Safeword: Quinacridone

by Candace Blevins

“Okay, let’s get your things from your closet and take them to the kitchen. Debbie’s making something special to celebrate your officially moving in, and it should be ready soon.”

  * * * *

  When they finished dinner, Travis put her into a warm bathtub and told her to soak for a while. The monitor hanging on the wall over her feet displayed a painting, and he put the waterproof wireless mouse in her hand. “It’s scrolling through the art in the Louvre and will stay on each for thirty seconds unless you use the mouse to pause, go forward, or go back. You can also click on an image for more information, or zoom in on parts of it. I have some prep to take care of and will come get you when I’m ready.”

  Travis’ plan worked, because Cara became engrossed in the pictures and barely realized time had passed when he came to get her half an hour later. He dried her off and led her into the bedroom and towards the hallway. When she hesitated at the door he said, “Debbie’s gone for the day; we have the house to ourselves.”

  She gave him an apologetic look, sorry she’d doubted him, but he kissed her on top of the head and wrapped his arm around her. “It’s okay Cara Mia. I’ll keep explaining until you can trust.”

  He held her hand as they walked comfortably through the house. Sometimes he dressed up for these scenes, making her feel even more naked next to him in a tux or leather pants. Tonight he was still in his work clothes — khaki pants and a blue button down with a white tee peeking out.

  She remembered what he’d said about not objectifying her tonight, but she no longer worried about a lack of arousal. Travis could make her body sing an entire chorus of sensations. In some ways, his resolve to see her as a person and not an object turned her on because of his insistence; he knew what she wanted but was choosing a scene designed to please him, no matter how she felt about it.

  He hadn’t had a playroom in the house when they started dating but he’d slowly added pieces to a basement room, and had infused so much warmth and comfort into it she sometimes went in there to read when she needed time alone. The room was soundproof and the door stayed locked, needing one of their palm prints to enter, as neither of them wanted Debbie to have to deal with their kinks.

  So now they walked through the house side by side, and he led her to the gyno table when they reached the playroom. It’d been made to look like an antique but was new, with warm wood tones and supple brown leather. He knelt to wrap the soft, chocolate leather cuffs around her ankles, his hands smoothing them down, and a finger poking in to test the fit. He stood and caressed her face, brushed her lips with his, and slid his hand down her arm, up her back — a patient seduction that made her tremble.

  Once, gentle kisses irritated her, but with Travis she sometimes thought her heart would burst, the emotions so strong from merely a soft brush of his lips.

  His eyes gleamed as they focused on her, and he straightened, talking as he secured the cuffs around her wrists. “I want you to know I see you tonight. I’m doing this to you, the woman I love, because it makes both of us happy. You’re my partner, my friend, my other half. I see you. I love you.”

  Not trusting her voice, she nodded and closed her eyes as he urged her backwards onto the table. He kept his movements slow, deliberate, as he clipped her ankle cuffs into the stirrups and wrist cuffs to hooks near her face.

  The table vibrated under her as the motor raised her head and their eyes met.

  “Are you mine?”

  She nodded again and he walked to the wall, returning with a wheeled cart containing a variety of bottles and a medium-sized cooler. He donned black rubber gloves before reaching for a pretty red bottle, pulling the glass stopper out and pouring some of the contents into a clear glass bowl.

  “This is a blend of red peppers and olive oil in a ratio that will hurt but won’t harm you. I have a mixture of cucumbers and full fat yogurt in the cooler being kept ice cold, so if you say your safeword I can cool you down quickly. When we’re done I’ll use it, followed by a lengthy whole milk rinse, and finally a vinegar and water douche to clean the milk.” He paused and looked her in the eyes, freezing her with the intensity of his gaze. “My intention tonight is to fist you using the pepper oil as lube. I want to look in your eyes and see your pain. I want you to scream and cry and beg me to stop as I push my fist into you until you think you’ll split in two.”

  Travis pushed the stirrups farther apart, spreading her legs wider, holding her open. He hadn’t expanded them to the point of discomfort and she inwardly winced, wondering if he wished he could push them farther apart.

  He pulled the stool between her legs and re-situated the cart. Cara tried to figure out what was different and it took a few minutes to pinpoint — he didn’t have his cold face. Normally by now, with her restrained and him having spent this much time with preparations, she’d see the other side of him, the sadist, but this was her everyday Travis.

  He dipped his hand into the bowl, watching his fingers thoughtfully as they lifted and the oil slid off. She could see the shiny film on the black glove, small pieces of red sticking to it. He looked up. “I watched the blender for a long time — saw it turn one whole pepper and a cup of oil into...this. Thinking the entire time about hearing you scream with pain and beg me to make the burn stop.

  Cara tried to shrink away as his hand approached her pussy, but there was nowhere to go, no possible escape. His finger pushed into her and it burned, but not as bad as she’d feared. She’d expected the heat of biting into a hot pepper but this was more like marginally over-spiced soup.

  She looked up, met his eyes, and hoped he wasn’t disappointed she wasn’t screaming. He smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Did I forget to mention the sensations will build on themselves? We’ll be here for an hour, at least. If it’d been terrible right off the bat we’d never make it all the way to my fist.”

  He pulled his finger out, pushed two in, watching her face as his eyes studied her every reaction. A third finger joined them and she heard herself gasp — the burn was growing more intense, and she hadn’t quite been ready for three fingers yet.

  He made an appreciative sound and pulled his fingers out to re-coat them in the oil before sliding back in, spreading her open with slow and steady pressure as his eyes held hers captive.

  Her heart hammered away in her chest as he drove in; deliberate, unrelenting. She felt the burn pick up — still tolerable, but the heat was doing things to her, making her hornier, making her crave movement.

  His hand inched along and she pressed her hips forward a scant inch, trying to speed him up, wanting more of his fingers.

  Still held hostage by his gaze, she said, “I want—”

  “You’ll get what you want, and more, soon enough.” He smiled warmly and continued his mercilessly slow pace. When she felt the edge of his knuckles he slowly pulled them all the way out. They dipped into the oil another time and he held his hand up with all four fingers together to show his next step, sadistically building her anticipation.

  He once again went oh-so-slow, but this time he spread her impossibly wide and the oil became liquid fire. She opened her hands, squeezed them into fists, and then splayed them again, stretching her fingers.

  When they drew into a tight fist once more, vibrating with intent as she fought to handle the pain, Travis smiled. “I see you’re starting to feel it. I love you, Cara Mia. Tell me what this is doing to you.”

  “It, your hand, it’s stretching me too wide. And where it’s too much, at the entrance, the oil burns worse. A lot worse. Oh god. Please slow down! I know I wanted you to go faster before, but it hurts, please slow down, please!”

  His hand continued relentlessly at the same slow pace, pushing in and spreading her, millimeter by millimeter. The oil soaked in to new places as the delicate tissues were forced to extend wider and wider, and Cara thrashed her head and fought the restraints as the burn intensified.

  She heard herself begging him to stop, remembered she could end it with a word, but couldn’t say the word. He
r body desperately wanted her to end this, but if she said it he wouldn’t fist her, and she’d never had anyone do this to her.

  Cara wanted his hand in her tonight, to celebrate her moving in with him, to make them closer, and let her belong to him in yet another way. But, oh god, it hurt.

  His hand slowly slid out, the pressure that’d split her apart easing, and she took a breath, opened her eyes. He was looking at her pussy, watching his hand gradually reappear. As he lifted it away from her, his face rose to hers and their eyes met, falling into each other. Cara couldn’t handle the intensity and closed them.

  Nothing happened for several seconds and she peeked out, saw his hand submerged in the oil again, and he lifted the bowl near her pussy so he could pull his hand out and go right in without the fiery lubricant having a chance to drip away.

  He entered faster this time and when he got to his knuckles he kept up the pressure. He wasn’t pushing hard, just enough she felt herself gradually widening, millimeter by millimeter, his hand advancing ever so slowly. The burn was intense and her pussy on fire, as if it’d been dipped in acid.

  Cara couldn’t feel anything but the blaze at the center of her universe. Nothing existed except the constant weight of his hand stretching her in two, his knuckles forcing their way between the bones, the skin trying to hold everything together. And the fire, consuming her.

  The relentless force didn’t ease up again. More oil was dribbled on a few times and his hand slid in a few more millimeters as the fiery lubricant eased the way. Cara screamed and begged, and just as the tears finally started, his knuckles passed through and some of the pressure released. Her eyes flew open and she met Travis’ gaze as an orgasm swept over her, their eyes never leaving each other as her insides took over and poured bliss on top of all the pain, wave after wave undulating through her as she stopped breathing, her mouth open in a silent scream, her eyes locked with Travis’.

  When the orgasm faded Travis carefully pulled his hand out in one smooth motion. Cara screamed as his knuckles made a painful exit, her arousal no longer making it a good pain, and the burn was suddenly too much. Travis quickly moved the oil away and stripped the glove from his hand. He popped open the cooler and pulled out a bowl, removing the lid and scooping a thick white mixture into his fingers; he took it straight to her blazing pussy and slathered the outside before pushing it in.

  Ah, instant coolness; it was cold, but also seemed to counter the effects of the pepper. Cara relaxed into the table and said, “Thank you,” through her tears in an exhausted and shattered voice, her throat sore from so much screaming.

  “You’re welcome, though I’m not sure whether you’re thanking me for hurting you or making it better?”

  Suddenly lightheaded, she closed her eyes and let the weight of her head rest on the table and took a deep breath. “Both. Thank you for the entire experience. Although, you haven’t got off yet, so maybe I shouldn’t be thanking you yet.” Cara thought her crackled voice sounded subdued, as if chilled out on pot. Her whole body was relaxed as Travis scooped the white concoction out of her pussy and put more in — the fire dying a little more with each application of the cold, soothing mixture.

  “Actually, yes, I did. I haven’t come in my pants since I was a teenager, but I did tonight.” He smiled, his eyes warm and happy. “Congratulations, you did the impossible — got me off with nothing touching me.”

  It was probably an hour later before Travis took her to bed. He made sure she was cleaned up properly, including about a gallon of a vinegar and water mixture flowing into and back out of her pussy. They had missionary sex, slow and loving and perfectly vanilla, if you overlooked her sore pussy and how much she experienced with every deliberate, purposeful, loving stroke. Still, it was the closest Cara had ever felt to making love, and she went to sleep thinking she’d made the right decision, and moving in with Travis was going to work out okay after all.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Travis hosted a LAN party on the first Sunday afternoon of almost every month, with an open invitation to his closest friends and senior employees.

  Travis thought of his top people as his team instead of personnel, and Cara had begun to understand part of what made him such a success was choosing brilliant individuals to work for him, treating them with respect, trusting them to do their job without being managed, and paying what they were worth — and then some.

  Most of the guys were typical geeks, but one of his team members was a player, and showed up with a different girl every month.

  One Sunday the stud-muffin came without a date, and during the good-natured ribbing that ensued, someone mentioned how long it’d been since Paul had brought his wife.

  Cara’d had a hard time facing Paul in social situations at first, as her mind kept flashing back to him in her mouth while she was a table. She’d eventually gotten over it and could talk to him without blushing. Usually. But she’d never been told about a wife and the news struck her like a head-on freight train — flooring her and rendering her speechless.

  She dropped her gaming control, stared at Paul, then Travis, back to Paul, and realized the entire room was looking at her. At a loss for what to do, she stood and ran from the room, through the kitchen, out the back door, and to her solarium. Her hand was on the palm unit as she scrambled to unlock it as quickly as possible when Paul caught up to her.

  “Cara, talk to me. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  She spun to face him. “You bastard! You cheating, low-life, scum-of-the-earth, bastard!”

  The son of a bitch had the nerve to smile and Cara wanted to slap it from his face.

  “I haven’t cheated on Meg. She knows every detail of what happened, and knew what Travis and I’d planned for you before I left the house. Will you sit with me and talk, so I can explain? Please?”

  “Why would you... why would she...”

  His fingers touched her arm, gently urging her towards an outdoor seating area. “I’ll answer all your questions but let’s sit and be comfortable. If you don’t like my explanations you can call me a bastard some more, but do you really think Travis would let me cheat on my wife with you, knowing how adamant you are about people not cheating when they’ve promised monogamy?”

  She turned her back to him and opened the solarium, waving him inside towards the sofa and chairs in a corner.

  “I’d love for you and Meg to meet; it just hasn’t work out yet. She’s an intensive care nurse and works twelve hours on and twelve hours off for three days each week, starting Sunday afternoon. You’ll meet her eventually, I’m sure, and then you can verify everything I tell you.”

  She sat in a chair and he pulled another over, situating himself in front of her with their knees almost touching. “I know you and Travis see yourselves as partners unless you’re in a scene, but my relationship with Meg is different. We practice what’s called a Total Power Exchange, which means I get to make all decisions, from which house we’ll buy to what we’ll watch on TV. I take her opinions into consideration, but she’s agreed to accept my choices and rules whether she likes them or not — even for personal stuff like hairstyle, what clothes to wear, when to go to bed, what to eat, where she sleeps, and whether she’s allowed to orgasm or not.”

  The concept wasn’t new to Cara; she’d read about those kinds of relationships, though she’d wondered if people actually gave up basic rights or just fantasized about doing so. She listened as Paul continued and wished she weren’t so turned on by the idea of him having absolute power over his wife.

  “In almost every situation, if she has a problem with my decision there’s nothing she can do,” he shrugged. “She just has to accept it and live with it, but she helped create the rules and wouldn’t want them to change, even when she’s unhappy with one of my edicts.”

  He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees so he was in her personal space. “However, I think not allowing her a voice could be dangerous when it comes to who I choose to scene with, because j
ealousy can do bad things to people. So I tell her about everyone I whip, flog, fuck, or...whatever. If I know ahead of time, so does she. If I don’t, I tell her afterwards.”

  He sat back up, pulling out of her space. “There are two people she doesn’t want me to scene with or fuck, and she’s explained to my satisfaction why it bothers her, so I don’t.” He smiled. “She knows all about you, and has heard the details of everything I’ve done with you.” His eyes travelled to the ceiling, looking as if he were trying to figure out what to say next.

  He met her gaze again, saying, “In much the same way it turns Travis on to share you with me, it flips her switch for me to have the freedom to play with others. It’s a different side of the same coin, I suppose.”

  Cara mulled his words; balancing them with the perspective of some of the blogs she’d followed, written by people professing to be full-time slaves. She pulled her legs under her and to the side, farther from his knees, and said, “There’s a woman who writes about her relationship. Her Master lets her vent her frustrations on her blog, but she’s not allowed to tell him about them directly. He takes on new submissives to train sometimes, and she talks about how much she hates having to watch him with them, how jealous she is, but how she’s his property and he owns her, and if he gave her the right to dictate anything it would destroy what they’ve built.”

  He nodded, smiled. “Travis is very lucky to have you in his life. That’s it exactly. My freedom, and her lack of choice, verifies my ownership. It’s a validation of our roles, and in a country with laws against one human owning another, every piece of substantiating proof is important or the façade falls apart.”

  “Just like Travis having the ability to loan me to others is a demonstration of my being an object.” She caught herself looking at the floral arrangement on the sofa table, and pushed herself to raise her gaze to meet his. “You can loan a pencil to someone, or even your car, but you aren’t supposed to loan your girlfriend.” She nodded. “Two sides of the same coin. Okay, I get that, but...your wedding vows, did you promise to be faithful to her?”