Safeword: Davenport (6 page)

His face turned serious. “We should've talked about safewords more before I asked you to give it up for me. Even for ten strokes... but in the heat of the moment..."

She sighed. “Yes, probably, but don't beat yourself up. We'll talk about it later, but please, not now. I want to float."

Dana relaxed into his arms, drifting in and out of sleep until Zach carried her to the playroom bed, cradled like a small child. He removed the hardware from her body, and insisted she drink a glass of water before he let her fall asleep.

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Dana woke to the smell of food the next morning, a vanilla and cinnamon scent tickling her consciousness, waking her with the promise of something good.

She heard footsteps and opened her eyes to Zach setting a platter on a side-table. She sat up, smiling as he pushed pillows behind her, kissing her on the forehead before he stood and pulled a tray from behind the bed, opening the legs and situating it over her lap.

A plate of waffles was placed in front of her, the pat of butter still in the process of melting. He arranged her milk and silverware before retrieving another tray with a flourish that made her laugh.

"This smells wonderful.” She took a bite and moaned at the blend of cinnamon and vanilla. She'd never eat cinnamon again without thinking of Zach.

He gingerly got into bed and pulled his tray over his lap. “I love your noises, which I assume to mean you approve. You can't buy frozen waffles with the perfect balance of cinnamon and vanilla, so I had to experiment until I figured it out. I'm not a cook, but this recipe is hard to mess up, and my waffle iron is smarter than most—just heat it up and set the timer."

Dana wasn't in the mood for small talk. She had an appointment with a client in four hours and wanted a conversation with Zach before she left. “Tell me your thoughts on safewords."

Zach looked uncomfortable as he reached for his milk, taking a drink before answering. “Bethany didn't have one. We got a lot of grief from our friends in the scene, but she was so submissive I don't think she'd have used it, and not giving her an escape clause made me more mindful and attentive. I couldn't assuage my culpability by telling myself she'd safeword if it was more than she could handle. I was fully responsible for stopping or slowing down, which I was quick to do if I thought she was having too much trouble."

"If she'd tried to stop something, how would you've handled it?"

"If she'd withdrawn her submission I'd have released her immediately. I had her obeisance because she surrendered it to me, not because I took it."

"She stopped a punishment once.” He sighed, giving a sad smile. “She'd lied about something substantial, and for one month nothing that went into her mouth was to be palatable. She had nourishment, but it was, for example, boiled cabbage and refried beans with mangos in them. Or it was food she liked, that looked good, but with an ingredient missing; like brownies with no sugar. I also put hot sauce in a few things—not so much she couldn't stand it—just enough to be uncomfortable. Shaved ginger gives similar results without the risk of burns, so I used it more frequently."

He ran his hands through his hair, agitated. “For the first couple of days she was restrained by a twelve foot chain attaching her collar to the base of the cross in the playroom. There were no padded pieces of equipment to lie or sit on within reach, and I allowed a throw rug and blanket after the first night. I released her after three or four days, but locked her bondage mitts on, so she didn't have use of her hands but could move freely around in the house as long as there were no doors to open. Since she couldn't wipe, I closed all of the bathroom doors so she'd have to ask permission. I wanted to make sure I was there to clean her up afterward."

Zach paused to get a drink, and Dana made a mental note to never,
ever
, lie to him.

"At about the two week mark she rebelled, said she didn't want to submit anymore—she wasn't a child and was tired of the rules. I quietly unlocked and removed her mitts, put them in the playroom and locked it before returning to my workshop. I stopped the catered food deliveries since she had her hands back, but I didn't tell her what to cook. I didn't tell her what or when to eat, when to go to sleep, or when to get up. I didn't do her morning inspection after her shower, didn't say anything when she wore sweats and a t-shirt to bed, didn't react when she sat on furniture. I was friendly, hugged her and gave quick kisses here and there, told her I loved her, cuddled in bed at night."

He raised a shoulder and dropped it. “I acted in the way I believe normal vanilla husbands do. She tried to force my hand by going on a shopping spree and spending way more than her monthly allowance. She also got a speeding ticket on the way home. I told her I was sure she'd budget better the next month, and how sad I'd be if she were hurt in a wreck. Three days after I took her mitts off, she came to me on her knees, begging my forgiveness. She was lost without my direction, without the safe boundaries I'd built around her. She was terrified at the prospect of making her own decisions, and she pleaded with me to take charge again."

"Is that why you freed her? You knew she'd change her mind?"

"No, I released her because she withdrew her submission. I hoped she'd offer it to me again, but once she said she didn't want to submit anymore, it ended our power exchange agreement."

"Okay, sorry—go on with the story. I'm assuming you accepted her back?"

"Yes. I informed her the one-month punishment started over and she happily agreed. I didn't lock her in the playroom for the first few days, as I felt she needed to be near me. I locked her to the bed at night, and had her lay on the floor near me while I worked, as a substitute. She asked me to punish her for overspending and for the ticket, but other than subtracting out the costs from her allowance the next two months, I did nothing—she hadn't belonged to me when she did those things and thus she didn't get absolution for disappointing me."

Zach stopped, looking at her with a fierceness in his eyes. “She needed a twenty-four/seven arrangement with restrictive boundaries, and extreme consequences if the rules weren't followed to the letter. It fell in line with my kinks, and I'm not declaring I did it all out of the goodness of my heart, but I'm not actively seeking someone who needs such intense management. I want a
partner
."

Dana absorbed his words a few seconds before saying, “We got grief from the community about safewords also, but in our case it was because if I safeworded, I had to compensate by enduring a different kind of pain. Some in the scene accused him of punishing me for using a safeword, but it wasn't punitive. For instance, if I couldn't handle something he did with needles—if I gave a slow signal he'd usually help me deal with it, give me time in between, or maybe move in from another direction. However, if I said the stop safeword he'd remove the needles as quickly and gently as he could, make sure I was okay, bandage whatever might need it, and put everything away. Once I'd recovered to his satisfaction he'd put me through his estimation of about one and a half times the pain I'd safeworded out of—hours of exercise, or a cane, or some other devious torment. It worked for us because I had a way of stopping a scene if was truly too much, but it wasn't an easy out."

"Did it work for you last night, agreeing to ten strokes with no safeword?"

Dana had thought about this, and was happy he'd brought it up so she didn't have to. “Yes, but I don't think asking me in the heat of the moment should happen anymore. Get me to consent to that sort of thing before the scene, not during.” Her words sounded bossier than she intended, so she tried to explain. “I'm not sure how I feel about it right now, but I felt submissive to you, and it appears the process of putting me into a headspace where pain is a good thing also triggers my need to submit. We'll have to figure it out, but the idea we can do this without power exchange is a pipe dream.” She took a breath and finished, hoping he understood what she was trying to say. “And asking me to negotiate once I'm in that frame of mind—"

He interrupted her. “You're right, of course; no more of that unless I've cleared it beforehand.” He moved her dishes to his tray and stood. She followed, not realizing she was still naked until she was up. She looked at Zach, with his boxers on, and reached for the sheet.

He motioned behind her. “Get a robe from the closet. We bought them for our guests to use, when we threw parties, one should fit."

She found one in her size and followed him with her empty tray, wiping them down as he loaded the dishwasher. “How'd you get the wax off so easily last night?"

"It's an oily wax, supposed to nourish to your skin, and peels off easier than straight paraffin. I originally intended to use the normal stuff, but when I was reaching for it, the oily seemed the right choice. It meant I didn't get to flog it off you, but I was happy with the way the scene flowed. A few flecks remained behind from the pillar candles—we can take a shower and I'll get those off you now, if you'd like."

"Honestly, I should probably head home to get ready for work. I need to finish some final prep before I meet a new client."

"Okay, give me ten minutes and I'll drive you. Are we still on for Friday? Pick you up at six?"

"Yes, I look forward to it."

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Dana pushed the buttons on the elevator, knowing Zach would prefer to but needing to feel a little in control. Dinner had been nice, and the symphony performance was mesmerizing. She'd enjoyed his friends and felt as if all but one of the women liked her. When the group split up after the concert, she'd invited him to her place for drinks.

Zach was quiet on the ride up, but as she was unlocking her door said, “You invited me here so we'd be on your turf."

She sighed. “Maybe. I do want to talk about a few things, and we're less likely to jump into a big scene without all your toys."

"Maybe we can chat in the hot tub?"

Giving him a
get real
look, she said, “Let's start in the living room, shall we?"

She stepped out of her shoes three steps inside her doorway—standing in the lobby to hobnob during intermission had done a number on her feet. Walking straight to her small bar area, she pulled down two whiskey glasses and opened the cabinet doors to show off her liquor collection. “I'm gonna fix myself a Jack and Coke, what'll you have?"

His eyes skated over the bottles. “How about a rum and Coke."

"I've got light, gold, dark, and overproof. Dark works well with Coke, unless you prefer one of the others."

He raised an eyebrow, smiling. “Whatever you think is best."

She mixed their drinks, showing off a bit since she'd bartended her way through college, and handed him his drink as she started towards the living room.

She sat on the sofa and assumed he'd sit beside her, so she wasn't sure what to think when he chose one of the chairs instead.

"I don't bite. Or, not too hard anyway."

"I think you wish to talk with our clothes on and distance between us, which doesn't bode well."

"Oh, no. It's fine. I'm sorry if I made you think...” Frustrated at starting off with a misunderstanding, she dove right in. “I saw my therapist yesterday, and resolved a few issues. I was conflicted about feeling submissive towards you, and she helped me see submitting to you doesn't take anything away from my relationship with Garnet. This wasn't the first we've talked about it, but it finally made sense."

Dana took a quick breath, continued before she lost her nerve. She'd practiced this in her head and now it came spilling out. “She also brought up the dangers of dating someone who's lost a spouse—how we've got two ghosts floating through our relationship. She said we should be careful to avoid the habit of speaking about them too much. They're our past, and while some discussion is necessary, to see where the other has come from and learn the type of things we've both done, she said we might consider them more of ex-husband and ex-wife, and only talk about them as often as it'd be appropriate to mention another kind of ex."

Another fast inhale and she rattled the rest out. “It's important to have conversations about them, so we learn about each other's past, what has formed us into the people we are today—but those discussions should be lengthy and detailed so we don't keep bringing it up."

Zach was smiling when she finished. “You see Kirsten."

Stunned, she just stared at him, speechless.

He gave a wistful grin. “It's hard to find a kink friendly therapist in this town. Is it any wonder we're using the same one? I saw her this morning and heard similar advice."

Hmm, that made it easier. She took a deep breath and felt the tension easing out of her body. She spoke slower now, no longer worried about his reception to her words. “Okay, so I'd like to talk about them now, get the questions out of the way so we can move forward. I always do a news search on new clients, so I know your wife died while you were vacationing in the Caribbean. Do you feel comfortable telling me what happened?"

He stood and walked to her, bringing his drink with him, sitting on the sofa and drawing her into the comfort of his arms. She rested her head on his chest and rubbed his arm, staying quiet until he figured out what to say. He took another sip and set his glass on the end table.

"We were visiting Antigua, where they drive on the other side of the road. We'd planned to spend the morning shopping. She wanted privacy to buy me a gift, asked me to go amuse myself awhile, promised she'd be in that shop or the one next door. I'd read of an artisan across the street and hoped to purchase some handcrafted jewelry as a surprise."

He stopped, reached for his drink, took a swallow, and absently set it down, his hand returning to her back, cool from the glass. “Whoever finished first was supposed to sit on the bench in front of the other's store. The jewelry counter was packed with people and I was encouraged to look around until someone could wait on me. If....” He shook his head started again. “Witnesses say she looked left and stepped into the street, not realizing traffic would be coming from the right."