Tara Me - The Training

Damn, I’d have a stroke if he kept that up.

He pulled back and lifted my chin. “Look at me.”

For the first time since he entered the room, I met his eyes—they were steady and green. His tongue ran over his lips, and he smiled. “Every time sweeter than the last.”

I forced my eyes to remain on his even though I wanted to see his chest, to enjoy the sight of his perfect body. But his body was not mine to enjoy, so I kept my eyes locked with his.

He broke our connection first by turning and walking to the table. He put something in his pocket, and I dropped my head as he turned around.

He walked five steps to me; then darkness cloaked my vision.

“Totally at my mercy,” he said in a voice as smooth as the silk scarf covering my eyes.

He stroked my breasts. Long fingers took my nipples and rolled them, pulling and twisting.

Fuck.

“I thought about bringing out the clamps tonight,” he said, flicking the tip of a nipple.

Double fuck.

We had talked about the clamps, though I’d never felt or used them. A small bubble of anticipation swelled in my belly. Nathaniel promised I would like the clamps, that the brief pain would be worth the pleasure they brought.

“Thought about it,” he continued, “but decided on something else.”

Cold metal made its way across my chest. It felt like a prickly pizza cutter. He ran it slowly around one breast and then the other. The sensation felt incredible. He didn’t go near either nipple. Instead he rolled the wheel closer and closer before moving away. Then there were two, each one mirroring the other in its movements. Teasing and taunting, but never hitting exactly where I needed. Closer and closer they went, then retreated once again. They went even closer on the next pass, and I knew I’d combust if he didn’t touch me soon.

And then he did—the wheels ran over my nipples right where I needed relief. It felt so good, I forgot where I was, what we were doing, and I moaned out in pleasure.

“Ahhh.”

He immediately pulled back. “Damn it, Abigail,” he said, taking the scarf from around my eyes. “That’s twice in less than two hours. Now and earlier in my office.” He pulled my hair back so hard I had no choice but to meet his eyes. “You’re making me believe you don’t really want this.”

Tears prickled my eyes. I’d wanted so badly to do everything perfectly this weekend. Instead, I’d already messed up twice—once in his office and once again in his playroom. But the worst, the absolute worst, was knowing I’d disappointed Nathaniel.

I wanted to apologize. To tell him I was sorry and I’d do better. But he’d told me not to speak, and the best thing I could do was obey that command.

“Let’s see,” he said, still looking me in the eyes. “What was the penalty for disobedience during a scene?”

He knew the penalty as well as I did. Probably better. He dragged it out only to make me sweat.

“Ah, yes,” he said, as if remembering. “Number of strokes for disobedience during a scene is at dom’s discretion.”

Dom’s discretion.

Fuck.

What would he decide?

“I could give you twenty.” He ran his hands over my backside. “But that would end all play for tonight, and I don’t think either of us want that.”

Hell, no.

He wouldn’t do twenty, would he?

I dropped my eyes and tried hard not to give in to the temptation to look at the whipping bench.

“I gave you three earlier in my office, though,” he mused, “and they obviously did no good.”

My heart beat through the skin of my chest. I felt certain he saw it as well.

“Eight,” he finally said. “I’ll redo the prior three and add five.” He leaned over and whispered, “Next time, I’ll add five more for a total of thirteen. After that it goes to eighteen.” He gave my hair a hard tug. “Trust me. You don’t want eighteen.”

Hell, no, I didn’t want eighteen. I didn’t want the eight I had coming.

He unbuckled my wrists. The tin of salve on the table, ignored. There would be no soothing rubdown for now. “To the bench, Abigail.”

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I could do this, I told myself as I walked to the bench. We could do this. This was nothing like the last time. He’d explained his negligence in the lack of aftercare last time. And there would be only eight strokes tonight.

I’d make damn sure there weren’t any more.

But as bad as last time had been, it wasn’t the thought of pain that made my steps slow. It was disappointment in myself. Disappointment in my disobedience, but even more so, guilt that my actions forced him to punish me on our first weekend of play. The very first hour of our first weekend.

I settled my body into the smooth groove of the bench, wanting it to be over so we could continue on to more enjoyable pursuits.

He didn’t make me wait. Almost immediately after I dropped into position, he started spanking me with his hand.

Warm-up.

He swiftly smacked my backside with slaps that were harder than his erotic spankings.

“How very disappointed I am to be doing this so soon,” he said.

Yes. That was what hurt the most.

“I had you count in my office.” He picked something up from beside the bench. “But since I told you not to speak or vocalize, I’ll have to count this time.”

The sting of the leather strap came down across my backside.

“One,” he said, voice strong and firm.

Again it came.

“Two.”

Ow.

By five, silent tears ran down my face. I sucked my bottom lip into my mouth to keep from saying anything.

“Three more,” he said, rubbing where he struck.

“Six,” he said after the next one. I could tell he wasn’t putting as much strength behind the strokes.

Two more. Only two more and we could move on.

“Seven.”

And finally, “Eight.”

I heard him breathing hard behind me, and I blinked furiously to get the tears out of my eyes. He set the strap down, and I listened to his footsteps as he walked away.

Moments later, his hands came back, rubbing something cool and wet over me. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

I let out my breath in a shuddering sigh of relief. “Yes, Master.”

His hands continued caressing as he talked. “We discussed this. I hate having to punish you, but I can’t let broken commands slide. You know that.”

Yes, I did. I’d try harder next time.

He moved to the side of the bench and leaned down so his face was level with mine. Ever so gently, he kissed first one cheek and then the other. My heart pounded frantically as his lips drew closer to mine. And then, finally, he kissed my mouth—slow and soft and long.

I sighed.

He pulled back, and his eyes danced with a wicked gleam. “Come, my lovely.” He held his hand out. “I want to taste that sweet pussy.”

—NATHANIEL—

She took my hand and I squeezed it once before letting go. She didn’t stumble as she stepped off the bench and moved to the table.

“Paragraph two,” I said.

I’d thought a chastisement might be necessary this weekend—our first weekend back into our roles. We’d lived the last few weeks as lovers and, while we both enjoyed our relationship, there was something missing for both of us. Yet this pivotal weekend would also be the most difficult.

Chastising her would never be my favorite act, but I felt relieved. I now knew I could do it. There had never been a question in my mind she could handle it.

I watched her and felt myself slip deeper into the needed mind frame. I hadn’t done this for several months, but was surprised at how comfortable I felt reestablishing myself. As always, she had been right—we were ready.

I returned my focus to Abigail. She was positioned on her back, arms to her sides, knees bent and spread wide. An exact description of paragraph two.

“How pleased I am you remembered,” I said. While she didn’t move or in any way acknowledge my words, I knew my praise would encourage her.

My eyes traveled over her body. I took in the long line of her limbs, the trusting way she offered herself to me. Sheer perfection.

I placed my hands on her hip bones and traced her torso up to her arms, capturing her hands and bringing them above her head. Our eyes met briefly. “Close your eyes,” I told her.

I bent her arms at the elbows and secured her to the table. I trailed my fingers across her stomach and hip bones, careful of her backside, and bound her ankles to the table. Her skin broke out in gooseflesh. When finished, I stepped back.

Fuck.

What the sight of her did to me . . .

“Take a minute and feel, Abigail,” I said. “Feel how exposed you are.” Her nipples pebbled at my words. Excellent. “How vulnerable.”

I let the weight of what I said sink in, knowing just how defenseless she would feel in her current position.

“I can do anything I want to you,” I said, still not touching her. Still letting my words alone stroke and excite her. “And I plan to do so much.”

I took a pillow and slipped it under her butt. Her backside would still be sore. Plus this position gave me better access. I thought briefly about reminding her she couldn’t climax until I granted permission, but decided against it. She needed to learn. I felt certain she would remember, and on the off chance she didn’t, it would be part of her training. Although thirteen strokes on top of the eight I just gave her would end all play.

“So beautiful,” I murmured.

I started at her neck and worked my way down. Running my hands over the delicate bones of her shoulders, my thumbs grazed the edge of the collar near the hollow of her throat. I stroked her body gently for a few minutes, allowing her to grow accustomed to her bound and defenseless state. Allowing her time to focus on my touch and me. Gradually, my hands grew rougher, but she remained silent.

I positioned myself between her legs and drew a finger across her slick folds. She startled slightly, but otherwise remained still and silent.

“Mmmmm,” I said, palming her sex, my thumb against her clit and my middle finger barely inside. “Serving me like this excites you. Doesn’t it, my naughty girl?” I pushed deeper. “Being bound turns you on.” My thumb stroked her. “Is it knowing you belong to me or knowing I will do anything to you I want?” I slipped a second finger inside. “Maybe both?” I asked in a whisper.

Both, I knew. Definitely both.

I removed my fingers and dropped my head to place a tender kiss on her bare skin. She shivered under me. I spread her gently before running my tongue over her slit. Again she shivered, but she still remained quiet. I licked her again, enjoying her sweet taste, feeling the faint quiver of her skin as she worked to remain motionless and silent for me. My tongue pushed deeper inside, and I dragged the tip up to her clit, ending with a little swirl. On the next pass, I added my teeth, grazing her just a bit.

I stroked her thighs as I licked and nibbled, tickling her skin with featherlight touches. Then I pulled myself to her, nibbling harder, stretching out her pleasure and bringing her precariously close to the edge.

I knew exactly when she started working to hold off her climax—her breathing became ragged and her legs started to shake. I blew once, sending a long, steady stream of warm air across her swollen clit. She tensed as she held her release at bay.

I didn’t want her to fail in her efforts, and I knew if I touched her sensitive flesh again, she would be unable to contain her climax. I pulled back, stroking from her upper thighs down to her lower legs. Bringing her back from the ledge. Bringing her down.

She exhaled deeply, and her body relaxed.

“You did well, Abigail,” I said. “I’m very pleased.”

A small smile flitted across her face.

Yes, my lovely. Find your joy in my pleasure.

She had been bound in one position long enough. I untied her arms first. Starting with her wrists and working down to her shoulders, I gently caressed away any potential kinks, placing her arms at her sides when I finished. Next I dropped down to her legs and repeated my actions on her lower body, untying her ankles and tenderly massaging her calves. When I finished, I placed them so they hung off the end of the table, her knees still spread.