Chapter 5


    Davina stared peacefully into middle distance, moving when he told her to, breathing deeply, if a bit


    unsteadily. She knew what this feeling of peace and rity was—this is what she strived for, yet feared.


    Some called it subspace, but she had a private name for it. Serenity.


    This was her serenity.


    Grif had helped her find serenity many times—usually while she was in suspension bondage or during


    impact y. As much as she liked—no, longed for—this feeling, she couldn’t bring herself to give in to


    it without strong BDSM y.


    The woman she was now had trouble letting go enough to find this kind of peace for the same reasons


    she didn’t like to cry.


    One of her best friends loved to cry. She would purposefully watch sad shows or movies, and happily


    sniffle and sob. At the end she’d wipe her tears and say “that was amazing.”


    Davina thought that was insane. Crying was for the shower, where no one could hear you and where


    the tears could mingle with the water, being washed away immediately.


    And yet, here she was, in her serenity, with no rope or flogger in sight.


    A small voice was insisting that should bother her. That she was now the one sobbing and sniffling


    while watching a Lifetime movie.


    She ignored that voice, the same voice that had freaked out when she’d called Grif “Master.”


    “Last one,” he murmured.


    She’d lost track of how many chains he ced on and around her. He’d attached so many sps to the


    nipple cages that the filigree was all but obscured. The chains leading from her breasts hung loosely


    around her torso, crossed her back, and draped over her shoulders. More chains were anchored in the


    ring of the plug. Those wound between and over her thighs, or snaked up to wrap around her waist.


    It was as if she was swathed in a loose weave of jewelry. Only the cor and the center chain that


    crossed over her clit were pulled tight.


    Grif walked around her, his gaze so intense it was almost a physical touch.


    “You look…” He made a sound that was both possessive and proud, almost a growl. “My beautiful


    minx, bound with jewelry.”


    He reached up and untied the twine connecting the cuffs on her upper arms to thettice above.


    “We’re done, Master?”


    “No, but you can’t stay like this anymore.” He was efficient, and in no time had the leather cuffs off.


    “Flex your arms. Good. How do you feel?”


    Têxt ? N?velDrama.Org.


    “Stiff. My shoulders hurt a little.”


    Grif massaged her arms and shoulders with firm squeezes. “Thank you for telling me.” He pulled over


    the other chair, stood on it—hunched so he wouldn’t hit his head—and then unfastened the chain


    suspending the jewelry wrist cuffs to thettice.


    He took her hands in his as he got down,cing their fingers together and lowering her arms to her


    sides. As stiff as she was, his controlling her movement helped.


    He lifted their inteced hands, kissing each of her wrists in turn. “You look lovely,” he murmured


    against her skin.


    He lowered her arms to her sides, then without pause grabbed the chains dangling from the cuffs and


    connected the ends to the web that draped her body.


    Again he took a step back, looking at her. There was an expression on his face she’d never seen


    before, an expression she didn’t know how to read.


    She wondered what he saw.


    “One more piece.”


    “I thought you said that already, Master.” Finding her serenity didn’t mean she couldn’t be a little bit


    sassy.


    “Last chain. I have one more thing that’s not…okay, well, it’s made of chain, but it’s different.”


    He reached back, into a pocket—how there was any room in his pockets with his hard cock taking up


    all the space in his pants she didn’t know—but he pulled out onest thing.


    He walked around behind her, but now, with her arms at her sides she was able to turn her head and


    watch him.


    “Face forward,” hemanded.


    With a little smile she obeyed, letting her lids slide half closed.


    Had she ever been this aroused before?


    Her serenity sometimes distorted her sense of time. What felt like several hours had probably been no


    more than a half hour. Any longer and her shoulders and back would hurt, rather than just ache a bit as


    they did now.


    In that time—be it thirty minutes or thirty hours—she’d be so achingly aroused it was like a new


    state of being. A state of being that fit well with her serenity.


    Yet the arousal made no sense.


    She and Grif usually had a sexualponent to their y. It was one of the many benefits of a private


    club, that prative sex was allowed, with the club taking care of logistics like regr STD and STI


    checks.


    Yet there were times when their scenes, particrly rope bondage or impact y scenes—those most


    likely to allow her to find her serenity—weren’t exactly arousing. It was one of the things many people


    didn’t understand about BDSM. It wasn’t always sexual. That was why friends could be scene partners.


    Flogging—giving or receiving—could be an amazing release, without any sexual stimtion.


    Because she and Grif had yed for years, and there usually was sex at the end, she’d be


    ustomed to having some sort of sex serve as the climax of the scene. As a result, things that were


    not necessarily arousing were arousing for her, because she was with Grif. On the asions she’d


    been flogged by someone else—as an experienced switch she was a good bottom for beginners or


    those learning a new tool—she would enjoy it, but not find herself wet and needy.


    With anyone else, after the flogging she’d shake it off, smile, and then thank her partner, with the same


    tone and level of intimacy she used with her masseuse.


    Her current state of arousal, let alone the almost blissful state of serenity she found herself in, seemed


    disproportionate with what had happened up until now. Though she enjoyed anal in its own right, the


    plug wasn’t sexually stimting enough to justify how wet she was, how her body flushed hot and cold


    on alternating breaths. Her nipples, which were a major erogenous zone for her, were bereft of


    stimtion, trapped as they were within the abnormallyrge cages. True, the vertical midline chain


    asionally touched her clit, but with her arms down it was no longer as tight as it had been, and she


    was fairly certain she was so wet the thing was all but glued to herbia, and therefore not moving


    enough to be the root cause of her current state.


    Maybe it was because they were mid-scene. Maybe this was just her normal sex-ising-soon


    arousal, but it didn’t feel like it.


    He’s your Master, and that makes it better.


    Not for the first time, unease slipped through her, but it was a fleeting thing, quickly burned off by the


    congration of her need.


    Grif ced something on her head, sliding it into ce. It was cool metal, and sat on her head like a


    circlet, or a Rambo-style headband. “This matches the cuffs,” he exined. “It’s made out of the same


    metal squares.”


    She nced down at her wrists, where the relief embossed vites on their small panels caught the


    light.


    “There’s another part to it. Close your eyes.”


    Chain—of course there was chain—jingled, and then something was ced over her closed eyes. Cool


    metal settled on her upper cheeks and nose, then something brushed her lips.


    “What is it?” she whispered.


    “It’s a chain blindfold. Two sort of half circles made up of a bunch of chains are covering your eyes.


    Kind of like upside down rainbows, I guess. They’re attached to the crown.”


    “A crown. A bondage crown?”


    Lips brushed her shoulder. “For my minx.” There was a definite emphasis on the word “my.” She


    shivered.


    “You’ll still be able to see, though not well.” Grif’s hands cupped her waist, pressing links to flesh. “Now


    step back off the chair.”


    With him guiding her, she slid off the chair. Her knees protested for a moment, but without her saying or


    doing anything, he knew. Her Master reached down to massage them as he had her shoulders.


    It was then that she tried to open her eyes. Her eyshes brushed against something, an odd


    sensation, and she blinked rapidly, which only made it worse. Finally she widened her eyes, holding


    them open to stop the instinctive blinking.


    Her field of vision was mostly obscured by dark blobs and lines—the links of the “blindfold.” She could


    see a few things clearly—the door to one of the stalls across from where they were and a light fixture.


    The rest was blurred colors. She could see enough to tell where she was, and probably could walk


    unassisted, though that was in part due to her familiarity with the venue.


    “Last bit,” Grif said as he rose from tending her knees.


    “You’ve said that several times.”


    “And I mean it each time.” Grif thumbed the underside of her breast. “Anything else to say?”


    “To…say?”


    “I’m going to gag you, too.”


    Davina’s breath caught.


    “Exhale,” hemanded.


    “I don’t…don’t love being gagged.”


    “Why?”


    “I like to talk. No, I don’t mean it like that. I like to be able tomunicate with you.”


    “And you think talking is the only way to do that?”


    Davina brought one hand to her stomach, pressing it there to still the anxious butterflies. She was


    startled by the feel of the ne lengths under her palm.


    “Hand down.”


    She obeyed—without question or resentment.


    “Tell me what you’re feeling.”


    “Anxious.”


    “Anxious, not just nervous?”


    “Anxious,” she confirmed. “This isn’t…we don’t use gags.”


    “They’re not a hard limit, for either of us. I checked.”


    He’d checked. He’d nned this. He wanted her gagged.


    The anxiety released, like air gushing out of a deting mattress.


    “I’m okay. I’m ready, Master.”


    Again he touched her breast, and she hated the cages for stopping that touch from moving up to her


    sensitive nipple.


    “Open your mouth.”


    When she did, he touched something not to her lips, but to her top teeth. “Now close, slowly.”


    She did, and to her surprise found her bottom teeth sliding into what felt like a groove in a very small


    gag.


    “This is part of the crown.” Grif made adjustments to the piece on her forehead, chains tinkling quietly.


    “It’s a one-and-a-half-inch wide stainless steel ball with a rubber lined channel carved into the center.


    Your teeth are in the channel. To keep it in ce you have to keep your mouth closed and hold it in. It


    won’t be strapped or anything like that. If it gets too heavy, spit it out. It won’t fall on your toes or


    anything like that. It’s connected to the crown with a chain.” He wiggled one chain, the one that fell over


    her lips. “From now on, we use nod for yes, shake head for no. If you are in pain, need to use your safe


    word, or have something you need me to know, drop the gag and tell me. Do you understand?”


    She wanted to say that she wouldn’t need to use her safe word, that it wasn’t going to be like their


    other scenes where she would make suggestions or changes—she trusted him wholly and without


    reservation. He was her Master. She was his lover, his submissive.


    She was his.


    “Do you understand?” he asked again, a thread of concern in his voice.


    She nodded.


    “Good.” She both felt, and saw—though it was blurry—Grif reach out and gather a few of the chains


    from her stomach area. Who needed a leash when her entire body was dripping with possible leads?


    “Follow me.”


    Gagged, half blind, naked, and draped and wrapped in chain like some fantasy ve woman from the


    covers of a 70’s novel, Davina followed her master out of the Conve.