The Training

Page 23

As we talked, I began to notice him shifting slightly behind me. Pushing away, so he wasn’t as close to me anymore.
“You okay?” I asked. It wasn’t like him to withdraw from me. Especially before falling asleep.
“Fine.”
“Then why are you . . .” I scooted back in to him, bumping his erection as I did. “Oh.”
He moved away again and sighed. “It’s just, holding you like this? I can now say, with great certainty, that your punishment is literally harder for me than it is for you.”
I groaned. “Tell me you didn’t just make a dirty joke.”
“I did.”
I snuggled against him. “Sorry about your little problem there, but you’ll excuse me if I’m not inclined to help out at the moment.” Let him experience a bit of his own medicine.
“I wasn’t going to ask you to help,” he said. “But if you don’t mind, would you stop wiggling your ass against me?”
“You mean like this?” I asked, treating him to another ass wiggle.
He groaned. “Yes, damn it.”
“I’ll try to stop, but you know I have a tendency to move while I sleep.”
“Good night, Abby,” he said in a tight voice, kissing the back of my neck.
I wiggled again. “Good night, Nathaniel.”
I’d called my old yoga instructor Tuesday and reenrolled us both for yoga. Nathaniel had been right. It would help both my concentration and breathing. I was glad he’d left the final decision up to me, though. I was even gladder he would attend with me.
With him not allowing me to orgasm, we hadn’t had sex of any kind since he came on me in the playroom Sunday. I wondered just how long he planned on dragging this out. In all honestly, I thought maybe he’d have initiated something Tuesday. Especially since I’d been waxed earlier in the day.
So, Friday night at six found me in the foyer once again with Nathaniel repeating the words that would make me his for the weekend. He vowed to push me while respecting and guarding my limits, all the while keeping me the focus of his attention. In return, I gave myself completely to him.
After I was collared and he’d released in my mouth, he put a finger under my chin and tipped my head up. “Dinner in the dining room in one hour.”
His kitchen was familiar to me, and I’d moved most of my belongings in on Wednesday. It still didn’t feel completely like home, but I felt more comfortable than I had before. I was glad he wanted to eat in the dining room, as it would help keep me in the proper role.
I stood at his side while he ate the salmon I’d grilled for him. My own dinner waited for me in the kitchen, and I assumed he’d have me eat when he finished.
My mind wandered as he ate. I watched his arms and how his fingers wrapped around his glass. My eyes moved to his mouth as he ate a bite of the meal I’d prepared for him. There was no feeling in the world that compared to serving him. My trust in him grew stronger with every minute we were together, and my desire for him increased each time I looked at him.
Knowing how intently he focused on me turned me on further. There was no doubt in my mind that he was thinking of me while he ate. Maybe he was deciding how he would work me. Or maybe he was planning how many orgasms he’d let me have.
Fuck. He will let me orgasm, won’t he?
My need for him hadn’t vanished during the week. Instead, it had bloomed. He would probably need only to touch me and I’d be putty in his hands.
I knew my punishment had not been easy on him either. After the craziness of the week before the wedding, I knew we had both looked forward to a more restful week.
Although, come to think of it, we’d rested a lot.
Deep in my thoughts, it took me a few seconds to realize he’ d spoken and commanded me to kneel at his side. When I’d done so, he placed a hand under my chin and tipped my head up. “For the rest of the weekend, you are to keep your head below mine,” he said.
What?
“Anytime you enter a room I’m in, your head is to be lower than mine.” He stopped briefly and then continued. “I’ll leave it to you to decide how to comply with my request.”
I looked into his eyes and saw a hint of playfulness.
I like you feisty, he’d said last weekend.
Mmm . . . Maybe this would be fun.
As he finished eating, my mind raced. If I left the dining room before he did, how would I clear the table? Would I have to crawl to the kitchen? How would I carry his plate? Maybe I’d have to walk on my knees.
Ugh. That wouldn’t be fun at all.
Fortunately, after eating, he placed his hand on my head one more time, instructed me to eat in the kitchen and to meet him in the playroom afterward. Then he stood and left, letting me clear the table.
Finally.
Half an hour later, he waited for me when I stepped n**ed into the playroom. Unprepared to find him waiting, I hurried to stand in front of him and knelt down at his feet.
Am I late?
No, I decided. He hadn’t given me a time to meet him.
“Move to your inspection position, Abigail. Let me see if you’re better prepared today.”
I moved into the position he’d shown me the weekend before, and he knelt between my knees.
“Excellent,” he said, stroking my bare flesh. “This is what I expected.” He stood up and instructed me back into my waiting position.
When I had, he spoke again. “You’ve borne your punishment well. Remind me again why you were punished and look into my eyes as you do so.”
I met his gaze. “I was unprepared for you, Master, even though I asked to play. Then I was insolent and argumentative while I wore your collar.”
“And should I allow you to come tonight?”
Yes! Damn it, yes!
But I knew that wasn’t supposed to be my answer. “If it pleases you, Master, and if you think I deserve it.”
“Is that how you really feel?”
The temptation to look down was strong, but I forced my eyes to remain on his. “No, Master,” I said honestly. “I want to come badly, and it’s hard to push aside my wants for yours.”
It shamed me to admit I wasn’t yet where I needed to be in my service to him.
“Your honesty pleases me.” He stroked my cheek. “Don’t feel guilty over your feelings. I know it’s still early in your journey. I know you aren’t yet able to completely put aside your wants. You’ll get there eventually.”
He understands. Relief replaced the guilt immediately. “Thank you, Master,” I said, smiling.
“I know you, my lovely,” he said. “I know your thoughts and your mind. I know every line of your body. And I know the desires you have hidden deep within.” He bent slightly, and his voice dropped. “They echo my own.”
Gah.
Putty. I knew it.
He hadn’t yet told me to drop my eyes, so I watched him as he commanded me again. “Crawl to the padded table, Abigail,” he said.
Crawl?
I’d known it was coming. I’d known he’d want me to try it at least once. To be honest, I’d expected to like it once I tried it, much like the feet kissing. Therefore, I was surprised when I made it to the table and found I hated every second I moved on my hands and knees. I didn’t hate it so much that I’d safe word over it, but I hated it so much I was certain my displeasure showed when he looked at me.
It’s all about him, I told myself. Trusting him. Letting him decide.
And I’d liked the feet kissing. I wouldn’t have known that unless he made me try.
I really hoped he didn’t like the crawling.
I moved carefully onto the table, making sure my head stayed below his. Once on top, I stilled myself and waited.
“On your back,” he said.
His footsteps echoed in the room as he made his way to where I was. I noted he had four ropes in his hand.
He held them up. “I’m going to tie you to my table,” he said. “Before I bind a limb, I’ll press a rope to your lips and you’ll kiss it.”
His expectations really shouldn’t have turned me on the way they did.
A soft rope touched my lips. “This is for your right leg,” he said.
I kissed the rope. “Tie my right leg, Master.”
He pulled my right leg and tied the rope around it. Another rope touched my mouth. “Left leg,” he said.
I pressed my lips against it. “Please bind my left leg, Master.”
Like before, he used the rope to bind my leg. He repeated the action two more times—first with my right arm and then with my left. Each time, he put the rope to my lips for me to kiss. Each time, I asked him to tie me.
When he was finished, I lay spread-eagle on the table.
His hands ran from my shoulders, down my br**sts, across my belly, and came to rest between my legs.
A long finger slipped inside. He added a second. I forced my h*ps to remain still.
“Your body recognizes me,” he said, feeling the evidence of my need. “It knows its master.”
I was nearly panting for him; there was no point in arguing.
Besides, I learned that lesson the hard way.
“Close your eyes, Abigail. We’re going to try something again.”
I had a good idea of what he was going to do.
“No vocalizing until I say,” he said.
I sucked in a breath at the first pass of the Wartenberg wheel. Like before, he used one to start with—running it lightly across my chest, avoiding my ni**les entirely. Then he added a second and worked them in unison, running opposite each other. They crossed my body, each a perfect mirror of the other, each coming close to a nipple and then rolling away again. I realized immediately when I’d moaned, and after a week of punishment, I wasn’t about to mess up again. My body shook as the wheels rolled over my nipples, but I remained silent.
“Very good, Abigail. Shall I continue?”
I caught myself seconds before I answered. He gave a short laugh. “I do believe one time is all it will ever take for you. Be still.”
The wheels rolled down my body lightly. The sensation was odd—when he ran them both in parallel, it almost felt as if I were being unzipped. Then they separated and ran over my pelvic bones, and I caught my breath and held completely still. The spiked wheels came right to my sensitive flesh before rolling away.
I was going to go mad while tied to his table, and I hoped he didn’t touch me there at all. My senses were so heightened, so on edge, a mere touch would send me into an earth-shattering release.
I panicked for a second. What if he wanted me to cl**ax without permission? What if he decided to test me to see how long I could hold out? I couldn’t do it, not after almost six days of denial.
Oh, f**k. I am going to fail. Again.
Should I use my yellow safe word?
He must have sensed my worry because the wheels stopped. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes, Master, I think so.”
“You think so? Think so isn’t good enough. Open your eyes. What’s wrong?”
His hands were at my feet and ankles, checking the ropes.
“It’s not the ropes,” I said. “It’s me.”
“Are you in pain?” he asked, worry clouding his expression as his hands reached my arms.
“No, Master. I’m just afraid.”
He quickly untied the ropes binding me to the table, and I felt silly for causing him undue alarm.
“It’s nothing, really,” I said.
“Sit up. Tell me.”
I sighed and pulled myself up, swung my legs over the edge of the table. “I thought for a moment I was going to orgasm, and while I was working on holding it back, I thought maybe you wanted me to fail. Wanted me to come without permission.”
“And you panicked?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t want you to fail,” he said slowly. “I wanted to show you how much you’d grown from the last time we tried something similar. I know you’re on edge. I feel that.” He stroked my cheek. “I told you. I know your body.”