Cara had merely been informed the furniture maker would convert her to a table.
Travis had never enjoyed objectification, never really considered the concept. Looking back, he realized he’d objectified many of the women he’d paid, but he hadn’t thought in those terms. He’d tried to treat them respectfully but that only went so far when you paid someone to let you hurt and fuck them. With Cara, he was willing to do anything to please her. The fact she’d turned out to be a masochist on top of her desire for objectification was icing on the cake.
He knew why he was warped — watching his first porn at eleven, and violent pornography at twelve or thirteen, had created the possibilities of a monster. If a mentor hadn’t come along at the right moment...it pained him to think of the direction his tastes may have gone. The beast inside of him still existed, still glorified at the sounds of a woman screaming in pain, but he needed to know she wasn’t being traumatized, and she was okay with it, wanted it.
If he’d never learned how to do this consensually, hadn’t been taught to hurt without harming, he might have turned into one of the assholes Cara used to find and fuck as one-night stands. Only, he’d have been one of the monsters who landed women in the hospital and then paid them off to prevent them from pressing charges.
He shook his head and watched as Jazz affixed faux wood wrist braces; then forced Cara’s hands into fists with the faux wood mitts, giving the appearance of the balled foot of a table leg. She was positioned on fists and knees, with her knees resting on matching sturdy table leg bases, padded for her comfort. Her feet were pulled up and attached near her thighs, giving the table more of a streamlined look.
Jazz retrieved the glass tabletop, the leather straps dangling as he carried it. He double-checked to see which end went near her head before settling it onto her back and running the bindings around her torso, one at the base of her breasts and the other at her hips. He tightened them several times, testing the glass for stability.
The table sloped towards her head and Jazz lifted each hand and turned a crank, making the wood under her fists telescope out. He had a good eye because he didn’t have to fiddle with them much to level the tabletop to the perfect elevation for playing cards. He didn’t know the height of the pieces under her knees was actually designed to place her at the ideal height for fucking.
Travis kept an eye on Cara’s face to make sure she retained her arousal — fully immersed in the objectification experience. He’d arranged two mirrors, so she could look into one and see her profile reflected in the other from the side and a little behind. She looked more like a table imitating a person than a person imitating a table, and he knew this would appeal to both her artist’s brain and the portion of her psyche craving objectification.
It bothered him when he couldn’t coax her into talking about where this need came from. She insisted it was merely the way she’s wired, but he was certain something must’ve triggered it. He didn’t think she was lying to him, more like deluding herself by not facing whatever had happened.
They’d grown very close in the five months they’d been together, but he still had to give her lots of space after a scene. A few of the professionals he’d worked with had preferred he leave them alone but the vast majority appreciated good aftercare, and he’d grown to enjoy taking care of them after a hard session, slowly bringing them back from subspace and caring for the marks and wounds he’d inflicted.
When Cara asked him what he wanted, what would turn him on, he was always tempted to tell her wanted to hold her after a scene, but he knew she wasn’t ready so he continued to give her space. He often wished she were more flexible, as she wasn’t able to handle some of his favorite positions. However, he wasn’t sure how to talk to her about it. Telling her without offering a way to fix it would be more destructive than helpful, but he wasn’t sure how best to go about proposing to help. So, for now, he said nothing.
He’d been positive he’d need a sub or slave if he ever found someone, but Cara was far from submissive. In many ways she was the opposite of what he’d required in a professional, and yet she’d stolen his heart from the first.
Travis found himself fiercely protective of her, and marveled how the monster felt the same. He never worried about the beast pushing too far with Cara, it listened for changes to her screams as closely as he did, and on the rare occasion they signaled bad pain or true panic, the monster willingly backed off to let Travis step in.
The paparazzi had become part of his life and, with one big exception, he’d grown accustomed to ignoring them over the years. However, he’d had to maintain a tight rein on his temper to keep from lashing out when they involved Cara.
The couple hadn’t given the gossipmongers a single shred of juicy scandal, but still, at least two photographers trailed them anytime they left the house. He wanted to send a guard and driver with Cara but she refused, saying she’d drive herself, and they weren’t going to hurt her so she’d just ignore them. She pointed out she was safer with a photographer following her than not, as no one would kidnap or mug her with a camera trained in her direction. She was damned impossible to argue with, sometimes.
Travis stood and walked into the living room to watch the final touches in person. Jazz ran a leather strip through her hair and around her forehead, clipping it to the straps on her back. He bent to place short wooden pieces between her wrists and then knees, and slightly longer pieces from wrist to knee on both sides, attaching them with simple brown Velcro cuffs. Cara couldn’t move now, even if she wanted to.
Her face had been stained and painted to look like a wooden decoration on a table; and her hair dyed a temporary brown and twisted into an elaborate updo, making it appear a part of the adornment.
“Thank you Jazz, I love my new table. You’ve done a marvelous job.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Winslow. I believe I’m finished, unless there’s something else?”
“It’s perfect. Come this way and I’ll get your check and see you out.”
Even though it’d only be a moment, Travis didn’t like having her out of his sight while restrained, but it couldn’t be helped. He only had to walk the man to the front door, hand him the envelope with the check inside and thank him again.
He hurried back to Cara, knowing she’d been alone less than a minute and a half, but still relieved to see she was fine. He figured she could stay this way up to an hour but hoped for an hour and a half. He’d need to keep a close eye on her though, maybe release her ankles so the legs could come down if she exhibited signs of discomfort. The key was in maintaining her arousal level and keeping her in table mode — objectified. She could take a lot when the right buttons were pushed.
Travis stepped to the bar and poured himself a drink, opting for cola with ice but making it sound as if he were pouring a cocktail. Her eyes stared straight ahead without trying to look sideways at him, but he’d learned she had excellent peripheral vision. He contemplated her a moment and palmed his cock through his dress pants while he was hidden behind the bar. He’d let her see his excitement later, but not yet.
He grabbed the plugs and a deck of cards and returned to her side, sitting his drink, one of the plugs, and the cards in the center of the glass platform on her back. He walked behind her, muttering to himself.
“He did a beautiful job. I wonder if it’s as functional as promised.” He pulled a tube from his pocket and lubed the plug — not terribly big, but large enough she’d have to work to relax and let it in. He didn’t stretch or lube her ass. She could take it and he knew how much it would stimulate her to be treated as an unfeeling object with no need for preparation.
He inserted the glistening plug about an inch into her ass, held for a count of five in his head, and began a steady push, watching it slowly sink into her body as she tried to arch her back and raise her ass, and realized she couldn’t. This was incredibly strict bondage but he’d worked her up to it without telling her what he was preparing her for. He was confident she w
as ready, but still carefully watched her responses.
Meanwhile, his cock was having a heyday, with the little attempt at arching her back shooting him from hard, to rock-hard and throbbing. When he’d played with the professionals it’d been about his own wants and needs, but with Cara he discovered the simple act of fulfilling her fantasies could excite him more than the most sordid things he’d done to the call girls. Sure, it didn’t hurt that most of her desires merged with his, but even today, when this wasn’t his kink, he was painfully erect just thinking of what it was doing to her.
He unzipped his pants and stepped closer. Jazz had situated her at the perfect height, making it easy to slide his cock into her pussy. The ice in his drink tinkled when he entered her, and he lifted his soda from the glass and pushed in again, groaning as her muscles gripped him and drew him into her heavenly depths.
Travis wanted to groan in ecstasy and declare his abiding love for her, but he reined his emotions in, kept his voice steady, and murmured, “Why did I never think of having a fuckable table before? Such a useful feature.”
Casually sliding in and out, he continued fucking her with slow, controlled strokes; relishing the feel of her pussy grabbing him as she struggled to keep her orgasm at bay. If he picked up the pace she’d come, and he wanted to keep her on edge to ensure she’d enjoy what was coming.
The gate dinged to let him know someone with a security code entered the property. Travis pulled out, returned his drink to the glass on Cara’s back, and put the other plug into her pussy — no lube needed. He zipped up and walked to the front door, stopping at the bar to get a wet wipe to clean the lube from his finger.
“Paul, I’m so glad you could come. I’ve got the cards ready; what can I fix you to drink?”
“I’ll take my usual, thanks.”
Paul had been Travis’ mentor, helping to turn him from the self-centered sadistic teen he’d been into a caring and responsible sadistic Dom. The two were close friends more than mentor and student now, but Travis still looked up to him.
The tricky part of the evening would come first, as they played cards and briefly discussed what it’d taken for Paul to turn Travis from a budding monster into a conscientious Dom. Travis wanted Cara to open up about what precipitated her need for objectification, and he hoped overhearing the conversation as an object might break through to her. She’d heard the story before; it wasn’t new information, just a different method of delivery.
Travis fixed Paul’s ice water in a cocktail glass and walked back to Cara to see his friend shuffling the cards on her back. He wondered how the vibrations would feel through the glass and made a mental note to talk to her about it later. He scooted the other stool to her side, sat, and they quickly began their game. They played casually a few minutes, making small talk before Paul opened the conversation.
“I still remember you as this gangly kid with more money than sense. I see you’re still spending your money extravagantly, but I’m proud of the man you’ve become, Travis.”
Wow, the last sentence hadn’t been in the script. He should’ve known Paul would add his own twist. “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you. You’re one of the few men who know...who’ve met the monster inside of me.”
“Yes, but you’ve successfully corralled it, only letting him out when it’s safe for him to play. Do you understand what created the monster?”
Paul was saying what they’d agreed on without repeating it exactly word for word, and it helped keep him from sounding rote. Travis tried the same tactic, since it seemed to work for the older man. “I think so. My first several hundred orgasms happened while watching porn, most of it violent. A person can have one sexual encounter in their formative years that changes their sexual tastes for life, and I had hundreds of them. My brain was wired so aggression, in one form or another, is needed for me to enjoy sex. Violence, control, cruelty, pain — it can take many forms.”
Wanting to involve Cara, he lifted his glass, took a sip, and set it down with a clink. He wanted to touch her, caress her, but using her for a table would have to do for now. Scanning the script in his mind’s eye, he continued. “It could’ve gone horribly bad and I’m forever grateful to you for teaching me how to function, how to feed my inner sadist consensually. I’m madly in love with the woman of my dreams and it wouldn’t be possible if I’d become the monster. I owe you big time, my friend.”
Paul smiled. “Tell me about her.”
“She’s the only person I know who can make a computer do things I can’t. She can make art with a computer. She does it with a brush and paint, too; but she uses a mouse or stylus without thinking. The computer is her tool and she knows her software inside and out — it’s an extension of her mind, a way to create, a means to an end, the way technology should be used.”
He waved his arms, not able to keep the emotion out of his voice, and it broke a little as he continued. “Her mind sees art in almost everything. On one of our first dates we went to Six Flags and she brought her camera to take pictures for inspiration. She can find unadulterated joy and beauty in the most common things. Something I would’ve never noticed, she made look like a work of art from a simple photograph — the way the light filtered through trees, the way a dad watched his child.” He shook his head. “A few of her photos took my breath away, and I’d stood with the real thing in front of me in living color, and hadn’t even noticed.”
“Do you feel her light balances your darkness?”
Damn, that wasn’t part of the script, either. Leave it to Paul to use this as a therapy session for him as well as Cara. He was a genius at asking the right questions, so Travis knew the answers but didn’t realize it until he heard the question. He smiled now, as the answer came to him. “I hadn’t thought of it like that. I love the way she sees things, but I think the truth leans towards my helping her see her own darkness. All the pictures I’ve seen from before she met me are of joy and beauty, but now, every once in a while her paintings show darkness and pain. It’s still beautiful, but there are storm clouds instead of peaceful skies, angst in lieu of joy. She’s always amazed when those pieces sell for more than her happy paintings.”
“Her shadow side was always there. I’m glad you understand you put her in touch with it but didn’t create it.”
“Yes. I know it was there before, and so does she. I just helped her acknowledge it, become friends with it, own it. I remember how important it was for me to understand what created my darkness. Is it important for her to recognize what shaped hers?”
Finally, that should put them back to the script. Paul shrugged and followed his lead. “I haven’t met her so I can’t say one way or the other. You’re her lover; it’s for the two of you to figure out. She’ll have to feel safe with you, will need to know you can handle whatever comes up, and that you can help her cope with the revelation. It’s a tall order so make sure you’ve made her feel safe. That’s your part; the rest is up to her.”
They finished their hand and Paul won. As he pulled the poker chips to his side of the table he said, “Tell me, have you kept up your aim with the single tail?”
Travis relaxed a little as Paul followed the script and he felt like he was back on firmer ground. He smiled as he said, “I have. What’d you have in mind?”
“Let’s wager on something a bit more fun than cards. My arm against yours?”
“An excellent idea. You can help me break in my new table, it comes with three holes to fuck, and I’ve already tried one so there are two left. Let’s say the winner gets the ass and the loser gets the mouth?”
Travis turned his head to eye the mirror as he spoke, watching Cara’s face to gauge her reaction. They’d discussed him sharing her with someone from the scene, and while she didn’t want anyone from his normal circle of friends involved, she was fine with him using her in whatever manner he wanted with his scene friends. He was looking forward to seeing her used by him and Paul at the same time, and it appeared Cara was as well, as he
saw her breath quicken, a rapt expression on her face, and an attempt to wiggle her hips — all telling him she was turned on. Good.
He walked to the bar and reached for the dental gag, holding it up as he returned. “The table maker provided a few accessories; this one goes in the mouth end to hold it open. I’ll go ahead and insert it now, before we get started.”
Travis used his finger to push her jaw open and Cara complied easily. He put the device into her mouth and felt his cock jerk at the idea she wouldn’t be able to close her jaw or control her drool. He wanted to kiss her forehead, stroke her cheek, but knew she needed him to treat her like a table right now.
Paul had left his single tail near the front door and he retrieved it while Travis placed the gag. He returned and took a few practice throws and Travis saw Cara jerk at the sound. He couldn’t resist giving her at least one reassuring caress, so he stroked a finger from the base of her ear down her jawline before standing to retrieve his single tail from behind the bar.
“My new table has an ass we can use as target practice. The table-maker even assures me it’s capable of screaming if you hit it right.”
“Nice. What’s the wager?”
“You take the right cheek; I’ll take the left. How about we make a line down the center of each cheek? The one who makes the straightest line gets her ass? Three strokes each?”
“Sure, and if we both make perfectly straight lines?”
“Then we’ll have to devise a tie breaker.”
Travis lobbed a few throws into the air while Paul walked their glasses and the deck of cards to the bar.
When Paul returned, Travis stepped into position, focused on the spot on Cara’s ass he intended to strike, and let it fly. It hit exactly where he’d resolved and he heard Cara’s gasp turn into a quick scream. He watched her breathing, saw she was handling it okay and coming to terms with the pain, and he let loose with his second strike an inch below the first. Another scream, and it took a few seconds longer for her to deal with the pain. Travis surveyed her posture and facial expressions, scrutinized her breathing, and by the time he threw the third his cock was tenting his pants and he wanted to stroke himself, but he resisted. He and Paul walked to her to look at the three marks.
Safeword: Quinacridone Page 11