by Tara Sue Me
I threw my head back and increased my pace. Her body scraped harder against the bench.
“Ah,” she moaned, tightening around me again.
Yes.
I pushed my fingers deeper.
“Oh, God,” she whispered. “I can’t . . . I can’t . . .”
“Then don’t,” I whispered back, pushing deeper.
She climaxed around me with a soft yelp.
I thrust again, allowed the need to wash over me, and released into her.
We lay for several seconds, our pants and thumping hearts the only noticeable sounds. My head finally cleared, and I gently pulled away from her.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Oh, God, yes.”
I smiled. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”
I walked into the bathroom adjoining the playroom and washed my hands, keeping my eyes on her. From my heated towel rack, I took some large towels, then ran hot water over several washcloths, knowing they’d cool by the time I needed them.
I spread the towels on the floor. When I made it back to her, I gently unbound her arms—kissing her wrists, letting the rope drop as I made my way up her arms, continuing a soothing massage to her shoulders. I took one arm and kissed inside her elbow before placing it beside her and doing the same to the other arm. I moved beside her and knelt so we were eye level. Her eyes were deep and dark with pleasure.
“You amaze me,” I said. “Every time.” I kissed her softly. “Can you stand?”
She nodded and stood up.
“Come lie on the towels.” I took her arm. “They’re warm.”
Once she was situated, I washed her body with the washcloths and finished by wrapping her in more fluffy towels. She nearly hummed in pleasure.
“I’d ask if it was good for you, but I really don’t think I need to,” I teased. She responded with a low, sultry giggle. I brushed my lips against hers. “Are you tired?”
“Mmmm.” She closed her eyes. “I feel like a jellyfish. All rubbery.” She yawned. “Maybe a little tired.”
A little tired?
I stifled my laugh. She’d had maybe four hours of sleep. Probably less. A little tired, indeed.
“I want you to rest for the next few hours. Make yourself some lunch if you want. I’ll take care of myself.” I kissed her again. “You nap.”
After I made myself a sandwich and checked to make sure she was sleeping comfortably, I went into the living room and called Paul.
He picked up on the second ring. “Nathaniel?”
“Hey, Paul,” I replied.
“How’s it going with Abby?” he asked.
He knew how important this weekend was, knew how hard it would be for both Abby and me. I was fortunate to have a friend like him to talk with. I knew how lost I’d be if I didn’t have someone to talk to.
What about Abby?
“Oh, no,” I said as the realization struck me.
Who did Abby have to talk with?
“No one,” I mumbled.
She has no one.
“Nathaniel?” Paul said, worry replacing his previous easygoing tone. “Is everything okay with Abby?”
She had me and no one else. As her dom, did I really count? Who else would she go to? Felicia barely accepted our relationship. Things with her were easier, but I knew she didn’t approve of our lifestyle. Abby spoke frequently with Elaina, but while my best friend’s wife knew of our lifestyle, and accepted it, she wouldn’t be a good support person for a new submissive.
“Fucking hell.” I slumped against the chair. “Failed again.”
“Nathaniel,” Paul snapped, bringing me back to the issue at hand. “How’s Abby?”
“What?” I said, realizing I was still on the phone. “Abby? She’s sleeping.”
“Okay,” he said. “So tell me, how did you fail?”
“I was just thinking how nice it was to have you as a support person, someone to talk things over with, and how hard it would be without that.” I took a deep breath. “Abby doesn’t have anyone.” I squinted my eyes, remembering. “She had a dabbler friend who used to live in the area, but I don’t think they’re still in contact.”
“I see.”
“I mean, she has me. We talk.” I thought back to the library, how hard it still was to get her to speak freely while she wore my collar. “Sometimes.”
“But outside of you, she doesn’t have any friends in the lifestyle?” he asked. “Another submissive to talk with?”
“No, not that she’s mentioned.” She would have mentioned them, right?
“Have you thought about taking her to a party? Somewhere she could meet people?”
I had, actually. It was on my list to call a few community members once Jackson and Felicia’s wedding was over.
“Yes,” I said. “But we’ve got this wedding, and we just started back this weekend. I thought . . . Fuck.” No matter how busy we were, I should have made certain she had the support she needed.
“Remember what I told you when I visited?”
“Visited?” I asked. “Is that what you call it? You mean when you called me out for being a sorry lump of shit?”
“Yes, that.”
“You said a lot of things.” My face heated with shame at the reminder that Paul had had to leave his newborn son to save me from myself. “Which one in particular?”
“How I wanted the two of you to visit when you got back together.”
Okay, truthfully, I’d forgotten that bit. Likely as not, when he said it, I never thought Abby and I would get back together.
“I know Jackson’s getting married in two weeks,” he said. “But is there any way possible? Maybe next weekend?”
“Oh?” I asked, trying to work out the timeline in my head . . . It just might work. “Oh.”
“I’ll talk to Christine, see if her mom can watch Sam for a few hours on Saturday.” He stopped, thinking. “Talk to Abby. Send me your checklists; maybe we can play together. Or do you still not share your collared submissives?”
Share Abby?
I tried to imagine another man putting his hands on her. Another man sliding his fingers into her hair. Another man’s lips on hers.
Never.
“I don’t share,” I said in an almost growl.
“Pity,” he said. “The four of us—”
“Regardless,” I interrupted. “It’s a hard limit for Abby.” I knew sharing had never been a problem for Paul or Christine. I was fine with that. It just didn’t work for me.
“In that case, maybe we can play for the two of you?” he asked. “Maybe something Abby has listed as a soft limit? Christine gets off on being watched, and we both need some playroom time.”
I thought for a few seconds. “Sounds good. Let me talk with Abby.”
We spoke about the weekend so far.
“How did the punishments go?” he asked, when I brought up their necessity.
“Hard,” I answered honestly. “For both of us. She was upset, and seeing that upset me and . . .”
“You questioned whether you were doing the right thing,” he finished.
“I don’t remember it being as hard with the others.”
“Your previous submissives?” he asked.
“Right,” I said. “I don’t remember feeling this way.”
“I remember,” he said, a hint of tease in his voice.
“What?”
“When you called me after you punished Beth for the first time.”
“Beth?” I tried to remember. “That was ages ago.”
“And you were upset then, much as you are now,” he said. “Maybe even more.”
I wished I remembered. Beth seemed like such a long time ago, so very far removed from where I was now.
“Since you don’t remember the incident, you probably don’t remember what I told you,” he said.
“Hell, Paul,” I said. “Just get on with it.”
“It’s completely normal for you to have a hard time causing
someone pain, even in the type of relationship you’re in,” he said. “If you found it easy, that’s when I’d be worried.”
“I know, but—” I started.
“No buts,” he said. “Most doms I know experience the same thing.”
“How did it go for you and Christine?” I asked. “On your first weekend after you started seeing each other romantically?”
“Christine and I were different from you and Abby,” he said. “We went into a twenty-four-hour, seven-days-a-week relationship.”
“I thought that was before you started dating,” I said.
“No, it was after.”
“Huh,” I said, trying to imagine living that kind of lifestyle with Abby. “How long did that last?”
“A few months,” he answered. “It didn’t work for us. Too difficult.” I heard the smile in his voice. “So you see, Nathaniel, everyone has struggles.”
“Still?”
“Yes,” he said. “Still. Granted, they’re different now.”
I sighed, more from relief than anything. What I was experiencing was normal. Abby and I were going to be fine. It would just take time to work through everything.
“What are your plans for tomorrow?” he asked.
“I’m trying to decide if I should ask her to sleep over tomorrow night,” I said, mulling the idea over in my head. Abby had spent Thursday night with me, and I wasn’t sure she’d want to stay over until Monday.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” he said.
“Why?”
“You’re new to this dual relationship,” he explained. “And, to be honest, I see Abby being able to handle it better than you will. But you.” He hesitated. “I think you may have some emotions to work through tomorrow night. I don’t know if having her in the house when you come down from this weekend would be the best idea.”
I hadn’t thought about that, but he was probably right. I’d need time to work through for myself how the weekend had gone, even after I discussed it with her. Maybe it would be better for me to work it out alone.
After all, we still had Monday night. And Tuesday night. And Wednesday night . . .
Sam’s cries broke through my concentration.
“Ugh. He never sleeps,” Paul said. “Let me go.”
“I’m reconsidering this weekend already,” I teased.
“I wouldn’t blame you.”
We said our good-byes after I promised to talk with Abby and call him later in the week.
I hadn’t set the phone down for two minutes before it rang again.
Jackson.
“Hey there,” I said. “What’s going on?”
“Felicia and I wanted to invite you and Abby over for a cook-out tomorrow night,” he said. “Break the house in.”
Jackson and Felicia had recently bought a new house outside the city after Jackson decided his penthouse wouldn’t do for a newly married couple. They had started moving the previous weekend, even though I knew Felicia still technically lived next to Abby.
Another conversation that needs to happen sooner rather than later.
“A cookout?” I asked.
“You know,” he said. “Steaks. Potatoes. Man food. Although I might throw some fish on the grill if you want.”
“Steaks are fine,” I said, thinking frantically. “What time?” I wanted to uncollar Abby and have a discussion about the weekend before we did anything Sunday night.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Does it matter? You catching a plane?”
“How about five?” I asked. That would give us two hours. Not optimal for our first weekend, but it would work.
“Five sounds great,” he said. “Ah, no, baby,” I heard him say to someone, Felicia probably. “That has to be there. It’s a football thing.”
I coughed discreetly.
“Sorry, Nathaniel,” he said. “Chicks, you know? Love her, but leave my shit where I put it.”
As we got off the phone, I looked around my living room.
Chicks, you know?
I really didn’t.
Chapter Six
—ABBY—
“Thank you for serving me this weekend,” he said after taking the collar off on Sunday afternoon at three. His fingers stroked my bare neck and my skin delighted in the love I felt in his touch.
“Thank you for allowing me to serve you,” I said. I never wanted him to think I didn’t get just as much out of our weekend time as he did. Especially considering the mistakes I made.
It was crazy, but I felt different after the collar was off. It was difficult to describe. I wouldn’t call it a weight. It wasn’t a burden, but once it was off, I knew exactly what Nathaniel had meant when he said it put me in a certain frame of mind.
I peeked up at him and felt a smile tug at the edges of my lips.
“Will you sit with me?” he asked. “So we can talk?”
Something about him had changed as well. He looked different. Acted differently. Less certain of himself.
I wondered if it was my imagination.
The weekday me would tease him. The me of last week would answer with a snappy comeback.
But I’d spent the last two and a half days giving in to my more primitive desires, and those desires didn’t include the voicing of snappy comebacks.
He knew that, of course.
“I had hoped you would be more”—he paused, looking for the word—“uninhibited once the collar came off.”
Okay, that was too much.
“You think I was inhibited this weekend?” I asked. “What part would that have been? When I was bent naked over the whipping bench? Or was tied to your padded table?” I tapped my finger to my forehead. “Oh, I know. It was the nipple clamps, wasn’t it? Definitely the nipple clamps.”
I didn’t have a chance to get to my next sassy comeback. I took a deep breath, gearing up for a nice teasing launch into Saturday night’s activities, when his hands took my face and he pulled me close for a long, passionate kiss.
“There you are,” he said when our lips parted, his hands still on either side of my face. His eyes gazed steadily into mine. “I knew you were in there somewhere.”
I ran my hands through his hair, tugging at the tousled strands. “I never left.”
“I know,” he said. “I just feared you wouldn’t talk. That this would be awkward.”
“Give me a few minutes. I just need to”—I wrinkled my eyebrows—“is adjust the right word?”
“‘Adjust’ is just as good as any,” he said, pointing to the couch. “Sit with me? It seemed to help Friday night.”
He sat down first, patting the spot next to him. “Put your feet in my lap. I’ll give you a foot rub.”
“I’m tempted to say you’ve given me far too much already.” I settled myself onto the couch, placing my bare feet in his lap. “But I’m a sucker for a foot massage.”
He smiled and took my left foot, his long fingers magical as they stroked between my toes and tugged them. “I’ve given you far too much? How is that?”
“By letting us be us,” I said. “However we choose us to be.”
“Does that mean you’re not going to throw your hands up and tell me you don’t want my collar anymore?”
“Of course not. Why would you think that?” I asked.
He worked silently for a few minutes, a frown marring his expression. “I wondered if I was too rough, too hard. That you would decide you didn’t want me. Not every part.”
“That’s what you wondered?”
“Yes.”
I had to tell him my fears. I had to be honest. He was working so hard to be honest with me. “I feared you wouldn’t want me. That you’d decide training me was too much work. Not worth it.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I messed up so much.”
His hands stopped. “It was our first weekend. I was harder and more demanding than I’d been before. I’d have been more surprised if you hadn’t messed up.”
“Really?” I felt
better for some reason.
“I told you that Friday night,” he said.
“Right, and an hour or so later, I messed up again.”
“I need you to be honest with me,” he said, restarting with the rubbing. “Not letting you swallow, how did you feel?”
“Honest?”
His only answer was a raised eyebrow.
“I was so afraid I was going to gag and spit everything out on you,” I said, remembering. “And I felt so bad for not answering and knowing I’d disappointed you. I hate that feeling.” My voice dropped a notch. “But then there’s a certain power in knowing how strongly I affect you. Knowing you wanted to wake me up. Had to wake me up.”
“Yes.”
“But to turn that power back over to you, to give you free rein . . .”
He smiled and waited for my response.
“I love that part,” I finished.
“The actual punishment, though?”
“I didn’t love that part,” I said, then noticed his mouth start to open. “I know it’s punishment. I’m not supposed to.”
“Was it effective?”
“Yes.”
“Then it served its purpose,” he said. Then he added, “Why didn’t you answer?”
“My brain thinks too much,” I said. “I kept thinking about how I should answer, how you wanted me to answer. What would happen if I said the wrong thing?”
“The only wrong thing was what happened.” His thumbs swirled over the bottom of my foot, pressing and rubbing the spot right under my big toe. “It’s not often I’ll give you a choice on the weekends, but when I do, I expect you to make a decision. You could have picked anything—even your hand.”
“If I’d said I wanted to ride you?”
“Did I give you any stipulations?” His eyes were dark. “I simply wanted you to choose.”
An image of us moving together floated to my mind. “And if I’d asked you to make love to me?” The way he’d burst into my room didn’t mesh with the image. I doubted I would have asked him to make love to me, but I still wanted to know what he’d have done.
He lifted my foot to his mouth and kissed the underside. “It would have been a very different ending.”