The hard truth? Kenny wasn’t interested in trying to give her the kind of attention she was getting by serving three dominant wolves.
It wasn’t what he’d have chosen for himself, and yet, now that he was here, it worked.
She was going to want to finesse things after the weeklong experiment, but he figured that would work itself out. They couldn’t keep this level up forever.
Or could they? Once a routine becomes the norm, it’s easier to deal with.
He made his way to the second floor with an extra spring in his step. He was looking forward to giving her first orgasm control lesson — and seeing how far she’d bend before she broke. This was about more than denial. It was about rewiring instinct. Teaching obedience at the cellular level.
She was standing outside the playroom, naked except for her heels, in inspection pose, staring at the wall beside the door.
He noted her placement with satisfaction. Fucktoys don’t stand in doorways. They wait out of the way, ready to serve.
He opened the door and popped her right ass cheek. “Permission to enter. I want you on the bondage table, face up.”
As she moved, he cataloged her gait, the tension in her shoulders, the subtle wince in her stride from the plug.
Perfect.
He’d keep her there as long as possible. Keep her stretched, needy, uncertain. And then deliver reward or punishment as needed.
That’s how you broke a new submissive in properly. Not with mere cruelty, but with structure. Predictable rules, unpredictable reward.
Tonight would be a good lesson in what it means to be owned by someone who enjoys the training process.
She climbed up while he gathered the rope, the carabiners, and the blindfold.
The silk rope was heavy in his hands. He’d opted for sensory for this, rather than the itchy, scratchy feel of the hemp rope.
“This’ll be easier to set up once I can source the kind of gynecological table I’m looking for,” he told her. “Not one of the new half-deals, but a full-sized one.”
He bent her leg and wrapped the rope around her thigh and shin, around and around until it was a six-inch cuff holding her leg bent. He tied it off to the side of the table, closely approximating a gyno exam rig with stirrups, though likely not as comfortable.
The other leg came next, and her scents filled the room. Her vulnerability. Accessibility. Inability to protect anything between her legs.
He put wrist cuffs on, bound them to the sides of the table. Her arms would eventually fall asleep if he bound them over her head, and he wanted the next hour to be all about her pussy, with her mind on nothing else.
A wide strap under her boobs to keep her from sitting up, and she was all set except for the blindfold. He met her gaze, touched the empty spot on her neck.
He’d told her there’d be no collar this week unless needed for a scene. If she decided to stay with them, there’d be a collar and cuffs.
And he’d already ordered a stainless-steel eternity slave collar with four matching cuffs. They’d be here Monday, in time for him to have on hand if she decided to stay with them when the experiment ended.
He slid the blindfold over her head, locking her in darkness. It had inner cutouts for her eyes to keep from pressing onto them, but it covered from the top of her forehead to three inches below her eyes, with a space for her nose, but a covering over it.
Soft and comfy, but it didn’t let in even a sliver of light.
He crossed to the cabinet and pulled out the violet wand — not one of the antiques with their unreliable hum, but a modern one. More settings, more power, and longer run times without the overheating issues of the old ones.
But he wouldn’t turn it on yet.
He caressed her pussy, knowing it was sore from all the activity, plus Boone’s giant hand on the way home. He added lube, went in with three fingers, and worked her with the intention of ramping her up. Not too fast. He’d let the soreness bloom into arousal. Let her fight herself.
“No orgasms tonight. No permission. Don’t bother begging, and in fact, no words allowed while you’re on the table unless I ask a direct question.” He pressed in a little harder. “Good little fucktoys only orgasm when their owner wants them to. They take pleasure in being all needy and frustrated when their owners want them to be greedy little cockwhores.”
He liked the sound of that.Greedy little cockwhore.
He breathed in, took a good measure of her scent. She’d responded to it with a measure of arousal and a level of degradation that worked for her. Crass produced just the right notes sometimes, and his little hawk squirmed more when they used her as an owner uses athing.
