The Training (Book 3: The Submissive Trilogy) (30 page)

Of course, I told myself, not everyone would be in a couple. A group of three women stood in one corner, chatting. I noticed how one of them, a blonde, looked Nathaniel up and down. He seemed oblivious to her, but he nodded and smiled at several people. Almost everyone appeared to know him, but no one spoke directly to us.

He pulled out a chair and motioned for me to sit down. It wasn’t until he was settled beside me that I looked around the room a bit more closely.

Sitting near the head of the table was the security guard from Nathaniel’s office—the one who had been there the weekend of our role-play. He caught my eye, winked, and gave a little smile.

I must have made some sort of noise because Nathaniel gently squeezed my knee under the table. I looked up and he shook his head.
Not now
, he mouthed.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from saying anything, but returned the smile and looked at the guy again.

He had longish black hair and sharp, angular cheekbones. He leaned back in his chair, fingers thumping on his knee, head
nodding as if in rhythm to a beat only he heard. No one sat near him, and I noticed he didn’t wear a collar.

Dominant
, I decided.
Definitely dominant.

Knowing what he was and knowing what I needed in a relationship, I looked closer at him, trying to see if I felt any interest in him. He was nice enough to look at: he had a lean, muscular body, and a dark tattoo encircled his right arm. Outside of the appreciation I might have felt looking at a fine piece of art, I felt nothing. There was no spark, no longing, and no pull toward the man sitting at the head of the table.

I looked back at Nathaniel, however, and my whole body reacted. My pulse beat faster. My gaze dropped from his eyes to his mouth, and I shivered remembering it on me earlier. He alone called to both my body and soul. No one else even came close.

I wondered, though, as I looked once more at the man at the head of the table, if his name had been one of the ones Nathaniel contemplated giving me when I left him earlier in the year. He’d said he couldn’t decide on anyone, and I wondered for the first time why. Was the dark-haired man cruel? Was there some defect in his character that made him undesirable as a dominant?

A rustle from the back of the room caught my attention, and I, along with everyone else, turned to watch the woman entering. She completely commanded the room. Even the security guard (I wished I’d at least looked at his name tag a few weeks ago so I knew what to call him) sat up straighter and gave her his full attention.

There was nothing noticeably remarkable about her. She was a large woman with nondescript hair, but her eyes were vivid and she moved with a dramatic grace. Her presence and command were undeniable.

Her name was Eve, she said, and she spoke with calm authority, welcoming everyone and giving a brief rundown of the day’s topic: rope types and usage.

It didn’t take long for my attention to wander away from her discussion on the pros and cons of natural fiber ropes versus synthetic fiber ropes. It wasn’t anything I’d ever have to make a call on, after all. I even noticed the blonde who had ogled Nathaniel stifle a yawn. She glanced toward us; I gave her a small smile and shifted closer to Nathaniel. His hand dropped down to my knee, and I thought back to the previous weekend, when he’d played out my written scenario.

The ball gag. The leather flogger that felt sharper against my skin than the suede. Nathaniel taking me, hard and fast, from behind. His command to kneel and kiss his feet in thanks afterward.

Gah.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

Focus
, I told myself, and I forced my brain to concentrate on the many various elements that went into selecting a rope to tie someone up. Because, really, if you thought about it, who knew there was so much to think about?

When the talk was over and Eve had answered everyone’s questions, she dismissed us. Nathaniel stood up and pulled my chair out.

“Ready to fill out paperwork?” he asked.

When I confirmed I was, he led me over to the dark-haired dominant and requested the necessary papers. Then he left me alone to read and fill them out. He did so, I knew, to show that it was my choice. Had I not felt comfortable, we would leave, no questions asked.

I knew what information I’d be giving since Nathaniel had gone over what to expect and we’d discussed several aspects. Ground rules were laid out, and if I agreed, I was to sign the last
page. The last page also collected details on the name I wanted to be called and other required information.

After I read and completed everything, I handed the dark-haired guy my paperwork.

He looked down at it, reading, before he addressed me. “Welcome, Abby,” he said, his eyes lit with amusement at something. “I’m Jonah.”

I shook his hand. “Hi, Jonah. Good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” he said, still smiling.

My face felt hot, and I blurted out the first thing coming to my head. “I thought you were a security guard.”

“I am a security guard,” he said. “But when Mr. West called Mistress Eve, I couldn’t refuse.”

That didn’t make a bit of sense to me. “Just doing a favor for another dominant?” I asked.

His head shook with a confident air. “I didn’t ask Mistress
why.
I don’t typically question her.” He laughed. “Unless, of course, I’m feeling particularly cheeky or want her to punish me.”

My mouth fell open. “You’re a submissive?”

“I prefer the term
bottom,”
he said with a smile. “But, yes. I am.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling slightly stupid. “I didn’t see.” I pointed to my collar. “I couldn’t tell.”

He held up his right hand, and I noticed for the first time the leather cuff he wore on his wrist. “Not all collars go around your neck. Though I have a few of those, too.”

“I only have this one,” I said. Of course I knew most submissives didn’t wear diamond collars. I just thought they’d be more obvious.
Idiot. That’s what you get for making assumptions.

He shrugged, his lanky shoulders rolling under his tight T-shirt. “Mr. West always does things his own way.”

It occurred to me belatedly that Jonah would know a lot more about Nathaniel than just how he was as an employer. I wondered how long he’d known him, so I asked.

“I’ve known him for about three years,” he said. “Been working for him for one. He’s a good boss. Has a good head on his shoulders. Not many CEOs know their weekend security supervisor.” He smiled his lazy grin. “He’s a good top, too. I’ve seen him in action before.”

“You have?” I asked, hoping my eyes weren’t bugging out too much.

“Sure,” he said. “He and his previous submissive, what’s her name?”

“Beth,” I said, and wondered if she’d be at the party.

“Right. They used to do some demonstrations on occasion.”

Nathaniel had been a dom for more than ten years. He’d told me a lot about his past submissives and what they had done. I knew he’d been active in the community as both a mentor and a participant. I didn’t feel jealous at the thought of his being with other women before me. I rested comfortably in the knowledge I was the one he wanted. For now and forever. None of his other submissives shared his bed, his heart, or his mind the way I did. They didn’t play a part in his tree house dreams.

“You know,” Jonah said, interrupting my thoughts. “I’m part of a submissives group that gets together once a month. Would you like to come to our next meeting?”

My last writing assignment while Nathaniel was in China had been to detail where I wanted to be, as a submissive, in five years. I’d written that I wanted to be active in mentoring novice submissives, much like Nathaniel had mentored dominants. I wanted to help others the way Christine had helped me, the way this group might help me.

“That would be great,” I said. “What do you do?” It was hard
to imagine a group of submissives sitting around talking about, well, being submissive.

He leaned against the table and crossed his arms. “Depends,” he said. “Last meeting, one of our members shared her recipe for homemade pasta and we all tried to make some.”

My laugh drew the attention of several other people. Even Nathaniel lifted his eyebrow at me. He was talking with the blonde.

“Sorry,” I said to Jonah. “Whatever I was expecting you to do, homemade pasta wasn’t it.”

“That’s okay. I suppose it does sound odd at first, and we do have discussions about the lifestyle. Here,” he said, taking a piece of paper from the table and writing something down. “Here’s my number. Call me and I’ll give you the time and directions.”

I took the paper. “Thanks.”

“I have to go,” he said, looking over my shoulder to where Eve must have been motioning for him. “See you tonight.”

“Definitely,” I said. “It’ll be so nice to know one other person.”

“Well,” he said, eyes dancing with amusement. “I probably won’t be much good for you; I’ll be tied up.” He leaned close. “Mistress and I are doing the Japanese bondage demo.”

As he walked away, my face heated thinking about just how much of him I’d probably be seeing later.

“Are you ready to go, Abigail?” Nathaniel asked, coming up behind me and placing his hand on my shoulder.

“Yes, Master,” I said, surprised at how easily the word
master
came out. How it didn’t seem odd with my current company.

“I saw you talking with Jonah. He’s a bright, intelligent man. He leads my weekend security crew.”

We started walking out. “It was a surprise seeing him,” I said.

“Very handy that Eve was willing to let me use him the way she did.”

I remembered how Jonah had acted the weekend of our role-play. How he kept his eyes on my face, never letting them wander to the rest of me. Even when Nathaniel and I had left wearing different clothes, he’d just said a pleasant “Have a nice day.”

“Very handy, Master,” I agreed.

“I’m quite sure Eve rewarded him handsomely. I told her he was a testament to her training.”

His words struck me. “I hope I’m a testament to your training, Master.”

“You are, my lovely,” he said. “And for coming through your first meeting with flying colors, I’m going to reward you nicely when we get home.”

“Whatever you think best, Master,” I said with a smile.

My reward consisted of being bound to his table, spread-eagle with my knees bent, ass at the edge of the table, while his lips trailed downward. He nibbled and licked, lower, lower, lower, until,
hell, yes, right there
—

He lifted his head.

What the fuck?

“You can come whenever you want and as many times as you want,” he said, his breath warm against my sensitive flesh. “But you can’t move or vocalize at all.”

Evil. The man was completely and utterly evil.

And I loved it.

I forced my body to be still as he worked me with his lips, his fingers, and his tongue. Slowly and methodically, he pushed me, knowing exactly what to do and how my body would react.

My first orgasm slowly built and softly rippled through me. I
held my body still without any difficulties. However, even as soft and quiet as it was, it had not gone unnoticed by Nathaniel.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Beautiful.”

His hands grew bolder, working my body with long sweeps across my nipples and breasts, long brushes across my belly, until finally he concentrated his full attention between my legs. This time he was more forceful, his nose rubbing my clit—
dear sweet heavens, right there
—while his tongue dipped lower.

It was harder to hold still as my second orgasm approached. My knees wanted to wobble, and I had to struggle to keep my hips still when what I really wanted to do was push them against his mouth. I did it, however, and remained still the second time.

“Excellent,” he said, rubbing his nose up and down against my upper thigh as my body settled. “I want so badly to fuck you right now.”

He wasn’t the only one.

“But I’m going to wait,” he said. “You’re not allowed my cock until after the party. And even then, only if you deserve it.”

Completely and utterly evil. Just as I thought.

It was a modest house, much like Paul and Christine’s. Nothing ostentatious and nothing on the outside that gave any indication of what was happening on the inside. Of course, that was part of the reason I had to wear an overcoat. Nathaniel said it wouldn’t be respectful of our hosts to show up at their house wearing (or not wearing) any old thing.

Under the overcoat was the outfit Nathaniel had picked out for me: a beautiful black lace corset. The cups were padded so no nipple showed, though peeks of my torso could be seen through the lace. My delicate panties and garters were covered by a skirt so short I’d never wear it in public but was excited to
wear tonight. He had hinted he might have me remove the skirt at some point, but even then, I knew a bathing suit would reveal just as much, if not more, of me.

Nathaniel kept his hand on my back as we approached and gave our names to the man at the front door. Once he let us inside, we were met by a woman I assumed to be our hostess.

“Nathaniel,” she said, and as was becoming the rule, she looked absolutely normal. “So good to see you again.” Her attention turned to me. “This must be Abby.”

I exchanged pleasantries with her, but was anxious to see the rest of the house. I was almost desperate to see what happened at a play party. Finally, Nathaniel pulled us away and I could observe more. My eyes wanted to skip around and take everything in at once, but I forced myself to look at one thing at a time.

The first thing I noticed was all the open doors.

“No playing in closed rooms allowed,” Nathaniel had said. “If a door is closed, the room is off-limits, and if you’re in a room, the door has to be open.”

Made sense if you asked me. It seemed safer that way.

I heard soft moans coming from the room closest to us, but Nathaniel wasn’t taking us there yet. We stayed in the living room, and though a few people talked to us, the main reason, I knew, was for me to grow used to being there.