Naughty Bits Part II: The Training Session

by Joey W. Hill

  She picked up the scissors. "Last chance."

  "Off with all of it."

  Wincing on behalf of all womankind, she cut the braid, sliding it into a Ziploc bag she had ready to secure it. His now significantly shortened hair fell loose around his nape and she riffled the ends with her fingertips. "Okay. Now we do the styling part."

  "I have faith in my lovely barber."

  As she began to snip, he returned to their earlier subject. "Alice asked me once if I did contract hits or knew anyone who did. She wanted to take out your last guy."

  "Leroy? Oh, that would have been a waste. Going to prison for stealing a six-pack of beer would be more meaningful than removing his existence from the world."

  "Ouch."

  His chuckle helped loosen things in her stomach. She moved in front of him to hold a strand straight on either side of his face, determining how much she'd be cutting to put it back at ear level. He indulged in another obvious ogle at her breasts as she leaned forward. It made her smile.

  "So when your customers are discussing my tits and ass, do you join in?"

  "Yes. We consider them in great detail over morning coffee." His hand snaked out, gave her an admonishing pinch on her thigh, hard enough to send sensation up the inside muscle. "I've merely overheard the conversations, and broken them up with a helpful and pointed question about the store offerings when they get a little too enthusiastic. I haven't shot a nail gun through any of my regular contractors' tender parts for their more crass comments, though restraining myself took an effort."

  "I expect the sales you ring up for them helps rein you back."

  "Somewhat. But only to a certain point." This time she detected an edge to his countenance. It told her his tolerance in that regard was on the flattering side of possessive . . . and protective.

  To shrug away such a romantic fancy, she glanced at her bare upper torso. "Yet you're having me cut your hair like this."

  "A private pleasure, shared between you and me alone. You have superior breasts. Gorgeous Cs." He eyed them with a potent heat. "But men should always be respectful, especially when appreciating a woman's body in mixed company. It translates into actual respect when dealing with her privately."

  "I think there are some contradictions there." Though only if she dissected the words. In terms of emotions, what he said made perfect sense. When he gazed at her breasts, she felt . . . well, revered would be a silly, over-the-top word, but something close to it. Cherished, desired. Lust was there, for certain, but tangled up with other things. Things that made her feel pleasure at his regard, and safe in his care.

  She cleared her throat. "When they come into my store to find their wives or girlfriends, they're like scared chickens huddled by the door. I think men have nightmares about lingerie coming to life and smothering them."

  He chuckled. However, when she began to snip, he was quiet, and she was okay with that. She wondered if it was deliberate, since it distracted her from the earlier sad emotions and brought her fully into the present. Him sitting in her kitchen while she cut his hair, her wearing nothing but a tiny plaid skirt over a white thong, long white stockings and black shiny shoes. She was glad she'd left her hair loose to brush her bare shoulders. She hadn't worn any jewelry other than the cameo, so anywhere he put his mouth tonight, he'd be tasting only her.

  As she moved to his side, worked there, he slid his finger along her thigh, catching the garter, stroking the ribbon and skin beneath it. He gave it an easy, provocative tug. Though he kept his head still, gaze forward, she could well imagine his heated breath bathing her breasts.

  Focus, or you'll cut off the tip of his ear. She liked his ears. And everything attached to them.

  She cut the back and sides short, sculpting the top so some strands feathered across his forehead, the rest layering back with enviable ease, even with the natural curl to the thickness. Typical man. He favored a left part, which she was relieved to find was the way nature intended it to go. Her dad had always wanted her to cut his hair according to a part opposite from his hair's growth pattern, which made cutting it more of a challenge.

  After that one touch of her leg, Logan kept his hands to himself, folded beneath the cape, his body relaxed, though she wasn't fooled. He sat with his knees spread, so when she moved in front of him, she had to step between them to get close enough. Now she felt his breath against her skin in reality, only a short distance between her naked breasts and his lips. She was sure her nipples were high and tight points. When he rested his hands on her hips, low enough his fingers slid over her buttocks, she paused, holding her position.

  "If you keep doing that, I will scalp you," she said. "It will be an accident, I promise, but it won't save us from an emergency room visit. Or an unsightly bald patch on the side of your head."

  "I thought women could multi-task." He kneaded her, sending all sorts of nerve endings around her rim into overdrive, telegraphing arousal between her legs.

  "Smug insults might turn an accident into an intentional stabbing," she promised. "Changing the subject--deliberately, I might add--I now know why there aren't more topless barbers. Hair clippings get on your skin. And they itch."

  "That's when the patron has to help." Leaning forward, he blew softly over her left breast. Her grip on the scissors convulsed, her other hand holding his shoulder for balance. "Better?"

  "Loads," she said dryly, and won the sensual pleasure of his chuckle again. With a reproving glance at him, which, given her state of undress, was as effective as him being chastised by a Care Bear, she continued her cutting.

  She'd been right. Taking away the length sharpened the alpha look of his profile, those strong features and piercing eyes. When she finished, she removed the cape and towel, brushing the hair off his neck. She resisted the urge to bend close enough to put her lips on his nape, inhale his aftershave up close and personal, but she did comb the hair back from his face with her fingers, enjoying the thick, soft texture. Catching her wrist again, he drew her arm past his shoulder, turned her hand over and kissed it.

  She pressed against the chair, wishing the slats weren't between her and his body as he teased the lines of her palm with his tongue. When he moved to her wrist, suckled her pulse, heat shot straight to her core, already simmering for him.

  He brought her around him once again, only this time it wasn't for comfort. He pulled her onto his lap, her legs dangling to the floor on either side of his hips as he palmed her buttocks, slid her so her pussy was against the hard length of him. She made a little gasp at that, and his eyes got that dangerous look she was starting to anticipate on both pleasurable and apprehensive levels.

  "Put your hands on my shoulders and keep them there," he said.

  She obeyed, and closed her eyes when he bracketed her rib cage, palms curved right beneath her arms, the heels of his hands pressed into the sides of her breasts. Lifting her up, he put his mouth over her left nipple. As she dug her fingers into his shoulders, her heels slid around to hook the rungs of the chair, increasing the pressure between their bodies as he suckled. She moaned, rubbing against him.

  His hands dropped then, cupping her buttocks beneath the skirt, heated flesh against heated flesh since the thong covered nothing. Taking over, he stroked her against him as his lips squeezed and tongue lashed her nipple, then he sucked it all deeper into his mouth, moist heat against the areola and the skin around it.

  "Tell me you want me to fuck you."

  "Yes," she breathed. "Yes."

  "Call me what you called me earlier."

  "Yes . . . Master."

  It frightened her, how natural it was to say it. He lifted his head, caught hers in between those big hands. "You'll call me that tonight, unless I say otherwise. You understand?"

  "I want to. But I start thinking about it too much. I just met you, Logan." She had to take the risk of breaking the mood with the truth.

  He nodded. "Fair enough. You say it when you're ready. But it makes me want to fuck you all the mo
re when you call me that, Madison." His hands gentled, a muscle flexing in his jaw. "I usually don't have a problem with going slow."

  She loved hearing that, loved knowing it was an effort to rein himself back. As she'd anticipated, she was already cursing his control. He wanted her to beg him to fuck her, but even when she did, he wouldn't do it. He'd sworn an oath to deny her. To give her a sense of safety and build trust. That, too, was part of how this worked.

  "You said something about a movie," she said. "That might help slow things down. Unless you brought porn."

  His lips curved at that, his gaze softening like melted chocolate. She could almost feel it sliding over her skin, his tongue licking it away. Okay, not helping.

  "I have refreshments," she said desperately. "Popcorn, beer, soda. What can I get you?"

  "Popcorn and beer," he decided. He lifted her back to her feet with that impressive upper body strength and nodded toward her shirt. "Put that back on for now. What room will we be in? I want to take a look while you get the popcorn and beer together."

  "You don't want to see a mirror?"

  He ran a dismissive hand through his hair. "Nope. That feels right."

  "I should have put a bowl on your head."

  "As I said, I'm confident in my barber's skill."

  "Too late." She shrugged on her shirt, giving the knot she tied between her breasts a smart tug to underscore her mock indignation. "You blew your charm score on that one. You'll have to work on recovering your standing for the rest of the evening."

  "I'll see what I can do." With a grin, he picked up his tote bag. It didn't make any noises to give her a clue of the contents. He didn't volunteer the information, leaving her with nothing to do but watch him head off toward the living room. With the long hair gone, nothing impeded a view of his wide shoulders, drawing her gaze down the taper of his back to the way denim hugged his ass and strong thighs. He stopped at the archway to the living room and glanced back at her, catching her looking. She would have flushed, but whether he noticed or not, his mind was on other things.

  "The refreshments are for me, Madison. None for you right now. I have other things for you to do."

  He added to the unsettling statement by giving her a deliberate look from head to toe. As she'd noted, there wasn't a whole lot of difference between wearing the shirt and not wearing it. The shirt was even more titillating, since the white fabric was so thin and stretchy, the difference between the circle of areola and the jutting tip was delineated. The hold of the knot pushed her breasts together, giving her a deep cleavage. Obeying one of those primitive instincts he'd mentioned, she stood still for him until he was done looking. He gave her an approving nod, acknowledging it, and disappeared around the corner. Glancing down, she slid her fingertips along her inner thigh and discovered damp tracks there, evidence of her arousal escaping the saturated thong.

  With an erratic breath, she turned to the tasks he'd set for her. Popcorn preparation, beer retrieval. Over the sound of popcorn popping, she could hear furniture being moved, but decided to curb her curiosity. She needed time to collect herself, as much as possible. Retrieving her broom and dustpan, she collected his discarded hair, resisting the urge to keep a lock. That was crazy, moony, girl-stalker stuff.

  "Madison?" He called to her, a note of impatience in his tone.

  "I'm coming. Just finishing up the popcorn." She dumped it into a bowl, pulled a beer from the fridge and headed for the living room.

  He'd retrieved two dining room chairs, straight wooden chairs with velvet seats. A towel from the bathroom had been folded over the cushion of one of them. The two chairs faced one another, one angled toward the television, the other the couch and the wall behind it.

  "Put the popcorn and beer on the table here. Then sit down in the chair with the towel." The one facing away from the television had the towel.

  "I won't get to see much of the movie this way."

  "The movie's for me, not for you. Force Ten from Navarone. A personal favorite." He nodded to the chair. "Sit."

  She did so, more than a little wary when he removed something from the tote that looked like a control box with wires and clips. He also took out a couple pairs of Velcro cuffs.

  "Spread your legs so your feet are on the outside of the front chair legs."

  When she complied, he dropped to one knee and removed her shiny shoes, his fingers caressing her ankles. He wrapped the cuff around one ankle, binding it to the chair leg. Then he did the same to the other. The chairs were good-sized, heavy furniture. Alice had always joked that they were meant to accommodate a team of football players. As a result, Madison's legs were splayed wide enough the damp crotch of her panties stretched over her sex. Logan unbuckled his belt, making her eyes widen, but when he stripped it off, he used it around her waist, threading the tongue into the slats of the chair and then buckling it so her backside pressed against them. Her palms were damp again, and she was experiencing that rabbitlike leap of her heart.

  "Logan . . ."

  "Yes, Madison?"

  "I'm . . . this is making me a little afraid."

  He was still on one knee, so he put a hand on hers, his fingers wrapping intimately around her thigh. "What kind of fear, Madison? Do you think I'm going to hurt you? Try to frighten you?"

  "No." She shook her head. When his expression eased, it helped, seeing that mattered to him. He didn't want her to fear him. At least not that way. "I'm afraid of giving you control like this. Afraid of how it will make me feel. And that something will go wrong and get screwed up."

  "That you'll screw something up," he corrected. "Or I'll disappoint you, not be everything you expect?"

  That last part made her sound like a total bitch, but he didn't wait for her struggle with an answer. "All you need to do is trust me, Madison. Follow my direction. If something doesn't feel right, you tell me and we'll talk it out. I won't be able to read everything from your mind, any more than you can read everything from mine. Sometimes you have to take a breath, make an adjustment." He cupped her face. "You're under my control, but you're not powerless. Far from it. Understand?"

  That was what she feared most. She always either held on too tightly and screwed it up, or let it go and trusted too much, expecting more than any one person should expect from another human being. In the end, giving up on any of it had been the only solution that worked for her.

  But the handsome lines on his face and far-too-shrewd eyes told her he'd faced his own obstacles in life. He had a kindness as well as an inflexible strength on which she desperately wanted to rely. She just didn't want Logan to be yet another failed expectation, a memory of cruel apathy.

  Well, she was way too far down that path tonight to turn back, right? Hell, she'd dressed up for him in this provocative outfit, had stripped for him, and was letting him tie her up. If she backed away now, it would be rude. Foolish. Yet she was flooded by utter panic, like someone with a paralyzing fear of heights stepping into the elevator of the Space Needle. The door had closed, the button for the top floor pushed, taking her beyond the point of no return.

  "Madison, focus on me."

  She saw him studying her with that intent look that saw so many things. "Call me Master again. Not for me. Call me that for you. See how it makes you feel."

  "Master," she said, and repeated it. "Master."

  It did steady her, so much it was ironically a little disturbing. It didn't stop her palms from sweating, but she was able to tune back in to what he was doing.

  He squeezed her knee, showing approval, and used two more cuffs to bind her arms behind her, at the small of her back. Another strap bound them to the slats. With her waist bound, the position thrust her breasts out and he sat back on his heels, obviously enjoying that look. She moistened her lips, and his gaze flickered up to her mouth.

  "My schoolgirl, all trussed up, hot and bothered, wanting to come. How wet are you, Madison?"

  "P-pretty wet. Very."

  He retrieved a blindfold from th
e tote, sitting it next to him. "I'm eventually going to put this on you, to increase your focus on the sensations. This next part will feel good, but it's not much to look at. They haven't figured out a way to make electrodes look sexy."

  The word electrode caused her to tense up. His hands cupped her knees, then slid up her thighs, thumbs trailing the inner road, drawing her attention to how much more nerve-rich it was than the outsides of her legs. Tiny tadpoles of energy quivered ahead of his touch. When he reached the top of her thighs, he stopped. The skirt didn't cover anything, really, so short her splayed leg position pushed it up to her hip bones. She let out a shaky breath as this thumbs explored that pocket between inner thigh and outer labia. When he allowed one to slide over the crotch of the panties, she made a needy noise.

  "Christ, you're soaked. How long has it been since . . ."

  She flushed, mortified. It wasn't that. It wasn't. It was him. But if he thought she was some pathetic and horny charity case . . .

  "Hey." He touched her chin, but she ducked her face away.

  "Let me go. I don't want to do this."

  "Yeah, you do. You're just embarrassed because of the way I put it. You're a beautiful, interesting woman, Madison. If you've chosen not to have a man in your bed, it's because you've dealt with too many assholes, not because they wouldn't want to be there. Men. Not assholes."

  She shifted, uncertain. "I'm not sure about the electrode thing."

  "Don't be afraid. It's not going to hurt, not that way." He returned his touch to her thighs, sliding a finger over the wet crotch panel, then under it. When he met her gaze, slowly pushing a knuckle into her, rotating it, she bit down on a moan.

  "I think the panties are going to have to go. I can uncuff your legs, but I'd prefer to cut them off of you."

  "You bought the outfit," she managed. "It's yours to do what you want with."