap and various points on the table, and all were pulled tight. Testing it, she tried to sit, discovered she couldn't. The width kept it from feeling restrictive, but even minor lateral movement was impossible.

Her wrist cuffs were attached near her waist, with a few inches of give—not enough so she could use her hands, but sufficient to keep them from cramping or falling asleep. She appreciated comfortable bondage, and relaxed at his thoughtfulness.

Next came thigh bands and ankle cuffs. Her knees were directed out and down until they were flat on the table, with the bottoms of her feet touching each other—her legs making a diamond shape.

He quickly used rope to secure her thighs and ankles to multiple anchor points on the table, and when he finished her lower body was held as motionless as her chest. The only movement she had was the three or four inches she could move her hands, and the ability to lift her head.

Her predicament flooded her awareness—naked, expertly bound, waiting for hot wax to be poured on her wide-open delicate bits—and a switch flipped inside of her as her submissive headspace took over. She relaxed into the comfortable feeling, sank into it.

Her eyes flew open as the control she'd lived with for two years slid out of reach and she pulled at her wrists as slivers of panic pushed into her heart —— the intensity of her feelings suddenly overwhelming, and she yanked her arms, uselessly tried to jerk her feet, strained her abdominal muscles in futility, trying to sit up.

A touch on her shoulder startled her into stillness as the heat of his hand anchored and calmed her. Zach kept the contact firm, a stable anchor, and she let her gaze travel up to his pale blue eyes, radiating warmth and kindness, reassuring her she was safe.

He stroked slowly down her arm, soothing her even as she recognized his actions as those of a trainer calming a spooked horse. The warmth of his palm returned to her shoulder, and her upper back relaxed. His other hand moved to the center of her breastbone and caressed its way to her belly button before lifting, and her ab muscles softened. Her eyelids drifted closed as she took a deep breath, letting the tension flow out with the air in her lungs.

She was in control again, but missed the comfortable feeling of submission. Dana wished he'd get started, as she desperately wanted out of her own head.

"I'm thinking too much,” she said, looking up at his face.

He maintained eye contact but didn't say anything as he soothed her with slow, smooth strokes. She wanted to tell him to get on with it, but the part of her that'd been punished for making demands couldn't say it. She tried another angle.

"Please help me stop thinking and analyzing."

"Trying to tell me you're ready for the wax?"

She shook her head. “That'd be topping from the bottom, I'm just asking for help."

"But you aren't on the bottom. No power exchange, remember? Tell me what you want."

Taking a deep breath, she let herself get lost in his pale sapphire-blue eyes and spoke slowly, enunciating each word. “I want your finger to keep going past my bellybutton. I ache for the heat of the wax and the pain it can bring. I need sensation—my skin craves it. I'd like you to please take me out of my head, make me feel instead of think.” She closed her eyes and spoke faster. “It was foolish to believe I could be bound, and put into the right headspace for this, without feeling submissive, but I can't talk about it or even consider it at the moment. We'll have to address it later, but please not now."

His finger ran down her center again, starting at her chin, skating over her throat, moving between her breasts, down her stomach with a detour as he made a circle around her bellybutton before heading south. Her insides pulsed as it trailed over her pubic bone and finally sank into her folds, making a line beside her clit and circling back up the other side.