Safeword: Davenport(20)

She gave half a dozen long strokes, in and out, neither fast or slow, stopping at the entrance to her throat. Taking a deep breath through her nose, she paused as she neared the back of her mouth and relaxed to allow him in, pushing past the bone into the soft area and swallowing his length. She moved up and down on him until her body screamed for oxygen, keeping him in her throat, before pulling off to inhale and doing it again. And again, until his hand was at the back of her head, holding her, and he growled as his cock jerked in her throat.

By the time he finished, her lungs were burning and she sucked air in as he pulled out.

"Kneel and catch your breath while I clean up, pet. You did well."

She heard a few minutes of water running and dishes clanking, and his hand was back on her arm, helping her stand. Her legs were a little shaky at first, but he gave her time to stretch them out and find her balance before adjusting his grip and walking her quickly through the house.

Dana was no stranger to walking while blindfolded, having to trust she wouldn't be led into anything, but it'd been years and she didn't feel as if she were handling it gracefully.

Finally, she was turned and told to sit. She lowered herself and recognized the toilet under her.

He waited until he was sure she was stable to relax his hold on her arm. She heard the toilet tissue roll turn, the sound of the paper tearing, and felt him place what he'd torn off in her hand. “I'll be down the hall in another restroom. Call out if you need me, I won't be far. When I return, I'll wait to enter until I hear you say Sir. Don't get up until I come for you."

She nodded and heard him walk away.

She'd lost track of where in the house they were, probably by design, so when he walked her into the heat of the day it caught her off guard. She knew the area behind the living room was enclosed with a high wall encompassing the pool, a native plants garden, and a large section of lawn—no one would see her, but she still felt so much more naked outside.

He methodically rubbed what she assumed was sunscreen into her skin, starting with her neck and working down. Her breasts and nipples were treated no different from the rest of her body—his hands were matter of fact, no more emotion in them than someone waxing a car, and making her need until she had to concentrate to keep from moaning. It also put her further into pet headspace—bound, blindfolded, and taken care of—protected without choice.

When he reached her knees he gently helped her into a chair and smoothed the lotion over shins, calves, and the tops of her feet. It tickled a little, but he held her firmly and applied it anyway.

His fingers returned to her nipples—tweaking, rolling—and then pain. A clamp, she guessed, on the left, and seconds later on the right, before she had a chance to deal with the agony of the first. She yelped, tried to wrench her hands forward, fought the restraints. Her breasts were pulled up by her nipples, the clamps biting into the sensitive skin, and she realized a chain connected them. She went on her tiptoes, but he only drew them higher. She squealed in anguish as he pulled out and up, setting both nipples on fire as they were pinched, compressed, twisted, and stretched.

The tension was gone in an instant, his hand on her arm making sure she didn't fall. She gave a short scream as the chain dragged her nipples down, the metal heavier than she'd expected.

"I've attached a leash, pet. We're going for a walk. Close your eyes and don't open them until you're told."

He lifted the blindfold, and the sharp light piercing through her eyelids caused a different kind of pain. She squeezed them shut and felt a touch to the sides of her temples as he slid a pair of glasses onto her head. The awful brightness immediately dimmed, and she relaxed her face.

"Your back's to the sun, but it's a bright day. Open them slowly."

She did so, grateful he'd thought of sunglasses. When she could finally look around, she saw him waiting ever so patiently, his blond hair glowing in the sunlight.

He must've walked her on the leash for an hour, requiring she stay exactly beside him or endure the sharp torment of the clamps pulling her nipples. Her mind couldn't wander, she had to keep ultra-focused on him, anticipating his turns, speeding and slowing the instant he did.

Every so often he took the cruel clamps off, massaged the blood back, and replaced them at a different angle—horizontal one time, vertical the next. Taking them off ached more than putting them on, reapplying them hurt worse as the day progressed, and being yanked into place by her nipples when she missed a step was torture.

She'd been trained to heel before, but when Garnet originally taught her, she had no idea of the reason for such immersive conditioning—the level of submission required, the mindset necessary for one to be so in tune to another. This knowledge didn't make it any easier now, or the work less frustrating; and may have made it harder, as she had to stop analyzing before she could get into the right frame of mind.