The Training tst-6

by Tara Sue Me

  “Very good, Abigail. Shall I continue?”

  I caught myself seconds before I answered. He gave a short laugh. “I do believe one time is all it will ever take for you. Be still.”

  The wheels rolled down my body lightly. The sensation was odd—when he ran them both in parallel, it almost felt as if I were being unzipped. Then they separated and ran over my pelvic bones, and I caught my breath and held completely still. The spiked wheels came right to my sensitive flesh before rolling away.

  I was going to go mad while tied to his table, and I hoped he didn’t touch me there at all. My senses were so heightened, so on edge, a mere touch would send me into an earth-shattering release.

  I panicked for a second. What if he wanted me to climax without permission? What if he decided to test me to see how long I could hold out? I couldn’t do it, not after almost six days of denial.

  Oh, fuck. I am going to fail. Again.

  Should I use my yellow safe word?

  He must have sensed my worry because the wheels stopped. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master, I think so.”

  “You think so? Think so isn’t good enough. Open your eyes. What’s wrong?”

  His hands were at my feet and ankles, checking the ropes.

  “It’s not the ropes,” I said. “It’s me.”

  “Are you in pain?” he asked, worry clouding his expression as his hands reached my arms.

  “No, Master. I’m just afraid.”

  He quickly untied the ropes binding me to the table, and I felt silly for causing him undue alarm.

  “It’s nothing, really,” I said.

  “Sit up. Tell me.”

  I sighed and pulled myself up, swung my legs over the edge of the table. “I thought for a moment I was going to orgasm, and while I was working on holding it back, I thought maybe you wanted me to fail. Wanted me to come without permission.”

  “And you panicked?”

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t want you to fail,” he said slowly. “I wanted to show you how much you’d grown from the last time we tried something similar. I know you’re on edge. I feel that.” He stroked my cheek. “I told you. I know your body.”

  “I’m sorry, Master.”

  “Don’t ever apologize for being honest.”

  He stood for a minute, thinking. Both his hands were on either side of my legs as he stared at the wall behind me. What I wouldn’t give to live inside his brain for a second.

  Finally he looked up, his expression intense. “Your punishment has ended. Come when you wish.”

  With that, he pulled himself up on the table, took my face in his hands, and kissed me. Pushing me back down, he came up over my body, pressing his weight on me.

  Yes. Yes.

  Relief swept over me, and I felt almost giddy. Then his hands were on me and the giddiness left as quickly as it came. Longing, desire, and need took over, and it didn’t take long for me to get right back to the spot I’d been seconds before. I imagined he felt the same—his erection was hard against my belly.

  He pulled back, and I saw my answer in his dark eyes. He pushed my knees up and out so I was spread before him. Then he lifted my legs and put them around his waist, drawing me closer to him.

  Neither of us moved. His cock barely brushed my entrance, and I resisted the urge to raise my hips to him. Instead, I enjoyed the delicious anticipation of almost having him inside me and knowing he soon would be.

  Almost.

  Almost.

  He moved a fraction of an inch, pushing the head of his cock slightly into me.

  Ah, yes.

  The feel of him taking me was one I never grew tired of—how he stretched me and possessed me.

  With one hard thrust, he pushed the rest of the way inside, and just like that, I came undone, climaxing around him.

  He smiled wickedly. “All better now?”

  “Oh, God,” I said, still awash in sensation. “Yes, Master.”

  It was all he needed. He started a hard rhythm, thrusting into me repeatedly. Driving himself toward his own release. I’d been right—the week had been just as long for him—because it didn’t take long before he was twitching inside me, nearing orgasm.

  His hand came between our bodies, and he ran a thumb around my clit. “Can you come again?” he asked, breathing heavily. “For me?”

  He had been right earlier; my body knew its master. This time was no different. My swollen flesh responded at once, sending a new wave of pleasure through my body.

  He groaned and released inside me.

  We lay on the table for a few minutes, and I rejoiced once more in how it felt to have his pleasure-spent body on top of me. How my own release left me weak and rubbery. He trailed kisses up my body, coming to rest fully on me. When he made it to my mouth, he kissed me long and passionately.

  “You need to go on to bed,” he finally said, and kissed me again briefly.

  It was an odd request. I knew it couldn’t be after nine. Why did he want me to go to bed so early?

  Maybe he planned on waking me in the middle of the night. After five days of no sex at all, it wouldn’t surprise me. Or maybe he had plans for a really long and intense day tomorrow.

  Maybe both?

  However, it wasn’t my place to guess, and whatever he had planned, I wanted to be ready.

  “Good night, Master,” I said, slipping from the table and making my way to the door so I could go to my room.

  “Good night, my lovely.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  —ABBY—

  He didn’t wake me up.

  I had thought he would—expected it, even. I lay awake for some time, listening for either the piano or his footfalls outside my door. Even when I finally closed my eyes, I told myself it was just for a brief rest. Surely he would take me at some point during the night.

  I certainly hoped he would.

  Instead, the alarm clock woke me up at six o’clock. Unless I was told differently, I needed to have breakfast ready and in the dining room at eight every Saturday and Sunday morning. Since I wanted to work out before cooking, I had set my alarm for six.

  I dressed in my workout clothes and walked to his gym.

  Our gym, I corrected myself. This was my house now, too.

  The sound coming from the other side of the door stopped me from entering. Nathaniel was running on the treadmill. My hand hovered above the doorknob. I had to keep my head below his. If I started running and he did sit-ups or something, how would that work? Would I have to stop what I was doing and get into a position lower than his?

  I looked outside. It was raining.

  Damn. Can’t run outside, either.

  As much as he said he liked me feisty, it was too early for me to deal with the mechanics of keeping my head below his in the gym. I’d work out later.

  Since I had plenty of time, I went back upstairs, took a shower, and dressed. Then I went back downstairs and decided to cook eggs Benedict.

  He wasn’t in the dining room when I entered with his plate, so I set his breakfast down, the table complete with coffee carafe and pitcher of orange juice, and waited. When he came in and sat down, I knelt at his side.

  “Good morning, Abigail,” he said. His hair was still damp and he smelled like soap.

  “Good morning, Master,” I said. If everything went according to plan and I didn’t mess up this weekend, maybe we could shower together next week before work. I loved showering with him.

  “Eggs Benedict,” he said, picking up his utensils. “This looks delicious.”

  “Thank you, Master.”

  “Why don’t you fix yourself a plate and join me.”

  He remained in his chair, so I moved on my knees to the doorway and stood up when I made it to the hall. I didn’t like the crawling thing at all and would most certainly bring it up when he asked, or whenever we were in the library next.

  I carried my breakfast into the dining room, crawling once again, a
nd sat across from him.

  “How did you sleep?” he asked.

  “Very good, Master. You?” Dining room protocol was still a gray area for me. I knew I wasn’t to speak as freely as I could while eating in the kitchen, but certainly I was allowed to ask him how he slept.

  “It felt odd having the entire bed to myself,” he said. “But other than that, I slept well.”

  I nodded, understanding what he was saying.

  I noted his orange juice was nearly gone, so I lifted the pitcher to pour him more.

  “No, thank you,” he said. “I don’t care for more. I’m almost finished.”

  We ate for a few more minutes in silence. The only sound in the room was the clicking of our utensils against our plates.

  “Would you like to work out this morning, Abigail?” he asked when his plate was empty and he sat drinking the last of his coffee.

  “Yes, Master,” I said, not even surprised he would know what I wanted. After a time, one got a bit acclimated to it. “I would.”

  He nodded. “After you finish eating and clean up the table and kitchen, you’re free to use the gym.”

  “Thank you, Master.”

  “Be in the playroom at ten thirty.” He stood up. “And be sure to stretch really well.”

  My heart pounded just thinking about what that could mean.

  I was waiting for him in the playroom, naked, at 10:25. A pillow sat under the chains in the middle of the room, so I knelt on it in my waiting position. He entered the room shortly after I did and walked to me.

  “I trust you had a good workout?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “And since I told you to do so, can I also assume you stretched like I asked?”

  I still felt the post-workout endorphin high running through my body, though now it was paired with the unmistakable tinge of lust and need. “Yes, Master.”

  “Very good. Stand up for me.”

  I stood, but kept my head down. He took one arm and then the other, securing me by the wrists so my hands were above my head. Secured, but with enough slack to allow for limited movement.

  “Look at me,” he said.

  When I did, I noticed he wore black jeans with a short-sleeved T-shirt tucked into them. He’d never worn a shirt in the playroom before that I could recall. I wondered what that could possibly mean—maybe he meant to have me undress him later?

  “Abigail,” he commanded, obviously not unaware of my wandering thoughts.

  I focused my eyes on his, instead of the hard muscle under his shirt.

  “You will not come until I give you permission,” he said. He leaned close and nipped my ear, causing a jolt of need to shoot through me. “You will not fail.”

  When he said it, I believed him.

  “You will not fail me,” he said. “Repeat it to yourself if you have to. I want you to understand and agree. Say it for me.”

  “I will not fail,” I repeated back.

  His hand cupped my chin. “You won’t, my lovely. Trust me.”

  I nodded.

  “Say it or I won’t tell you what I have planned for you today.”

  “I trust you.”

  He dropped my chin and moved behind me, hands skirting down my back. He delivered a playful slap to my backside. “I think this ass needs a sound spanking for neglecting to call me Master. What do you think?”

  Gah. Yes, please.

  “Whatever would please you, Master.”

  “Mmm,” he said, trailing kisses up my back. “It pleases me for you to trust me. It pleases me for your skin to turn a delicious shade of pink under my hand and to hear your moans of delight as I take you to new heights.” His hands rubbed my shoulders as he whispered again. “Remember the feeling you experienced last weekend?”

  I remembered how he flogged me, the sweetness of surrender when I let go and let myself feel. “Yes, Master,” I said in a whisper.

  “I’m going to do it again.”

  I shivered at his words.

  “Beautiful,” he said. “How your body responds to my voice.” His lips traced my shoulder blades, his voice a low murmur against my skin as he spoke in quiet tones I couldn’t make out.

  I wasn’t aware of him having a flogger in his hand, but when he pulled back, the soft tails of rabbit fur brushed my back softly. He slowly worked the flogger up and down. Grazing. Stroking. Caressing. My body ached for his touch and wanted it, either gentle or firm.

  My eyes closed as he walked to stand in front of me, still trailing the flogger against my skin. He dragged the tips along my breast, and I stifled a moan.

  “No,” he said. “I want to hear you. Want to hear every whimper, every moan, every sigh.” The fur dipped low and brushed my sex. I lifted my hips, searching for more.

  “Not yet,” he said, walking behind me to slap my backside again.

  I groaned, but the sound was cut off when I felt the soft thud of suede hit my lower thighs.

  “Not even close,” he said. “I’m going to show you just how much you’ve grown since our first weekend.” The fur followed the same path of the suede. “And what did I say earlier?”

  “I will not fail, Master.”

  “Exactly.” The suede struck my left ass cheek. “You will not fail.”

  He didn’t say anything then, choosing to communicate with the flogger instead. Sometimes he used the fur, and sometimes he used the suede. Often, he’d use them together. I found it easier this time to simply let the feelings he evoked in me take over. My eyes remained closed and I whimpered when the tips of suede struck between my legs from behind. Moaned when it was replaced by fur.

  More. I needed more.

  I searched my brain, desperate for the feeling to continue and struggling to remember the words.

  “Green,” I said, almost shouting. “Green. Please.”

  The next strike of suede landed harder, a sharp bite against my right cheek. “Like that?” he asked.

  “Yes.” I hissed as the pain subsided into pleasure.

  The following blows landed hard and quick, exactly what I wanted. I moaned in response, ready and willing to be carried anywhere he wanted to take me. I didn’t feel the rabbit fur anymore, only the suede. Every so often, his hand would smack my backside, his fingers stopping to slip inside me, stroking and teasing my sensitive flesh.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered when I trembled at his touch.

  He pressed against me, the denim of his jeans rough on my sensitive skin. I felt every part of him—his erection pressing my backside, his arms coming around my shoulders, his fingers rubbing and twisting my nipples, his breath hard and panting in my ear. I arched my back, desperate for him to enter me and put an end to my longing.

  “Not yet,” he said again, once more crashing my hopes of an easy release. “Later. When I decide you’re ready.” He undid the cuffs binding my wrists and tenderly massaged my upper arms. “Open your eyes,” he said, slipping to stand in front of me.

  His intense gaze met me. “Are you okay?” he asked, his hands still working magic on my arms.

  “Yes, Master.”

  He didn’t respond, but took my hand and led me to the corner of the room, where a blanket had been spread. “We’re going to take a little break,” he said. “I want you to have a seat and wait for me.”

  The blanket felt soft and inviting. He must have placed a mat of sorts underneath.

  “It’s going to be a long day, Abigail,” he said. “I hope you were telling the truth when you said you slept well and stretched properly.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  —ABBY—

  I felt light-headed imagining what he could have planned that required me to have slept and stretched well. Were we going to spend the entire day in the playroom?

  Holy fucking sh—

  “Abigail,” he commanded.

  My head snapped up to meet his eyes. “Yes, Master?”

  “Stay here in your waiting position. I’ll return soon.”
<
br />   I moved quickly into my standard kneeling position and dropped my head. My knees sank into the soft mat beneath the blanket, and I was thankful he decided to have me wait on the mat instead of the hard floor.

  There was no way to measure time in the playroom. Even if I’d been at ease and free to look around the room, there was no clock to indicate if it was past lunch. How long had it been since I first entered at ten? My eyes itched to look for a window, but even those were covered with room-darkening shades, so I kept my head down.

  I heard him when he returned and felt the mat give as he stood to my side.

  “Relax, my lovely,” he said, sitting beside me.

  As I slid to sit on my backside, I noticed he held a platter: a large one, filled with numerous, yummy-looking items.

  “Tapas,” he said. “I’m hungry.”

  What? So he decided to have a snack in the playroom?

  “Here.” He placed the platter in my hands. Everything looked delicious: meatballs, bread with aioli, and skewers with veggies.

  “Banderillas.” He nodded toward the skewers and then opened a large bottle of water at his side. “I’ll start with one of those.”

  I looked back to the wooden sticks lined with cucumbers, olives, and baby onions. He’d start with one of those?

  Beside me, he waited.

  He wanted me to . . . ?

  Oh. Oh!

  Oh.

  “But first,” he began, reaching inside his pocket and pulling out the nipple clamps and chain. “I want to decorate you a bit.”

  I swallowed and put the platter down. I remembered the pinch of the clamps and the sharp pain when he released them. The way a tug on the chain sent a jolt of need to the ache between my legs.

  I moved to my knees and thrust my chest out, both in invitation and acceptance. My nipples hardened at the thought of what he would do.

  He worked with a comfortable ease, rubbing first one nipple between his fingers and then the other. He teased me. Taunted me. Whispered to me how beautiful I was.

  I still gasped when the first clamp latched onto my nipple. He slipped a finger between my legs and drew lazy circles around my clit, teasing and taunting again before returning to slide a clamp onto my other nipple.