by L. DuBois
She couldn’t even open her mouth comfortably with it on. She breathed through her nose and tried to move. Her toes and fingers wiggled.
Other than that, she was trapped. Helpless.
Immobile.
Chapter 8
He watched her carefully, monitoring her breathing, the movement of her hands and toes, the set of her mouth. He was alert to any sign of distress.
For someone he would have easily classified as a “hardcore” submissive, she’d had a strong reaction to the restrictive bondage he’d used to achieve immobilization. It made sense once she described how she normally played.
Some part of him was reveling in being the first man to push her in this particular way. Having a sub trust him, having her dependent on him, got his motor running.
Knowing that lack of contact might be hard for her, Alexandre kept his hand on her—thumbing the curve of her breast, stroking her abdomen.
He’d started the evening thinking of this as a game, of Chastity as his opponent, but that no longer seemed to fit. Not that he normally thought of his subs as his opponents. The only reason the word had occurred to him was because of the checklist “game.”
“Check in,” he commanded.
“I…I don’t know.” The words were slightly muffled. The posture collar kept her from opening her mouth all the way.
“You don’t remember your safe word?” He went tense, ready to start ripping the bindings free. None of these had quick-release mechanisms the way some suspension cuffs did, but he could move fast when he needed to. He’d start with the blindfold and collar.
“I remember, but I don’t know…I don’t know what color I am.”
He relaxed fractionally. “What are you feeling?”
“Scared—I can’t move. I can’t see. I can’t breathe.”
“You can breathe. Breathe with me. Inhale… Good, now exhale.”
He led her through a few cycles of mindful breathing. He’d done it hundreds of times before as he helped the men and women he trained calm down and focus before a dangerous stunt.
He watched the way her chest pressed into the straps as she inhaled, watched her breasts rise and fall.
His cock was rock-hard in his pants. Seeing her bound and helpless was pushing him to a level of arousal he hadn’t felt in a long time. He regularly put submissives in restrictive bondage—bent over a chair with their arms and legs wrapped in rope, their pussy and ass exposed and vulnerable—was a personal favorite.
This position was objectively less submissive—she was standing upright, arms and legs spread, but he only really had access to her clit and her breasts. Because of the angle of her hips it would be hard for him to finger fuck her and impossible for him to slide his cock into her, at least while he had the cross in the upright position.
Yet Chastity in bondage was arousing him to the point of pain.
Later, he could fully analyze it—was it because she’d challenged him, so the contrast of her behavior in the previous scene with her current vulnerability was more alluring? Did he find her near-panic arousing, and if yes, was it because he’d caused it, or because he was the one calming her, “protecting” her from her distress?
“Where are you?” he asked again.
“I’m…green.”
“Be honest, with yourself and with me.”
“I’m not…I’m not enjoying this. But it…” She stopped, licking her lips. The posture collar shifted every time she opened her mouth, and he knew that every little movement would serve to remind her of that particular restriction. “I feel very submissive.”
Alexandre rubbed her inner thighs, the spot below the uppermost strap.
She whimpered, and her leg muscled tensed.
“What are you trying to do?” He changed from rubbing to kneading.
“I was going to...”
“To what, Chastity?”
“I don’t want to tell you. You’ll say I was trying to top from the bottom.”
“Do I have to order you to tell me?”
“No, Sir.” She breathed the words, in an almost relieved manner. It was the third time she’d called him “Sir”. Each time she’d used it, she’d been in subspace. She’d said she wouldn’t call someone “Master” or “Sir” just because they were a Dom. Therefore, he was guessing she wouldn’t use that word unless she felt the need, the desire to acknowledge that he was mastering her.
Fierce triumph surged through him.
“I was going to push my hips towards you.”
“Why would you do that?”
“So you’d touch my pussy.”
“And you don’t think that’s topping from the bottom?”
“No! No.” Her fingers curled and flexed in an anxious rhythm. “It was…it was to show you that I wanted more. That I was ready to be touched there.”
“And is it your decision to make as to when and where I touch you?”
She made a frustrated little sound, and he could see the lines in her forehead as she frowned. “No, it’s not. I’m sorry.”
“You’re immobile. That means you can’t use your body to communicate with me. Instead, I expect you to tell me what you’re feeling. I want to hear you.”
“I should say ‘I want your hands on my pussy’?”
“Yes. Whenever you try to move, and the bondage stops you, instead, you say what you were going to do.”
“That’s going to sound—”
“I didn’t ask you what you thought it would sound like.”
Her teeth clicked together.
“I asked you to communicate with me. I’ve stopped you from communicating with your body, which means now you have to communicate with words.”
“It’s hard to talk,” she protested.
“I’m sure it is. But it’s not impossible.” Alexandre grabbed her breasts, her nipples nestled in his palms. He squeezed them, the flesh plumping up between his splayed fingers. It was a tight, possessive hold. Another layer of binding and restriction. “You have a choice. A submissive always does. You can obey. Or you can safe word out.”
Her lips twisted, and for a terrible moment he thought that he’d pushed her too far and she was going to cry. “I don’t want to sound stupid.”
He loosened his hold on her breasts, instead massaging and manipulating them. He played with them—bouncing them on his palms, pressing them together.
Her mouth relaxed, the lines in her forehead smoothing out.
“Nothing you could say would sound stupid. I want your honesty. I don’t want you worried about or thinking of how you will make yourself appealing.
“I want to see you raw and honest. I’m stripping you down, restricting you, until all that’s left is that submissive core.”
“Why?” She all but breathed the word.
“Because I want you. I want to possess you. Own you.”
Chastity moaned.
That was too far. Ownership in the world of Las Palmas was a relationship status. He wasn’t offering to collar and own her.
Why not?
Ignoring that thought, he tried to backpedal. “I want you to submit to me—truly and without reservation.” He hoped his words would override what he’d just said. “While you’re mine you will obey and accept.” He stressed “obey” and “accept”.
“Yes, Sir.”
He felt the tension draining out of her—her breasts felt heavier in his hands as she relaxed her chest and shoulder muscles.
“Well done. I know this is hard.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He smiled. “If your normal Doms have forgotten exactly how hard it is to submit, exactly how courageous you are, then they don’t deserve you.”
Her head moved a bit, but she was stopped by the posture collar. He waited to see if she would remember what he’d ordered her to do.
“I want…I want to lean closer to you,” she said softly.
“Well done.” He rewarded her by rubbing her nipples with his thumbs. “I’m g
oing to play with your nipples now.”
“I want that…very much. If I could, I’d push my tits at you.”
Alexandre pressed her breasts together, then leaned down and tried to take both nipples in his mouth at once. It was difficult, but that was what made it fun. One would slip from between his teeth, and he’d nip the other one in punishment for its misbehaving mate.
He licked and sucked, tugged with lips and teeth and then blew on the wet flesh.
“I need to move,” she said through her teeth.
“No, you need to obey.”
She grunted in frustration. “I want to move.”
“Move what?”
“My legs. My pussy. I want to rub against you.”
“Like a cat in heat.”
“Yes. Yesss.” The words became a hiss.
He pinched her wet nipples between his fingers and then jerked his hands back in a sharp motion. Her nipples stretched and then were yanked from between the vise of his fingers.
“Yes, yes,” she panted. “More, more, please.” Her toes were curled over the edges of the foot rests. He could see the definition of the muscles in her upper arms as she strained in her bindings.
“What would you do if you were free?”
“I’d arch my back. I’d spread my legs so you’d look at my pussy. Then you’d touch it. You’d touch me. Please, please touch me.”
Her face, arms, and legs were so tense she looked like she was in pain. If he kept her tense like this, she wouldn’t be able to stay in the immobilizing bondage much longer.
He wasn’t ready to let go of her yet.
Alexandre released one breast and dropped his hand to her sex. She was wet and hot. His fingers slid easily over the slick folds of her labia. If her bindings had been any looser, Chastity would have sagged in relief. As it was, he saw the muscles in her arms relax, her hands no longer fisted.
He spread her open with two fingers, letting air touch the heat at her core. The cross shifted a little as she wiggled.
“What are you doing?”
“I want to move, so that you touch my clit.”
“Naughty.”
“I’d pretend it was an accident.” She sounded almost indignant.
Alexandre laughed, then dipped two fingers into her pussy. He found the super-slick folds of her inner labia, and played with them, pinching and tugging. He couldn’t keep his hold, she was so wet.
“Clit, please,” she begged.
He took his hand from her pussy. She stiffened, but before she could protest, or start to think he was punishing her, he slid his other hand against her, the mound of her vulva on the heel of his hand, his fingers curled so that he could touch her folds but avoid directly stimulating her clit. He wasn’t going to punish her for begging to have her clit touched, but he wasn’t going to do it, no matter how politely she’d asked
He raised the hand that was damp and fragrant with her arousal to her face. He wiped his fingers over her lips. Her tongue darted out to taste.
“Open,” he demanded.
She opened her mouth, though with the collar it was barely enough for him to slide his index finger in. She sucked him with a desperate enthusiasm that made his cock throb. His pants now felt painfully tight.
When she’d cleaned the first finger he withdrew it, then pressed his middle finger into her mouth, forcing her to clean the taste of her arousal from him once more.
He pulled that finger out, then trailed the back of his hand down her body. He stopped and massaged her nipples with his wet fingers.
She made happy, needy noises, and he slapped her breasts. When that made her sweet whimpers louder, he slapped them again, all while his other hand cupped her pussy, his fingertips fondling her labia.
Slap.
Her right breast bounced, the nipple damp and glistening in the light. He slapped the left, coming from underneath, so that her breast lifted and dropped.
He paused to see if she was straining or stressing her body. She wasn’t—her breathing was slow and even, and she was relaxed.
Was she in subspace?
“Chastity. Check in.”
“Green, green, green,” she moaned.
Alexandre bared his teeth in a fierce smile and then slapped her nipple. She cried out, then moaned.
“More, I’d lean forward, hoping for more,” she whispered.
He slapped her other nipple. Another moan.
He’d never slapped a woman’s breasts this much. He had mixed feelings about slapping anything but the ass. He would never slap a woman’s face. That was a hard limit for him. He’d occasionally done little love pats to breasts, but certainly never slapped a woman’s sensitive nipples.
Thinking back to his partner last weekend, he was sure if he had slapped her nipples, she would have looked at him in horror. Objectively, it made no sense. The weighted clamps he’d forced her to wear would have hurt far more than his slaps.
But clamps were refined and precise. They were delicate tools.
Slaps were brutish.
Brutish.
Alexandre snarled and took a step away from Chastity, his hands held up and away from his body.
Damn it.
Brutish. That’s what his ex had called him during one of their many legal fights.
You’re a brute, Alex.
Chapter 9
Chastity tensed, trying in vain to move.
“I want to lean on you. I want you to hurt me more. I want you to get a crop. I want…” Her words dissipated into a frustrated sound of need.
His intrusive thoughts about his ex, about being a “brute” vanished at Chastity’s words.
“A crop on these pretty nipples?” He returned to her, once more cupping her pussy while avoiding her clit with one hand, leaving the other free to slap her pretty tits.
“Yes, Sir. Yes, please.”
“No. I want to feel your skin. I don’t want a tool to come between us.” He alternated slaps between the nipple and the sides of each breast in turn. He took his time, watching her oh-so-pale skin slowly pinken. He considered using both hands, but he liked holding her pussy too much.
She was hot and wet against his fingers, and he could feel her occasionally straining, trying to force her clit against his palm. He didn’t call her out and demand she verbalize what she was trying to do, because he had a feeling at this point it was instinctive, and she might not even be aware of it.
Her nipples were pink and soft. Such tender flesh.
He slapped her right nipple with three fingers.
Her pussy pulsed.
Slapping may be brutish—hell, his ex might be right, and despite all his attempts to be refined, he might be brutish—but right now it didn’t matter. With Chastity, brutish was a good thing.
He didn’t have to hide from her.
That thought rocked him back on his heels mentally, and caused him to once more take a physical step back. As he did, his curled fingers slid through the valley of her pussy, rubbing over her clit.
Chastity made a delicious mewling noise.
Alexandre dropped to one knee before her, prepared to once more bury his face in her pussy and feast. The angle would make that difficult, but he would…
He’d forgotten why he’d decided to use the St. Andrew’s Cross. This one in particular.
Shoving to his feet he circled around to the side where he could see the pedestal-like base. He grabbed the control, which looked almost like it had come from a hospital bed.
The padded wooden X of the cross was mounted to a motor hidden inside the pedestal. The pedestal was in turn bolted to the floor and allowed the X to be rotated 340 degrees, from straight up like it was now, to flat, and then further, until the sub’s head was down, their feet raised. It wouldn’t go completely upside down, but it would tilt the sub to a 20-degree angle, which was close enough as far as he was concerned.
He hit the button to raise the feet and lower the head.
Chastity sucked in a breath when the
motor whirred to life. She squeaked in surprise when she started to lie back.
“This is custom-built and very secure. You’re safe.”
He kept his finger on the button until she was flat, lying parallel to the floor.
He was too uncomfortable to keep going as he was, so Alexandre took a moment to shuck his pants. After a second, he decided to strip all the way. Normally, he liked to keep something on. It helped cover up his scarred body.
But Chastity couldn’t see him, and she seemed to like him a bit rougher.
It took him less than twenty seconds to strip naked. Then he turned his attention to making sure she was comfortable.
The first thing he did was grab a small padded add-on piece for the St. Andrew’s. “I’m going to add something to support your head.”
“Thank you.”
The extra piece, which was several feet long and padded in the same manner as the rest of the cross, went behind her head. He clamped the ends to the arm sections with big screws.
With that done, he checked the rest of her body. Her back was supported from just below her shoulders to the small of her back. Her ass was hanging down, the straps on her thighs tighter than they had been when she was upright.
If he loosened them, it would actually put more stress on her lower back, because her hips would fall, and that would mean her back would arch.
He circled her twice, checking all of the straps and making adjustments, including sliding pads under the leg straps at the highest-stress points so the edges wouldn’t cut into her pretty skin.
Once he’d finished assessing her safety and comfort, he allowed himself to assess her naked and vulnerable body with an eye to how he would enjoy her.
Her legs were spread—not as wide as they had been on the table, but wide enough for him to put his mouth on her pussy and to fuck her, though he wouldn’t be able to go as deep as he would if she were in a different position.
If he wanted, he could remove the posture collar, the headrest, and fuck her mouth.
“Master Raine?”
“Yes, Chastity?”
“Oh, I was just…I got nervous that you’d left.”
“I won’t leave the room when you’re vulnerable like this.”