Safeword Quinacridone (31 page)

The man in front held the side of her face in his warm palm and Cara leaned into it, thankful for the touch.

The stocks were opened and strong arms tenderly stood her up and then lifted her, carrying her as one would an infant.

She recognized Mark’s embrace, though she’d yet to see his face, and relaxed into his chest as they left the room and headed up the steps.

Travis opened the door to their room and Mark carried her straight to the bathroom, settling her bottom on a folded towel in the empty bathtub. Cara felt drugged, and only marginally aware of soap and warm water rinsing the fiery oil away. Fingers probed her mouth, checking the top and bottom of her tongue, the roof of her mouth, and the insides of her cheeks. When finally moved to the bed, she lay in Travis’ arms as Mark rubbed something on her ass, and for the first time she realized the cane had left large welts.

She awakened a few hours later to find Mark gone and Travis still holding her. They had another conversation about subspace; followed by a discussion of how the Master/slave dynamic strips the slave of many of the things we consider defines us as human. Both agreed they didn’t want it full-time but would like to explore it more during scenes.

“Were you
...
did it turn you on, watching them punish me?”

She had her head buried in his chest and it rumbled against her cheek as he answered. “The first parts, certainly. Your reactions as they flogged your breasts, and then the way you danced after the fire oil application; but I knew you were handling it okay and I could see you were still turned on. The final strikes of the cane were difficult for you, and from then on I was so focused on whether I needed to draw a stop or allow you the experience...”

His torso moved as he shook his head. “I’m getting hard now, thinking back on it, but I can’t say I was horny for the final cane strokes or any of the TENS portion. Are you ready to talk about how you feel about the experience?”

She nodded, but kept her face in his chest. “Yeah, and you’re pretty much dead on for when I started losing my arousal, but it all happened so fas
t.
I wouldn’t stop it now, even looking back on it.”

“I’m glad to hear it, as I was conflicted during the TENS. You were in a true panic, but I could also see you squeezing the ball to make sure you didn’t drop it. I thought you were about to toss it once, but it was as if you changed your mind.” He sighed. “I didn’t want to rob you of the experience
,
but I was concerned you might be waiting for me to stop it.”

“No, I promised a long time ago I’d let you know if I hated something or if it wasn’t doing anything at all for me.” She hugged him tighter and closed her eyes. “Looking back on it now, I think I lost more of my humanity at the end than you’ve ever taken from me.” She finally pulled her head away and looked up. “Is it normal for pain to rob someone of
...
I don’t know, it’s like it turned off the part of my brain that’s
me
, and some emergency override program was running instead.”

He stroked her cheek, his eyes serious. “Yes, some say it’s the reptile brain taking over, and everything else shuts down so the survival center of your brain has the use of all available resources. In today’s society, not many people experience it, but it was once a vital part of humankind’s ability to stay alive.”

“You’ve never taken me there.”

“No.”

“Have you pushed others that far?”

“Yes.”

“Stop giving me one word answers! Knowing you as I do, I have a feeling this feeds your inner sadist in a big way. Talk to me, please!”

He breathed out and said, “I’m sorry, it’s just
...
I’m not sure if you’re up to it and I can only enjoy it if you want it. Masochists who want to be pushed so far past the point of rational thought, beyond panic, are rare. Even if you decide you want it again I won’t let you agree to it tonight, not so soon after the experience.”

She absorbed his words a moment before saying, “Okay. I think I want to do it again, but the idea terrifies me. I’m so horny remembering it, though; I’m not sure what to do with myself.”

Travis smiled and kissed her forehead. “We have a few choices for the next couple of hours. We can join the main group again, or I can text Mark, and he and Nicolas will bring their slave so the five of us can play. I’d prefer the latter, as we can relax the rules if they come here, and I think you need to be able to talk and look me in the eyes, at least a little longer.”

“Their slave? You mean one woman belongs to two masters?”

Travis nodded. “Yes.”

Chapter Twenty-One

When Cara woke the next day,
she
took a moment to remember where she was. Travis’ side of the bed was empty but he’d propped a note against her cell phone on the night table, instructing her to text him when she wakened. She worried her phone might not have enough battery but smiled as she saw he’d plugged it in. She texted a quick, “I’m up,” threw her legs over the side of the bed so it’d be true, and immediately felt the aftermath of the caning from the night before.

Her pussy and ass were also sore and she smiled, remembering the many times she’d been taken in both.

She’d been pleasantly surprised to discover the kind voice had belonged to Nicolas, and was fascinated by the relationship between the slave and her two Masters. The rules had relaxed somewhat behind closed doors and she’d learned the three of them lived together, and Jenna was a full-time sex slave. What a lucky girl, belonging to two men.

The five of them had their own little mini-orgy
,
and Cara must’ve fallen asleep mid-fuck because she last remembered feeling drowsy after a particularly fantastic orgasm, and the sensation of being rocked to sleep by the man fucking her.

Shaking her head at the memory, she made her way to the bathroom to relieve herself. The shower looked more inviting than the tub, and she was standing with her face lifted towards the gentle flow, letting the water cascade over her when Travis stuck his head in.

“How’re you feeling?”

She pulled her face from the stream and wiped her eyes so she could see him. “Rough, and good, and tired, and not at all horny.”

His eyes were happy, and she felt as if everything was right in the world as he laughed and reached for her hand, lifting it to his lips to give a soft kiss. “Well then, perhaps I shouldn’t take you down to breakfast.”

“Breakfast?”

He nodded. “They tend to serve it right up until dinnertime, since so many people stay up until all hours of the morning. I brought up a plate with eggs and biscuits, and took the liberty of dumping a few tablespoons of honey on the biscuit, if you’re interested.”

Cara’s stomach screamed her interest and she quickly rinsed the soap away and turned the water off, grabbing a towel and drying herself as she walked. “I’m starved, apparently. Are they already at it again down there?”

He chuckled. “Again? The action never stops. People go to bed and get up at different times, so there’s always something happening. If you’re truly done I’ll dress you and we’ll leave, but get some food in your belly before you decide.”

Cara had promptly grabbed the plate and orange juice, and headed towards the bed; she had no intentions of sitting on the hard wooden chair by the table. She gingerly sat on the pillow-top mattress and scooted back, sticking a forkful of eggs in her mouth and chewing as she cut into the honey soaked biscuit.

She talked around her food, not wanting to wait to ask her question. “Are they always so intense? Same rules during the day as at night?”

He nodded. “True slavery doesn’t allow for days off.” The bed dipped below her feet as he sat. He was contemplating her again, and she felt a flutter deep inside. She hadn’t thought it possible to get horny today, but one look from him and she was melting already.

He rubbed her foot, saying, “The rules seemed to hit the spot for you yesterday, though. Did I read it wrong?”

She shook her head as she swallowed. “No, you definitely read it right. The objectification, the dehumanization — it was perfect. I’m just not sure it’d work long term. I want to be
me
again now. I loved being treated like an object last night, but this morning? I wouldn’t mind you taking care of me, a little.”

His brow furrowed and he sat up, concerned. “What do you need?”

“I don’t think it’s anything in particular. Just you
...
y’know? Seeing you’d charged my phone, and then you bringing me breakfast.” She smiled. “You’ve already given me what I need.”

He scooted closer to her, draping her legs over his lap and caressing the top of her feet. “I like taking care of you. I checked you over pretty good after you crashed on us last night. Your pussy seemed fine but your ass showed some abrasions you’re probably feeling this morning. I guess more people used your ass, or maybe the sleeve in the costume rubbed it differently?”

She shrugged, surprised to discover she wasn’t embarrassed by their conversation. “I didn’t keep count, but I think more preferred my ass. I’d expected to have some intense marks on my breasts but you can only see a few lash lines. For the amount of pain, it’s a little disappointing.”

He chuckled. “Well, if that’s the case, the welts on your ass should cheer you up. I haven’t counted but I’m guessing we’ll find all ten cane marks.”

His comment reminded her of a question. “One of the men said their slave was on toilet duty. What does that mean? What would the slave have to do?”

Travis smiled. “You’re intrigued, aren’t you?”

She rolled her eyes. “In an observer sort of way, yeah.”

“During peak playtimes, owners can volunteer their slaves for toilet duty. Most serve in one-hour shifts, but occasionally one is volunteered longer. The slave is usually tied into the bathtub but is sometimes expected to remain still without restraint.” He paused, looking her over a second before continuing. “They’re typically placed either kneeling with arms behind them, or lying with legs spread and draped over the edges so we can piss on their face, breasts, and pussy. If the slave is a stranger she can keep her mouth shut. However, if you happen to be friends with her owner and have permission, the slave has to accept it into her mouth, and, in some cases, drink.”

“But, you said, for punishment...”

“I did. If you were punished for spitting I’d have to pick between one and four men I trusted to piss into your mouth. Unless I was taking medication that’d harm you through my urine, you’d be expected to swallow my piss, though you could allow everyone else’s to drain out — no spitting, you have to let gravity do it. On top of this, the other Masters could urinate on you if they chose, although you’d be allowed to keep your mouth closed.” His hand moved to her leg, patted it reassuringly. “Like I said earlier, subjecting you to that isn’t a consideration. I love you, and I don’t want to see anyone else pissing on you.”

Anyone
else
? She furrowed her brow. “But, you wouldn’t mind peeing on me?”

He was quiet a moment, considering his answer. “It isn’t one of my major kinks. I get off on the power, and the idea I’d be marking you, like a dog marks its territory, but it’ll have to be something you’re interested in before I’ll consider it.”

He wrapped an arm around her from behind, both comforting and proprietary, as he gave her time to process their conversation. She was consumed by the visual of a slave tied into a bathtub, spread open, with multiple men pissing on various parts of her body. The image both disgusted and aroused her, and she wasn’t sure how to fuse the two feelings.

She sighed. “Slaves truly aren’t seen as human here, are they?”

He contemplated the question before saying, “Yes and no. I’ve spent time with some of these people in their homes, and most don’t keep rules quite so strict every hour of every day. Several require their slaves drink their piss, but I think it has more to do with showing the power exchange than in dehumanizing them.”

“Mark and Nicolas? What rules does Jenna have, normally?”

She’d finished eating, and Travis moved her plate to the side table and sat beside her, holding her as he talked. “She’s an editor, and went freelance a few years ago so she could work from home. Clothing isn’t allowed in the house or the shielded areas of their yard, and she must ask permission to leave. She doesn’t have access to money, not even her own. If she wants something she has to ask for it, and — if they give consent — her owners either get it for her or take her shopping to buy it. Other than the very private backyard she hasn’t been out of the house without one of them in years. She’s allowed to use a desk chair in her home office but needs permission to use any other furniture, though they’ve provided large pillows on the floor in several rooms. She’s given what they call maintenance discipline once a week, and if she earns punishment more than twice between maintenance it moves to twice a week for a month.”