Strangelove - Part 9
Part 9
Garrett flipped the latch and slid the heavy metal door open. The rush of air from within was tinged with leather, timber and cologne. Standing on the threshold of his naughty playroom, he turned back, reaching for Jessica’s hand to pull her into the darkness. He flipped a switch on the wall once the door behind them was pulled shut.
She took one awestruck step forward. Her imagination had done her a serious disservice.
Instead of a gallery of hanging shackles, chairs covered in straps and mechanisms designed for terror, the broad rectangular room was warm and stylish, like a stylized suite’s bedchamber.
Red velvet tapestries and wrought iron sconces decorated the walls while giant antique mahogany armoires filled in the spaces between. Centered against the far wall was a giant, four poster bed draped with crimson fabric. Alongside, a white bearskin rug nestled by an electric fireplace, a roaring yet heatless blaze inside. Thin black fabric hung over and concealed three pieces of furniture between them and the bed.
She stepped inside, breathing in the soothing herbal and woodsy scent around her. The space felt romantic and seductive, naughty and nice.
“So?” He murmured, stepping up behind her. “How’d I do?”
“It’s… Well, it’s not at all what I thought it’d be like. It’s so much more than that. I definitely wasn’t picturing this.”
“Let me guess,” he jibed, his fingers moving to his chin in feigned thought. “You figured it would look more like that dungeon you mentioned before, right? Underground and damp, forgotten about by the civilized world, with rats running around and screams echoing down long stone hallways? The type of place that sinners use to corrupt innocent souls?”
“Well, yeah!” Jessica laughed aloud. “Damn, I guess I really did assume the worst, huh?”
He nodded with lifted brows. “Seems like it. Classic cliché imagery. But here’s the truth. I own that stuff. I have all the naughty things your mind keeps telling you I’ll use on you. And they’re all tucked away in those cabinets or hidden under those tarps. But I know my audience. I know you. Like I said before, scaring you doesn’t do anything for either of us. I lose a client and you lose out on the experience. I want this to be a safe space for you, a place that’s very different from your home so you’ll detach, but not so intimidating that it makes you uneasy.”
She released a deep breath, absorbing his words and relaxing her fists.
He continued as his fingers tucked under and lifted her chin. “This isn’t your frilly pink parlor. It’s not going to be. This is a place to explore your desires, to unleash your passion, to be anyone you want to be. This is a safe space, your safe space.”
Her eyes turned dewy, captured by his hypnotic gaze. When his face swept under her ear, his goatee brushing against her neck, she quivered in his grasp. “And you will succumb to me, you will comply with my every demand and you will give everything you have to me. Am I clear?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Good girl,” he grinned, pulling his head back. “Come on. We have work to do.”
She spent an hour sorting through his armoires, accepting palmfuls of leather in the form of whips, tethers and straps with buckles and snaps adorning them. There were wooden paddles in all shapes and sizes hanging on the backsides of the dresser’s doors, cloth restraints laid flat in the drawers and ball gags nestled in fabric boxes.
The second armoire was strictly for his male clients. Her fascination doubled as he explained how each was used and where it belonged. There was no way in hell that Peter would ever volunteer to use any of them, but she couldn’t help imagining him squeezed tight by the inch-thick cock ring.
When she’d satisfied her curiosity and when all the toys were back in their dedicated spaces, she wandered to the first of the three covered pieces. He’d covered them for her sake, but she wasn’t planning on leaving without a thorough inspection of everything this fantasy chamber had to offer.
“These first two are fine but steer clear of the third one,” he warned, stepping up alongside as
her fingers reached for the fabric. “It’s off the table for us.”
She pulled the black cloth away revealing a squat, dome-shaped apparatus with a six-inch pale knob sticking straight up in the middle. Lifting a brow, she turned to him. “I’ve seen one of these before.”
“It’s called a Sybian. It’s like a motorized saddle. Sit on it, slip that inside and settle onto the textured pad there. I control the speed and intensity remotely and I decide when you’re done. And I won’t turn it off until I’m sure you’ve had enough and not a second before.”
She grinned at the machine, stooping down to examine it closer. “And you tarped it. Is this too advanced for me? I think I could handle it.”
“In time, maybe. Again, when you’re at step three, you’ll tell me what you want used and when. But this thing doesn’t stop, it doesn’t go easy, and I won’t turn it off no matter how much begging you do. That’s why it’s covered for now.”
“Speaking of that,” she rose, eyed him again. “Safe words are a thing, right? If things get a little too intense, shouldn’t I have a safe word?”
“No, if that’s what you think they’re for.”
“What? I don’t understand. What are they for?”
“They’re for the opposite type of client as yourself, the kind who want to be physically violated and pushed to within an inch of their lives, the kind who want to feel real fear. You don’t need a safe word with me.”
When her brow lifted, he continued. “I don’t like safe words for trust-based clients for two reasons. One, it’s a way to stop pleasure as much as it’s a way to stop pain. I know where your line is, and I’ll get close but don’t want you giving up, pulling away before I get there. Some tactics might illicit some pain but that’s normal. It’s part of the experience, the rush of endorphins. And second, and more importantly, I don’t like safe words because they undermine the trust we’ve built.”
She recovered the Sybian and crossed her arms over her chest. “How so?”
“This might not make a lot of sense yet, but I’ve spent years being a dom for all sorts of clients. And I’ve spent many, many hours thinking about what’s right for you and what the right approach is. I know what you can handle even if you don’t. I have a pretty damn good idea of what you’ll tolerate. I’ll never have you so restrained, so incapacitated, that you can’t tell me something’s wrong. If you feel faint, if you need a break, you’ll be able to tell me so one way or another. A safe word in our situation is overkill.”
“Even if I’m blindfolded, gagged, tied up?”
“Absolutely, mainly because you’ll never be all three of those things at once. Even if this is something you’re really into, I still wouldn’t push my luck. And we’ve gotten pretty good at reading each other. There will be tugging, pinching, and certainly forceful penetration, but I’ll be able to tell right away if it’s not working as intended or if you’re uncomfortable. We good?”
“Sure, I guess that’s what you do best,” she accepted, stepping to the second piece of covered equipment. Her palm gripped the fabric and swept it aside, revealing two three-feet tall solid metal sawhorses with two feet of space between them. Thick black padding lined the tops.
“Hmm. Not sure I know what these are for.”
Without pause, he slipped off his jacket, revealing the snug navy tee beneath. He tossed it to the side and hopped up onto the stands, his right knee and palm on the right one and his left knee and palm on the left one. The position spread his legs into a V as he straddled the empty space between the stands. “Making sense now?”
She snickered at his willingness to demonstrate, taking a slow lap around the sawhorses. “So, it gets the participant in the right position for…”
“Penetration, yes, among other things.” He dropped his elbows to the padding. His back sloped downward at an angle while his butt lifted toward the ceiling. “Straps can be used to keep the participant still. Or I can push these closer together, lay a client on top and strap their arms and legs down toward the floor. It’s a custom design, really versatile, and they’re heavy enough that they won’t move, no matter how much wiggling is happening on top.”
He hopped off, tugged down his knit hat and slid his jacket back on while she brushed a palm over the padding. She could imagine him fishing two leather straps and that gag from his supply and using them wickedly while she begged for mercy. A little chill traipsed down her spine as she tossed the cloth back over it.
When she approached the third covered piece, he took her wrist, whipping her around to face him. “What did I say? That’s not for you.”
“But I just want to…”
“What did I say?” He snarled, edging dangerously close and forcing her back against the nearest wall. He took her neck in both palms, squeezing gently until she gasped. “That’s not for you. Do you understand me?”
Her wide-eyed stare fixed on his. The gray in them swirled like storm clouds. Her breaths were growing more and more strained under his grasp. He was so damn intense, so commanding, that she froze on the spot. Her pulse pounded until his palms, dampness building between her legs as his thumbs roughly swept under her chin.
“I said, do you understand me?”
“Yes,” she murmured, her lungs burning.
“You will show respect for me in this place. Now address me properly.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mm, almost, but this isn’t the office. What am I?”
She lifted a brow, a grin curling her lips. “Yes, master.”
“Good girl,” he praised breathily, releasing his grip.
Blood flowed back to her cheeks, turning them scarlet as she panted. He leaned in, touched his forehead to hers for a brief second, then took her hand gently.
“Come on, I think we’ve been here long enough. We can talk on the way back.”
Once he had her safely on the front seat, a bottle of water tucked between her palms, he took a slow lap around the back of the cab, shaking out his palms. The urge to break her had almost broken him. Desire still had him in a vice grip. Step three was weeks off for sure. She’d need more calming and conditioning before he could fully unleash. This was the most trying time, when a client knew what he was capable of, but his collar was still securely fastened.
That smoldering look, that delicious need in her eyes when she’d called him master, turned his knees to jelly. She was going to be his greatest achievement.
r/masturkate