by KD Robichaux
“We have a private room tonight. There’s a curtain built into the wall, so during your training, if you’re more comfortable not having an audience, we can have privacy,” I tell her, as I lead her around the row of booths and to the walkway between them and the circle of playrooms.
“That’s a relief,” she whispers, and I can’t help but smile. She always was self-conscious of her body. The only time she never minded eyes on her was when she was up on a rock wall. My goal is to build her confidence to where she will enjoy playing out scenes, her beauty on display for the club to see, as sure of herself as she used to be while she was climbing. Nothing would be hotter to me than that. I would love to show off my gorgeous Vi, give everyone a glimpse of what only I can have. Because although I want every eye in the club on me taking her, I will always be the only one who’s ever inside her.
I lead her into the very last playroom, reaching out to turn the dial on the wall, bringing the light up to a level to see clearly, brighter than in the dance floor area, but still dim enough that she’ll be relaxed. She glances around the room, taking in all the equipment, the padded table, the desk over to the side, while I push a button by the light dial that closes the floor-to-ceiling black curtain that will seclude us from the rest of the club.
I cross my arms over my chest, feet shoulder-width apart as I watch her circle the room. Every once in a while, she reaches out her delicate hand to gently stroke the leather tail of a flogger hanging on the wall, or the cold steel of a shackle lined in padded fur until she finally reaches me once again, her face heating when she realizes I’d been observing her.
“I’m sorry. I… you’re going to have to tell me what to do. I don’t really know how this all starts,” she tells me quietly.
“If this was one of your books, what would happen next?” I ask, wanting to make her talk to me, to loosen her up.
She bites her lip for a moment, her eyes glancing to the side before she brings them back to me. “Well, the hero would give her instructions on what to call him, rules to follow for him, since every Dom is different. Some want their sub to greet them on their knees, while others have them strip naked before they even enter the room. Since this is training and not an actual scene, I’m not really sure.”
I nod, uncrossing my arms and taking a step toward her. Her head tilts back slightly, but she doesn’t take a step back like I can tell she wants to. “Normally, with a sub, I have to start from scratch. Teach them all about the tools of the trade. Make them learn a whole new vocabulary. But you know all those things already. We have the ability to start with actual demonstrations. Yet that requires me to touch you, V.” I step up to her, my body a hairbreadth away from hers, and I lean down to whisper into her ear. “Will you let me touch you?”
I smirk behind my mask as I see her shiver, the tiny hairs on her arms standing on end.
After a moment, her expression going from a moment of panic to consciously searching for inner strength, I see her decision as it crosses her face. “Yes.”
“Very good, V,” I murmur, and then take a step back. “Place all your things in the trunk, there.” I point to the black footlocker next to the door. “For now, I want you to take off only what you’re comfortable with. Eventually, I will you give you a list of acceptable items to wear in my playroom.”
She glances at the footlocker, seems to mull over what I’ve told her to do, and then steps toward it. I move away, and when the backs of my legs hit the leather chair against the wall, I lower myself into it, giving her all the space I’m willing to give.
She opens the trunk and places her bag inside, and then unzips her hoodie, letting it drop on top of her bag. She places one hand on the wall for balance as she unlaces one maroon Converse and then the other before toeing them off, setting them into the footlocker along with her socks. She straightens then glances over at me, obviously nervous as she decides how much to strip. My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for her to continue, if she will. And my dick instantly hardens as she reaches for the waistband of her leggings. She pulls them down her long legs, catching her balance on the wall once again to yank the tight, stretchy fabric over each foot, leaving her standing in her black tank top and white boy-short panties. Placing them into the trunk, her hand grips the lid for a moment as she seems to process something in her mind. Finally, she lowers it, closing the footlocker.
She turns to me, a look of regret on her face. “I… I think that’s as far as I can go right now, Seven,” she murmurs, looking at the floor.
Immediately, I’m within reach, pulling her face up by her chin to meet my hidden eyes. “Sir. From here on out, when you are in this club, you call me Sir. Understand?” I instruct, unable to stand her calling me by Seth’s Dom name any longer. Everyone else has been informed not to address me by any name until I say otherwise. I passed it off as a Dominant’s command in an e-mail to all employees and members, when really I didn’t want some dumbass outing me in front of Vi.
“Yes, Sir,” she breathes, her eyes becoming hooded, and my cock twitches behind my zipper. Suddenly, a flashback of the day I met her fills my mind. Glover calling me sir, which confused Vi, who hadn’t been around military men before.
“Sir?” she had asked, looking between the two of us, and my hand had tightened around hers after shaking it as I introduced myself. The respectful title coming from her sweet lips had instantly made flashes of a moment exactly like the one we find ourselves in now float through my head, as if it were a glimpse into the future.
“If this is as undressed as you are comfortable with, we can continue. Next time, I will require one less item of clothing. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir,” she agrees and swallows, and I drop my hand, but not before tracing the line of her feminine jaw, causing her nipples to harden behind her tank top.
“Tonight, my goal is to get you acclimated to my touch. Dr. Walker told me he explained a couple of ways we can do that without setting off any triggers.”
“Um… yes, he explained about pain, but I… I don’t know if I’m ready for all that yet,” she confesses. “I believe, if you don’t mind going slow, I trust in our friendship enough to stand… I mean… shit.” She shakes her head.
“What it is, b—my sweet?” I catch myself from calling her baby girl, the endearment I always used to call her.
“I don’t want you to think that your touch is in any way repulsive. I promise it’s not you. I—”
“V, I’m well aware my touch is not repulsive. And I know someone being physical with you in any way sets off bad feelings in you. Thank you for your trust. I will go slow with you. It is the job of a Dom to have heightened awareness of their sub’s feelings. I’ve been doing this for many, many years, and I will be able to tell just how far to take you and at what speed,” I assure her, even though I have mixed feelings about this conversation. On the one hand, I feel the sting of guilt abusing her trust, since she believes I’m Seven, her friend she’s been talking to for a year now, learning everything about BDSM from him. But on the other, I’m jealous as fuck of the trust she’s given him. But I’ve come too far to stop now, and there’s no way in hell I’m gonna back down and let some other fucker touch what’s mine.
“Thank you, Sir,” she whispers, and then bites her full bottom lip.
“You’re welcome. Now…” I turn and circle around the padded black leather table in the middle of the room. It looks like a massage table without the face cradle. “I want you to lie down. You choose whether you’d like to be face up or face down. Mind you, you’re getting to make a lot of choices during this first training session that you won’t be getting later. Tonight’s all about getting to know each other’s touch.”
She nods and comes to stand across from me, the table between us. After a moment, she hikes up one creamy thigh, placing it on the dark, smooth surface before pulling herself all the way up, turning onto her stomach and lying down. This doesn’t surprise me. Face up on my table makes one feel very vulnerable
and exposed. It’s a person’s natural instinct to protect their vital organs, covering their torso. But this gives me a perfect view of her shapely ass, even if it’s hidden behind the white fabric of her underwear.
“With you face down, would you feel comfortable with me taking your shirt off? I need to expose more skin in order for what I have planned to work.”
She bites her lip, and then asks, “Can I keep my bra on?” I quirk my brow, even though she can’t see it, but she corrects herself all the same. “Sir?” she adds quickly.
“Yes, but I’ll need to unhook it.” She nods, sitting up and reaching for the hem of her tank. “No,” I growl, and she halts immediately. “I did not instruct you to take off your shirt. Remember, you are only to do as you are told unless I leave the decision up to you. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” she murmurs, visibly shaken at being scolded. She lies back down, and I come around to the head of the table, gently stroking her hair to ease her worry. And to my surprise, instead of tensing as I expected, she relaxes immediately. She always loved it when I played with her hair after I made love to her.
I reach down her body with both hands and take hold of the bottom of her shirt. Slowly, and making sure to touch as much of the soft skin of her sides as possible, I drag the tank up and off of her. But it’s not the view of all that beautiful creamy skin that brings my cock to full mast.
It’s her giggle.
She fucking giggled. It’s a sound I haven’t heard in ten years. God, I used to love that sweet, innocent, feminine sound. I used to tickle her just so I could listen to it. And there it was.
She must be worried that I’ve completely halted all movement, thinking she’s done something wrong, because she apologizes. “I’m sorry, Sir. I should’ve warned you, but I actually forgot how ticklish I am,” she says sadly.
“No need to be sorry, my sweet,” I tell her gently, stroking her hair again before moving to place her shirt inside the trunk. Then I go over to the dark-stained wooden cabinet in the corner of the room, opening up one of the doors and grabbing the two things I’ll need for tonight before coming back to her side, pulling the small rolling table with me from its spot against the back wall. I place the two items on it and then face my girl once again. “All right, V. It’s time to begin. Close your eyes,” I command, and when she does, I take her wrists from where they were up by her face and gently unfold her arms so they are now relaxed by her sides, her palms facing the ceiling.
To keep her from jumping, I keep contact with her skin at all times so she can follow my touch instead of wondering where it will land next. I glide my fingertips up her thin arms then my hands meet in the middle of her back, where I unhook her light-gray bra with ease, tucking the sides down between her biceps and her breasts. Now I have the perfect blank canvas of her back to work on as I move her long dark hair out of the way.
“First, I will start with my hands. And then I have a simple but very effective tool I’d like to introduce you to. So try to relax and become familiar with my touch,” I say, and I smile as I see her ass muscles flex before she forces herself to melt into the table.
“Yes, Sir,” she mumbles, keeping her eyes closed.
I grab the bottle of massage oil, and pour some into my palm. I rub my hands together, warming the oil, and then ever so gently place them on her back, my fingers spreading wide. She gasps but then catches herself, her eyebrows pinching together for a moment before her face softens, a breathy moan leaving her plump lips as I push my palms upward along her spine.
“That’s it, my sweet. I want to hear your pleasure,” I tell her softly, grinding my cock against the cushioned side of the table. Jesus fuck. I’m more turned on just from touching her back and listening to her quiet moans than I have been in a decade.
Teach her, Corbin. You’re supposed to be teaching her. Helping her heal. Not perving on her and about to come on her goddamn back!
Inhaling a breath to center myself, I then instruct, “We’re going to play a game. The grown-up version of Red Light, Green Light. Whenever I say ‘Color,’ you are to tell me Green if you are completely okay, Yellow if I need to back off or slow down, or Red if you need me to stop. I’ll ask you this throughout the night, but you can always tell me Yellow or Red if you need to at any time. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” she breathes, and her hips unconsciously flex against the table. I close my eyes and pray for strength, feeling weaker around this tiny woman than I’ve ever felt against the deadliest of enemies.
I take my time, kneading her muscles, stroking beneath her shoulder blades, squeezing the base of her neck, and then move lower, massaging around the dimples at her lower back. “Color?” I question.
“Green, Sir,” she murmurs, and I grin behind my hood. Her research for her novels taught her well. Most new submissives would have forgotten to add Sir when responding. But not my Vi.
“Such a good girl,” I tell her quietly, and she melts beneath my praise. Keeping contact with her flesh, I drag my fingertips over her ass, down her legs to her ankles. Knowing she’s ticklish and not wanting to disturb her from her relaxed state, I purposely avoid her feet, remembering that was her most ticklish spot. She once told me her idea of hell would be to spend the rest of eternity having her feet tickled. I smile at the memory, and I add more massage oil to her long legs with one hand while stroking her calf with the other. I knead her small limbs, noticing her legs are thinner than they used to be, not as ripped with muscle since she stopped rock climbing. As I work my way up her thighs, my eyes go higher, seeing her hips are wider than they once were. She has a woman’s body now, not the one of the teenager I was once married to. As stalkerish as I was, keeping my eye on her for all these years, I never allowed myself to see her naked. If I saw through her window she was about to undress, I always turned away, never wanting to violate her in that way.
So now, up close, with her lying beneath my palms in only her panties, I take in the flare of her hips. She’s still thin, but her sides, and I’m sure her stomach, are now softer than they were before. It makes me wonder what her breasts look like now. She always wears hoodies or shirts that keep her covered. Even the tank she wore had a high neck. I’ve never once seen her in anything low-cut. Are they small like they used to be? Not even a handful? The perfect size to pull into my mouth, making her scream out in pleasure as I pinch her other nipple between my fingers? Or has she developed more since I last saw her naked?
“Yellow, Sir,” she whimpers, pulling me out of my trance, and I realize my hands had tightened forcefully around the upper part of her inner thighs. I immediately loosen my grip but don’t move away, so close to the treasure between her legs.
“Good girl, V. I’m proud of you for speaking up. Never be afraid to tell me when you are uncomfortable,” I praise, and feel her legs loosen and see her ass muscles unflex. “Was it the force or the location of my hands that made you call Yellow?”
“Force, Sir. Location is… good,” she murmurs, and I can’t help but smile.
With that bit of information, I work my hands higher, until I reach the elastic of her boy-shorts around her thighs. Taking a chance, I keep my touch gentle as I slide them beneath the soft fabric and begin to knead her ass. At her light moan, tension leaves my shoulders, happy she didn’t stop me. I spend time here, allowing her to familiarize herself with my hands on her in such an intimate place, before I finally ask, my voice low and deep, “V, would you allow me to take off your panties? You may stay facing down and can ask for a robe at any time to cover you completely if you need.”
I watch the side of her face, her head turned so I can only see the left side of her beautiful profile. She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth as I continue to massage her glutes, but eventually, she nods. “Yes, Sir.”
Never removing my touch from her skin, I grasp hold of her panties and swiftly slide them down her long legs, placing them on the rolling table beside us. I suck in a breath at the sight laid out before me and hop
e my mask hid the sound. Jesus Christ, she’s more beautiful than ever. My mouth waters at the triangle her legs make between her thighs. I want to bury my teeth in the creases beneath her cheeks, the plumpness there making my cock pulse.
I use one hand to squeeze more oil onto her ass before massaging her there. It takes every ounce of my self-control to keep myself from either coming in my pants or burying my face there. As I mold her flesh with my hands, it spreads her cheeks, and I catch glimpses of her pussy. Even in the dim lighting I can see it glisten, and I choke back a groan knowing what I’m doing to her is turning her on. My sweet Vi is finally feeling aroused at the hands of another person. She’s not running away afraid at my touch as she did with everyone else. No. Not only is she allowing me to caress and knead her perfect body, it’s making her feel good, soaking her core.
Suddenly, as I find a rhythm with my movements, her hips begin to tilt up with my every downward stroke. “Color?” I growl, having no control over my voice.
“Green, Sir,” she breathes, her hands making tiny fists at her sides. Her nails dig into her palms, and I can tell she’s holding something back. Not wanting to break her out of the trance I’ve got her in, I don’t tell her to ask for what she wants. I know my Vi. Even after all these years, I know her tells. I know her body. She wants me to touch her intimately, so I give her what she craves.
On my next downward stroke, as she lifts her hips once again, my two thumbs drag lower until they caress the drenched lips of her pussy, and she shudders, taking in a stuttered breath. I follow my pattern again, up the cheeks, around the dimples of her lower back, and then down her center, my cock throbbing at her whimper. The next time I make my circuit, my thumb presses into her gently, and she grasps the edge of the padded table as she moans.
