In Training

by Michelle Robbins

Wordless, Abby escorted him to the door.

  "If you have any questions," said Seth, as he pulled on his jacket, "never hesitate to ask. I'll email you my phone number if I get your commitment email. If I don't get the email, then I won't." He shrugged. "You won't need it."

  With that, he opened the door and exited her home. Abby stood on the porch watching the rain slew down from the west, a hard spring rain that rattled across the cars and her porch awning. The puddles carried flecks of starlight. The streetlights wore halos. He stopped beside this car and fished out his keys.

  "Seth?" she called.

  He paused, looking back at her. Water darkened his night-black hair and clothing, but he did not flinch from the wind-driven drops.

  "I'm no one's doormat," she warned. "I'll test you."

  "What would be the point if you didn't?"

  Chapter 5

  "You fucked Seth?"

  Liz's outraged squawk echoed across the bistro. Abby hunched deeper into in her seat, burying her nose in her coffee cup. She hissed a plea for privacy.

  "Don't hush me," Liz bit back, although she did lower her voice. "I told you to never--ever--play on the first date. It's such bad mojo; so very unsafe."

  "Apparently, he didn't get the memo."

  From the table beside her, two college-aged youths smirked and winked. Abby glared back until they resumed their own conversation with shrugs of their narrow shoulders.

  "Don't blame Seth for your choices. 'No excuses,'" Liz quoted from somewhere, while stirring shaved cinnamon into her coffee with a great deal of huffiness.

  Seth's own similar warning echoed in Abby's mind. She shook rainbow-colored sprinkles onto the whipped cream floating atop her caramel latte before taking another sip. Rain tap-danced along the stone walkway outside. Tourists milled about, struggling with shopping bags, umbrellas, and a cold western wind. Portland's light rail train wheezed away from Pioneer Square. It was just like every other spring she'd lived through in the Northwest, but then again it was not. Her world had changed.

  "I'd wondered why you hadn't called me over the past two days." Liz sipped her coffee. "Now I know. Guilt."

  Abby straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. "I'm not guilty about having sex with Seth. Truth is I didn't want to tell him no, not after two years of celibacy." There was also the fact it had been a most amazing, sensuously exciting, and breathtaking experience she'd ever had. No, guilty was not how she felt regarding sex with Seth.

  Liz's gazed at her for a moment, looking deep in thought, before leaning closer to Abby with an impish sparkle in her eye. "So? How was he? Did you enjoy fucking him?"

  Abby fiddled with her mug. Enjoy? How could such a lukewarm word describe such a life-altering experience? The vaults of heaven had opened up and she'd found her soul mate. It had been a long and lonely road searching. "Technically, he fucked me."

  "And how was it?" Liz pressed for an answer.

  A tide of warmth flooded Abby's cheeks. She pressed her hands to her face as a bubble of laughter escaped her. Did Liz really require a summary? She spent a few moments searching for words.

  "It was amazing," Abby said, finally. "He was amazing. It wasn't as if we did anything unusual. It was more that he was...was...this something... It was...was..."

  "The power exchange." Liz supplied the term, a smile of deep understanding on her face. "You gave, and he took and took and took and took. That is so Seth."

  Of course Liz comprehended. The collar locked around her neck wasn't made of Velcro. It was forged steel.

  "I've never felt anything like it in my life. I was outside of myself. He poured into me, tearing apart all my walls and boundaries with this energy and his power and"--dare she say it?--"his control over me."

  Liz smirked. "I knew it. Power exchange is your thing."

  Was it ever! "I've found the man I've been looking for all my life."

  Liz's smile slipped. "Oh, Abby, don't fall for him. What you're feeling is entirely normal. Within the lifestyle, it's called 'sub frenzy.' Please don't confuse it with love."

  Abby gave a snort. "Of course it's not love. We've only just met." But it would be love. She'd make sure of that. "I'll be fine. Besides, it's seven days before I see Seth again. I've waited this long. I can wait another seven days." She'd already begun marking the days off her calendar.

  "You don't understand what I'm telling you. Seth is a slave trainer. Every girl he trains ends up at his feet, groveling for his collar. He takes none of them. Seth owns no slaves. Don't fall for him."

  "He might not know it at this exact moment, but he'll come to understand. I'm destined for his collar."

  Liz was shaking her head. In a sudden fit of temper, Abby lurched to her feet. What did she know? She didn't know anything about it. She grabbed her purse. "I can see I underestimated our friendship."

  "Don't get attached to him, Abby. You're just another piece of trainable meat to Seth."

  The door slammed shut behind her. She made sure of it.

  Chapter 6

  "I would never have pegged you for a golf fan," said Abby from the floor.

  "No? Why not?"

  Abby puffed a wandering dust bunny away from her mouth. It rolled back beneath the sofa to join its brethren. It appeared a colony of dust bunnies lived and bred beneath her living room sofa and she'd been oblivious to the fact. Not that I could be blamed for my unawareness, she reminded herself. After all, she didn't make a habit of resting on the living room floor for...how long now? For over an hour, that much was certain. And she itched something fierce.

  Seth rocked his feet, urging her to respond.

  The rasp of his sneaker treads across her naked butt chaffed annoyingly. "As a Dominant, I would have figured you for a more manly sport."

  "Manly?"

  "Like football or, since you're from Scotland, maybe cricket or rugby."

  "You are stating that golf isn't manly?"

  What that displeasure in his voice? "It's golf, for God's sake. Manliness and golf don't go hand in hand. The game consists of grown men hitting tiny balls toward small holes before patting themselves on the back and heading to the clubhouse for martinis. And let's not talk about the ugly-ass pants."

  Seth rearranged his feet again, clearly making an effort to be obnoxious. "It was created to chase wolves away from the sheep. Shepherds would hit small rocks across the pasture in order to save the flocks from harm and themselves from starving. It takes skill to hit a target from that sort of distance. It's not fucking 'silly.'"

  Good grief, he's pissed? "I'm sure it does."

  "I'd like to see you do it," he said with a snarl.

  In the face of his ire, she tried for peace. "I couldn't do it. That's a fact."

  "No doubt."

  He didn't sound peaceful, so she tried another tack. "I didn't mean to offend you."

  "Again, no doubt."

  He adjusted himself on the sofa, pulling from Abby a muffled grunt as his feet found a new place to perch--on her shoulders. Ice cubes rattled as he took a drink from his water. He swallowed, then sighed, returning the glass to the end table with a small click. "Golf originated in Scotland."

  That explained much. Seth carried a fierce pride for his homeland. Striving for something supportive to say, she located some useless trivia from somewhere in her memory. "True, as did curling."

  He laughed. "Now that's an unmanly sport, even though it did start off in Scotland."

  The return of his good spirits lifted her spirits. "Sliding rocks across a frozen lake at marauding ducks isn't manly?"

  "Not unless a man has dinner in hand when he's finished."

  She managed a chuckle, despite his heavy sneakers parked on her shoulders. "Seth, can I ask a question?"

  "'Master.'"

  Ah, yes, that. His first training command had been for her to henceforth address him as Master. Why? Well, according to Seth, no slave in the community is permitted to speak the given name of a non-collared man. Not unless the man permits
such familiarity, and Seth most certainly did not.

  "Master, can I ask a question?"

  "Master, may I ask you a question," Seth corrected. "You must ask permission to question me. You also must not ask your question if I then don't give you permission to do so."

  "Oh." Small and meek was how she felt and that was his intention, no doubt. She rephrased the words per his preference and was given permission to ask her question at last "Master, why are you resting your feet on me?"

  "It amuses me to do so."

  What on earth? "But it's not comfortable."

  "I'm quite comfortable." He drank again from his water.

  Perhaps she wasn't clear. "Your shoes hurt."

  "They're not hurting me one bit."

  Abby gasped. The jerk! She hissed out an unladylike curse and set her hands onto the floor, ready to push herself upright.

  Seth rumbled darkly, causing the hairs along her arms and neck rising in warning. She froze as a wave of dark energy crashed over her. Her blood rushed to her face and beat a warning tempo in her ears. She eased back to her former position.

  "You were not given permission to rise," said Seth.

  She chose silence as her defense. It wasn't so much as physical fear, but fear of his annoyance that had crashed through her. She hadn't known him long, no, but even now his disapproval felt like damnation.

  The golf game continued on the television. Relaxed and apparently comfortable, Seth hooted and grumbled as things progressed, while she lay on the floor acting as his footrest. At last, Seth sighed and clicked off the television.

  "Two hours. Not bad."

  Abby dared to glance up. "What?"

  "You handled this learning exercise better than most new slaves."

  "I don't understand."

  "This was an initial test of your obedience. Two hours is outstanding, considering this is your first time." He twirled the ice around in his goblet. "A slave represents everything that's fine and beautiful in our lifestyle, particularly when she's a well-trained piece of property."

  Her mind spun as she grappled with the concept. "Property? Like...like a footstool?"

  "Aye, property," he repeated. "The philosophy we live, as best we can in conjunction with our nation's laws, is that slaves are property. Like a good pair of boots or, yes, a footstool."

  Stunned, she could only murmur, "I see."

  He tossed aside the remote control and used his feet to shove her onto her back, then propped his shoes on her stomach. She gasped. He pinned her in place with a gaze of ice blue. "Any girl I train is expected to act--to accept--her role as property. She is valuable property, yes, but an owner's property all the same."

  "I see," Abby repeated, struggling to assimilate.

  That she'd lain beneath his feet for two hours would doubtlessly send her bra-burning feminist mother into a rage if Abby ever confessed the event. However, this is why I invited Seth into my home, she reminded herself. So she could safely explore a power exchange relationship. Still, she'd somehow expected it to be...sexier.

  "From this point on, you'll accept whatever I do. If you tell me to stop, I am legally obliged to do so, but our training sessions will be over. There's no dishonor if you choose to do so. With that being said, I'll ask again. Do you want my training?"

  The offer to back out without shame was a generous one, but Abby wasn't about to give up so easily. He was the man for her. She knew this in her soul. Some things were worth fighting for. "Yes. Please teach me, Master."

  "Good girl. You're permitted to rise from the floor now."

  She smiled as his approval washed over her. Clambering to her knees, she leaned into Seth and eased her head into his lap. With a soft laugh, she used tongue, teeth, and her body to tease and touch him from ribs to just above his knees and back. Murmuring her delight, she absorbed his sounds of pleasure and catches of breath when she found a particular hot spot. She danced her lips from his wrist to his elbow, to bicep and shoulder, and across his chest and down to where she kissed and nibbled his belly through his black T-shirt.

  She tugged up the T-shirt and applied her attention to the curves and planes of his abdomen. "I like your tummy."

  "It likes you." He laughed--then caught up his phone when it burped an alert. "Let me write this note," he said after a brief moment spent scanning the text message. His hand moved across the screen, his thumb touching the display.

  "No worries." She never paused, moving her mouth along the revealed abs and even pushing his shirt up to kiss her way across his chest. She took playful nips across his jean-clad thighs and groin.

  Seth chuckled. "You're not letting me handle my business, li'l one."

  "But, Master, I'm not stopping you," she said with unrealistic innocence.

  He chuckled. Abby laughed as well, putting her teeth to work on the inside seam of his thighs. There she teased the sensitive skin, causing him to gasp and jerk when she caught something more than denim. She let go with a gasped apology.

  "You're not doing a thing wrong," he said, his voice a raspy growl. He threaded his hand into her hair and encouraged her return to pleasuring his body. His dimple made a shy appearance.

  That dimple was simply adorable.

  She murmured her delight when he put down the phone and sighed his contentment. Opening jeans buttons with her teeth was beyond her skill set at this time, so she put her hands to work. Seth didn't complain and seemed accommodating enough, raising himself up to assist the goal of sliding off his jeans and shorts.

  The hard, jutting shaft of his cock bobbed before her eyes, a tempting thrust of male hunger. She licked her lips and swallowed her drool. His cock was a demonstration of Seth's personality, an aggressive manifestation of masculine power and beauty. She'd noticed the length and girth of him when he had fucked her mouth.

  His jeans had bunched at his knees, getting in her way since they and her 42DD bounty were vying for the same space. She sought to tug them down to his ankles, but he vetoed that with a quiet, "That's far enough."

  She cradled his ball sac with her breasts and leaned forward to press her lips against the luscious thrust of velvety-soft steel.

  It bobbed before her now, urging her closer.

  She couldn't restrain her whine of hunger.

  Seth cupped her head and made a sound deep in his chest.

  Parting her lips, Abby enclosed his cocktip. She sucked lightly, making short, bobbing motions with her head. His fingers twitched in her hair. She eased down his length and back up again, tracing a trail along his shaft with her tongue. He liked a swirl sensation, if his fingers tightening in her hair could tell her anything. He breathed out a sound that was half-moan and half-sigh.

  She repeated the languid, full-throated caress again and again, each time varying the tempo and suction of her mouth along his length. She made a fist around the base of his cock and, with a gentle squeeze, she worked her mouth along the crimson-flushed tip and throbbing veined shaft. Her hand pumped his length, meeting her mouth as she went down, down, down on him, sucking hard and hearing his whisper of praise.

  The musk of his scent blended with the near salty taste of his pre-ejaculate. His voice, now hard with arousal and darkly mysterious with its entrancing brogue, was better than the finest music. She couldn't seem to get enough of the taste and the texture of his cock, even as she left it to lick his testicles. He liked that a lot, even put her to work sucking one, which she was more than happy to do. His cock swelled in her hand, his testicles rising toward his abdomen. She moaned her hunger, her arousal dampening her panties in the face of his impending climax.

  * * * *

  Seth let Abby explore, giving her guidance and praise and focusing her attentions on his pleasure. Responsive as she was, Abby corrected herself at each directive he gave, feeding on his commands with an appetite that turned his cock into a rod of steel. She used those pouty lips to tease the skin at its base, along the skin to the joint of his hip, and back down the inside of his thighs. Sens
ation hardened his balls. Fuck.

  She didn't waste much time before returning to the object of her interest, though, and soon enough she'd bathed his cock with her mouth and swallowed his pre-cum with spine-shuddering jolts of pleasure.

  "Good girl," he murmured.

  His orgasm would come at his choice and at his time, not hers.

  He made a fist in the hair behind her ear and pulled her away from his cock and balls. His knuckles rested against her jaw while held her between his knees; her mouth open like a hungry animal. She squirmed and whimpered, trying with tongue and lips to bridge the distance, but only her breath could reach his cock. He stroked himself and observed her.

  She pulled hard against his hand, demanding to be released. His only response was to move his hand to her throat. She shifted in his grip, baring her neck to his controlling hand, and whispering a plea for "more," like the luscious chunk of fuck-meat she was.

  He stroked his cock while watching her fight for his dick, enjoying the feel of his hand along his shaft and the view of the heated slut between his knees. Collared by his hand and flushed with a slave's heat, her mouth open and begging to be filled by his shaft, she was every BDSM dominant's masturbatory dream. He shifted his hand on her neck, moving his grip upward, collaring her high and hard beneath her chin. That open mouth...fuck, yeah, he'd fill it, but not today.

  He thumbed his foreskin across his cocktip, rubbing them against each other, the sensual pleasure stealing his mind. His spine locked and his balls flashed hot. His eyes closed as the orgasm rocked his world.

  Spurts of his cum splashed her face. He held her between his knees until it dried across her cheeks. She stared at him with widened eyes, a submissive glaze clouding the pretty blue orbs.

  "Well done, li'l one."

  With that, he rose to his feet and stretched, all six-foot-two-inches of muscle and bone. Tugging up his jeans, he fastened the buttons and instructed her to kneel. The slave, her face still covered with his jizz, moved into the position he'd taught her earlier. She brushed her hand across her cheek, but the dried spatters remained. He smirked.