While she went upstairs, I took Apollo outside. He nosed around the yard, caught the scent of something, and ran toward the woods. I went back to the house. He would be fine outside for an hour or so.
When I walked into my room, Abigail stood naked, looking at the bench.
“It’s a whipping bench,” I said. She jumped at my voice. “I use it for chastisement, but it has other purposes as well.”
Don’t make me use it for chastisement.
She kept staring at it, perhaps trying to decide what my words meant.
“Step up,” I said. “And lie on your stomach.”
Get the feel of it, Abigail. Understand that I don’t want to use it for punishment, but that I will. Touch it. See that my rules are real. That disobedience has consequences.
Then I will let you step down so I can pleasure you on my bed.
“Abigail,” I said with a sigh. “This is getting tiresome. Either do it or say your safe word. I won’t ask again.”
She wouldn’t use her safe word, would she? What if she did? I’d expected her to hesitate before stepping up to the bench, but I assumed she would follow my order. What if I’d miscalculated? What would I do?
Before I could decide, she took a deep breath and stepped up, lying down as I’d commanded.
Yes.
I went to the dresser and took out the plug. I squirted lube on it and placed it beside her.
“Do you remember what I told you Friday night?” I looked over her n**ed body, laid out and waiting for me. My c**k grew hard against my pants.
I didn’t expect her to answer, of course, but I wanted her to know where I was headed. I watched her, looking for a sign or movement to show she understood. But there was nothing. Perhaps I needed to refresh her memory. I put my hands on her waist and ran them down to her ass. She tensed.
Yes, she understood.
“Relax.” I ran my hands up to her back, gently massaging her. She didn’t relax, of course. I stepped back and took my own clothes off. As expected, she grew even tenser.
My experiment with the whipping bench was over. Perhaps she understood and I wouldn’t have to bring it out for chastisement. Now it was time to move on to stage two of my plan.
But for a brief moment, as I looked her over, n**ed and bent over my whipping bench, I allowed myself to fantasize.
The rabbit fur flogger.
I would start with something simple for her first time. Soft and airy, it would lightly brush her thighs, her buttocks, her lower back. I would ignite the fire within her, bring her to the very edge of pleasure, leave her there, and then finally, finally, we would tumble over the edge together.
I took my c**k in one hand and stroked it roughly, letting the fantasy play out a bit longer in my head; then I let out a sigh. Someday. Someday soon, perhaps.
“Move to the bed, Abigail.”
She stumbled off the bench. Yes, she understood. She wouldn’t want to be on the bench again soon. I watched as she scrambled, trembling and nervous, up on the bed.
I followed, taking her in my arms, dropping the plug beside her. “You have to relax. This won’t work if you don’t.”
I kissed her neck, and she grabbed on to me tightly. I worked my mouth down her neck, across her collarbone, and down her torso. Slowly, the tension left her body as I trailed my lips over her. In this, I felt powerful—that I could affect her so.
I used my hands to ease her fear and my mouth to stoke her passion to a burning flame. She threw her head back.
Yes, like that.
I moved back up her body. “What I do, I do for your pleasure as much as mine. Trust me, Abigail.”
I will never lie to you. I need your trust too much. I need your trust to bring you the pleasure you crave. The pleasure you deserve.
“I want the best for you,” I said against her belly. “Let me give it to you.”
She sighed as I brushed a finger against her, testing her wetness.
“I can bring you pleasure, Abigail.” I pushed her knees apart and settled between them. “Pleasure like you’ve never imagined.”
I wanted to see her eyes this time. Wanted her looking in mine as I entered her. This was important. She needed to understand this lesson. Needed to know that her pleasure and well-being were always at the forefront of my mind. And that when we were together on my bed, there would be nothing but pleasure involved.
Though her eyes held too many questions I didn’t have answers for, I forced myself to look into them as I pushed into her. It would be so easy to close my own eyes, to shut everything off except the feel of her, tight and hot around me. But I couldn’t. She needed this link between us, this closeness as we became one.
Her arms tightened around me and she looked up in wonder, running a hand down my back.
Yes.
“Let it go, Abigail.” Damn, she felt good. Felt good as she ran another hand down my back and felt good as my c**k slid deeply into her. “Fear has no place in my bed.”
Ever.
I drew her closer as my h*ps moved faster. “Yes, Abigail.” I thrust into her harder. “Feel what I can give you.” She started to tighten around me. “Doesn’t it feel good?” I thrust again.
It was working. She left the fear behind, probably already forgetting what my plans were. I sat up and lifted her hips, thrusting even deeper. She wrapped her legs around me, drawing me closer.
I took the plug from beside her knees and, as I entered her again, I slid it into her backside. She screamed through her cl**ax, setting off my own, and we fell into a tangled heap on the bed.
When my heart slowed down, I sat up and looked into her wide, questioning eyes.
“It’s a plug,” I said, still a little out of breath. “Wear it a few hours every day. It’ll stretch you. Help prepare you.”
She bit her lip.
“Trust me,” I said. She nodded, but I could see she didn’t quite believe me. I couldn’t do any more—the trust would have to come in time.
I rolled off the bed and pulled on my pants. “I need to let Apollo inside. Let’s have lunch at the kitchen table.”
She didn’t talk much at lunch, but she had a better appetite than she’d had at breakfast. Perhaps my lesson had worked. I looked ahead to the next few weeks and saw us falling into a comfortable routine. The start of any relationship had a few rough patches, as the parties gradually grew more comfortable with each other, as they learned more about each other.
So Abigail didn’t talk much—that would come with time. I knew as time passed that it would only get easier for me to see her as Abigail, to put aside my vision of Abby.
It had been a long time since I’d had to work through the details and hardships of a new relationship. I’d gone straight from a long-term relationship with Beth to Melanie, whom I’d known forever. I didn’t see the need to count the pain-loving sub I’d played with after Melanie but never collared—that relationship ended before it ever really started.
“Friday at six o’clock,” I told Abigail as she left. She nodded in understanding.
I invited Jackson over for dinner that night. The house seemed too quiet and I wanted some noise. Jackson was always good for noise.
He talked incessantly as we ate, causing me to smile several times over little tidbits he shared about his team. Normally, I zoned out when he talked about football, but this time I listened. Something was different about him, and I had a feeling it was Felicia.
“How’s Felicia?” I asked as we sat down on my couch after dinner. Jackson flipped through the channels, trying to find the day’s scores.
“Great.” He reached into his pocket and took out his phone. “That’s her now.” He read the message she’d texted. “She’s watching a movie with your librarian.”
“Jackson, I swear to—”
“I know. I know.” He held up his hand. “Don’t worry. I won’t say it to her face.”
My eyes fell on the clock above my television as he texted Felicia back. Ten thirty-three.
Ten thirty-three?
I calculated the time in my head. Abigail normally woke at six o’clock to get ready for work. I knew that from her application. If the movie stayed on until eleven, she would get only seven hours of sleep.
Fuck.
I felt my anger rise. The day I brought out the whipping bench to warn her, she reacted by breaking a rule and getting less sleep than I demanded? What the hell?
I groaned as I thought ahead to the coming weekend, suddenly glad I had five days to prepare. Five days to prepare myself.
Chapter Ten
“Nathaniel,” Jackson said, breaking my concentration. “You okay? You spaced there for a minute.”
“What?” I blinked a few times. “I’m fine, just a bit tired.”
“You? Tired?” He didn’t look convinced. “Nah. Can’t be.”
Suddenly, I didn’t want noise anymore. I wanted quiet. Quiet so I could think. “Actually, Jackson, I think I’m going to head on upstairs. Good luck at the game tomorrow.”
He looked at me funny, but stood and gathered his coat. “Okay, if you say so.”
I walked him to the door, took Apollo out one last time, and made my way upstairs. The whipping bench still stood in my room. I might as well leave it there. Odds were good I would have need of it Friday night.
Damn it, Abigail.
Maybe, just maybe, she would end up getting eight hours of sleep somehow. Doubtful, but I could still hope.
I sat on my bed and thought back to my time with Paul, the dominant who had been my mentor. The only person I’d ever subbed for. He’d given me several instructions on punishment, the first rule being not to punish out of anger. Thus far I’d never done so, and I felt certain that by Friday night I’d be calmer.
My packet of instructions to Abigail listed the consequences for disobedience. Beside “lack of sleep,” I’d listed spanking, twenty strokes per hour lost.
At the time it’d made sense; looking back it seemed a little high. A little too much. Should I change it? Would Abigail notice?
No. I couldn’t change it and keep any of the respect I needed as her dominant. Twenty strokes it would be.
I remembered something else Paul told me—make the first punishment memorable and you wouldn’t be doing it again anytime soon.
Yes. I would make it memorable, and in doing so, perhaps straighten out the rest of her behavior as well—no more raised eyebrows or hesitations.
The voice in the back of my head warned me I could not punish her for those things. They were in the past. I’d let them slide and that was my fault. To bring them up would be wrong.
But if I made the punishment memorable enough, it would have a deterrent effect.
I sighed and made my way to the playroom, where I chose a leather strap. Back in my bedroom, I placed it on my dresser. If I looked at it and the bench all week, maybe I’d feel ready by Friday.
I could do it. I knew I could.
I was Abigail’s dominant, after all, and it was time I started acting the part.
Paul had taught me three kinds of spankings—erotic, warm-up, and chastisement.
I’d given Abigail a taste of an erotic spanking with the riding crop during our first weekend together. Erotic spankings tantalized the recipient, heightened their pleasure—took them to a new level.
Unlike the next two spankings.
The warm-up would be very important with Abigail. Her skin was pale, fair, and fine. She bruised easily. I needed to take that into account, make certain I didn’t leave any lasting marks.
Twenty strokes with the leather strap would bruise her if I didn’t properly prepare her backside first. Even with the warm-up, I would have to walk a fine line, gauging her skin, her reactions, and her emotions. Her emotions . . .
She would cry.
I was going to make her cry. Could I do it?
I had to if our relationship was to progress. If I couldn’t handle the sight of her tears, I had no business keeping her as a submissive. That was a cold, hard fact of our relationship.