Tara Me - The Training

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 if he was, I doubted he’d be pleased to hear from me. I’d call him sometime after breakfast. Or lunch.

I rolled away from the alarm clock and waited until I heard her go back to her room before I allowed sleep to overtake me.

She waited for me in the playroom shortly after breakfast. She sat on her knees, hands folded in her lap, head down. Exactly the way I had instructed her to wait for me in the playroom. The sight of her, in position and wearing only my collar, caused my cock to jump to life.

“Perfection,” I said. “I expected nothing less.” I felt pride radiate from her body. “Stand up, Abigail,” I said. “Let me see what belongs to me.”

Fucking beautiful , I thought when she stood.

Her eyes were downcast, but I could feel her anticipation and excitement. The room nearly buzzed with it.

I stood behind her and ran a hand down her side, noting the increased rate of her breathing. I bent slightly to whisper in her ear, “I’m going to push you a bit today.” She shivered under me. I continued. “Remember, I can push because I trust you to use your safe words if you need.” I cupped a breast. “I’m going to allow you to vocalize and climax as needed. I still require your complete honesty when I ask how you’re doing.”

I walked to the cabinets and took out two nipple clamps connected with a chain. Her eyes followed me as I returned to stand in front of her. “I’m also leaving your eyes uncovered. I want you to see what I’m doing.”

I bent my head down and sucked a nipple into my mouth. I ran my tongue around its tip, making her moan in the process. I took her deeper and reached out my hand to stroke her other nipple. When she started shivering under my touch, I switched places and paid the same amount of attention to her other breast.

Finally, I straightened up and took her left breast in my hands. I fondled her—rolling and pinching, watching as her skin broke out in gooseflesh. This next part would hurt a bit; I needed to make sure she was ready.

“Take a deep breath, my lovely,” I said, pinching her nipple with one hand as I opened the clamp with the other. Once she inhaled, I gently slipped the clamp onto her.

She let out her breath in a short gasp.

I slipped my hand down her body and stroked between her legs. “Very good.”

I repeated the procedure with her other nipple—going slowly, gauging her reaction. I watched her carefully. She closed her eyes briefly and shivered, but she was fine.

“Are you okay?” I asked when I had finished.

She smiled. “Yes, Master.”

I returned her smile with one of my own. “Look down, Abigail,” I said. “Look and see just what a naughty girl you are.”

My eyes followed hers, and I took in the sight of her perky nipples—decorated with my clamps, the chain hanging slightly.

“We’re going to play a little game,” I said. “I want you to undress me.” She was still looking at her breasts. “Look at me.” When she looked up, I continued. “The catch is, each time you touch my cock, I earn the right to pull that chain.” I took a step back. “Start now.”

I closed my eyes and waited for her to start. I wore only pants. It would be difficult, but not impossible, for her to undress me without touching my cock. The clamps were new to her. If she hated them, feared them, or was in too much pain, I knew my cock would go untouched during the next few minutes.

By the time my pants were on the floor, I’d counted four touches of her hand. The last was a brazen upward stroke of my cock as she moved to her feet.

Four.

I hid my smile.

“How many pulls do I get?” I asked.

“Four, Master.”

“Mmmmmm. Four.” I took the chain and gave a slow tug. She let out a guttural moan that shot straight to my cock.

Fucking love this woman.