The Training

I was, what we were doing, and I moaned out in pleasure.

“Ahhh.”

He immediately pulled back. “Damn it, Abigail,” he said, taking the scarf from around my eyes. “That’s twice in less than two hours. Now and earlier in my office.” He pulled my hair back so hard I had no choice but to meet his eyes. “You’re making me believe you don’t really want this.”

Tears prickled my eyes. I’d wanted so badly to do everything perfectly this weekend. Instead, I’d already messed up twice—once in his office and once again in his playroom. But the worst, the absolute worst, was knowing I’d disappointed Nathaniel.

I wanted to apologize. To tell him I was sorry and I’d do better. But he’d told me not to speak, and the best thing I could do was obey that command.

“Let’s see,” he said, still looking me in the eyes. “What was the penalty for disobedience during a scene?”

He knew the penalty as well as I did. Probably better. He dragged it out only to make me sweat.

“Ah, yes,” he said, as if remembering. “Number of strokes for disobedience during a scene is at dom’s discretion.”

Dom’s discretion.

Fuck.

What would he decide?

“I could give you twenty.” He ran his hands over my backside. “But that would end all play for tonight, and I don’t think either of us want that.”

Hell, no.

He wouldn’t do twenty, would he?

I dropped my eyes and tried hard not to give in to the temptation to look at the whipping bench.

“I gave you three earlier in my office, though,” he mused, “and they obviously did no good.”

My heart beat through the skin of my chest. I felt certain he saw it as well.

“Eight,” he finally said. “I’ll redo the prior three and add five.” He leaned over and whispered, “Next time, I’ll add five more for a total of thirteen. After that it goes to eighteen.” He gave my hair a hard tug. “Trust me. You don’t want eighteen.”

Hell, no, I didn’t want eighteen. I didn’t want the eight I had coming.

He unbuckled my wrists. The tin of salve on the table, ignored. There would be no soothing rubdown for now. “To the bench, Abigail.”

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I could do this, I told myself as I walked to the bench. We could do this. This was nothing like the last time. He’d explained his negligence in the lack of aftercare last time. And there would be only eight strokes tonight.

I’d make damn sure there weren’t any more.

But as bad as last time had been, it wasn’t the thought of pain that made my steps slow. It was disappointment in myself. Disappointment in my disobedience, but even more so, guilt that my actions forced him to punish me on our first weekend of play. The very first hour of our first weekend.

I settled my body into the smooth groove of the bench, wanting it to be over so we could continue on to more enjoyable pursuits.

He didn’t make me wait. Almost immediately after I dropped into position, he started spanking me with his hand.

Warm-up.

He swiftly smacked my backside with slaps that were harder than his erotic spankings.

“How very disappointed I am to be doing this so soon,” he said.

Yes. That was what hurt the most.

“I had you count in my office.” He picked something up from beside the bench. “But since I told you not to speak or vocalize, I’ll have to count this time.”

The sting of the leather strap came down across my backside.

“One,” he said, voice strong and firm.

Again it came.

“Two.”

Ow.

By five, silent tears ran down my face. I sucked my bottom lip into my mouth to keep from saying anything.

“Three more,” he said, rubbing where he struck.

“Six,” he said after the next one. I could tell he wasn’t putting as much strength behind the strokes.

Two more. Only two more and we could move on.

“Seven.”

And finally, “Eight.”

I heard him breathing hard behind me, and I blinked furiously to get the tears out of my eyes. He set the strap down, and I listened to his footsteps as he walked away.

Moments later, his hands came back, rubbing something cool and wet over me. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

I let out my breath in a shuddering sigh of relief. “Yes, Master.”

His hands continued caressing as he talked. “We discussed this. I hate having to punish you, but I can’t let broken commands slide. You know that.”

Yes, I did. I’d try harder next time.

He moved to the side of the bench and leaned down so his face was level with mine. Ever so gently, he kissed first one cheek and then the other. My heart pounded frantically as his lips drew closer to mine. And then, finally, he kissed my mouth—slow and soft and long.

I sighed.

He pulled back, and his eyes danced with a wicked gleam. “Come, my lovely.” He held his hand out. “I want to taste that sweet pussy.”

Chapter Two

—NATHANIEL—

She took my hand and I squeezed it once before letting go. She didn’t stumble as she stepped off the bench and moved to the table.

“Paragraph two,” I said.

I’d thought a chastisement might be necessary this weekend—our first weekend back into our roles. We’d lived the last few weeks as lovers and, while we both enjoyed our relationship, there was something missing for both of us. Yet this pivotal weekend would also be the most difficult.

Chastising her would never be my favorite act, but I felt relieved. I now knew I could do it. There had never been a question in my mind she could handle it.

I watched her and felt myself slip deeper into the needed mind frame. I hadn’t done this for several months, but was surprised at how comfortable I felt reestablishing myself. As always, she had been right—we were ready.

I returned my focus to Abigail. She was positioned on her back, arms to her sides, knees bent and spread wide. An exact description of paragraph two.

“How pleased I am you remembered,” I said. While she didn’t move or in any way acknowledge my words, I knew my praise would encourage her.

My eyes traveled over her body. I took in the long line of her limbs, the trusting way she offered herself to me. Sheer perfection.