Tara Me - The Training

“Beautiful,” he said.

I didn’t feel particularly beautiful. I felt helpless and awkward.

The sound of a camera clicking behind me made me jump.

“Just because you might not believe me,” he said. I heard his footsteps as he walked around me. Again the camera clicked.

Holy fuck. He was taking pictures of me.

“Just look at this,” he said, slipping a finger into me briefly. “I think you rather like the idea of me taking pictorial proof of your beauty.”

He moved closer to my head and tsked. “But look at this. My fingers are all messy again.”

Said fingers brushed my lips, so I opened my mouth and cleaned them off. He was right; the thought of him taking pictures did turn me on, especially bound the way I was.

“Look at you. All spread out, waiting for me.” His fingers skimmed my entrance. “Just think about all the things I could do to you.”

He swirled his fingers around my clit. “The things I could do here.” He thrust two fingers deep inside me, and my body shifted. I moaned as my aching nipples rubbed against the pillow in the most agonizingly delicious way.

He chuckled.

“Or here.” He moved his fingers and they teased my other entrance. I sucked in a breath.

Oh, yes. Again. I want him to consume me again.

I let out a whimper when he spread the warm lube on me.

“So needy,” he said. Some sort of plug slowly circled where he’d prepared me. “Remember?” he asked. “Paul and Christine?”

I searched my mind, trying to decide what he meant.

“How you wondered what it felt like?” He pushed, gradually inserting the plug into me.

I was stretched.

Stretched and open and exposed and waiting.

He delivered a hard smack to my backside.

“Remember now?” he asked.

Oh, yes.

“Answer me.”

“Yes, Master.”

His hands were gentle again, teasing me, running along my slit. They slowly grew rougher and pinched my outer lips. Then he spanked me again. He alternated, spanking and teasing, until it became hard for me to tell what was pain and what was pleasure. Under his hands, they combined.

Something hard and leather pressed against me. A leather strap? He ran it up and down, playfully slapped it against my clit and brought it down hard against the flesh of my backside.

I groaned.

“Like that?” he asked.

“Yes,” I half said, half moaned.

The strap came down harder and hit right where the plug was.

Dear, sweet heavens.

“Yes, what?” he asked.

“Oh, God,” I panted. “Yes, Master.”

He struck me again. “Better.”

The leather gently tapped my growing, aching need, and his fingers once more circled my clit. I felt as if I was balanced precariously on something and almost fell completely when he brought the strap down hard. Harder.

I didn’t want it to ever end. For a while, it felt as if it wouldn’t.

The plug inside me. His fingers teasing me. And the strap, how it somehow brought both of them together in a mixture of pain-touched pleasure.

“I’m going to take you like this,” he finally said, his breathing heavy. “Filled as you are. Nice and spread out.”

I heard the sound of a zipper and felt a rush of air. He steadied his hands on my hips, and with one hard, deep thrust, he buried himself inside me. I yelped. The sensation was incredible: filled by both him and the plug. Stretched and pulled and bound, I wondered how much my sensitive skin and teased body could stand.

“Come when you want,” he panted.

He pulled out again and again and filled me over and over. Slowly and deeply, he took me. His thrusts were controlled, measured. I was balancing again and wanted to hold on to how I felt.

My body shook with impending release, my muscles tight and tense. He moved faster behind me. Moved faster inside me. I clenched my fists as he entered me, as he thrust and hit the plug. Again.

I was . . .

I was . . .

Screaming my release.

I felt weightless.

Or heavy.

Yes, that was it. I was too heavy to move and my body couldn’t hold me. A faint tremor shot through me.

Residual effects of my massive orgasm, I decided.

His hands caressed me as he untied me, his voice soft and low. I couldn’t make out what he said, but it didn’t matter. He was there. My limbs were loose and untangled, but he was gentle.

He removed the blindfold. The playroom was dark.

“Relax,” he said. “Rest now.”

His lips touched mine once in tender affection before my eyes closed.

—NATHANIEL—

I held her while she slept.

I’d carried her from the playroom to our bedroom, where I wrapped her in blankets and stroked her hair. Our day had been longer and more intense than ever, and I wasn’t sure how she would react. I did, however, expect her to sleep afterward and knew she’d be sore the next day. When she woke, we would spend some time in the hot tub, relaxing and soothing her muscles.

I couldn’t help but compare my actions and plans with Abby to what I’d done with my previous submissives. I took care of them, of course, but even after a day like the one I’d just put her through, they would have slept in the submissive bedroom. Never, never in my bed.

I asked myself if it was different because it was our bedroom? If Abby had never agreed to move in with me, would I have had her rest down the hall?

No. I knew, even if she’d kept her apartment, she would be resting in my bed.

The shadows in the room were growing long when she finally stirred. I kept my hand on her shoulder, lightly caressing her while she woke. She stretched against me, unknowingly pushing her backside into my groin and releasing a soft moan.

She is sore.

I had water and Motrin waiting for her, but the most important thing in that moment was for her to know I was with her. She’d fallen asleep in the playroom; she might have been disoriented.

I propped myself up on an elbow and whispered to her. “You’re in our bedroom,” I said. “When you feel like getting up, let me know.”

“Mmmm,” she mumbled, still half asleep.

“I made chicken Caesar salads for dinner tonight,” I said, knowing it was one of her favorite light meals. “I thought maybe we’d go down to the hot tub when you got up.”

She became more talkative in the hot tub. Especially when I suggested she sleep in our bed for the night.

She twisted in my lap and faced me. “May I ask a question, Master?”

“Yes,” I said, pleased that she felt more comfortable talking with me during a weekend. “Of course. Speak freely.”

“If I wasn’t me,” she said. “If I was one of your other submissives, would you be asking me to share your bed?”

“No. But I fail to see what that has to do with anything.”

“If the bedroom down the hall was good enough for them, why isn’t it good enough for me?”

A strand of hair had slipped from her ponytail and dangled in front of her eyes. I tucked it behind her ear. “You aren’t one of my previous submissives,” I said. “You’re you.”

“I don’t want you to treat me differently.”

“I appreciate that, but everything about you is different. And,” I said, lifting her chin slightly with my hand. “My previous subs were experienced. You are not.”

Her nostrils flared. “And I fail to see what that has to do with anything,” she said, repeating my words to me.

“Are you being petulant again?” I asked, partly teasing, but partly serious.

“No, Master,” she replied quickly. “I just want you to explain it to me.”

I took a deep breath. “Would you agree that our time in the playroom today was longer than ever?” I asked. “And more intense?”

She nodded.

“There can be certain”—I searched for the word I needed—“feelings after such intense and lengthy play,” I said. “It can be hard—coming down.”

She sat, deep in thought for a few minutes. “Is it the same for you?”

“Yes,” I said. “But I’ve gotten used to it. I know what to expect. How I react. And I have ways to deal with it.”

“Would you mind if I don’t sleep in our bedroom tonight?” she asked. “It’s just, I want you to be the exact same with me as you were with your previous submissives.”

“You want to stay in the other bedroom tonight?” I knew I’d never treat her exactly like I did my previous submissives, but I did appreciate the context of her request.

“I’d like to,” she said, running a tentative hand down my chest. I stifled a groan. Sore as she probably was, I didn’t want her to do anything else strenuous.

“Promise me you’ll come to me if you need to talk?” I asked. “Or at the very least, call Christine?”

“I promise.”

“We’ll still talk tomorrow,” I said. “Probably Monday as well. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” she assured me.

“Are you sore?”

“Just slightly.” She shifted in my lap. “Nothing horribly uncomfortable.”

“I want you to take more Motrin before you go to sleep tonight. You’ll probably really feel sore tomorrow.” I’d planned for a very relaxing Sunday, nothing too active or intensely physical. I dropped my lips down to hers and gave her a quick kiss. “You’ll let me know if anything feels too uncomfortable?”

She smiled against my lips. “Yes, Master.”

On Sunday, after I took off her collar, I pulled her to the couch and started rubbing her feet. It had not escaped me that she felt more comfortable talking while we touched, and I wanted her comfortable while we talked. Plus, it helped soothe me.