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Her throat felt tight, almost as if she were about to cry, but that was ludicrous. “You said that… You reminded me that pain and humiliation are both kinks in their own right. But they are also tools.”
Benson circled her. She’d been standing here naked for several minutes, but his nearness made her emotionally aware of her nudity in a way she hadn’t been a second ago.
“I’m going to use these to hurt you. Enough pain to satisfy the condition of it being ‘severe’.”
Mal blinked, and tears slid down her cheeks. She wasn’t sad, but wasn’t scared either.
Yet she was crying.
“I would never use something like this on vulnerable body parts or skin where long-term damage is a possibility.”
She knew exactly where he was going with this line of reasoning. What she didn’t know was where those binder clips were going.
“Meaning you won’t be using those as nipple clamps, correct, Master Benson?”
“Correct. Nor will I be clamping your labia, clit, etc.” He’d kept circling, but now stopped, and pulled one of the littlest black clamps off the bottom of his vest and held it up. “Though this smallest version looks like it would be the perfect size for your clit, doesn’t it?”
“I…don’t think there is a good way for me to answer that, Master Benson.”
He grinned, and she felt her own face widen as a smile curved her lips. It was an odd contrast with the cold tear tracks down her cheeks.
Benson cupped her face in his hand, his thumb stroking her cheekbone.
This. This right here was what had gone wrong a year ago.
“What color?”
“Green. Nervous, but green.”
“Nervous is part of it.”
She nodded in acknowledgment of his statement, loving the feel of his palm rubbing her cheek.
“Open your mouth.” His voice was low and stern.
The scene was about to start.
Mal licked her lips, then let her jaw drop open. Benson rubbed her lower lip, then slid the tip of his thumb inside along the front of her bottom teeth.
He pulled her lip down then pinched, holding it firm. Benson pressed the smallest binder clip against her lip, but it was still closed.
She was confused until he said, “Too small.”
He was comparing the max width of the clip against the thickness of her lip.
He switched out the small clip for the next size up. Once more he checked the sizing, the thin metal cold against her mouth.
“This one,” he said. “Mal, you will remain still. You can scream but you will not move.”
“Yes, Master Benson.” At least that’s what she tried to say, and was mostly successful, though both the M and B sounds were hindered because he had a firm hold on her lower lip.
Benson squeezed the silver loops, opening the jaws of the binder clip.
He was slow and precise as he fitted it over her lip. When he had it in place—the black metal seemed to hug her lip—he dropped the hand not holding the clamp, gently placing it around the front of her throat.
“Deep breath. Hold it. Now exhale. Good.” His stern words had her slipping deeper and into the narrow well of her submission.
“Inhale. Hold it.”
