Chapter 6

He cupped her breasts, lifting and kneading them as he looked down at her. His thumbs rubbed her nipples, and her pussy clenched in response. Fresh moisture dampened her sex. His hand slid from her breasts down her sides until he reached the waistband of her satin panties. He traced his fingers along the fabric—over her hips and across her lower abdomen to her aching, wet pussy. He traced a line down the center of her sex, then back up. With each vertical stroke he pressed in a bit harder. Within the prison of her underwear her pussy lips were spreading open. She held perfectly still, eyes closed, focused on that single, repetitive touch. Finally, he pressed hard enough, opened her enough that the next pass had his fingers skimming over her clit.

She couldn't hold still after that. She jumped and twitched.

He paused, his finger reversing course to skim over her clit again. He explored her though the barrier of the now-wet cloth, which clung to every fold of her vulva. As he pushed on the fabric, it was pressed into the valley of her pussy, her hairless labia increasingly exposed on either side of the panties.

He curled his fingers and scraped his nail over her clit. The fabric muted the touch, but it was still hard and precise. Totally different than the broad, smooth feel of a finger or tongue, his nail on her clit made the hair on her scalp tingle and her teeth clench.

"Do you like that?" he asked lowly.

"Yes. Yes, Sir."

He repeated the caress, nail gliding over her clit again, and she arched back so hard she almost lost her balance. She would have tipped back—though her bound wrists would have prevented her from falling—but like a romance novel hero he reached out and grabbed her, saving her. He had one knee braced on the sidepiece, between her feet, and his right arm hooked around her waist.

"Let's get you someplace safer," he murmured.

He switched arms, so his left was around her waist, and then reached up with his right hand to unbuckle the cuffs. Another impressive physical feat, though this one was more about dexterity than strength.

The instant he released the second cuff, the lever snapped into position with a clang. The sound echoed menacingly. Even though she was sitting up on the spanking bench, which made her taller than she would have been standing, he towered over her.

She lowered her arms and, not quite sure what to do with them, lay her palms on his shoulders. He didn’t object. His right hand caressed her hair, from the crown of her head all the way down her back, pressing the silky locks against her skin. Her nipples pebbled, and she deliberately leaned forward, brushing them against his hard chest.

He looked down at her as his hand retraced the path it had taken, this time under her hair, against her bare skin. He took hold of the back of her neck in that casual, possessive touch that he’d used before.

Sejal lowered her gaze instinctively. Barely-leashed sexual aggression was pouring off him in delicious waves. He was so masculine, so physical, that it was easy to submit to him.

It would be hard to submit to Hach now.

Another thought that needed to be pushed away and dealt with later.

"Come on," he said. "I want my hands on that sweet pussy."

Oh yes, she wanted that too.

She waited for him to step back, to give her room to climb down, but he slid his hands under her ass and lifted her. Sejal wrapped her legs around his waist and arms around his neck. The bare skin of her chest met his equally naked flesh—he was warm and hard against her. She could feel the softness of her breasts molding against the hard planes of him, her body changing to fit his.

He carried her away from the spanking bench, setting her down on the end of the medical exam table. Sejal pressed her lips together, but didn't object. As a doctor, she didn't like medical play—she liked to compartmentalize, and getting fingered while on an exam table might make it harder for her to separate Dr. Barsar from Sejal the Submissive.

Yet she didn't object. She sat, feet dangling, and waited to see what he would do next.

Master Dowell went to a small chest and started rooting around inside. When he straightened he held a plastic-packaged toy, though she couldn't see exactly what it was. With a casual twist of his muscles he opened the package, and then removed the toy, carrying it to a Jack-and-Jill style bathroom shared by this playroom and the one next to it. She heard the water turn on, and then he was back, a clean, new ball gag dangling from his hand.

Cort ran his thumb over the gag, making sure it was clean and dry, as he walked toward his submissive.

His for now.

Sejal watched him approach, but her gaze was softer, more submissive. She still looked noble, but now looked like a...

His brain scrambled to come up with something that fit her. She was so unlike the submissive he normally scened with that he was struggling to come up with a way to describe her. Not that he was good at coming up with descriptions. Or good at anything in particular.

She raised her chin a fraction when his steps slowed and the small motion sparked an analogy.

A queen. That’s what she looked like.

A queen who had recognized she'd been vanquished. That thought led to a quick, vivid mental image of her in a medieval style dress and crown, rising from her throne only to kneel at his feet in submission, accepting that he had conquered her kingdom and would now be her king.

He probably should have watched fewer cartoons when he was young.

He bounced the red rubber ball of the gag on his palm as he stopped in front of her. She was sitting with her knees together, her feet dangling more than a foot above the floor.

"Spread your legs," he demanded, not liking that he couldn't see her pussy.

She did as he ordered, spreading her legs so wide that her knees were along the edge of the padded table. The crotch of her purple underwear was stuck into her wet pussy, the lips protruding lewdly on either side. She'd like having him scratch her clit through the fabric, so he would leave her panties on. For now.

"Open up," he demanded.

She opened her mouth. It was as small and delicate as the rest of her, and the ball barely fit between her teeth. He pressed it in, some perverse part of him liking the way her jaw strained open before he got the ball in place behind her teeth. Her lips flexed on the red rubber as she tried—most likely in vain—to get comfortable.

"Lift your hair.”

When she'd gathered her hair on top of her head he fastened the straps of the gag at the back of her neck. Because the ball was wedged into her mouth, he left the straps—which were rubber like the ball, and a bit stretchy—looser than he would have normally. He also started a mental clock. He couldn’t leave it in too long, or she might hurt her jaw.

Seeing her like this—legs spread, breasts bare, lips and teeth held open by the gag—was making it hard for him to think about anything but stripping her naked and burying his fingers and tongue inside her. The gag was in. Next step, bondage.

He frowned to himself. He was missing a piece. With a start he realized what it was, and hid his wince. “Non-verbal safe word.” His voice was huskier than it had been.

She made a muffled noise, stopped, and then nodded her head. Her breasts bounced as she inhaled and then let out a sigh, air whooshing through her nose. He stared at those lovely, full breasts.

Non-verbal safe word. Right.

Trying not to look like he’d forgotten to grab something out of the stock box—though that was exactly what had happened—he turned and walked away from her. Damn it, he needed to think ahead, to plan this better so he wouldn’t have to run to get something at a critical moment. He’d never been great with details—not just in BDSM, but in life. He knew what he wanted, but he didn’t always know, remember, or figure out what elements he needed for that outcome.

Such as getting a non-verbal safe word tool for Sejal to use at the same time he grabbed the gag.

He rummaged around in the box, taking far longer than he wanted to, and finally found a small bag of clickers, the kind used to train dogs. They were probably meant for puppy play, or more aggressive formal training—but for Sejal it would make the perfect non-verbal signal.

He selected a rectangular box-style clicker, with an oval cut out on one side that showed the metal plate responsible for making the actual clicking noise.

There were others that had wrist or finger loops, but he'd chosen this one in part because it didn't have anything like that.

Sejal watched him walk back. He didn't miss the way her eyes lingered on his bare chest, and some of his inward-directed annoyance faded. He trailed two fingers down her right arm. When he reached her wrist he circled it with his fingers, raising her arm and turning her hand palm up. He placed the clicker into her hand.

"This is what we'll use for a non-verbal safe word." He helped her position the clicker in her hand, her thumb against the metal plate. "One click means yes. Do you understand?"

She clicked it once.

"Two means no. Do you understand?"

Another click.

"Double click so we both know what 'no' sounds like."

Click. Click.

"Three or more clicks are the equivalent of a safe word. I will immediately stop what I'm doing and remove the gag, or take you out of bondage if you're in a stress position. Understand?"

Click.

"If you drop the clicker, that will also be the equivalent of a safe word, and I will stop what I'm doing."

Her eyes widened and she made a muffled noise. Then they narrowed with irritation that she wasn't able to talk.

“Does that work for you?”

Click. Click. No.

"Because you might accidentally forget about it and drop it when you're close to orgasm?" he asked with a smile.

She looked at him suspiciously, then clicked once. Yes.

He leaned his thighs against the end of the exam table and skimmed his hands up her sides. He cupped her breasts. They were glorious. He wished they had some more breast-centered items on their list.

There was nothing that said he had to only do what was on the list, so a bit of breast bondage and play could be added to their scenes. That was something to look forward to.

He skimmed his lips against her temple, and down her cheek until he hit the rubbery strap of the gag. He kissed her lower lip, which was vulnerable and soft against the hard rubber of the gag. "Then I suggest," he murmured, "that you don't drop it. Because if you do, I will stop.”

"My fingers will stop." He pinched and rolled her nipples, then slid one hand down and scraped a nail over her fabric-bound clit.

“My tongue will stop.” He traced the curve of her upper lip with the tip of his tongue.

“My teeth with stop.” He leaned down and gently bit the soft skin on the side of her neck.

“My mouth will stop.” Moving fast, wanting to surprise her, he shifted his hands to her ribs and pushed her back, forcing her to lie on the reclined section of the exam table.

She squeaked and the clicker dropped from her hand, clattering to the floor.

Cort lifted both hands into the air in the “don’t shoot” position and took a single, long step back from the exam table.

Her eyes widened and she sat up. She looked at him, mumbling something into the gag. He kept his face impassive, enjoying her predicament the way only a Dom could. By rights he should have removed the gag, but he knew dropping the clicker had been an accident, and besides she wasn’t in bondage yet and could have pulled the gag out herself. More importantly, he wanted to see what she’d do.

Sejal hopped off the table, grabbed the clicker, and then jumped back on. As she did her breasts bounced enticingly. He liked that, liked watching her wiggle to get into position.

He waited until she was positioned with legs spread once more before saying, “Get down.”

She hit him with a baleful look, and then wiggled back off, breasts bouncing and swaying. His cock throbbed, the leathers, which were purposefully loose in the front, too tight. Once she was standing he reached out and tugged on the front of her panties.

“Time to take these off.”

Her gaze leapt to his face, then slide to the floor, but not as if she didn’t want to look at him, more as if she were savoring this moment, and closing her eyes to help focus her other senses.

She tugged her panties down and off with more haste than grace, which he found ridiculously sexy. He undid the tie of his pants, tugged the lacings to loosen them, and then retied the ends in a loose bow. For once he was thinking ahead, and now the leathers would be relatively easy to get out of.

Thinking about taking off his pants, about freeing his cock, made him think about the two items on the checklist he hadn’t told her about. He now knew she was not only okay with “given away” but seemed to be enjoying it, but he wasn’t sure he was willing to do those two items.

For a BDSM Dom, he realized he had a rather prudish streak.

“Back up. Legs spread.” The words came out harsher than he’d meant them to.

Sejal picked up the clicker, then resumed her position straddling the end of the exam table. This time he could see her bare pussy—just the hint of wet flesh in the shadows cast by her body.

“Lie back.” He made sure his voice didn’t have that hard edge this time. “Arms up, grab the top with the hand not holding the clicker.”

She obeyed, moving into position. Her breasts shifted as she moved, falling to her sides with their own weight. He wished he’d clamped them, so he could watch her squirm as her nipples were pulled, the chain a tightrope over her breastbone.

He trailed his fingers up the midline of her body, from just above the mound of her sex, over her lightly curved belly, sternum, all the way to the hollow of her throat, then up the graceful line of her neck. He swiped his finger through the saliva that had gathered at the corners of her mouth. As he did, he saw her swallow, trying to stop herself from drooling.

“The gag will make you drool; there’s nothing you can do about it.” He rubbed his wet finger on one of her nipples, felt the skin tighten. The other nipple got the same treatment. Once that was done, he shifted so he was at the top of the bench. Some helpful person had left adjustable canvas straps attached to the rear legs of the exam table.

He’d forgotten restraints.

Cursing himself for being a disorganized dumbass, he dashed back to the supplies box. This time he found a small velvet bag, dumped out the glass dildo inside it, and stuffed the bag full of things he might need. Not wanting to have to go back, no matter what he decided to do next, he grabbed a pair of padded suspension cuffs with safety releases. They were bulky and heavy, with short straps extending from the side, perpendicular to the cuff itself. They were overkill for what he was planning to do right now, but he was not coming back to this box again tonight.

He tucked the velvet bag under the exam table, where he wouldn't trip on it, then slid the cuffs around her wrists, buckling them in place with three small buckles on each wrist. She turned her head to look at what he was using to restrain her. As she did, spit slipped out of the corner of her mouth. She made a disgruntled noise and tried to wipe her face on her arm. He finished closing the restraints, then attached the six-inch straps to canvas leads using a simple pull clip. He adjusted the straps so there wasn't slack, but also weren't tight. She had enough play to bend her elbows, which would make sure she didn't accidentally lock them in an effort to keep pressure off her shoulders, which could happened when a sub had his or her hands bound above their head for too long.

Now for her legs.

He skimmed his hand along her as he circled towards her feet. She shivered in response to the delicate touch. Her legs were spread, but because her lower legs were hanging off the edges, the angle of her hips was wrong for what he wanted to do next. Cort crouched to look at the end of the exam table, took a minute to figure it out, and then pulled out the stirrups, which could be hidden inside the base of the table to keep them out of the way. She made another noise.

He looked up. "Don't forget your clicker."

She hesitated and then clicked once.

He fished around for the bag, found the Velcro straps he'd put in there, and pulled them out. Then he grabbed her right leg.

She planted her bare foot on his chest and pushed. He hadn't expected that, so he fell back a step. He stilled, examining her face for signs of distress, then checked to make sure she still held the clicker and hadn't dropped it without him hearing. It was in her hand.

Testing, he grabbed her leg again. She tried to push him away, but this time he was ready, and leaned forward, countering her kick with his body weight. Her heel dug into his abs, but he didn't move.

“This is the last time I’ll remind you about your safe word. Or safe clicker in this case.” He held perfectly still, meeting her gaze. “Are you in distress?”

Click. Click.

No, she wasn’t in distress. That meant she wanted to fight him. Wanted a bit of rough play, to be “forced” to obey.

Cort grinned. He was more than happy to oblige now that consent had been firmly established.

He tucked the Velcro straps into his waistband, then grabbed her leg with both hands and forced her heel into the stirrup.

Her other leg came up and she slapped her foot against his chest, shoving hard enough that her body slid up the table.

Cort grabbed that leg, tucked her ankle under his arm so he could still use both hands, and strapped the first leg down. She wasn’t fighting him with the desperation of fight-or-flight. If she’d wanted to, she probably could have kicked up high enough to break his nose. She wiggled and made muffled noises. He almost lost hold of her un-strapped leg when her bouncing breasts distracted him.

He’d assumed she was fighting because she wanted him to put her in place. Wanted him to strap her down. Liked the feeling of physical domination, the most base and brutal expression of D/s play. But maybe she was fighting because she didn’t like medical play—that would make sense because she’d only started fighting after he’d pulled out the stirrups.

In the end, it didn’t matter, because he was her Master and he wanted her strapped down, spread, naked, and helpless.

He liked the way she bucked, breasts bouncing as she tried and failed to prevent him from putting her other leg into position. She struggled harder as he clamped a hand over her ankle, holding it against the stirrup. He exerted pressure, leaning his body weight onto that hand as he fished the second strap from his waistband. Then he adjusted his position, turning his back to her, clamping her knee between his elbow and ribs. That freed up both hands to quickly wrap the strap around her ankle, then slap the Velcro into place. There was a brief ripping sound as she tried to get free, but then the hook and eye closures caught and held. Cort smiled in satisfaction as he turned and looked at her, bound and spread. She was glaring at him and breathing heavily from her exertions. She squeezed her knees together. Her ankles were too far apart for her to close them all the way, but still, he couldn't, wouldn't allow that. He wondered if that was her way of asking for more bondage. He wished he knew more about her, wished they'd had more time to talk. Or that she could respond verbally.

She had the gag in because he wanted it there, and he could take it out just as easily, but he realized having the gag out would be exactly that—easy. He was starting to understand what the overseers had wanted when they started the checklist game. Without the requirements of the game, he would never have had this woman submit to him, would never have had her gagged and bound the way she was now.

He grabbed the velvet bag, pulled out two more Velcro straps, forced her knees open and then bound her calves to the arms of the stirrups. He could have forced a spreader bar between her knees, but there was something else he intended to have between her legs. Himself.