Ignore the Warning Label

Author's Note:

This is NOT the kind of Part 5 that is designed to stand alone. You will be very lost without having read the first four parts.

As with Parts 3 and 4, this part alternates between Devyn's and Vivian's point of view and narrative voice. All the first-person perspective is Devyn and all the third person is Vivian.

As one reader suggested, I'll now try to keep my author profile here updated with what I'm working on.

It's been a while since I've posted an update to this story, and many thanks are owed to EGRI for his persistence in keeping me writing and his editing work.

*

Ignore the Warning Label

Part 5

"Devyn?" Vivian asked between bites. "Do you ever wonder what it's like for them?"

"What? For who?"

"You know, for our Doms."

I paused, enjoying a mouthful of chocolate infused cookie wonderfulness. Insomnia cookies has to be the greatest service in the world. Click a few buttons on their website, and they bring warm cookies and milk right to your door! It's a good thing there wasn't a location by my house, or my weightlifting numbers would be doomed.

Vivian looked more thoughtful than downbeat, which was a major step up from her depression leaving the party an hour ago.

'It's amazing what a few snickerdoodles and some chocolate chips can do.'

"Do you just mean Malcolm, or dominants in general?"

"Either? Both?" Vivian struggled to frame what was on her mind. "It's just... you know, it's hard for me to get into their heads. Like, to imagine what it is they get out of it. I like submission because of how freeing it is for me. I feel like I can let myself go and just enjoy everything. But they have to do the opposite, and take everything on... and I guess, I've always kind of wondered how that's enjoyable for them."

I smiled around my glass of milk. "You might be surprised," I said. "I don't know about dominants as a general population, but for Malcolm at least, it's really freeing too."

Vivian looked confused. "But you've told me stories, he really takes on everything."

"He does!"

"So how—"

"It's like he can be himself. He doesn't need to worry about filtering himself like he does for everything else. He..." I trialed off, wondering if declarative statements like that would convey what I meant. Maybe a story would be better? A few sprang to mind, but they were all pretty erotically colorful. Would she mind that? She'd just seen me basically naked at the party, and I'd already shared a bunch of my stories, including our recent "I love you" sex.

"You're thinking about him, aren't you?" Vivian asked with a knowing grin.

"You're the one who brought him up!"

She smiled wider, letting a bit of her open warmth shine through for the first time since we'd left the Valmont's. "I don't mean to pry if it's too personal, it's just something I've always been curious about."

"It's fine, you don't need to worry about that! I was more worried that I'd make it awkward if I just dove into Malcolm fucking me."

Far from seeming turned off, Vivian looked delighted. "Then you do have something in mind!"

I couldn't help laughing at her enthusiasm. I wondered, not for the first time, if I was the first friend she'd felt comfortable sharing this side of herself with like she had with me. How much did she talk with her sister? As friendly a person as Vivian was, it seemed hard to believe that she'd been so isolated all her life. And yet, the evidence seemed to support that. At least, for the sexual part of her, that she saw as her greatest shame. She'd convinced herself, from the bottom of her heart, that she was an unloveable sex obsessed slut.

Well, I'd do something about that if it killed me. Vivian wasn't the only one with a complicated sex life, and maybe showing her that would help her.

So, I settled into storytelling mode. "Yeah, I guess I do. This was the weekend before my birthday."

***

Malcolm's couch is ancient. It's one of those timeless crushed leather monstrosities that takes up far more space than a tape measure says it has any right to, but is so comfortable that nobody minds. Like most of the furniture in his apartment, it's floated around his family from one owner to the next for years. I've got many fond memories of it, from lounging on it playing Super Smash Brothers Melee while visiting him in college to us nearly killing ourselves trying to get it through the doorframe when he moved here.

All that is to say that it's big, it's more comfortable than the average bed, and it's got a history of feeling like home to me.

I lay on it on my side, with my head resting in Malcolm's lap. It was warm, with his big bay windows open, and an occasional summer breeze caressing my naked skin. It was like being totally surrounded by him. Everything around me was very much

His

, from his smell filling me, to the cuffs bringing my wrists and ankles together behind me, to the gag that stretched my jaw, to the fingers playing with his favorite spot in my hair.

He toyed idly with me, almost like he was petting a cat, while he read case materials from his tablet.

"No matter how many times I see it, it still astonishes me," he said conversationally. "People really will say anything in emails. It's almost like they want to get in trouble."

'Which case is he talking about?

The insurance fraud one or the data breach liability one?

' I couldn't remember. I had nothing to focus on other than his words, but I couldn't seem to make my mind put them together for more than a sentence or two at a time. Logically, it didn't make any sense. I could barely move, couldn't talk or carry a conversation, and couldn't shift my vision from his clean white dress shirt and face. I should have been bored out of my mind. I should have felt like a prisoner.

But I didn't. Instead, I felt free. Free from all my cares and concerns, and perfectly content to lay there and be pet. So, instead of trying to think, I just let myself bask in the warmth.

It was confusing blend of old and new. This old setting with the couch and Malcolm working on something, cast in a totally new light. I loved it. Every second of his affectionate touch and desirous gaze on me was a second I'd gladly relive forever. How many times had I been here, in this same place next to him, and wished from the bottom of my heart that he'd look at me like this? That I could stop feeling jealous and just have him? Well, it had finally happened.

***

Vivian glanced down at my neck, where I realized I'd been unconsciously toying with my collar Malcolm had just given me. "You like it when he's possessive of you," she observed with a smile.

"I do! Intimate scenes like that hit on a bunch of my kinks at once."

She smiled wider, "Gags and cuffs do seem to keep coming up for you."

"Gags are amazing! They put me in the headspace of being totally in his hands. But anyway, back to Malcolm and what he gets out of it. The point—" I cut myself off, realizing that this was part of the point I was trying to explain. "—No, wait, back to that." Vivian laughed as I flew all over the place.

"To your gag fetish or to casual bondage?"

"Both!" We both laughed and she took another cookie. "When I'm gagged, I'm putting all my trust in Malcolm to know what I'm feeling without me having to say anything. He loves taking that responsibility and feeling that trust from me. But trust is a two way street. At the same time, he trusts me to free himself."

"What do you mean?"

"He gets to let his guard down and be himself with me now. He gets to be the dominant who wants to tie his best friend up and relax by petting her. Or be the hypnotist wizard who gets off manipulating his girlfriend with trigger words. Or be the sadist who gets turned on by torturing his lover."

"Oh," understanding crossed Vivian's face.

"Yeah, not exactly a set of traits society smiles upon. As much as he is in control, he's still making himself vulnerable." I paused, considering while finishing my cookie and eyeing the last one in the box. "And it's especially important for him. He got hurt in his last relationship."

"He did?" Concern flashed on Vivian's face.

"Yeah. He'd been with somebody you've never met named Chloe for a while, and she cheated on him twice." My stomach turned slightly, and doubt filled me remembering the party and my desire for Nicole.

'That's different!

Malcolm says so, Nicole says so, everybody except you says so!'

I went on before Vivian could notice anything. "It's a long story, but Malcolm internalized it as a massive rejection of everything they'd done together. Basically, despite knowing that it wasn't true, he came away from it feeling like he was a failure as a dominant. He even tried to give up on everything BDSM related for a while."

"You must have hated seeing him down on himself like that," Vivian said sympathetically.

"You have no fucking idea," I said darkly, editing out some choicer comments about Chloe and the sections of hell she could rot in. "Anyway! I don't mean to dwell on negativity. The point is, for Malcolm to be his dominant self and trust me to not run screaming for the hills is a big thing for him, and it feels amazing for him to have that trust rewarded."

***

"Finally caught up," Malcolm said as he put the tablet down. "Actually some interesting bits to report up the chain this time." He paused and gripped me a bit tighter, his tone shifting subtly from casually conversational to dominantly hungry "but nothing that can't wait until Monday."

I purred slightly from behind my gag, liking his firm hold in my hair and eagerly wanting more.

"You've been so good, patiently waiting for me these last two hours—"

I started in surprise.

'No fucking way!

Two hours?

' I would have guessed maybe half an hour.

"—that I think I'll let you pick your reward." His smile and spin on the last word let me know exactly what kind of reward it was going to be. That was the smile that said Sir wanted to make me hurt.

My pulse beat faster and a smile formed around the gag. '

Bring it on!

'

***

"Malcolm's sadistic side is something he's always kind of struggled with, but especially since that breakup," I sighed and echoed his words the first night of our romance, "Malcolm sometimes feels like it's fucked up that he gets turned on hurting those he cares about. Like, sometimes he feels like there's a conflict between wanting to be a good person and enjoying causing pain."

"Even when it's consensual with somebody who wants it?" Vivian asked, looking concerned again. "It's not the same at all!"

I smiled grimly, happy that Vivian understood my struggle. "If he were here, he'd ask why the consent is given. Is it because the sub really wants that kind of play, or just because they want to please him?"

Vivian thought for a few minutes while she finished her cookie. "It's really hard to separate those things," she eventually said. "I think I see where he's coming from, but at the same time... I don't know... I guess I kind of feel like it's a moot point. As long as both of you are having a good time, does it really matter why?"

"Exactly! I guess it's easier for us to get it because we're submissives. Malcolm mostly gets it, but he can also radically overthink things." I paused, then had to admit, "which is probably true for me too. Anyway, the point is, he knows me. He knows me frighteningly well. It probably sounds cliché, but it's true from years of being friends."

"So he can see that you really, genuinely, want that from him." Vivian finished for me, smiling understandingly. "He doesn't need to believe you or overthink at all. He sees your reactions and he knows they're genuine."

"Yep. And feeling that from me really makes him feel accepted and loved for who he is. He's made a ton of progress healing his self-view. Honestly, I'm really proud of how well he's doing after so short a time with me. But still, sometimes, he'll feel guilty after a heavy scene."

***

In one hand, Malcolm held a paddle. Long and wide enough to hit most of my ass at once, it was one of Malcolm's favorite spanking toys to warm me up with. He usually transitioned to his bare hand once I was stingy and sensitive, alternatively caressing and spanking me, which invariably made me fall to subby pieces in his lap. Seeing it made my clit throb and desire surge through me.

His other hand held something different. Something I'd seen in porn for ages, but hadn't felt myself yet. Clothespins. My eyes went wide as images from my porn collection flashed through my head. Pictures of harshly clamped skin and beautiful lines of red marks. Malcolm smiled, knowing exactly what was going through my head.

'

He ought to, he sent me most of that porn.

'

"You know, these things hurt more than you think," he squeezed one of the clothespins, opening and closing it. "and you should probably also know, they come with some string."

A fucking clothespin zipper! My heart beat faster, and I squirmed excitedly in my bondage.

My relationship with pain had been evolving since going down this kinky road with Malcolm. I liked pain scenes a lot, but not for the pain itself. I don't enjoy the sensation of being in pain, and I didn't experience it as a kind of release in the way Vivian does. The best I can describe it is that I looked at pain like the gym rat I am. Like a challenge. A chance to show off how strong and tough I am, push myself further, and feel the pride and achievement afterwards. A challenge to be the strongest I could be and enable as much of Malcolm's sadism as I can.

And, as much as I love challenges, Malcolm loves creating and watching me succeed at them even more.

***

"And, for the record, that isn't just him being supportive," I said. "It's for himself too. It's part of how Malcolm sees being a dominant."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," I tried to remember how he'd described it to me. "He thinks power exchange dynamics should be about the submissive elevating the dominant, rather than the dominant putting the submissive down. To him, the more power and strength and all that I have, the higher he gets elevated when I choose to give it up to him." I blushed slightly, remembering Malcolm using it as a not so subtle complement for me, then used the same example he had. "After all, if a goddess chooses to kneel before him, what does that make him?"

"That makes sense."

"It's kind of a theme for us. Positivity, that is. Like, Malcolm is much more about rewarding success than about punishing failure. By challenging and pushing me to be stronger and endure more for him, it's like he's elevating himself at the same time." I paused, realizing I was fingering my collar again. "Damnit," I muttered, "only had it a few hours and it's already a fucking habit."

Vivian laughed. "Don't fight it," she teased. "It's cute."

I laughed too and tossed a pillow across the couch at her. "So yeah," I said. "Hopefully that sheds a little light on what it's like for them."

"Wait, what!" Vivian exclaimed. "No, no, no, you can't stop the story there!"

I laughed again and teased her back, "You really are a voyeur! What, you really want to hear about me getting covered in clothespins?"

She tossed the pillow back at me, but she missed and sent it flying over my head, making both of us crack up. "Yeah," she said unabashedly. "You can't set it all up and then leave out the climax! Besides, I like hearing about you two."

***

Malcolm repositioned me, stretching me out across the couch with my arms cuffed over my head. Still comfortably dressed like he was about to go to a wedding, he towered over my nakedness and took me in.

My body responded, half tingling in expectation and half flushing in excitement. It always happened when he looked at me like that, even though he'd seen me naked dozens of times already. The way his eyes lingered on my breasts and pussy, and his smile always seemed to turn slightly wolfish, invariably made my nipples stiffen and my wetness flow.

'

I've been naked for literally hours already, but he can turn on my waterworks with his damn eyes.'

I squirmed slightly, enjoying his attention and the feel of the cuffs constraining my movement.

"You look almost innocent like this, you know," Malcolm said. "I was thinking about it earlier. Innocent and pure except for the gag, which is pretty undeniably kinky." He chuckled and sat down next to me, running his finger in a circle over my lips around the gag. "But then I realized, maybe this makes you purer than you would be without it. After all, it puts a stop to all your colorful language."

I did my best to articulately say "Fuck you, Sir" through the gag, but was only able to produce a few grunts. He laughed anyway, probably guessing my meaning, and went on teasingly, "It is a new look for you, Devyn. Who knows, at this rate, maybe I'll see you wearing a skirt." My inarticulate protests and struggles triggered another burst of amusement from him, and even I had to admit I saw the humor.

He continued tracing my lips possessively, gazing into my eyes. He didn't do or say anything else for a while, just sat there and owned me. I lay there and gazed back into his eyes, feeling myself slowly melting. I could almost feel something leaving me and watch it being absorbed into him. Power. Almost like I was sinking lower, down into the couch, while his eyes blazed hotter and hungrier.

Finally, his caressing fingers traveled lower. Down my chin and neck, lingering over my collarbone and coming to rest tracing circles around my nipple. His other hand followed, mirroring the motion, bringing pleasure to both breasts. Tingles followed over my skin and tendrils of heat blossomed in my chest, radiating through my body and concentrating in my teased tits.

"I used to think these didn't hurt that much. Models seem to take them in stride with barely a wince. I don't know if Kink.com was using fake stage props for years or if they had super weak pins or what, but I tried these myself, and they are devils!" He drew my nipples lightly between his fingers and rolled them, sending pleasure through my chest and bringing me to full hardness. "Or maybe those models are just that tough, and the camera does a bad job conveying what's happening."

He brought a clothespin into my field of vision, this one with a string threaded through the spring, and made a show of bringing it down. "Whatever the case, you're in for a treat now, Devyn."

'

And here I used to genuinely believe my tits weren't that sensitive,

' I thought as the feelings in my breasts intensified. Every circuit Malcolm made around my nips seemed to make my heart beat harder and the blood rush to him. Nobody else had ever managed to make me feel so much pleasure there, including myself.

I'm not gonna lie, despite Malcolm's ominous foreshadowing, I wasn't that worried yet. I mean, everybody who's spent as much time with bdsm porn as I have knows about clothespins. They're fine going on, but they suck coming off. Besides, I'd handled Malcolm squeezing my nipples hard before. No way this could be worse. He was just fucking with my head like he always did.

Then Malcolm positioned the clothespins and let go, crushing my nipples between two tons of hubris each. My breath hissed through the gag as I struggled to get to grips with the unexpected intensity of the pain. Yep, definitely "crushing". Not "pinching" or "clamping" or anything lighter sounding. Crushing. All the blood Malcolm had drawn together to my sensitive nubs exploded back through me at once, bringing pain with it.

"I tried to tell you," Malcolm said above me, mock solemnly but unable to completely hide his amusement. "You should know by now to take my warnings seriously." I just groaned and nodded slightly, trying to take shallow breaths to keep my chest as still as possible.