The Training (Book 3: The Submissive Trilogy)

by Tara Sue Me

  She jumped when I applied the lube to her backside.

  “Ready to be consumed again, Abigail?”

  Chapter Five

  —NATHANIEL—

  She mumbled something under her breath I couldn’t make out.

  “Either stay quiet or speak so I can hear,” I said, giving her ass a sharp smack. “Understand?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Very good.” I took hold of her bound hands. “Now bend over.”

  She moved slowly, getting her bearings. I kept a firm grasp on her hands with my left hand, wanting her to realize she could let go and trust me. Her legs were spread wide, giving her a steady stance and giving me an incredible view.

  “Very nice, Abigail,” I said. “I love how open your ass is in this position.” The lubed finger of my right hand circled her. “Let’s see if you were telling the truth about using your plug.” I pushed into her a little. “I can’t wait to take you here.”

  She groaned and pushed herself back against me. My finger slipped deeper.

  Fuck.

  I slowly fucked her with my finger, making sure I kept a firm grasp on her hands to ensure she wouldn’t fall. Her head fell between her knees, hair trailing over the floor and sweeping against the hardwood with each thrust of my finger.

  I slipped another finger into her. Pushing slowly. Stretching her. Preparing her. She was still so tight.

  As she grew accustomed to my fingers, I started rethinking my plan. Taking her here, in the middle of the floor, wouldn’t work. I couldn’t hold on to her, work her body, and thrust without putting unnecessary strain on her arms and shoulders.

  Glancing around the room, my eyes fell on the whipping bench.

  Perfect.

  “Have you missed this?” I asked. “Missed me preparing your ass for my cock?” I pushed deeper. My cock ached for friction, and as much as I wanted nothing more than to remove my fingers and thrust into her, I knew I couldn’t. She trusted me to make this good for her, and I treasured that trust.

  I stilled my fingers, and she stopped moving as well. When I was certain she was steady, I let go of her arms. Keeping my fingers inside, I slipped my other hand between her legs and stroked her slickness.

  “Very good, Abigail,” I said. “You have been using your plug. Missed my cock, have you?” I brushed her clit.

  “Oh, God,” she moaned. “Yes, Master.”

  I continued teasing her clit with one hand while slowly stretching her with the fingers of the other. Every so often, she’d let out a soft whimper of pleasure.

  “I’m going to remove my fingers,” I said. “When I do, I want you to move to the whipping bench.”

  I use it for chastisement, I’d told her once. But it serves other purposes as well. Would she remember? Dare I hope I’d gotten her to a place inside her head where she trusted me implicitly?

  I slipped my fingers from her, slowly removing them, and gave her clit one last swirl.

  “Stand up for me,” I said, with a tug on her hands.

  She stood slowly, her hair falling softly into place around her face.

  “To the bench, my lovely.”

  She didn’t hesitate. Knowing, hopefully, she had done nothing requiring punishment.

  “I’m so proud of you,” I told her, when she had positioned herself. “The way you trust me.”

  She was bent over the bench with her backside to me—her arms were behind her back and she’d kept a wide stance with her legs. I moved behind her and leaned over.

  “You can feel it in this position, can’t you?” I asked, slipping a prepared finger inside her again, causing her upper body to move against the bench. “Your nipples.” I pulled out a bit and her body moved slightly. “How they scrape the bench with every push of my hand?”

  Again I worked to stretch her with my fingers and slid a hand between her legs to graze her pussy. I wanted her to ache for me. Wanted to get her to where she hungered for my cock. The movement of her body against the bench, the gentle stretch of my fingers, the play of my fingers against her clit—they all worked to get her there.

  She moaned.

  “What is it?” I asked. “What do you need?”

  “Oh, God,” she said as I pushed deeper.

  “What do you need?” I smacked her across the ass, and she gave another moan. “Tell me.”

  “You,” she panted. “Me.”

  “Ready for me?” I removed my fingers and placed the head of my cock against her.

  “Please,” she said.

  I had to go slowly. This was only her second time. It would still hurt.

  “Easy,” I said, more to myself than her. I pressed gently into her, gritting my teeth against the burning need to plunge forward.

  I stilled my hips and dipped two fingers into her wetness. “What you do to me,” I whispered. “Is it the same for you?”

  Her only answer was a groan as my fingers circled her clit. I pushed my hips forward and stopped suddenly at her sharp intake of breath. “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Yes, Master,” she said in a tight voice. “More. Please.”

  I slid farther into her. Backed out. Slid deeper. I hooked my fingers and, when I pressed inside her, felt the push and pull of my cock.

  Fucking hell.

  I thrust even deeper on my next pass, pushed her harder against the bench, and slipped all the way in. Her muscles tightened around my fingers.

  “Let it go.” My voice was strained. “Whenever you want.”

  She arched her back, and my fingers hit deep within her. I started a slow rhythm—my cock pushing in as my fingers came out and brushed her clit. Then I pulled out, with my fingers sliding inside.

  She might have thought I consumed her when I took her this way, but the opposite was true—she totally consumed me. Every breath, every heartbeat, every nerve of my body pulsed with her name. Pulsed with a need for her. She swallowed me whole. Consumed me.

  I threw my head back and increased my pace. Her body scraped harder against the bench.

  “Ah,” she moaned, tightening around me again.

  Yes.

  I pushed my fingers deeper.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered. “I can’t . . . I can’t . . .”

  “Then don’t,” I whispered back, pushing deeper.

  She climaxed around me with a soft yelp.

  I thrust again, allowed the need to wash over me, and released into her.

  We lay for several seconds, our pants and thumping hearts the only noticeable sounds. My head finally cleared, and I gently pulled away from her.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Oh, God, yes.”

  I smiled. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

  I walked into the bathroom adjoining the playroom and washed my hands, keeping my eyes on her. From my heated towel rack, I took some large towels, then ran hot water over several washcloths, knowing they’d cool by the time I needed them.

  I spread the towels on the floor. When I made it back to her, I gently unbound her arms—kissing her wrists, letting the rope drop as I made my way up her arms, continuing a soothing massage to her shoulders. I took one arm and kissed inside her elbow before placing it beside her and doing the same to the other arm. I moved beside her and knelt so we were eye level. Her eyes were deep and dark with pleasure.

  “You amaze me,” I said. “Every time.” I kissed her softly. “Can you stand?”

  She nodded and stood up.

  “Come lie on the towels.” I took her arm. “They’re warm.”

  Once she was situated, I washed her body with the washcloths and finished by wrapping her in more fluffy towels. She nearly hummed in pleasure.

  “I’d ask if it was good for you, but I really don’t think I need to,” I teased. She responded with a low, sultry giggle. I brushed my lips against hers. “Are you tired?”

  “Mmmm.” She closed her eyes. “I feel like a jellyfish. All rubbery.” She yawned. “Maybe a little tired.”

>   A little tired?

  I stifled my laugh. She’d had maybe four hours of sleep. Probably less. A little tired, indeed.

  “I want you to rest for the next few hours. Make yourself some lunch if you want. I’ll take care of myself.” I kissed her again. “You nap.”

  After I made myself a sandwich and checked to make sure she was sleeping comfortably, I went into the living room and called Paul.

  He picked up on the second ring. “Nathaniel?”

  “Hey, Paul,” I replied.

  “How’s it going with Abby?” he asked.

  He knew how important this weekend was, knew how hard it would be for both Abby and me. I was fortunate to have a friend like him to talk with. I knew how lost I’d be if I didn’t have someone to talk to.

  What about Abby?

  “Oh, no,” I said as the realization struck me.

  Who did Abby have to talk with?

  “No one,” I mumbled.

  She has no one.

  “Nathaniel?” Paul said, worry replacing his previous easygoing tone. “Is everything okay with Abby?”

  She had me and no one else. As her dom, did I really count? Who else would she go to? Felicia barely accepted our relationship. Things with her were easier, but I knew she didn’t approve of our lifestyle. Abby spoke frequently with Elaina, but while my best friend’s wife knew of our lifestyle, and accepted it, she wouldn’t be a good support person for a new submissive.

  “Fucking hell.” I slumped against the chair. “Failed again.”

  “Nathaniel,” Paul snapped, bringing me back to the issue at hand. “How’s Abby?”

  “What?” I said, realizing I was still on the phone. “Abby? She’s sleeping.”

  “Okay,” he said. “So tell me, how did you fail?”

  “I was just thinking how nice it was to have you as a support person, someone to talk things over with, and how hard it would be without that.” I took a deep breath. “Abby doesn’t have anyone.” I squinted my eyes, remembering. “She had a dabbler friend who used to live in the area, but I don’t think they’re still in contact.”

  “I see.”

  “I mean, she has me. We talk.” I thought back to the library, how hard it still was to get her to speak freely while she wore my collar. “Sometimes.”

  “But outside of you, she doesn’t have any friends in the lifestyle?” he asked. “Another submissive to talk with?”

  “No, not that she’s mentioned.” She would have mentioned them, right?

  “Have you thought about taking her to a party? Somewhere she could meet people?”

  I had, actually. It was on my list to call a few community members once Jackson and Felicia’s wedding was over.

  “Yes,” I said. “But we’ve got this wedding, and we just started back this weekend. I thought . . . Fuck.” No matter how busy we were, I should have made certain she had the support she needed.

  “Remember what I told you when I visited?”

  “Visited?” I asked. “Is that what you call it? You mean when you called me out for being a sorry lump of shit?”

  “Yes, that.”

  “You said a lot of things.” My face heated with shame at the reminder that Paul had had to leave his newborn son to save me from myself. “Which one in particular?”

  “How I wanted the two of you to visit when you got back together.”

  Okay, truthfully, I’d forgotten that bit. Likely as not, when he said it, I never thought Abby and I would get back together.

  “I know Jackson’s getting married in two weeks,” he said. “But is there any way possible? Maybe next weekend?”

  “Oh?” I asked, trying to work out the timeline in my head . . . It just might work. “Oh.”

  “I’ll talk to Christine, see if her mom can watch Sam for a few hours on Saturday.” He stopped, thinking. “Talk to Abby. Send me your checklists; maybe we can play together. Or do you still not share your collared submissives?”

  Share Abby?

  I tried to imagine another man putting his hands on her. Another man sliding his fingers into her hair. Another man’s lips on hers.

  Never.

  “I don’t share,” I said in an almost growl.

  “Pity,” he said. “The four of us—”

  “Regardless,” I interrupted. “It’s a hard limit for Abby.” I knew sharing had never been a problem for Paul or Christine. I was fine with that. It just didn’t work for me.

  “In that case, maybe we can play for the two of you?” he asked. “Maybe something Abby has listed as a soft limit? Christine gets off on being watched, and we both need some playroom time.”

  I thought for a few seconds. “Sounds good. Let me talk with Abby.”

  We spoke about the weekend so far.

  “How did the punishments go?” he asked, when I brought up their necessity.

  “Hard,” I answered honestly. “For both of us. She was upset, and seeing that upset me and . . .”

  “You questioned whether you were doing the right thing,” he finished.

  “I don’t remember it being as hard with the others.”

  “Your previous submissives?” he asked.

  “Right,” I said. “I don’t remember feeling this way.”

  “I remember,” he said, a hint of tease in his voice.

  “What?”

  “When you called me after you punished Beth for the first time.”

  “Beth?” I tried to remember. “That was ages ago.”

  “And you were upset then, much as you are now,” he said. “Maybe even more.”

  I wished I remembered. Beth seemed like such a long time ago, so very far removed from where I was now.

  “Since you don’t remember the incident, you probably don’t remember what I told you,” he said.

  “Hell, Paul,” I said. “Just get on with it.”

  “It’s completely normal for you to have a hard time causing someone pain, even in the type of relationship you’re in,” he said. “If you found it easy, that’s when I’d be worried.”

  “I know, but—” I started.

  “No buts,” he said. “Most doms I know experience the same thing.”

  “How did it go for you and Christine?” I asked. “On your first weekend after you started seeing each other romantically?”

  “Christine and I were different from you and Abby,” he said. “We went into a twenty-four-hour, seven-days-a-week relationship.”

  “I thought that was before you started dating,” I said.

  “No, it was after.”

  “Huh,” I said, trying to imagine living that kind of lifestyle with Abby. “How long did that last?”

  “A few months,” he answered. “It didn’t work for us. Too difficult.” I heard the smile in his voice. “So you see, Nathaniel, everyone has struggles.”

  “Still?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Still. Granted, they’re different now.”

  I sighed, more from relief than anything. What I was experiencing was normal. Abby and I were going to be fine. It would just take time to work through everything.

  “What are your plans for tomorrow?” he asked.

  “I’m trying to decide if I should ask her to sleep over tomorrow night,” I said, mulling the idea over in my head. Abby had spent Thursday night with me, and I wasn’t sure she’d want to stay over until Monday.

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “You’re new to this dual relationship,” he explained. “And, to be honest, I see Abby being able to handle it better than you will. But you.” He hesitated. “I think you may have some emotions to work through tomorrow night. I don’t know if having her in the house when you come down from this weekend would be the best idea.”

  I hadn’t thought about that, but he was probably right. I’d need time to work through for myself how the weekend had gone, even after I discussed it with her. Maybe it would be better for me to work it out al
one.

  After all, we still had Monday night. And Tuesday night. And Wednesday night . . .

  Sam’s cries broke through my concentration.

  “Ugh. He never sleeps,” Paul said. “Let me go.”

  “I’m reconsidering this weekend already,” I teased.

  “I wouldn’t blame you.”

  We said our good-byes after I promised to talk with Abby and call him later in the week.

  I hadn’t set the phone down for two minutes before it rang again.

  Jackson.

  “Hey there,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  “Felicia and I wanted to invite you and Abby over for a cook-out tomorrow night,” he said. “Break the house in.”

  Jackson and Felicia had recently bought a new house outside the city after Jackson decided his penthouse wouldn’t do for a newly married couple. They had started moving the previous weekend, even though I knew Felicia still technically lived next to Abby.

  Another conversation that needs to happen sooner rather than later.

  “A cookout?” I asked.

  “You know,” he said. “Steaks. Potatoes. Man food. Although I might throw some fish on the grill if you want.”

  “Steaks are fine,” I said, thinking frantically. “What time?” I wanted to uncollar Abby and have a discussion about the weekend before we did anything Sunday night.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Does it matter? You catching a plane?”

  “How about five?” I asked. That would give us two hours. Not optimal for our first weekend, but it would work.

  “Five sounds great,” he said. “Ah, no, baby,” I heard him say to someone, Felicia probably. “That has to be there. It’s a football thing.”

  I coughed discreetly.

  “Sorry, Nathaniel,” he said. “Chicks, you know? Love her, but leave my shit where I put it.”

  As we got off the phone, I looked around my living room.

  Chicks, you know?

  I really didn’t.

  Chapter Six

  —ABBY—

  “Thank you for serving me this weekend,” he said after taking the collar off on Sunday afternoon at three. His fingers stroked my bare neck and my skin delighted in the love I felt in his touch.