Safeword: Davenport(19)

Zach had been working at the counter when she entered, but turned to watch her walk to him. Their eyes met and she calmed inside, his expression conveying he was happy to see her, and his confidence assuring her he'd know what to do.

He wiped his hands on a towel and took the cuffs from her. “Very good, pet."

They'd discussed at length the night before what they'd call each other, and had agreed on pet and Sir for now. Hearing him use the term was disconcerting, but it succeeded in helping her slide the first inch towards the right headspace.

She'd be a human pet today. Not an animal, submissive, or slave: A pet, who'd be catered to, taken care of, put away when not in use. Pets live at the whim of their masters; even human ones. Especially human pets.

She'd been Garnet's submissive, but she'd be Zach's pet. It wasn't a competition. Kirsten was right; one didn't take away from the other.

Her rules stated she wasn't to speak unless specifically ordered, and he'd explained he wanted to deny her speech from the start to help her get into the right headspace. He was right, enforced silence had a way of objectifying—a constant reminder she didn't have a voice in things, literally.

Deft fingers fastened the ultra-soft leather cuffs, checking the fit as he worked, the baby suede conforming to her wrists comfortably. He raised a hand to her shoulder, a gentle but firm grip, turning her towards the table and connecting her wrists behind her. She felt safe, taken care of... but not as if she was his, and she worried she may not be able to give him her submission without pain as a trigger.

Lightly gripping her upper arm, he walked her to the kitchen table, urging her down onto a cushion. She was grateful he steadied her—she wasn't used to kneeling anymore and it felt awkward, especially with her hands restrained. She kept her eyes on the floor, using her peripheral vision to watch him make two trips to the counter before claiming the seat beside her. She could feel the weight of his gaze, but didn't look up.

"Sit pretty for me, arch your back so your nipples point up."

She settled into the position—her weight on her feet, and arching her spine—working to find a balance she could hold.

"You're beautiful, kneeling at my feet. I won't require your legs be spread wide at all times when you're my pet, but I do expect that your knees won't touch, nor will you cross your legs. I don't mind crossed ankles, just make sure access to your pussy isn't blocked. Look up please; I'd like your attention on me, not the floor."

She did as requested, watching him dip the spoon and take a bite, return it to the bowl and lower it to her mouth. Oatmeal. She opened, pleasantly surprised at the sweet vanilla and cinnamon taste.

As breakfast continued she fell into a comfortable rhythm; opening when he held food to her lips, accepting it, chewing, and swallowing. There were also scrambled eggs, and toast with cinnamon apple butter. Occasionally he lowered a cup with a straw.

Every bite her mouth accepted made her exposed pussy feel emptier. She had no choice in what came next; her job was to open and accept, to take the food into her body. It had been so long since she'd relinquished the right to decide basic things; it was almost like submitting for the first time all over again. The intensity of a simple meal taken on her knees at his feet caught her off guard.

His hand lowered with what she thought was a black napkin until she recognized the shape. She'd agreed to a blindfold, but hadn't imagined it would happen so soon, and eating was a different experience now—the warmth of the spoon on her bottom lip her cue to open.

As her senses awakened she smelled the food as he lowered it to her face, her mouth opening before feeling the touch of the spoon. There was the earthy scent of scrambled eggs, the yeasty aroma of apple cinnamon bread, and the vanilla cinnamon spice of oatmeal. The water sloshing in the cup as he lowered it.

She was beginning to think she'd had enough to eat when she heard him scooting his chair. She sensed him moving closer before his hand was on the back of her head, coaxing her forward. Something touched her lip again, warm but softer. She opened out of instinct, closed around the firm heat of him, and used her tongue to give him more sensation as she sucked him farther into her mouth.

"That's it. Let's see what you can do. I won't fuck your face right after you've eaten—making pets puke isn't my kink today. Pleasure me first, don't try to make me come yet."

Her jaw stretched around him, lips covering her teeth, and she swished her tongue around and under the velvet surface in slow strokes, breathing in his scent as her tongue followed the ridges and veins. He didn't touch her, let her go at her own pace, and she reveled in his noises, her power to please him. When she finally felt his hips move she worked to form a seal and pulled back, almost all the way, her cheeks sucking in as she did, and her tongue swirling around the ridge. He groaned. “Okay pet. I'm ready for you to make me come. Do your best."