Safeword: Davenport(57)

Narrow thigh cuffs were secured a few inches above her knees, marking the lowest spot she'd be hit tonight. They were snug but not tight, their only purpose to hold the short spreader bar forcing her knees apart. A longer spreader bar was connected to ankle cuffs, which were also tied off to the poles.

A wide belt was fastened around her waist, and it, too, had attachment points going off to the sides, keeping her from twisting sideways to avoid the lash.

There were smaller statues spread around the play area, and as Dana looked around now she saw mostly women on them, with the majority of the statuary out in the open, not in a cell. A woman thirty feet in front of her was mounted by her pussy, facing the statue, arms and legs wrapped around the metal as a man vigorously fucked her ass from behind.

Her focus shifted from the woman to the hood in Max's hands and she shook her head, not able to get the words out for the adrenaline spiking through her veins.

"Hear me out; if you don't want it we'll do something else.” His hands splayed it open. “It's not a traditional full face hood, there's one large hole for the nose and mouth, see? It fastens under your chin, and will fit snug across the back of your head."

He rotated it. “I can use these four attachment points to secure it to the poles, to keep you looking forward. There are holes for your eyes and ears—this isn't about sensory dep; I need to ensure your head stays away from the floggers. I've got a posture collar we can use instead, but I'm told this is more comfortable."

"Can you put it on me and let me decide? I know what a posture collar feels like; let me see how this compares."

He nodded and worked it onto her head, careful to keep her hair smoothed back. It didn't close her off from the room, and made her feel secure in its bondage without being claustrophobic.

Max looked at her, a question in his gaze and she let him know it was okay. He finished tying it off to the poles, and she couldn't turn her head from side to side, but Jacob was at about two o'clock to her and she could see him by shifting her eyes. He was still straining to hold himself up by his arms, struggling to keep his weight off the phallus. Dana wondered if Zach would want to mount her on a statue, let her be his own dramatic art piece.

The first strike of the flogger landed on her right shoulder blade as the thought went through her mind, chasing it away.

Max quickly fell into a comfortable rhythm using a moderate flogger with restrained strength to warm her up. He gauged her comfort level well, gradually upping the intensity, staying just ahead of her endorphins and thoroughly thrashed shoulders, back, ass, and thighs before moving to her front and flogging breasts, stomach, pussy, and thighs. When her front was on fire he switched to her back, changing floggers as he stepped around her. The world went hazy and her body began trying to move into the strikes instead of away. She wanted more, forgot she could ask.

The rhythm stopped and he circled to her front again—her breasts hot and swollen, as if they'd grown twice their size, but she couldn't wait for the first strike to fall. She was lost without the relentless pounding of the flogger, a ship on the sea with no wind.

The music changed to nineties techno, an insistent beat coming through the drumless instrumental, and her world erupted in wind and sensation. The hits came to the beat of the music—a strike to her left shoulder blade and left breast at the same time, quickly followed on the other side. Right-Left-Right-Left. A continuous loop. Her body tried to react, even though her mind welcomed it, but she was restrained in so many places she couldn't move away from, or towards, the constant sensation of impact. She tried to keep up with it but with four floggers moving so rapidly all she could do was let go and feel.

She felt her consciousness grow bigger than her body, at one with The Universe; and sensed the delineation between soul and body, could see them as two separate units.

Her body was being flogged, not her soul.

The wind stopped and she opened her eyes and howled as her spirit merged back into her body, the sounds and smells of the club assaulting her.

Max was in front of her, his face inches away. He moved in, his lips on hers, giving her another anchor. Not the leather of the floggers, not the wind, but his presence, his warmth. He pulled back and she opened her eyes again, still in her comfortable fog, but more aware of her surroundings. Brent was walking towards the cage, and Jacob had finally stopped holding himself up. His elbows were slack, head resting back against the statue, eyes closed. Dana thought he must be in that beautiful millimeter of space sandwiched between heavenly bliss and excruciating torment, where you could simultaneously experience both.

She heard the snap of a single tail, didn't feel the pain. He hadn't hit her. She tried to relax, realized she hadn't tensed.