Tara Me - The Training

“I’m glad someone finally got that point across.”

“I never wanted you to think I was telling you what to do.”

“There’s a world of difference between telling me what to do and telling me what you like or want more of,” he said in the firm but gentle voice I loved so much.

“I know. Christine said if it was easier, I could tell you on a weekday what I’d like to do.”

“Or you could tell me on a weekend.”

I shook my head. “I can’t imagine doing that.”

He was quiet, and I wondered if he’d change the subject altogether, but then he spoke again. “What if I gave you another safe word?”

“What?”

“We could add ‘green.’”

“What would that do?”

He took a deep breath. “If you wanted me to speed up or push you harder.”

“Really?” I asked, excited about the prospect.

“Yes. If you feel more comfortable saying ‘green’ instead of telling me directly,” he said. “But I will still ask for you to give me detailed feedback later.”

I wondered why he hadn’t given me green weeks ago when we discussed the safe words, but then decided he probably hadn’t thought I’d ever want him to push me or that I’d feel comfortable using it.

“I like it,” I said. “Let’s use it.”

“What else did you and Christine talk about?” he asked, instead of talking further about safe words.

“Listening to her talk about the twenty-four-seven relationship she had with Paul made me curious. I wonder how something like that would be.”

He stiffened behind me.

“Just for a week or so,” I hastened to add. “Not for an extended period or all the time.”

He spoke carefully. “If, at some point in the future, you still want to explore something like that, I would not be opposed to extending our weekend play. But only for a specified period of time and only when you can prove to me you’re able and willing to give me feedback.”

“Fair enough.”

“It’s not something I’m particularly interested in. But if you want to try, I’ll do it for you.”

I was starting to see the benefits of giving feedback. “Thank you.”

He kissed the top of my head. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but anything else?”

“The scene with Paul and Christine. I never realized how it looked. How”—I stopped for a second—“beautiful it was.”

“Beautiful?”

“Mmm,” I said, tracing his fingers, intertwined with mine. “The trust. The control. How they played off and balanced each other.”

“Almost overwhelming.”

“The way he looked at her . . .” I stopped.

“Yes?”

“To think of you watching me. Looking at me like that.”

He moved his hands to my shoulders. “Look at me.”

I turned in his lap.

Met his eyes.

Gasped when I saw the truth of his next words.

“I do,” he said. “Always.”

—NATHANIEL—

I stared into her eyes and saw she finally got it. Finally understood. At least in part. She gasped, and I hoped she found what she was looking for in my eyes.

“Does it make sense now?” I cupped her cheek, stroked her skin. “Do you understand, just a bit, how I feel when I see what you give me?”

“Yes,” she said, still searching my eyes. “I see it now.”

“Good.” I drew her close and kissed her, my lips hard and urgent. I wanted to taste her. Feel her under me.

She moaned into my mouth and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. For just a minute, I let myself go and gave in to the need I’d held back since seeing her amazement in the playroom. Only when she pulled me toward her, trying to bring me down on top of her, did I stop.

“No,” I said, pushing back from her. “We can’t. Paul’s ordered lunch.” I honestly wanted to tell him we’d eat later and spend the next few hours alone with her in bed, but we couldn’t. We were guests in Paul’s home, and he’d been nice enough to ask me when he should plan to have lunch delivered. I felt I should honor the time frame I gave him.

She sighed. “Yes, sir.”

“Later,” I whispered to her.

She smiled in response. Her fingers danced along my shirt. “Can I ask you one more question?”

“Anything.”

Her fingers didn’t stop. “Your other submissives,” she said. “Did they . . . and you . . . ?”

I dug my fingers into her hair and pulled them through the softness. I understood why Paul had a rule that hair be up in his playroom, but I didn’t feel the same. As soon as we left the playroom, I took hers down.

“Did I look at them the same way I look at you?” I asked.

“I understand if you did. I mean, I see more now.” Her fingers traced the neckline of my shirt. “Although I guess I’ve seen only you and Paul. And Christine and I are . . . well.” Her hands dropped. “Ah, hell. I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

“I do.” I took her face in my hands. “And no, I can’t think for a minute I ever looked at anyone the way I look at you. You’re my one percent.”

Her eyebrows wrinkled. “Your what?”

“Before you came to my office that first day,” I explained, “I felt complete and at ease with my life ninety-nine percent of the time. But it was the missing one percent that haunted me. Then I found you—my missing one percent.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Oh.”

“It’s you. It’s always been you. When you left me, it was you. When you came back, it was you. It will never be anyone else.” I brushed my lips across her cheek. “So when you ask if I ever watched anyone, submissive or otherwise, the way I watch you, the answer is a resounding ‘no.’” I pulled back from her once more. “And, as much as I’d like to keep you here in bed for several hours and prove it to you repeatedly, I did promise Paul we’d be down for lunch.”

She looked crestfallen.

“Later,” I whispered. “I promise.”

After lunch, the four of us sat in the living room. I’d explained to Abby earlier that since Christine had given birth less than three months ago and was breastfeeding, Paul took extra time and attention when providing aftercare.

“And inverted suspension is particularly intense,” I’d said. “Even without the other circumstances.”

Christine looked completely content and relaxed, sitting on the couch with Paul’s arms around her. Her mother had dropped Sam back off and, after feeding him, Christine handed him to Abby.

I was unprepared for the feelings that struck me when Abby held Sam. Before she came into my life, I’d never given any thought to getting married or having children. Somehow, having her in my life made anything seem possible.

I thought back to the day I found my parents’ wedding bands, how I’d slipped my father’s on and how strange it had felt. Maybe it wouldn’t feel strange anymore.

I sat back in my chair, enjoying the sight of her interacting with Paul and Christine. She had been so nervous that I’d almost called the weekend off. Only the hope that somehow the weekend would help us kept me from doing so. I felt relieved. Everything had gone much better than I’d thought.

Every so often, she would look my way and smile when our eyes met.

Fuck. I want her.

Paul asked her a question about the library, and she turned her attention to him. I settled back into the chair and continued to observe from the sidelines. Sam fell asleep, and she shifted him so he rested more comfortably.

“What are your plans tomorrow, Nathaniel?” Paul asked.

I tore my gaze away from her. “I thought I’d take Abby over to see the Dartmouth campus after breakfast. Show her part of my past. Would you like that?” I asked her.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

Master.

Fuck, what her saying that in front of others did to me.

And from the look in her eyes, she knew.

Before going downstairs the next day, I laid out her clothes. “I want your hair up today. I want you to walk the streets of Dartmouth with your neck completely exposed.” I ran a finger across her collar. “No one else will know what this is, but I want you to know. To feel it.” I kissed her neck. “Every time the wind blows and caresses your skin, I want you to shiver with the knowledge that you wear the mark of my control.”

After breakfast, we bid Paul and Christine good-bye. We promised we’d visit soon and even discussed the three of them coming to New York at some point. Christine and Abby hugged, and Christine whispered something to her. Abby laughed and whispered back. Paul raised an eyebrow to me, and I nodded. Yes, the weekend had been a success.

Once we were in the car, I turned to her. “We’re going to taste something a little different today,” I said. “We’re going to explore my old college haunts and we’ll look like any other couple.” I placed a hand on her bare knee. “Only you and I will know the difference.”

She sat up straighter.

“While we’re walking, you’re to be one step behind me. When we sit, your hand will rest on my knee. You are not to cross your legs or ankles at any point. I’ll not require you to call me sir or master if others might hear. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” she said with a seductive smile.

Minutes later, I pulled into a public parking lot near the campus and parked. I got out of the car and walked to her side to open her door. “You look beautiful, Abigail.”

“Thank you, Master.”

We walked through the main campus, and I pointed out various buildings where my old classes met. We walked past coeds out enjoying the morning sun, perhaps preparing for classes.

At first, she walked carefully, slowly, always checking to make sure she kept in position. Occasionally, her eyes would dart around, as if expecting someone to recognize what we were doing. But gradually, as we continued, she grew more confident, realizing no one paid us any mind.