Training Tia

by Isabella Laase

  Table of Contents

  Training Tia

  Publication Information

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  About the Author

  Also Available

  Also Read

  Thank You

  Training Tia

  by

  Isabella Laase

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Training Tia

  COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Isabella Laase

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Diana Carlile

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com

  Publishing History

  First Scarlet Rose Edition, 2017

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1366-5

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1367-2

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  My deepest thanks to my wonderful motivators for inspiring me in so many naughty ways.

  Chapter One

  From the depths of a college rite of passage, I’d survived another date from hell.

  The eight a.m. statistics requirement was not the highlight of my academic career, but my roommate had convinced me that dating was a numbers game with consistent use of the motto, “Keep trying, and sooner or later you’ll hit the jackpot.”

  This guy was clearly not the trifecta. The tall, skinny, and well-educated accountant guaranteed us a negative correlation coefficient. Gainfully employed in a solid career, he didn’t get a single electronic communication from his mother. My mother called to tell me she’d mailed my rent check, an action that summarized my fully dependent life.

  It’s not that I had a desire to date losers. I could embrace tall, skinny, and successful. But if the piece of slimy, green food stuck in his teeth wasn’t bad enough, he couldn’t stop the horrific sneezing, coughing, and snot sniffling.

  “Are you okay? Can I get you something?” I fought the urge to run to the bathroom for the third time and wash my hands.

  His voice was barely above a scratchy whisper. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m not allergic to anything. I must be getting sick.”

  Those weren’t exactly the words that screamed, “Come hither and enjoy a meaningful relationship.”

  “I’m really sorry,” he snuffled. “I was fine all day, but right now, I think I just need to go home and get some sleep.”

  Muffled conversations from the popular noodle restaurant in SoHo continued in the background while I tried to force a smile under the realization the night was going to consist of me and my cat. Since I had managed to reach the ripe old age of twenty-one and never successfully brought a guy back to my bed, I wasn’t even surprised.

  My date continued to chug water in a clearly futile effort to rehydrate. A roll of toilet paper stolen from the men’s room kept him supplied with a poor excuse for tissue, and his copious congestion seemed destined to contaminate food within several yards of our table.

  But the evening was clearly over, so under some strange first-date protocol, I walked him to the curb and got his feverish body into a cab. The taxi driver took one look at him and grabbed hand sanitizer and a surgical mask.

  There was no goodnight kiss. We made plans to call each other, obvious promises this side of polite conversation, and the yellow checkered cab drove away while I offered a final wave to germ-boy. Seven-thirty on a Saturday night, and I was alone.

  The first phone call was to my roommate.

  “Shit,” Kim mumbled with a distracted edge. “If you’re calling already, it must have been a disaster.”

  “Hay fever or bubonic plague,” I responded. “Not sure, but not planning a second date either.”

  “I’ll break out the wine. Grab a cab, though. You shouldn’t be on the subway alone.”

  Kim was more than a little paranoid. Despite my diligent counterarguments, she remained convinced that a rapist or murderer lurked in every shadow and waited to steal either my wallet or my virginity.

  Since there was never more than twenty dollars in my backpack and no long line to take my innocence, I didn’t worry nearly as much as she did. New York wasn’t exactly the safest city in the world, but I could have managed the few blocks on a subway. Always anxious to avoid a scolding, however, I took her advice and grabbed a cab for home.

  I’d left high school on the shy and sheltered side of life but insisted on New York City for college. My parents had flatly refused, but I was determined. A younger me was destined to lose the battle before we started, but the magical age of eighteen had given me a basketful of stubborn confidence.

  Kim was our compromise. My father’s distant cousin needed a roommate for his daughter, and we were set. Our Manhattan apartment was small but located in an excellent neighborhood, and truthfully, I wasn’t even sure what the rent was. Her parents were just as financially generous as mine.

  Despite her frequent beer and pizza binges, Kim was gorgeous at five feet nine inches and an amazingly fit, hundred and thirty pounds. Her physical size and beauty represented another negative correlation coefficient to my life.

  As promised, she waited with a large pour of merlot and supportive conversation. “Sorry he didn’t work out, Tia.”

  Kim’s thick blonde hair was wound into a long French braid that accented perfect cheekbones and crystal blue eyes. Dressed for a date with a cute little black dress and a pair of expensive heels, her legs were a mile long.

  Faced with so much perfection, the dismal evening became even sadder, and I fought the urge to take the whole bottle.

  My body hit the ugly flowered couch with a thud, and I gave into a frustrated whine. “I’m twenty-one years old, for God’s sake. There has to be somebody out there who wants to take me home.”

  I owned some responsibility for the dismal past. I’d dated a few pimply, immature boys in high school but always planned to save sex for somebody who mattered. Idealistic and slightly dreamy plans didn’t involve losing my virginity in the back of a minivan on prom night. Four years of college later and my quest for true love continued.

  My cousin’s good looks always brought a lot of positive attention, but she’d never tied herself down. Regular pep talks surrounded by large quantities of late night ice cream assured me that we were “too young to be tethered to long-term relationships.”

  She knew about fun and parties but helped me remain calm and focused, too. Our refrigerator was stocked with healthy food, and she kept me off potentially dangerous public transportation. I liked to think my contributions were witty entertainment, and I wasn’t a bad cook either.

  Our complimenting personalities worked well. Even occasional arguments about dirty dishes in the kitchen sink and towels on the bathroom floor ended in laughter and a shared beer.

  Kim patted my shoulde
r. “You’ve had bad luck, that’s all. You dated Ryan for over a year before both of you decided he was gay.”

  That failed true love even traveled to backwoods Ohio to meet my elderly parents. His request to postpone sex until we really got to know each other was old-fashioned and chivalrous, right up to the day we’d had the talk.

  My relief was stronger than his tears. We’d dated a long time, but it always felt like I was hanging out with a cousin or older brother. It was fun, but something was just plain wrong. I wasn’t entirely sure how to break it off until he dumped me for the guy who lived in the next apartment.

  We still saw the two of them, wandering the building arm in arm under a cloud of perpetual happiness. From the occasional banging on the thin walls of their bedroom, I don’t think they waited until they got to know each other better.

  A mental accounting of all past loves didn’t even include the real losers to maintain some shred of dignity. Self-pity consumed my thoughts for a few more minutes before I commented, “Every guy I meet is either weird, gay, or taken.”

  Kim giggled. “Well, you got weird right. Remember the one who refused to have sex because Simon was watching. He said it creeped him out.”

  That was one of the nights I could have killed my cat. I’d met the Adonis-like man through a mutual friend, and he was amazing. Hotter than hell with shimmering, blond hair, gigantic arms, and an adorable dimple in his chin, he was even a popular college football player. We’d gone on a few perfect dates to elegant romantic restaurants before I invited him into my bedroom.

  His hands had quickly found their way to the hidden parts of my body, and I closed my eyes at the unfamiliar, but very welcome touch. Prepared to give him everything I’d carefully guarded since puberty, I moved to the bed, but the cat wouldn’t leave us alone.

  He glared at my date with unblinking green eyes and hissed quietly every time the guy moved. When I dumped my pet unceremoniously outside the bedroom door, he yowled with an intensity reserved for a chainsaw and dug his nails into the wood as though his life depended on reentrance.

  I’d finally convinced the Adonis to ignore him when my mother called and left a very detailed message about some strictly female topics. I stubbed my toe on the doorway in an attempt to turn off the unnaturally loud, living room answering machine that my parents had insisted on providing. They weren’t cell phone generation adults.

  We struggled to get over that buzz kill when the cat got to him through the open door and bit him in the ankle with a bloody snarl. Adonis limped out of my apartment to enter the void of boyfriends who never came back, and the cat sat at the window for hours defined by a self-righteous glare.

  If my misery hadn’t already reached Himalayan heights, Kim tossed a package to me. “This came in the mail for you today. I think it’s your diploma. You should tell your parents it’s here. They were pretty disappointed when you wouldn’t go through the graduation ceremony.”

  “Yeah, we could use a doorstop in the new house,” I joked but dropped the unopened package into a mover’s box.

  Four years of college had granted me a Bachelors of Education degree on pretty cardstock, but I’d recently come to the conclusion that I couldn’t stand other people’s snotty children. The package represented a lot of lost time and money, and I didn’t want to look at it.

  Kim pushed the box to the wall with the others. “Don’t worry about this guy. We’re leaving New York anyway.”

  After four years of northern winters, Kim and I had decided to look for jobs in the Florida tourist industry. In various stages of packed, the boxes that covered our floor were filled with the typical mix of children’s teddy bears and adult beer mugs that were unique to a college apartment and waited to be relocated to our new home.

  She changed the subject with an excited flair. “Hey, I got a text from my mom’s cousin. He really wants to take you out when we get to Orlando. I sent him the picture from Central Park, and he thinks you’re adorable. He can cut a few hundred bucks off the monthly rent until we find jobs, too. Apparently, the condo is paid for, and he doesn’t need the money right now so you can take your time.”

  My career goals were not well defined. I was sure my parents would flip when I refused to apply for my teaching certificate, but they were surprisingly supportive.

  Even my father had said, “Don’t get tied down yet, Tia. Life is too short to work in a job you don’t like. We’ll cover your rent until you make up your mind.”

  Shamefully spoiled didn’t bother me a whole lot. In addition to my rent and utilities, my parents still paid my credit card bill, and most months, my father only delivered a mild scolding for excessive clothing charges.

  College had been an ideal mix of childhood responsibilities and adult playtime. I’d had few regrets until the grownup world appeared on my doorstep. Now I had a useless degree, no career prospects, and the longest relationship after my parents was the cat. I was, however, enthused about the change in climate. I hated cold weather.

  The future may have been scary, but Ohio represented a clear step backward. I loved my adopted parents, but my growing definition of responsible adult didn’t want to return to the past.

  My biological parents had been killed in a car accident when I was seven, and the Malones had been the perfect family for an uncertain orphan. I’d been safe and warm under their care, even if they were strict and a little old-fashioned. They’d formally adopted me, and I happily shared their last name, but they were forever Owen and Anna to me.

  My early years in Ohio were a blur of frightened uncertainty, but I had no real memory of my first parents. My freshman psychology teacher had been fascinated. “Obviously, you’re repressing some serious feelings. If you were seven when you lost them, you should have some images of them.”

  When I asked Anna if I’d been in the car when they died, she shushed me. “Don’t ask such sad questions, honey. It isn’t healthy for you.” It didn’t take much to read the affirmation in her response.

  I’d harbored some natural curiosity about my lost past, but in most ways, I was glad I couldn’t remember. My life had been pretty special with my adoptive parents, and I’d lived an only child’s blissful existence. Owen and Anna were my whole world—my parents, my siblings, my aunts and uncles, and grandparents all wrapped up in one tight suburban package.

  They’d also entertained the idea of moving to Florida, and I worked hard to discourage that dream. Owen and Anna were my life and my credit card, but after four years of hard-fought battles for independence, I needed to look forward.

  There were easy signs of a potential conflict. When I was home last Christmas, I’d given Owen a little back talk over a parental curfew, and he’d threatened to paddle me.

  I’d tried to reason with him. “I’m almost twenty-one years old. I’m too old to spank!”

  His cold stare could still reduce me to tears, and the rolling up of his sleeves didn’t help. “If you’re going to behave like a seven-year-old, I’ll treat your bottom like a seven-year-old.”

  I apologized quickly and took careful note of my tone. He was my rock, but he’d taken me to task more than a few times in my short life, and I totally respected his big hands and my small ass. I was also home by the designated time. Owen and Anna in Florida would definitely be a problem.

  Kim tried to move me forward. “Don’t worry about any of this. You’ll meet Mr. Right, your parents will approve, and you’ll all live happily ever after. I promise. It’ll be very magical.”

  “Well, happily ever after can’t come fast enough,” I said grumpily.

  I stepped over three boxes just to get to the kitchen sink. “Good thing we’re almost packed. When are the movers coming?”

  “In a few weeks. We’re only renting part of their truck, so we work around their schedules. We really don’t have much to move, even after four years.”

  She hesitated. “Do you want me to stay home tonight? I can cancel my date.”

  I had my pride if not
hing else. “Don’t worry. I’d feel terrible if you did. Besides, Simon will keep me company. He always does.”

  The cat heard his name and jumped onto my lap. With a quiet purr, he rubbed his soft black fur against my arm, but his independent nature didn’t let me fuss.

  The stray had wandered into my life just after my collie disappeared when I was in high school. Under the guise of familiar company, my parents had insisted he accompany me to New York, but I’d always figured they found him too obnoxious to keep around.

  It was only a little after eight when Kim left, but I curled into my bed with a book and pretended to read. The solitude hidden in the middle of a busy city was a lonely place. The sounds of other people’s friends and family filtered through my open windows, and the distance between New York independence and the security of central Ohio grew even larger.

  Doubts about the move to Florida churned their way into my thoughts while the wasted diploma mocked me from the living room. A few gentle tears slipped down my cheek, but there was no reason to wipe them away.

  The cat moved a little closer, and I snuggled into his familiar comfort. He’d always been a good listener for my deepest thoughts, and I mumbled, “I’m lonely and confused. Everybody should have somebody special in their lives.”

  My cell phone rang, and the caller ID revealed my mother’s smiling face. She had the best mother radar in the world and always knew when I was sad.

  I usually answered her calls, but I let this one go to voicemail. Stuck at a crossroads, even I recognized the need to look to my uncertain future and not my comfortable past. I turned my phone off with a guilty touch and fell into a troubled sleep curled around the cozy cat.

  Chapter Two

  The musky scent reaches me first, and I am aware of what is coming, but I can’t stop it. I don’t want to stop it. The familiarity brings a tremendous itch between my legs, and my pussy swells in anticipation.

  A demanding touch meets my aching breasts to pull and tug them out of my clothing until they are exposed to the gentle spring air while a force forms deep inside me to threaten an eruption of volcanic proportion.