Show and Tell: A Forbidden Flowers Story

by Lynne, Donya

  She trembled from head to toe. Her teeth even chattered. She was already on the verge of losing her mind, and he hadn’t even done anything to her yet. The anxiety, the fear, the excitement and anticipation. It was like a witch’s brew roiling inside her head, bubbling over the rim of the cauldron and frothing like a rabid dog.

  She had read about this during her research. The mental torment a submissive put herself through was what heightened her pleasure. Battling and breaking through all the what-ifs, doubts, and inner panic was what ultimately took a submissive to nirvana. Did she really want to rob herself of the opportunity to experience that?

  “I d-don’t want to use my s-safeword.” Her lips and chin trembled from the overstimulation.

  She flinched as he took hold of her labia and pulled it to the side. A moment later, a clamp closed over her flesh. It pinched, making her wince, but it didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would.

  “How’s that?” he asked. “Too much?”

  She shook her head, relaxing a little.

  He did something to the clamp, making it tighter. “What about now?”

  It hurt a little more, but it was still tolerable.

  “Tell me when it’s too much,” he said, continuing to make the clamp bite into her already swollen labia more forcefully.

  The grip squeezed tighter and tighter, until finally, “Ah! Too much, too much.”

  He quickly released the pressure, then attached a second clamp lower, tightening it in the same manner as he had the first, allowing her to guide him to how much pain she could tolerate.

  So, this was how trust was built between a Dom and his sub. He took his time and checked in with her along the way. He didn’t just come at her with a full-court press, pulling out all the whips and hardcore tools of the trade during the first session. It was a mutual give-and-take. She gave him her body, but he took it with respect. He gave her pain, but she took only what she could withstand. Communication filled the spaces in between to identify where the boundaries were, giving them a starting point where the Dom could work from in future sessions, pushing those boundaries, expanding them, breaking her open to her fullest potential.

  He clamped her other labia the same way he had the first, then shifted on the bed, away from her. “How does that feel?”

  She gingerly wiggled her hips, waiting for a shock of pain to bolt through her. Nothing. No pain. A little discomfort from the way the clamps pulled at her skin, but otherwise genital clamps were proving to be a big letdown.

  “Is that it? Are you done?”

  “Yes.”

  She frowned, rocking her hips back and forth more vigorously. This was it? Where was all the pain? Where was all the ouch?

  “Are you uncomfortable?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  The bed shook lightly as he scooted away from her.

  “Now what?” she said.

  In all her research, she had never read about genital clamps, and she most certainly had never written them into any of her books. Maybe she was missing something. Surely, there had to be more to them than this.

  “Now I get to have a little fun while we wait.” He rose from the bed.

  “Wait? For what?”

  “You’ll see.”

  That sounded ominous.

  The door to the armoire opened, and after he rummaged through whatever was inside, he returned to the bed.

  “What’s your safeword?” he said, standing over her.

  “Red.” He had wanted to keep it simple, and she had agreed. Maybe later—if she decided she wanted to explore BDSM long term with him—they would come up with a more unique safeword. Something that held meaning for her.

  “And what’s the safeword if you want to let me know you don’t want to stop but that I need to ease off?”

  “Yellow.”

  So cliché, but if her stoplight safewords clearly conveyed what she wanted or needed, that was all that mattered.

  “Good.”

  A few seconds later, she heard a soft rustle, like something was flying through the air. Leather tails slapped lightly on her stomach.

  She gasped, her torso contracting. The flogger hadn’t hurt, but it had startled her.

  The leather slapped her stomach again, a little harder this time, stinging a bit, but it wasn’t bad.

  The next strike fell over one breast, the next against the other, each more aggressive than the last. For several minutes, he continued around her body, swinging the leather tails against her arms, her thighs, shins, feet, and back to her stomach.

  As the same expanse of flesh took repeated lashings, the more it hurt, her skin growing raw.

  “You should see yourself,” he said, his voice harsh, tight, and a bit ragged, like he had just finished a heavy set of bench presses.

  She was breathing hard too. It wasn’t that the pain was arousing, but it was stimulating. Every inch of her body had come alive. Her skin burned, her ears buzzed, and she felt like she’d been through a thirty-minute Pilates workout.

  What felt like a feather caressed her face, down her neck, between her breasts, and down the center of her stomach. The soft sensation was such a stark contrast to the harshness of the leather.

  “Your skin is rosy and flushed and slashed with red streaks.” He sounded almost proud as he trailed the feather down one thigh and up the other as he circled the bed.

  When he reached her face again, he palmed her breast, making her suck in her breath at the resulting sting of such a rough caress against her traumatized flesh.

  “What if I told you that you’re being watched right now, Jenna?” he whispered. “What if I told you that you’ve got an audience.”

  She panted, arching into his palm, her body responding agreeably to the idea before her mind had a chance to. Was he serious? Had he allowed others into his room to watch her without her knowledge? Had she been so caught up in what he’d been doing to her that she hadn’t even heard them come in?

  Straining her ears, she listened for any sign that anyone else was with them. The sound of breathing . . . a whisper . . . the rustle of feet on carpet . . . a quiet moan of approval. Nothing. She heard nothing at all except for his weighty exhales and the faint ticking sound of a clock.

  “Is that true?” she asked, barely able to speak because she was breathing so hard.

  He released her breast. “Don’t you believe me?”

  “I . . . I don’t know.” She didn’t even know how to answer that question. If she said no, that she didn’t believe him, would that give him reason to punish her? If she said yes, would he know she was lying and use that as a reason to punish her?

  She felt trapped in a no-win scenario.

  “Maybe there’s only one other person with us,” he said, slowly circling the bed again. “Maybe I’ve invited another man to join us, and I’m going to let him fuck you.”

  Jenna tensed, pulling against the ropes. She hadn’t come here to have sex with anyone else. But what could she do to stop him? She had allowed Warren to tie her up. He could do whatever he wanted to her . . . or what anyone else wanted.

  “Would you like that?” he asked, lightly slapping the leather flogger over her stomach.

  She licked her lips. How did he expect her to answer? Did he want her to have sex with another man? Was that what got him off?

  The mattress shifted, and when he spoke again, his voice came from right beside her ear. “Tell me, Jenna, do you want to fuck another man while I watch? Do you want his cock inside you, fucking you hard, while I jack off to the sight of another man taking what’s mine?”

  She was about to burst out of her skin. The psychological conflict was too much. Not because she wanted what he was offering, but because she didn’t know if that was what he wanted.

  “Is that what y . . . you want?” Her breathless voice trembled uncontrollably.

  He stood abruptly, and the flogger slapped down harshly
on her thigh, making her throw her head back and whimper.

  “Yes or no, Jenna. Do you want me to watch you fuck another man?”

  Tears burst from her eyes, soaking into the blindfold. What did he want her to say? She felt like either way she chose, she would be wrong.

  Flogging her thigh again, he raised his voice. “Answer me, Jenna. Yes or no?” The leather struck her other thigh, then her stomach with enough force to make her cry out. “Do you want to fuck another man while I—”

  “NO!” she yelled, sobbing. “No, I don’t!”

  She hadn’t come here to be with anyone other than Warren. He was the only man she wanted inside her. The only man she wanted touching her. The only man she wanted to dominate her. He had gained possession of her mind during their phone calls, and now she wanted to give him possession of her body. She couldn’t do that if another man was allowed to have her.

  The bed shook violently, and a moment later, his legs straddled her torso as his hands cupped either side of her face.

  “Very good,” he said a split second before layering his mouth over hers in a kiss so deep she completely lost the last shred of sanity left in her mental arsenal.

  Her body went limp with surrender, and she gave herself completely to him. She had pleased him. Amid all her doubt and insecurity, she had answered him correctly, and this kiss from the deepest trenches of heaven was her reward.

  When he finally came up for air, he whispered against her lips, “You are mine when you are in this house. You are mine in the club. And no other man will touch you when you are here. Is that understood?”

  She nodded, licking her lips, needing him to kiss her again. “Yes . . .” She gulped down a swallow of oxygen. “Sir.”

  “And there will be plenty of men who will want to.” He nipped her bottom lip. “Doms looking for new submissives. They know my M.O. They know that I bring submissives into the lifestyle, train them, then give them away.” His lips brushed with fiery intent over hers. “But not this time. This time, I’m training you for me.” He ran his hand over one breast and down her stomach. “I plan on keeping you for myself, Jenna.”

  He claimed her mouth again, scuttling her sense of reason. But somewhere in the haze of thoughts zigzagging through her brain, his words played on a repeating loop. I’m training you for me. I plan on keeping you for myself.

  It was too soon to read too much into his words, but it sure sounded like he had finally found in her someone he would like to collar. And she wouldn’t mind that one bit. Not one bit at all.

  Knowing he wanted her as badly as she wanted him revived her plundered senses, and she kissed him back with her whole heart, lifting her head off the mattress and doing everything in her power to let him know she wanted him and only him.

  “I think you’re ready,” he said, breaking away.

  Her head dropped back onto the bed. Yes, ready. She was so ready. The only question was whether he was talking about the same thing she was.

  “Ready?” She breathed the word more than said it.

  His simmering lips caressed hers. “Jenna, I’m about to make you come harder than you ever have.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Take a deep breath,” Warren said from between her legs, “and slowly blow it out.”

  She did as he instructed, not sure what to expect. As she exhaled, he released the clamps.

  At first, she felt nothing, then . . .

  Blinding, searing pain.

  The muscles in her arms and legs strained as she pulled against her restraints and cried out.

  “Breathe through it,” he said, as if he knew exactly what she was feeling . . . and probably did.

  She squirmed, trying to turn away from the pain, but it was everywhere. All around her, inside her, and in every direction. All roads led to pain.

  “What’s happening?” She had never felt pain like this before, as if she were being branded between the legs by a hot iron.

  “The blood is rushing back in, making your nerves highly sensitive.” He gently blew on her, sending a second shock of white-hot pain through her.

  If she wasn’t careful, she was going to pull a muscle trying to yank herself free of her bindings.

  Who would willingly put themselves through this kind of agony? Did people actually find pleasure in having their genitals lit up like they were being tattooed by battery acid?

  “Just breathe through it,” he said again, caressing her thighs. “Try to relax.”

  How the hell was she supposed to relax when her most intimate flesh felt like someone had pierced it with fifty hot needles at once. Still, she tried to do as he asked, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths.

  After several seconds, the worst of the pain began to abate, helped by the way he was kissing his way up and down her inner thighs. Intense pleasure began to replace the pain, making her writhe and tug against the ropes for a whole other reason.

  When he passed his mouth over her core a few seconds later, blowing gently, she almost came on the spot.

  Gasping, she arched off the bed.

  A soft, devilish chuckle rumbled from his throat. “Now you see.” He blew air over her again as he crossed back to the other side.

  Holy fuck! She was going to come. He wasn’t even going to have to touch her.

  The very tip of his tongue flicked across the narrow stretch of skin where her thigh met her body. Just a quick swipe of his tongue, then he crossed back to the other leg, gently blowing. Flick, blow, flick, blow . . . every light stroke of his tongue drew closer to her center than the last.

  “Warren . . . I’m . . . can’t stop . . .” Panting deliriously, she couldn’t even form a coherent thought. The orgasm swelling inside her like an overfilled balloon choked off her ability to think, to speak, to do anything but prepare to explode into tiny pieces.

  She had no idea if she had his permission to come, but at this point, it didn’t matter. She couldn’t stop this train from plowing into her even if she wanted to.

  His tongue lightly flicked the hood just above her clit.

  “Warren!”

  Her hands fisted, her arms flexed helplessly, her legs shuddered like she was experiencing her own personal earthquake. When his tongue swirled a gentle, delicate circle around her clit, her back arched so violently as white lightning arced through her body that she was shocked she didn’t herniate a disc.

  Somehow, he managed to stay with her, closing his mouth over her clit and holding his tongue against her as explosive waves of contractions pulsed through her body from head to toe, shattering her as she convulsed and cried out through each vicious aftershock.

  She was still coming when he removed his mouth with a wicked lick and left the bed. Then came the telltale whirring sound of a vibrator.

  Ah hell, was he going to—

  The thick head of what could only be a wand vibrator pressed against her core, making her back arch again. Between the lingering pain, as well as the pleasure still zipping through her, she ascended Orgasm Mountain for a second time, splintering less than a minute later.

  It didn’t take long for her to release again when he inserted a G-spot vibrator while sucking her clit, flicking it with his tongue.

  Jenna didn’t know if it was the two hours of mental stimulation in the dungeon, the weeks of phone sex that had built her anticipation to a fever pitch, the way he’d titillated her at the Met, the fact that she still hadn’t seen his face, or a combination of factors, but now that she’d started coming, she couldn’t stop. Like a faucet someone had left on, orgasmic spasms flooded her body with near-supernatural bliss. The orgasms themselves began to feel like torture. But good torture. Really good, she-never-wanted-it-to-end torture.

  She couldn’t explain when it happened, but at some point, euphoria set in. Like she was having an out-of-body experience while she remained firmly grounded in her body, so deep inside herself that she felt like she was in another universe.

  “Don’t stop . . .” she murmured
as he took her over the edge again.

  “Do you want more?” he asked, his voice seeming to come from far away.

  She nodded and licked her lips. “More.” Her own voice sounded far away, too, as if she were talking from across the room.

  “Do you want me to fuck you?” he said from above her.

  More nodding. “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Please . . . yes. God, yes.”

  She became aware of the bed moving, the sound of his belt being unbuckled, the whir of a zipper begin unzipped. There was the tear of plastic, like a condom wrapper begin ripped open. A pause as he rolled it on.

  Then his weight came down on top of her, his mouth found hers, and his length plunged into her.

  Each driving thrust bounced her on the bed, their bodies slapping together, hers nothing more than a vessel of pleasure.

  She came again, the surreal sensations pulsing through her almost calmly, making her body shiver from head to toe.

  “You were made for this life,” he said through a clenched throat, lifting up on his arms. “You were made for me.”

  She wanted to hold him, wanted to wrap her arms around him and drive her fingernails into his ass as he continued to claim her.

  Never had she met a man more attuned to her needs, who could wring orgasms out of her like he was wringing water from a sponge.

  She released again, whimpering as her stomach twitched and her arms and legs trembled uncontrollably.

  His thrusts stuttered as a guttural grunt burst from his throat. “Fuck.” His hips slammed forward as a long harsh growl dragged out of his throat. His cock jerked rigidly inside her. With each sturdy kick, his hips contracted, pumping against her.

  A moment later, he collapsed on top of her. All she could do was accept his weight, too weak to move, still bound to the bed.

  Her initiation into the world of BDSM was complete, and it had been nothing like she’d expected, and everything she wanted more of.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jenna lay curled in Warren’s arms on the chaise lounge near the window. He had untied her, bathed her, brushed her hair, and now cradled her to his body.