The Training tst-6

by Tara Sue Me

  She collapsed on top of me.

  Several minutes passed before we could speak.

  “Good morning,” she said finally, not lifting her head from where it rested on my chest.

  “I’ll say,” I said. “What was that about?”

  She laughed. “Payback for the Thomas Ford you quoted last night.”

  “I thought you paid me back for that once we made it up the stairs,” I said, remembering the hours we’d spent the night before.

  “Oh no. The Thomas Ford quoting definitely required additional payback.”

  “In that case,” I said, running a free hand down her back and feeling her shiver under my touch. “I certainly hope I have a volume of his work in the library.”

  Later in the afternoon, I returned to the house after taking Apollo out for a quick break. When I left, Abby had been in the living room. It caught me off guard to find her waiting for me in the foyer.

  “Everything okay?” I asked as Apollo rushed past her to collapse on his pillow in the living room.

  She didn’t say anything. Instead she walked and stood before me.

  “Abby?”

  She dropped to her knees. Her hands came up to the buttons on my blue jeans and she started to undo them.

  Ah, yes. The insatiable vixen didn’t have enough of me last night or this morning. I felt the exact same way. However, I didn’t want her on her knees.

  I stilled her hands. “Let’s continue this upstairs. Or in the kitchen. Maybe with me on the countertop this time?” My cock hardened at the path the conversation seemed headed.

  “No.”

  No?

  Come again?

  No, she didn’t want to go upstairs? Or no, she didn’t want me in the kitchen?

  “What?” I asked.

  “No.”

  She was trying to tell me something. I just couldn’t decide what.

  “Abby,” I said, squeezing her hands slightly. “I don’t understand.”

  “No,” she said, and then she added softly, “Master.”

  My jaw dropped, and I hastily closed it.

  She sighed and dropped to the floor, sitting in a heap at my feet. “Seeing Paul and Christine last weekend was such an eye-opening experience, and I want so badly to go back into the playroom with you. Then it occurred to me, with the wedding and everything.” She looked up. “I don’t want you to think I haven’t enjoyed the downtime. I have. It’s just”—she shrugged—“another week?”

  I thought about what she said. Yes, the weekend off had been necessary with our responsibilities the day before, and yes, sleeping in had been pleasant, but there was still that need. Shoved aside and ignored, but still there. Tugging at me. Obviously tugging at her as well.

  “And you thought this was the best way to go about getting in there again?” I asked.

  Her lips curved upward. “It seemed to be the most direct approach.”

  “I would imagine it did, but you could have asked.”

  “This felt more natural.”

  “You do remember what I told you I would do once I had you back in my playroom?” Besides telling her I would bind her to my cross, I had discussed with her various other elements Paul and Christine used in their play. While Abby had told me she wasn’t sure about some of them, I planned to have her experience them. They weren’t hard limits, after all.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very well, then.” I walked to the table in the foyer where I kept her collar. “If you want to play today, who am I to deny you?”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You may want to hold off thanking me, Abigail.” I took her collar and held it out. “Now come here so we can finish what you started.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  —ABBY—

  It took just a second for his words to make their way into my subconscious.

  Yes, he wanted this, too.

  I stood up and made my way to him. His eyes shone with a roguish gleam, and my heart pounded both in dread and wanton longing. What had I unleashed? Did I want to know what rested behind that look?

  Yes, damn it. I did.

  When I stood before him, I dropped to my knees and waited. Watching.

  “I offer you my collar as a symbol of the control I have over you,” he said. “When you wear this, you are to obey any command I give without hesitation and to the best of your abilities. When you disobey, my correction will be fitting and swift. I will honor and respect your submission and will keep your mental and physical well-being at the forefront of my mind, while at the same time shaping you into the best submissive possible.” He lifted the collar. “Do you accept my collar?”

  I loved how he asked me each time before he put it on. How it reaffirmed us and our relationship.

  “Yes, sir,” I said, and my body shook with anticipation. “I accept your collar and place myself completely in your hands. My body is yours to do with as you see fit.”

  The cold metal encircled my neck, and his touch calmed me as he fastened the collar. Afterward, his hands rested on my hair in silent command.

  “May I serve you orally, Master?” I asked.

  His hands tightened their grasp. “You may.”

  Damn, I loved it when he pulled my hair. I reached again to unbutton his pants and thought I heard a faint sigh when I pulled them down.

  He quickly stepped out of both pants and boxers, wasting no time as he brought my head to his cock. His grip on my hair tightened further as he pushed himself into my mouth. I closed my eyes and focused on the feeling of him. I had taken him orally the night before, but there was an undercurrent in his touch that was different as I knelt in the foyer.

  “Do you like that, Abigail? Like me fucking your mouth?”

  I couldn’t answer, of course. Not with his cock in my mouth. So instead, I hummed a response.

  “Use more suction,” he commanded, and I closed my mouth around him, creating a vacuum and pulling him deeper.

  “Yes,” he said. He slipped his hands from my hair to rest on either side of my face, and his thumbs pushed against my cheeks. “Harder,” he said. “I want to feel my cock as I fuck you.”

  His hands were rough and demanding as they dug into my skin. He turned his hips to a new angle, causing his cock to strike my cheek as he thrust. During the week, I could bring him to climax within a matter of minutes. That changed on weekends, when he held out longer. I knew part of his reasoning was to allow us both time to slip further into our roles, but I wondered if it also had to do with mastering control of his own body.

  I used the time to focus my attention on him and his needs. Serving him. Doing what he wished. As I did, I felt the stresses of the last week and the bustle of the wedding slip away until only Nathaniel remained.

  When I felt him shudder, I worked even harder, noting his hands went back into my hair. He held my head still while thrusting in and out of my mouth. The feel of him, rough and feral, captivated me.

  This. This was what I had wanted. What I had missed.

  He pushed deeply into me and I feared—for just a second—that I’d gag, but I took a deep breath and remained calm as he released. I swallowed greedily, delighting in how I pleased him.

  He took a step back, pulling out of my mouth. I redid his pants, then knelt back before him, eyes downcast.

  His hand stroked my cheek. “Playroom in ten minutes.”

  The playroom was empty when I stepped into it, naked, six minutes later. I knew he’d been by, simply because the door was unlocked. I assumed he was in the bedroom. Our bedroom? I wondered.

  Focus.

  I looked quickly around the room, just to see if I could determine what he had planned, but nothing looked particularly out of place. His cross was in its usual place at the back of the room, but I doubted he’d moved it. I knew we’d go there eventually, but couldn’t imagine what else we’d do.

  Do you really want to know?

  Is it your place to know?

  Not really, I answered
myself. I just wondered, especially considering the discussions we’d had after seeing Paul and Christine.

  I hurried to my waiting spot in the middle of the room. There was no pillow today, so I knelt on the floor, moving into my standard waiting position.

  He entered a minute later, and I wondered if he’d been watching me from the door.

  His footsteps padded lightly toward me. He was barefoot.

  “Your desire for this pleases me,” he said. “For today, you may vocalize as needed, but you will not climax until I give permission. I’ll be pushing differently, so I need you to feel comfortable with your safe words. What are they?”

  “Green, yellow, and red, Master.”

  He stopped directly in front of me. “Perfect. And if I ask if you’re okay?”

  I kept my eyes focused on the hardwood. “I’m to answer immediately and honestly, Master.”

  “Yes. Now, to start our time together today, I want you to lean down and kiss the tops of my feet.”

  What?

  We’d discussed this element of Paul and Christine’s play. I told him while I enjoyed kissing his ankles during our lovemaking on weekdays, I wasn’t sure how I’d like kissing his feet during playtime. I feared it would feel . . . off or degrading or something.

  But how will you know for sure unless you try?

  “And when you finish, you are to undress me,” he said. “Remember that each item of clothing is an extension of me, and therefore, you will treat them as you would me. After that, you will kiss my cock once.”

  He wasn’t that far from me. I wouldn’t have to do anything except lean down to reach his feet. Had he done that on purpose? To ensure I wouldn’t have to crawl? But surely if he was having me kiss his feet, he’d have me crawl at some point in time.

  Not wanting him to have any reason to think I hesitated, I leaned down, bringing myself closer to his feet, my hands on either side. In order to help, I pictured what I must look like to him—the way I obeyed, my willingness to submit. I remembered Christine and thought not on how I was kissing Nathaniel’s feet, but giving myself to him.

  My lips grazed his left foot.

  It wasn’t degrading. It was showing honor and respect to him.

  I kissed his right foot, parting my lips as they touched his skin.

  It wasn’t off; it was freeing. And I wanted more.

  I went back to his left foot and kissed it again, paying more attention to it than I had before. This was more than Nathaniel; it was my master. I went back to his right foot, wanting to be symmetrical and all.

  “That’s enough,” he said, after I kissed his right foot for the second time.

  I slowly rose to my knees, dragging my hands along his legs, peppering kisses as I went. I got to his waist and took my time undoing his pants, slowly taking them down. He stepped out of them, and I took them and folded them neatly. He was already shirtless, so I didn’t have to undress him above the waist. I stroked his hips and kissed his erect cock once, just like he’d told me, before settling back into my waiting position.

  I tried to settle my mind and focused on my breathing, trying to get into the place I needed to be to serve him. Then his hands were on me, moving my hands so they rested on my knees. He gently pushed my knees apart so they were roughly the width of my shoulders. Finally, he tipped my head back so my breasts pushed forward.

  He stepped back. “This is your inspection position. I’ll use it for various reasons, one of which is to ensure you are following my commands on personal grooming.”

  I felt horribly exposed in this position, and a faint twinge of worry started to work itself into my head.

  “I must say, Abigail,” he said, and his tone did nothing to alleviate the worry. “I’m rather disappointed.” He bent down and stroked me. “I thought I made myself clear on your responsibility to wax.”

  I didn’t move. “I have an appointment with my waxer on Tuesday, Master.”

  “Tuesday is no good when it’s Sunday and you haven’t prepared yourself for me.”

  “It’s a weekend off,” I said, suddenly worried. I’d known I needed to be waxed, but I’d thought I was perfectly within bounds to wait until after the wedding. “And I didn’t have time—”

  “Are you arguing with me?”

  The inspection position was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable. “No, Master,” I said. “I’m simply explaining—”

  “You’re talking back. In my playroom.”

  If he’d just let me explain.

  “I’m not talking back,” I said. “I’m trying to explain—”

  “I don’t want explanations, Abigail,” he said, cutting me off again. “I want obedience.”

  Oh, hell.

  “Go back to your waiting position,” he said. When I’d done so, he continued. “I told you, and you agreed, that you would be waxed as often as possible. You should have waxed last week, simply because you are to be prepared for me at any time. You asked to play today. I would have thought you to be fully prepared.”

  Okay, he actually had a point.

  “And,” he said, “if you can ask to play, I can ask to play, and if I ask on a Wednesday, I expect you to be ready. Now, being a Wednesday, you can turn me down, but I wouldn’t think you would do so often. After all, I didn’t turn you down today, did I?”

  “No, Master.”

  “Second,” he continued. “You are never to talk back, argue, or be belligerent in my playroom. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Master,” I said. “But I—”

  “Fucking hell. Are you doing it again?”

  I held completely still and didn’t say anything. Fucking hell, indeed. What had I done?

  He walked around me, and I knew he was thinking. Thinking about how to punish me.

  “You wanted to play today,” he said. “You asked for this and you are not prepared. Not in body, or it seems, in mind. Therefore, you will not be allowed to climax at all today.”

  That didn’t seem too bad. After all, in an hour or so, the collar would come off. Surely I could hold out until then, and if need be, finish myself a bit later.

  “Matter of fact,” he said. “You are not to climax again until I grant you explicit permission.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. At all.

  “Stand up,” he said, and I scrambled to my feet. “To whom does this body belong?” he asked, gripping my shoulder.

  “To you, Master.”

  His hands ran down to cup me. “And these breasts?” He stroked between my legs. “And this pussy?” He gave my backside a firm slap. “This ass?”

  “All yours, Master.”

  “Who controls your orgasms?” he asked. “Decides if you deserve one?”

  “You, Master,” I said, my voice soft.

  “Speak louder.”

  “You, Master,” I said, with more force.

  “No climax until I permit one,” he repeated. “If you’re lucky, I won’t make you wait until Friday night.”

  Friday night? Was he serious? Five fucking days?

  “Do you understand, Abigail?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  In that second, I wished he’d just told me to move to the whipping bench. At least a spanking would be over and done with. This punishment of no release . . . well, that was punishment of a different sort.

  “Look at me,” he said.

  I lifted my eyes and met his. His gaze was still intense and took my breath away. His disappointment didn’t hide that.

  “Now that we have taken care of that,” he said, “I believe we still have the matter of what I said would happen when I had you in here next.”

  Finally.

  “Move to the cross, Abigail. Face it and do it quickly. I expect no more slipups today.”

  Neither did I. If he had to spank me on top of not allowing me to climax . . .

  I walked over to the cross and stood before it. It was nothing more than a big X with cuffs at either end for wrists and
ankles.

  He walked up behind me and took my left wrist, cuffing it to the cross. Then he took my other hand and attached it to the other side, leaving me in a half spread-eagle, my arms pulled high and wide.

  My heart pounded as he took my hips and moved me a step away from the cross so I was slightly bent.

  He nudged my feet apart. “Stay like this and I won’t bind your ankles. Move an inch and I’ll use the lower cuffs.”

  I was damn sure not going to do anything else to provoke him.

  “Lift your ass to me,” he said.

  When I was properly positioned, he stroked my backside a few times, then smacked it with hard and fast slaps.

  Fuck, it was going to be a long afternoon.

  Scratch that. It was going to be a long five days.

  “Focus, Abigail.”

  I turned my attention to him, to what he was doing and how it felt. As always, his spankings left me needy and wanting. I resisted the urge to lift my butt to him. Instead I focused on the sensation coursing through my body, how the slight pain radiated throughout and combined right between my legs.

  Something else trailed around my backside: the rabbit fur flogger. He worked it fast, unlike before, when he’d used soft, slow strokes. Nothing painful, just light brushing strokes interspersed with an occasional smack from his hand. I tried to determine a rhythm, but couldn’t do it. There was no reasoning to what struck me or when, so I eventually stopped trying to find a pattern and just felt.

  I jumped slightly when something different hit. It was a bit harder, landing on my left ass cheek with a hard thump.

  “Suede,” he said. The flogger hit again. “Are you okay?”

  It felt good, different from the fur, but not as hard as the leather strap.

  “Yes, Master.”

  He alternated for a time, switching from my backside to my thighs. Again, I tried to find a rhythm, but quickly gave up. The heat from below my waist grew exponentially stronger, and it took all my focus not to bring my legs together for friction.

  A long finger slipped between my legs. “How wet you are,” he said. “Imagine how good it would feel to have me inside you now. How full.”