Safeword: Matte - In Training

by Candace Blevins

  “I want to make a change to one of our oldest agreed upon items.”

  Sam raised her eyebrows for him to continue, and he leaned forward from his spot across the coffee table as he said, “This isn’t entirely because of yesterday. It’s something I’ve wanted to bring up, but wasn’t sure it was time, yet.”

  “And now you are?”

  “Well, that’s up to you, too, not just me.”

  “Just spit it out, please.”

  He took a breath, let it out, looked at his hands, and finally met her gaze. “I don’t want to have to be constantly on guard against my girlfriend throwing a punch at me. I know I agreed you could fight me and make me earn your submission, but I think I’ve earned it.”

  Well, when he put it that way he kind of hand a point. “What did you have in mind?”

  “You not throwing punches at me out of the blue anymore?”

  Sam smiled. “Yeah, I got that. How do you want to reword the agreement?”

  His answer was fast enough she knew he’d rehearsed the next bit. “If you feel the need to fight me, you tell me. I’ll allow it at some point in the following seven days. I’ll try to keep it under three days, but if our schedules won’t allow it, it could be longer.”

  He paused, as if needing feedback, so Sam gave a small nod and motioned for him to keep going. He took a breath and added, “If you strike me outside of an agreed upon match between us, you’ll be punished.”

  Sam raised her eyebrows. “How?”

  He shook his head. “Until last night, I thought it would be a series of punishments involving painful subservience.” He sighed and shook his head again, obviously conflicted. “But if I’m convinced the strike-out was pure reflex, or because you freaked, I’m not sure my original plan is appropriate.”

  Sam crisscrossed her legs under her and sat up a little straighter on the sofa. Time to be honest. “As hard as it is for me to say, the submissive in me still feels she should be punished. Your balls were off limits, and I went for them. I know I wasn’t thinking clearly, but still, it feels as if we could put it behind us easier if you punished me for it.”

  He tilted his head, but remained quiet as she finished her thought. “I agree the punishment should be different if it’s a freak-out, and maybe it even needs to be something we sit down and discuss, perhaps say punishment can only happen after twenty-four or maybe even forty-eight hours, and only when both parties are ready for it, but I don’t agree there shouldn’t be consequences.”

  “What consequence do you think would be fair for your behavior last night?”

  Sam sighed. It was an honest question, but she hated having to answer it. “I’m not sure I can say what would be fair for my initial striking out. If I’d kept it above the belt, probably nothing, but…” She shrugged. “I don’t know. It feels as if there should be something, though.” Taking a quick breath, she added, “My behavior later though, trying to manipulate you into not using me, I can see now how wrong I was.”

  Ethan closed his eyes as if in pain. When he met her gaze again, he still looked as if he needed a hug. “I know we usually negotiate across the table, but do you think we can make an exception today?”

  Sam breathed a sigh of relief and scooted to the side of her sofa. “Yeah, I think today is a different kind of negotiation.”

  He stepped around the table, sat beside her, and lifted her onto his lap. Sam wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled her face into the spot where his neck met his chest, and breathed in his scent. Ethan caressed her back a few seconds and finally said, “I don’t expect you to want sex every time I do. In fact, part of the power play comes when you don’t want to, but have to anyway.”

  He stroked her back a few more times before adding, “But last night was different. Last night, if I’d taken you anyway, it would’ve been rape, no matter what our agreement might say. I can’t punish you for not wanting to be raped.”

  “Okay, so I can’t even begin to argue with that.” She stayed put, relaxed against his chest while his hand soothed her back. “But I said some hurtful things, and I didn’t trust you, and you didn’t do anything to deserve it.”

  “I’ll ask again. What do you think would be a fair punishment?”

  “I still don’t know, it just feels like I shouldn’t get away scot-free.”

  “Okay. Let me think about it. I’m more inclined to come up with something to help bring us together, than finding a standard punishment. Something to challenge your trust, perhaps.”

  Sam smiled. “Okay then. I’ll trust you to come up with something.”

  “Thank you. Now, back to the changes I proposed. Would you like to rewrite that portion of the agreement, or do you want me to do it?”

  “I have to let you know when I feel the need to fight you for my submission, and you’ll try to arrange for it to happen within two days, but have up to seven days if our schedules don’t permit it sooner.”

  “I’ll make arrangements for it if I agree to it. I reserve the right to turn you down.”

  When she didn’t say anything he said, “I’ve proven I can take you. I shouldn’t have to keep proving it.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. I only ask that if you turn me down, I have a chance to explain why it’s important. I know you’ll be fair.”

  “If I don’t allow it, you may give an explanation in writing.”

  “I can write that part up, but if you want to outline the punishments, I’d like you to write that section up, please.”

  Chapter Eight

  Mr. Masterson’s attorney pushed hard to put their case in front of a judge at the earliest possible moment. They tried to claim the mother had kidnapped the children from the father, but Sam had covered her bases by filing the court documents before Jenna moved out of the family home, and by making sure Mr. Masterson was served with the papers before he arrived home to find them missing.

  The photos and medical records were enough to satisfy the judge, but he ordered a two hour supervised visitation for a week and a day later, Friday morning. He didn’t state it in court, but Sam knew he’d decide based on the social worker’s report whether to continue supervised visitation or allow it unsupervised. Mr. Masterson held his temper while in court, though Sam tried her best to trigger it — the man was smart enough to not show his true colors in front of the judge. She’d have to see what she could do about that in two weeks, when she’d likely have him on the stand again.

  Sam’s week was beyond busy, and she had to resort to using the stretching ring only three times a day for longer periods on several occasions. Ethan approved each request, but made a point of reminding her she’d face consequences if she didn’t make the required progress Friday. He’d left her two sizes to use, and she found herself using the smaller size when she was in a hurry, instead of taking the time to insert the larger. She knew she was asking for trouble, but last week had gone so well, she hoped this would be enough.

  Ethan questioned her a great deal about her day in court with the Mastersons, but Tom’s research project and their ensuing discussion settled her emotions. She always found it fascinating when merely labeling your emotions helped make them fade into the background. When she understood her feelings of righteous indignation towards Mr. Masterson, and anger at his wife for taking the abuse instead of standing up for herself and her children, it was easier to compartmentalize her emotions and distance herself from them. Mr. Masterson might not see true justice for his actions, but she’d see to it he wouldn’t be alone with his children unless he proved his ability to hold his temper, and she’d do her best to keep their location hidden as long as possible.

  It helped that Mr. Masterson’s attorney was open to her ideas of anger management classes and counseling, and urged his client to begin before the judge made them a condition of future visitation rights.

  When Friday evening finally arrived, Sam was nervous about her ‘test’. She knew she’d fulfilled the bare minimum during the week, and worried sh
e’d have to pay the piper. Or, the steel cane, to be more specific.

  The enemas were more difficult than normal, probably because of her nerves, and she couldn’t manage the arousal to help herself through them. She felt a little off afterwards, so she drank some extra sports drink in case her electrolytes were out of whack.

  Once Ethan arrived and started the scene, she had a hard time getting into it as he worked to get her horny. He finally said, “What’s the problem, Sam?”

  “I don’t think I’m going to meet my goal tonight, Sir.”

  “And you’re so busy worrying, you can’t get into it?”

  She nodded and he closed his eyes a few seconds. The green was more brilliant when they reopened, and Sam’s heart fluttered at their intensity.

  “If you don’t meet your target we’ll deal with it, and you’ll do better next week. This will go much easier if you’re horny, but if you can’t focus enough to get there we can do it without arousal.” His voice softened and he caressed her cheek with his fingertips. “Tell me what you need, Samantha.”

  She needed subspace, and the fastest way there tonight was probably with the flogger to her back. She licked her lips and said, “Maybe the flogger? On my back? Something different to help me relax and get into it?”

  He nodded and climbed off the bed. “Put your hair on top of your head and lean against the wall. Present your back at a forty-five degree angle.”

  The first strike was from one of the lightweight floggers, but packed quite a sting. Sam breathed through the pain, reminding herself this one was just sensation and wasn’t substantial enough to leave marks or bruises.

  When she relaxed and began to enjoy the rhythm and the sting, he switched to a heavier flogger, and the first strike knocked the breath from her. She inhaled quickly, and then groaned a deep rumble. The second strike hit during her exhale, and she planted her feet better, to be sure he didn’t knock her forward.

  A dozen strokes later he switched to a braided flogger, and she imagined her hands were cemented to the wall in front of her, to try to keep from turning to avoid the strokes. Just as she managed to relax and accept the next stroke, he stopped and his hand went to her pussy. She could tell how wet she was without him commenting, but he said, “Mission accomplished. Hands and knees on the bed so I can get you stretched.”

  He donned the glove and spread lube while she climbed onto the bed, and his fingers invaded her ass without ceremony as soon as he approached her. She gasped and leaned forward, but at his warning grumble she pushed back, impaling herself on his hand in order to resume her original position.

  She lost track of time as his strong fingers massaged and stretched her ass, and he caught her by surprise when he abruptly withdrew and pulled the glove off.

  Her heart dropped as she heard, “Okay Samantha, time to check your progress.”

  He playfully patted her ass as she walked to the stool with the monster plug. She accepted the lube from his outstretched hand and methodically lubed it until Ethan finally said, “Enough, Sam. It’s slick.”

  She propped over it and lined herself up, grunting as the rounded tip pressed into her. She moved her hands from her knees to the stool, but the angle was wrong and she propped her elbows on her knees and allowed gravity to pull her farther down. The mirror was too far away for her to see any detail, or get an idea of how far she’d gone in relation to the previous week. She tried to push a little farther than she should, telling herself she could take the burn, but gasped and stopped when she felt the beginnings of sharp pain.

  “That’s it, Sir.”

  Ethan leaned down, stood and looked at her a moment, and leaned down again. He turned as he stood without meeting her gaze, walking to his phone to enter the measurements in his spreadsheet.

  “Come off the plug and kneel, Samantha.”

  Her heart dropped at the displeased note in his voice, and she gingerly worked herself off the plug and gracefully dropped to her knees, taking special care to place the backs of her hands flat against her back, just below her shoulder blades. She double-checked the spread of her knees, settled her shoulders back and down, held her head level, and looked at the ground.

  “Moving a half inch lower on the plug means gaining an eighth of an inch diameter. You didn’t quite make it an eighth of an inch lower, which means your diameter increase is almost nonexistent. You managed to increase your size by about the thickness of eight sheets of paper.”

  Sam’s heart sank even farther. She didn’t know if this would mean three cane strokes, or four. She’d only received four strokes once before, and it was the outer limit of what she could handle. She found herself both excited and in terror at the notion she couldn’t safeword out of the pain.

  “Since you didn’t make it the entire first eighth of an inch, you’ll receive four strokes. I’m tempted to do this unrestrained since you don’t have a safeword, but I’ll give you the choice of physical restraints or self-restraint.”

  “Physical restraints, please Sir.”

  “Very well. Put your wrist and ankle cuffs on and meet me downstairs in your workout room.”

  When she arrived downstairs Ethan had tied both ends of a rope to her chin-up bar, and it dangled below like a swing without a seat. She noted more ropes tied to the base, with clips on them, and her heart fluttered and her stomach somersaulted as she raised her gaze to meet his.

  “I shouldn’t have to tell you where I want you. Place the outsides of your feet on the inside of the support bars and bend over the rope.”

  He was all business, and Sam felt like a lamb being led to slaughter as she counted the eleven steps it took to reach the equipment. She was surprised to find the rope slack when she leaned over it, as she’d expected it to hold her up.

  Ethan leaned down to attach her ankle and wrist cuffs to the clips, and when he stood he tightened the rope under her stomach. She leaned her head sideways and saw he’d run it through a loop at the top, using it as a pulley as he tugged the rope to tighten it under her.

  “Lean forward a little more; I want the rope on your hip bones, not your abdomen.”

  His fingers settled the rope where he wanted it, and she felt him tying it off.

  “Are you secure, Samantha?”

  She attempted to move forward and backward, and then left to right. She didn’t think her bottom moved more than an inch or two forward and backwards, and perhaps two or three inches sideways. She knew he could tie it off to the side supports to further immobilize her if he wanted, but she wouldn’t be going anywhere, so there was no need. “Yes, Sir.”

  “How many strikes are you about to receive, and why?”

  “Four strikes, Sir, because I failed to meet my goal.”

  “And why did you fail to meet your goal?”

  Saying she’d been busy was a cop-out. This was supposed to be a priority, and she’d taken every short cut she could get away with this week. She raised her head to look at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were like green granite, and fear shot through her body at their intensity. “I didn’t meet my goal because I took the easy way out too many times this week. You gave me the option of less stretch when necessary, and trusted my judgment for when I needed to push myself, and when I should back off a little. I took advantage of your trust, Sir.”

  “I appreciate your honesty. You’ll receive one stroke every ten seconds. I won’t require you to count out loud, and you’re under no speech restrictions — including the requirement to use Sir with every sentence. Per our agreement, I won’t honor Matte, so if something’s wrong you’ll need to tell me the specific problem to get me to stop.”

  He turned and walked to a cooler she hadn’t noticed earlier. “I believe you’re still feeling some of the effects of subspace from the flogger, so we have a few more items to put in place before we begin.”

  She dropped her head to watch him between her knees, and tried to ignore the terror threading through her veins and arteries. In Ethan’s view, consequence
s and punishments weren’t about sex or fun, and were never given when she was horny or in any form of subspace. She’d hoped he would overlook her current state, given the severity of what she was about to receive, but apparently not.

  He walked to her with two sheets of metal in one hand, and his other hand wrapped around something, concealing it.

  He bent down behind her. “Lift your left foot, please.”

  She could only lift it about an inch, but that was enough for him to slide the thin sheet under her foot. When she lowered it, she gasped as cold knifed through her foot and up her leg. It’d been soaking in ice water, and was still wet, and was beyond freezing.

  He did the same to her right leg, and then stood and leaned over her to press a piece of ice to her clit. Sam squealed and tried to escape the cold, but he held it firm. When she stopped fighting he used his other fingers to pull her clit hood back and press the ice directly onto her clit, without even the protection of the thin layer of protective skin.

  When he finally pulled away she wasn’t horny, and all of her endorphins had fled her body. Some people could go into subspace from cold, but Ethan had experimented around enough to know exactly how to pull her out of any enjoyment she might receive.

  “My phone will chime and light up four times, at ten second intervals. If you’re screaming you won’t hear it, but I’ll be able to see it even if your voice drowns out the chime.” He gave her a few seconds to absorb his words before continuing. “When we’re done I’ll insert your anal stretching ring, and will wait from fifteen to thirty minutes to free you. I intend to thoroughly face-fuck you when I release you, and you won’t have an orgasm until at least noon tomorrow.”

  Sam nodded her understanding. He regularly instituted orgasm denial after punishments, so she wasn’t surprised, and arguing at this point would do no good. She’d agreed to give him control of her orgasms; it would be unreasonable to complain every time she didn’t like one of his decisions.