Savaged

by Shay Savage

  “Did I tell you to stop looking at me?”

  She quickly corrects herself, but her eyes are wider now.

  “No, sir,” she responds quietly. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “You will be punished for that,” I inform her. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I look into her eyes as she stares back at me. She doesn’t like it, I can tell. She’s fighting with the need to look down, but I draw out the moment, increasing her discomfort until her mouth tightens, and I know she’s had enough.

  “You were provided with a copy of my limits?” I ask, though I know she has been.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “They are acceptable to you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get out of that chair,” I say quickly, my tone changing—commanding and forceful now, not unkind, just urgent. She complies immediately. “Turn around and walk to the coffee table.”

  She walks quickly across the room and stands still when she reaches the table.

  “Place your palms flat against the surface, but remain standing.”

  She leans over immediately, her hands flat against the wood and her ass in the air, facing me.

  “Spread your legs,” I command, and she obeys. “Pull your skirt up to your waist so I can get a better look at that ass.”

  It’s awkward in her position, but she manages. Her panties are black lace and sheer. They curve around her ass and leave me with a nearly uncontrollable desire to run my nose right up to the apex and inhale her scent.

  I move around her slowly, taking her in from all angles. I like the way her hair falls around her face and touches the table. I stand in front of her and admire the curve of her back.

  “Raise that ass up higher.”

  Lowering her shoulders in the process, she tilts her hips and angles her ass up higher in the air. Her positioning is nothing short of exquisite.

  “Tilt your head toward me, but keep your eyes down.”

  She complies, and I reach out as if to stroke the curve of her throat, but I don’t quite touch her. I know she can feel the heat of my hand near her skin, but she doesn’t try to shift to feel my touch. She continues to stay motionless.

  “Good girl,” I mumble. “How far can you take a cock in your mouth?”

  I watch as she wets her lips with her tongue.

  “Most of the way usually, sir,” she says. “I do gag sometimes.”

  “Do you like cock in your mouth? Do you like gagging on it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you want to suck my cock? Right here, right now?”

  She swallows and licks her lips again.

  “Yes, sir. Please.”

  “No.” Her eyes tense slightly as I deny her, and I smile a little.

  I don’t punish, indeed.

  I walk around to her side, trailing my hand around her shoulder and down her side just above her clothing. I make no contact but notice her slight shift of weight in her arms. They’re starting to shake a little from holding herself in the same position, and I keep a close eye on them to make sure she doesn’t stay there too long. Standing between her knees, I reach between her legs just enough to feel her heat without making contact.

  “Your pussy is soaking wet, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you thinking of what it would feel like to have my cock slam into you?”

  “Yes, sir.” She can barely get out the simple words. Her thigh muscles clench, and I fight with my desire to run my hands over her skin.

  The desire is there, and it’s all too strong. She’s perfect in demeanor and posture. She holds herself so still, and I want more time with her to see just how much she can take before she can’t control her movements any longer. I want to push those limits and show her just how strong she can be. I also want to get my cock in her mouth to test that gag reflex.

  I can’t though—not now, not yet. There’s a lesson to be learned here, both for her and me.

  “I told you before that you would be punished for looking away from me before I commanded it,” I remind her.

  “Yes, sir.” I see the muscles in her shoulders tense.

  “I’m going to punish you now,” I inform her. “I’m going to punish you by not touching you. That burning pussy of yours isn’t to be relieved until I tell you it can be. Do you understand me, Yvette?”

  “Yes, sir,” she nods.

  “Get up and straighten your skirt.”

  She does as she is told, then turns to me with a bowed head.

  “My last serious relationship ended because my sub did not safeword when she should have,” I say. “Has there ever been a time when you wanted to safeword but did not?”

  She closes her eyes for a moment.

  “Yes, sir.”

  I reach out, fingers under her chin, and I tilt her head up to look at me. Her eyes are wide and bright with desire. I can feel my control over her—over her body’s reactions—and my erection is becoming painful in my dress slacks. I want her. I know I want her already, back at my house, in my playroom, on my bed, on her knees in my kitchen. I want to watch her serve me in every possible way.

  “I cannot have a sub who doesn’t safeword,” I tell her. “I simply cannot tolerate that.”

  She tries to bow her head a little lower, but I hold her chin firmly. There are tears forming at the corners of her eyes, and I want to wipe them away and kiss her gently, but I don’t. It’s too soon. I rely on verbal reassurance instead.

  “I’m still interested, Yvette.”

  Her shoulders drop as her posture relaxes slightly.

  “Would you like to sub for me this weekend?” I ask. “As a trial only. Answer honestly.”

  She licks her lips and blinks twice.

  “Yes, sir,” she says shyly. “I would like that.”

  “Let’s finish going over the contract,” I suggest.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Drop the formalities for now, Yvette. I need to know you are speaking your mind for this.”

  “Of course, Mr. Bauerman.”

  We sit back at my desk and look through both of our lists, but there isn’t much to talk about. As Holly pointed out, we did seem suited for one another. I still feel a little nervous but don’t show it. Everything is happening so quickly.

  “Are you sure you want to start this weekend?” I ask as we prepare to sign. “If you need more time to think about it, that would be fine.”

  “Mr. Bauerman, may I…make an addendum?”

  “An addendum to the contract itself or your limits?”

  “The nature of our relationship.”

  “What do you wish to amend?”

  She paused, and I heard her breath hitch slightly.

  “I want to be collared,” she says, “even the first time.”

  I’m a little taken aback. I’ve never been one for collars unless they’re being used in a particular scene. For the sake of a weekend sub, it always felt like a forced formality I didn’t need. It is my job as a Dom to set the tone, and I don’t need a collar to do that.

  “You want to be collared as soon as you arrive?” I confirm. “Before the trial begins?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That is an unusual request.” I have to stop myself from denying her immediately. She slipped back into her formal method of speech, so I know she’s asking for my approval, my blessing. The fact that she’s suggested it as part of the contract shows me how much it means to her, and I don’t want to jeopardize the whole arrangement for the sake of a piece of jewelry. “Why is it important to you?”

  “I want to be yours.”

  “If you sign, you will be,” I remind her. “Have your other Doms collared you right away?”

  “No, sir,” she said. “I’ve worn collars as part of play, but I’ve never been collared in the sense I mean.”

  I reflect on her words for a moment.

  “Clarify,” I demand. “What does being collared mean to you?�
�

  “It means…it means I would be yours...yours completely.”

  “If you agree to sub for me, you are already mine,” I tell her. “How do you think a collar changes that?”

  I give her a moment to form her thoughts.

  “It’s a deeper connection,” she starts. “It’s a symbol of giving you complete and total control over everything in my life, all the time.”

  All the time?

  “Yvette,” I say softly as I take a step back and release her chin from my grip. “Speak your mind completely and honestly. Are you suggesting a twenty-four-seven arrangement?”

  “I’d like to try,” she confirms.

  It isn’t something I’ve ever done or even thought about. Having a sub all the time? Day in and day out? She would have to live with me in my apartment. She’d be there every day when I woke up and when I went to bed. Was I prepared to fill the role of Master at all times? Where is the line between sub and slave at that point?

  Maybe there isn’t one.

  “It’s not something I’ve considered.” I lean back against my desk without quite sitting on it and cross my arms over my chest. “Yvette, we haven’t even had a trial run. Don’t you think you’re jumping the gun here a bit?”

  “Maybe,” she says. Her posture shifts as her demeanor becomes more casual again. She glances away before meeting my eyes. “I already feel a connection with you. And I’m…I’m…”

  “You’re what?” I press when she doesn’t continue.

  “I’m so tired,” she finally says. “Since everything that happened, I feel like every choice I’ve made on my own has been wrong.”

  “Aren’t you making a choice here?”

  “Yes,” she says.

  I don’t bother to tell her that she could be making the wrong decision; she already knows. I can see it in her eyes. She’s frightened but not of me. She’s frightened of herself.

  “I’ll consider it,” I say, capitulating. “I won’t put it in the contract because I do not believe that would be in your best interest, but I will consider it.”

  She nods, but her eyes tighten at the corners. Reaching over my desk, I touch her under her chin, and she looks up at me.

  “I take it as a good sign you made such a request,” I tell her. “Can I also assume this means when you have the need to safeword, I can count on you to do so?”

  “Yes, sir,” she replies earnestly.

  “Would you like to enter into a contract as my submissive, Yvette?”

  “Yes, sir,” she replies, and I see the corners of her mouth turn up slightly. “Please.”

  We both sign and then stand. The initial meeting is over, and I find myself both grateful and distressed that she is leaving. I collect her coat myself and hold it out so she can slip her arms through the sleeves and then walk her down to the lobby to hail her a taxi.

  As a taxi halts in front of us, I turn to her. She glances up at me shyly.

  “Kiss me,” I say. It’s a spur of the moment request, and I almost regret it.

  Yvette licks her lips as she looks up at me through her lashes. She rises up on her toes and wraps her arms around my neck as she reaches for me. I place my hands on her hips, but don’t pull her against me. Her lips are warm despite the weather, and though I kiss her back, I don’t attempt to deepen the interaction. Even closed-mouthed and soft, I can feel my body reacting to her touch.

  I pull back, and she drops her arms from my neck. For a moment we look at each other, and I can sense how hard she’s fighting to control her breathing. It makes me smile.

  “If this weekend works out, I’ll want much more from you,” I inform her.

  “Yes, sir.”

  I lean in close to her ear but don’t quite touch. It’s just enough for her to feel the warmth of my breath on her skin.

  “I will consider your request.” I watch her as she tries to hide her quickening breath. “But this will still be just for the weekend. On Sunday, we part ways and reflect.”

  She stills for a moment and then nods.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll see you Saturday.”

  I watch the taxi pull away and end up standing on the sidewalk for some time, deep in thought and still tasting her on my lips.

  Cleansing Bonds: Chapter 3

  Time crawls.

  By the time Saturday arrives, I’ve spent more time in my playroom in the past few days than I have over the past six months. I’ve cleaned everything a half-dozen times, moved everything around, and locked the cabinets containing the canes, whips, and floggers.

  I don’t know why I don’t just get rid of them. Every time I look at them, it makes my stomach drop. At the same time, I can’t seem to bear the idea of abandoning my collection. It still feels like it’s a part of me.

  They are a reminder. Don’t make the same mistake again.

  I run my hand over the smooth, black leather of the whipping bench, wishing I had another name for it. For some reason, calling it a bondage bench just doesn’t sound right.

  “Blowjob bench.” I chuckle to myself. The sound of my voice echoes around the empty room. I run my knuckles across my lips as I stare down at it, picturing Yvette tied down on her back, her head leaning backward over the edge.

  I reach out as if to stroke her hair before wrapping it around my wrist. My balls tighten as I imagine my cock sliding between her lips, and I quickly unbutton my jeans and grab hold of my dick.

  Dragging my tongue over my lips, I close my eyes and stroke myself slowly. My breathing and heart rates increase as my mind pulls me deeper into the fantasy. I can hear her soft grunts as she takes me in her mouth. I stroke faster, thinking of her lips around my shaft and the slight creaking sound the bench makes when it moves in time with my thrusts.

  It doesn’t take long. I’m not trying to control it; I just want the release. With a grunt, my knees buckle slightly, and I grip the edge of the bench as I spill on the side of it. I take several slow breaths to bring my heart back to its normal rhythm and then collect the cleaning equipment and wash the bench down.

  I check my watch. She’s due in an hour.

  In the kitchen, I open the refrigerator and pull out a collection of fruit and berries. I want to move slowly with her, and feeding me is as good an exercise as any to start building her trust. I prepare the food and place it in a bowl back in the fridge.

  I have a bedroom prepared for her as well. I’ve replaced everything in it, eliminating any reminders of past subs. I want to be able to focus on Yvette and Yvette alone. The furniture is simple like the rest of the décor. Geometric art hangs centered on three of the walls. On the bed is a set of black lingerie—lacy bra and matching panties along with a short, sheer robe that opens in the front.

  Though I’ve planned the weekend’s activities, I’m leaving a lot of room for spontaneity. Reading about someone on paper is very different from seeing how they respond in person, even with the brief meeting in my office. Impromptu action will undoubtedly be needed at some point, and I have to prepare for that even if it is an oxymoron.

  My door chime rings at exactly ten in the morning. I check my reflection in the hallway mirror as I head to the door. Dark button down, comfortable jeans. I need a haircut, but it’s not too unruly yet. I take a breath to center myself before opening the door.

  “Hello, Yvette,” I say as I take her hand and lightly kiss the back of her knuckles. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “Hello, sir,” she says quietly. She smiles slightly as she looks at her hand. “It’s good to see you, too.”

  I show her where she can hang her coat, and I’m pleased that she’s dressed in a similar fashion as she had been at my office. She’s not wearing some skimpy hooker outfit like the last sub showed up wearing.

  “Do you have any questions before we begin?” I ask.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Come and sit,” I instruct. I take her hand and lead her to one of the stools at the breakfast bar. She sits facing me a
nd crosses her legs and folds her hands on the bar top. “What do you want to ask?”

  “We didn’t discuss how I should address you, sir,” Yvette points out, “or how I should approach you when I first arrive. I’m sorry I didn’t think to ask before I left on Thursday.”

  “No reason to apologize,” I told her. “I should have made it clear to you. While you are subbing for me, I expect you to address me as you have been—sir. When you arrive, your head should be bowed and your eyes down. You don’t speak until I have addressed you.”

  I smile warmly at her.

  “In other words, the exact way you have already demonstrated. I probably didn’t mention it because you were already meeting my expectations.”

  “And how will you address me?”

  “Any way I choose,” I respond. “I may refer to you by your first or last name. I may call you pet or some other term I find suitable. I may call you my bitch or cock-slut if that’s what I want.”

  She doesn’t flinch at the words, and I’m glad.

  “Would you like to see your room?”

  “Yes. Please, sir.”

  I lead her down the hall and to the room I’ve prepared. I watch her eyes as she takes it in, and she seems to like what she sees.

  “There is a bathroom through that door.” I point to the far side of the room, and Yvette nods. “Everything you need is in there. Shower and put on the clothing I’ve left for you. When you are done, kneel on the rug at the end of the bed and wait for me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I leave her to herself and head to the living room. I put on light classical music at low volume so it isn’t distracting but still adds a little ambiance. I adjust the little rug in front of my easy chair and brush the fibers down with my hand. It should be comfortable enough for kneeling for an extended period of time.

  I listen. The sound of water pelting the tile walls of the shower stops. I move quietly to the door of Yvette’s room and listen to her movements on the other side. I hear the hairdryer turn on and off again several times and then hear her footsteps near the bed.

  I give her a few more minutes. I want her to have enough time to relax herself and get into the mindset before I enter. When the sounds behind the door cease, I’m sure she’s done and kneeling by the bed. I remove my shirt, toss it over the arm of the couch, and wait another ten minutes before opening the door.