The Training

I tossed no more.

Chapter Four

—NATHANIEL—

I’d anticipated not being able to sleep. I somehow knew having her back in my house as my submissive, even though it was what we wanted—what we needed—would be difficult. That she wanted to spend Friday and Saturday nights in her old room brought me a certain measure of relief. Her indication in the library that our relationship was easy because I was used to it could not have been further from the truth. Our entire relationship was uncharted territory.

I left the library after playing the piano and walked back upstairs. Her bedroom door was closed, causing me to wonder if she slept yet or if she still tossed restlessly. I didn’t anticipate sleep coming quickly to her, either. Something in my mind whispered I should have made her sleep on the floor in my bedroom.

I stopped outside my own bedroom door.

I’d made her sleep on my floor once before. Would have made any other submissive sleep on my floor the first night after I collared her.

Does that mean I won’t be able to be both dom and lover to her?

I didn’t allow myself to dwell on those thoughts. Instead, my mind drifted to the image of her wearing my collar. My collar and nothing else. I thought back to our conversation in the library—how badly I’d wanted to take her. To slip the gown from her shoulders and run my hands down the curves of her body . . .

My cock grew uncomfortably hard and I slipped my hand past the waistband of my pants to grasp it. I remembered scenes from earlier in the day:

On her knees in my office.

Waiting for me in the playroom.

Holding back a moan as I informed her of my plans with the clamps.

My eyes fell again on her bedroom door.

She might not be sleeping on my floor, but she was still my submissive. She was to serve me however I decided.

I pushed her door open and saw her sleeping.

“Wake up,” I said.

She mumbled something in her sleep and rolled away from me.

“Now, Abigail.”

Eyes heavy with sleep, she slowly sat up. Her hair fell around her shoulders in disarray—sleep had not come quickly to her. She ran her hand up to her collarbone to straighten the strap of her gown.

“You sleep on Friday and Saturday nights when it is convenient for me.” I slipped my pants down over my hips and stepped out of them. “And right now, your sleeping is not convenient.”

Her eyes fell on my erection. Yes. She knew exactly what I was talking about now.

“I’m feeling cordial tonight, though, so I’ll let you decide how you want it,” I said.

She blinked a few times. “However it pleases you, Master.”

“I believe, Abigail”—I ambled over to her bed—“I just told you what would please me.” I leaned over her. “I want you to decide how you’ll take my cock.”

Her eyes dropped again. Was she embarrassed? Was that it? She needed to get over any embarrassment. Embarrassment had no place in our relationship.

I hooked my fingers under the straps of her gown and slipped it over her head. “Whatever you decide,” I told her, “I want this off.”

When the gown was off and she was naked, I raised an eyebrow at her. She still hadn’t said anything.

“Time’s up,” I said. “You didn’t tell me quickly enough, so I’ll choose for you.” I turned her on the bed and pushed on her shoulders so she lay down on her back with her head hanging over the edge. “Since you chose not to talk when I asked you a question, I’ll put that mouth to a better use.”

I had to bend slightly, but I put my hands on either side of her hips and pressed forward so my cock brushed her lips. “Do a good job and I might let you go back to sleep.”

I closed my eyes as she enveloped me. Her warmth felt so good, my erection grew even harder as I worked my way into her mouth. I brought a hand to her belly to check on her breathing and started thrusting, pushing myself deeper.

She took all of me, relaxing her throat and sucking as I slowly fucked her mouth. Her tongue wrapped around and stroked me when I pulled out, only to run back down my length as I reentered.

I knew that, once more, she had disobeyed. I had asked a question, asked for an answer, and she had not given me one. I needed to address it.

“I’m getting ready to come,” I warned when my release grew imminent. I thrust harder into her mouth. “You are not to swallow. Hold my come in your mouth until I command otherwise.”

I held motionless as my release shot through me, digging my fingers into the soft skin of her waist.

Fuck.

She lay still as I stepped away to retrieve my pants, and she hadn’t moved when I turned to face her once more.

“Sit up.”

She sat up, breathing through her nose, cheeks slightly puffed. I walked over and took her jaw in my hand.

“When I tell you I want an answer, I want an answer,” I said. “Swallowing my come is an honor I do not bestow upon you lightly. Do you understand?” She nodded and I squeezed her cheeks. “Savor the taste of me in your mouth, because you’re the only person in the world able to do so. The only submissive allowed to serve me.” I jerked her chin up. “The one I selected to wear my collar.”

Her eyes teared up, and I felt a slight tinge of discomfort but pushed it away. I needed to make a strong impression this weekend—to remind her I had not been lying when I told her the last time was easy.

I ran my free thumb under her eyelashes and gathered the wetness there. My point had been made and was understood. “I see the disappointment in your eyes. Swallow, Abigail.” I kept my hand on her jaw and watched her throat as she obeyed.

While I had known this weekend would not be easy, it had not struck me just how hard it would be for both of us.

I wanted to reestablish my connection with her somehow, to let her know we were okay, but felt at a complete loss as to how to go about doing it. I had never struggled with anything like this before.

She sat before me with her eyes downcast, disappointment still etched on her features. I searched for the right words to say. Anything that would reassure her we were okay. That this was a tiny blip on our journey and she should not feel overly upset. Yet I felt uneasy whispering accolades of love after the reprimand I gave her.

Then inspiration seized me. I leaned over and whispered:

“‘For I must love because I live.

And life in me is what you give.’”

Surely she would remember those were the last two lines of “Because She Would Ask Me Why I Loved Her” by Christopher Brennan, one of the last poems recited as part of the poetry reading series held by the library where she worked.

She gasped in recognition, and I smiled. Yes. She remembered.

I pulled back, my lips brushing her cheek as I did so. “Good night, my lovely.”

I heard her rustling around the house after I went back to my room and crawled into bed. She was cleaning the playroom, probably unable to get back to sleep after I’d woken her.

I rolled over and glanced at the clock. It was two a.m. Fuck, it was late. I wondered idly how Paul and Christine’s first weekend had gone years ago, when they’d first set up their arrangement. He was probably still awake. The last time we talked, he mentioned their son, Sam, was going through a nasty bout of colic. Still, even