The Training (Book 3: The Submissive Trilogy) (19 page)

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.”

I know
, I wanted to shout.
I know. Please.

Then something was inside me, and I let out a squeak when I realized it was one of his vibrators.

“Just a taste,” he said. “Not too much. Bratty submissives don’t get to release.”

He slid the vibrator in and out of me a few times, and it took all my strength not to give in to the need to orgasm.

“Please, Master?” I finally begged when it became too much.

“No,” he said, sliding it from my body. I knew then why he’d bound my wrists: I was so overwhelmed by sensation, I’d probably collapse if he hadn’t.

But he wasn’t finished.

He started back with the suede flogger, and my skin was even more sensitive for this second round. It felt as though all my nerve endings were in overdrive, standing at attention, waiting for the thud to hit again. I moaned when it did.

“Are you still okay?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” I said. The flogger hit right where my legs met. “Oh, yes.” I groaned as the pain struck and subsided into pleasure over and over.

I wasn’t sure how much time passed. I turned my reflection inward, wanting only him, focusing only on him and what he was doing to me. Only he knew how to do this to me. Only he could play me the way he did. Could create such a dichotomy of feelings in me.

“You’re being punished,” I heard from what seemed far away. The blows landed slower, softer.

I breathed in and out.

Slower.

Softer.

“But I haven’t done anything wrong,” he said. “So I get my release.”

The flogger stopped and a new sound replaced it. Friction. Somewhere.

“Where do you want it?” he asked.

I knew what I wanted. It was dirty and primal, but I wanted it. “On me, Master,” I said. “I want you to come on me.”

“Fuck.”

“Please.”

“Hold still,” he said, but I wasn’t sure where I’d be going. “Fuck,” he said again.

A warm wetness landed on my back. I swore as he came, feeling his release hit and then drip off.

“Yes,” one of us said. I wasn’t sure who.

Then he was closer to me and breathing heavily in my ear. “You did well, my lovely.” He undid one wrist and then the other. “I am so very pleased.”

I nearly fell into his arms. He helped me gently to the floor, where he held me. His lips were on my face, my hair, my lips, and he whispered words of praise, telling me again and again how much I’d pleased him.

A
fterward, when he’d cleaned us both up and removed my collar, he carried me outdoors to his hot tub. We sat for a time, relaxing. The coming down after play always left me feeling soft, pliable, and tired. But today, there was something more, and it bothered me.

He must have picked up on my mood. “Abby?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

It was the
Abby
that did it. I almost shook my head, but my eyes filled and I knew I couldn’t lie to him.

“Your disappointment,” I said, watching the water bubble around me. “I feel as if it’s a weight I carry.”

“Come here,” he said. I moved into his lap, and his arms came around me. “Is this because I won’t let you climax?”

It sounded silly to my ears. How could such a thing even make me sad? But it did, so I had to tell him. “I think it’s because it’s still lingering between us. When you spank me, it’s over and done with and we move on, but this is still there. I remember it every time I look at you, and it reminds me of how I messed up.”