Chapter 12
Magnum
Her scent told me the conversation was working for her, and that meant I needed to get us off the bed before I crammed my dick back into her again. Humans need a little time to heal after I’ve fucked them the first time.
I patted her mons and climbed off the bed. “Shower and come to the kitchen naked, walking on your toes as if you’re in heels.”
As much as I wanted to smell like her, I took a thirty-second shower and dried off before donning loose shorts and heading to the kitchen.
Rather than fucking around with omelets, I just cut the mushrooms and onions, sautéed them, and set the pan to the side with spinach inside to wilt while I put the steaks on.
She came downstairs while I was breaking the eggs into a bowl, and I told her, “Get the milk, and then you can break the rest of the eggs and scramble them into the ingredients already in the pan. I’ll finish the steaks and set the table.”
“I’d like some toast too, please. And some of those wonderful preserves. Maybe the peach today.”
“One piece, or two?”
“One, please.”
Five minutes later, we were sitting down to eat, and I was pleased she’d stayed on her toes the entire time.
“I don’t like collars,” I told her, diving straight in. “I also don’t believe in the thing where sometimes we’re in power exchange and sometimes we aren’t, but I have ways of differentiating between high and low protocol.”
I gave that a few seconds to sink in before I kept going.
“When we finish eating, I’ll put you in a waist cincher and a butt plug, and I’ll lock your feet into heels.
This means high-protocol is in place, where you use Sir, only speak with permission, etc.
You’ll likely always be outfitted this way while doing housework, though some days I’ll skip the shoes and you’ll have to stay on tiptoes without them. ”
Her scent bloomed around us, arousal overpowering the savory scent of the steaks.
So far, so good. I kept going. “I’ll remove those items before we start working, and then you won’t need to use Sir unless you’re acknowledging something specifically tied to our dynamic.
I can demand sex from you at any time, no matter how you’re dressed, but I’m not likely to do it often while one or both of us is working. ”
She put her fork down and sat back. “We can go with that and see how it works. If it doesn’t, we’ll need to discuss the 24/7 thing.”
I shook my head. “Don’t mistake this for a negotiation. These are my rules. If you can’t abide by them, this won’t work. I’ll take the things I know about you into account, so it works for both of us, but I’m the one figuring that out. Not you.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “And if there’s something I can’t accept?”
“Then you say your safeword, explain the problem, and then we either continue, or…” I shrugged.
No easy way to say the next part. “If it’s a dealbreaker for me, then we simply don’t work as Master and submissive.
We go back to the way we were, working toward our goals without sex or power exchange.
No anger, no problems. I’ve figured out what I absolutely need, and if that doesn’t work for you, we aren’t compatible. ”
“And if I have hard limits?”
“As long as they aren’t one of the things I absolutely need, we’re good. I need the ability to punish you, to give you maintenance as often as I deem you need it, to make use of your body at my discretion, and that includes but isn’t limited to all three holes.”
She took a drink of her orange juice. “No watersports, no needles, no scat play. True pain only for punishment, light pain otherwise. I’m only a tiny bit of a masochist. Also, I need an opportunity to clean out before anal, and we may need to discuss anal because fuck you’re huge, so there’s going to have to be tons of prep to get me ready for you.
” She breathed in. “I’m sure you have ways of handling oral, but I don’t think throat-fucking is going to be an option. Not usually a hard limit, but…”
“This is where trust comes in. I like hurting people with my cock.” I grinned.
“Life would truly suck if that wasn’t the case, because it’s pretty much impossible for me not to, but the point is, you’ll need to trust me to hurt you without injuring you.
Also, you did okay with the pain of my cock this morning.
It’ll get worse, but we’ll work up to you taking more of me.
Most women can never take all of me, but some can, eventually.
Either is fine, but sex is always going to hurt. ”
I sat back. “As for anal, I usually reserve that for a full-on punishment. Never for pleasure.”
She frowned. “I like anal. I’ll miss it if it’s just…”
“Oh, you’ll get plenty of having your ass filled with plugs. If you ever miss it, tell me, but I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”
When she didn’t have anything else to say, I ordered, “Tell me the rules. Repeat them back.”
“High protocol when I’m in the cincher, plug, and shoes.
Low protocol the rest of the time. High protocol means I use Sir and consider strongly whether it’s appropriate to speak and how I word it.
Low protocol puts us back to normal conversation unless I’m responding to a direct order or something similar. ”
Her scent was thick with raw lust, and my cock was nearly hard from not only that, but her acceptance of the fact this wasn’t a negotiation.
Part of me wanted to bend her over the table and force her to hold a conversation while I worked a large plug into her ass, but this was breakfast. The fat plug would come later.
“Technically, high protocol is the cincher, but the plug will nearly always be inserted. You’ll be on your toes the whole time, and the shoes are a mercy you won’t always get.
” I considered what else she said. “No speaking unless asked a direct question in high protocol. I’ll occasionally open things up so we can have a conversation, but you’ll have to use honorifics, even then. ”
She was chewing her food, so I kept going. “This next one is semantics. Do you consider yourself submissive, slave, or something else?”
The act of swallowing gave her a few seconds to answer. “I mean, it depends, right? In a club, I’m submissive, but in a long-term relationship where I’m cleaning the house and cooking? Hard to argue the slave thing.”
“Okay, none of these are dealbreakers for me, so if they are for you, I need to know. You don’t have to like them, but if they’re a major problem…
” I stopped myself and started again. “I may call you many, many things besides slave, at my whim. Cunt, fucktoy, warm hole, cumbucket, fuckdoll, and whatever else seems fitting in the moment. Anything I need to avoid?”
She took a bite of steak and chewed it while her body sent out fuck-me pheromones that had my dick throbbing.
Finally, she shook her head to the side and back slowly, but just once.
“Nothing comes to mind. If you stumble on something that absolutely doesn’t work, I’ll let you know.
There’s a difference between a reminder of who I am in the power exchange and outright degradation, but…
” She shrugged. “I’m not sure I can explain where the line is, so if it seems fitting in the moment, it’s probably okay. Maybe.”
“We’ll play it by ear and see how it goes. If I say something that threatens the scene, use a Yellow and then say the word back to me, rather than trying to boss me around. Otherwise, best to talk about it afterward.”
When we finished eating, I took her upstairs and showed her my dungeon room.
It isn’t super-elaborate — a cross, a double-sized mattress on a platform with hooks around it every eight inches, a whiskey barrel on a stand so I can bend someone backward over it, and a setup to closely resemble a vampire’s feeding station, with a thin metal rod the victim bends over at the hips, and then handles several feet in front of it for them to grasp that stretches their body out tight, torso parallel with the floor.
This works perfectly as both a fucking station and a caning/belting/paddling station. For humans, I refer to it as the bar.
I doubted Storm would spend much time in here outside of getting suited up, since she isn’t a heavy masochist, but it was the handiest place to get her suited up. I pointed to the chin-up bar and ordered, “Jump up and grab it. Hang until you have permission to let go.”
I have dozens of waist cinchers, because women are all built different.
Storm is tall and lanky, so I decided to start with a tall one for her, with steel bones.
This one laces up the back and I thought would work, but if it didn’t, I’d try another one.
If none were perfect and she became mine long-term, I’d have one custom made for her.
I took my time tightening the laces little by little, watching her waist curve inward, narrowing under the steel bones.
I listened to her breathing, watching the way her chest moved.
She started with careful inhales, but by the time I was halfway done she was taking shorter, shallower breaths while radiating the same sweet thread of submission that’d been driving me crazy since she’d come down the steps to breakfast. I wanted to keep tightening it until she was gasping, but her first day in it was about getting used to it — and because we had important work to do later, she’d only be in it a few hours.
One needs to lace a cincher in two sessions, especially at first, so I turned my attention to her feet. “What size shoe do you wear, cunt?”
“Eight, usually, Sir.”
I locked four-inch bondage stilettos onto her feet, telling her, “I have one of every half-size. If these fit you, they’ll become yours, and I’ll buy another pair to keep in my stash.”
When they were on and looked right — a little big, since her weight wasn’t on them — I went back to tightening the cincher, and then finally measured it at the top, middle, and bottom — and started a spreadsheet on my phone to document them.