The Dominant (33 page)

Whatever you did to deserve to have that wonderful creature in your life, I don’t know
, I typed.

Damn fucking lucky-ass bastard
.

Coming back to your office, giving you a second chance to be her dom
.

Loving you even though you were such a fuckup
.

Loving you, period
.

Damn fucking lucky-ass bastard
.

In the history of damn fucking lucky-ass bastards, you, West, are the luckiest damn fucking lucky-ass bastard
.

Now, go give her what you both want
.

I stopped typing.

“Abigail King.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t acknowledge me.

I pushed back from my desk and walked behind her. I stopped for a second and smelled her. Delicious. I took her hair in my
hand and gave a twist.

“I was
easy
on you last time,” I said, because it was the damn truth and she knew it. She also knew I would not be easy on her this time.

I pulled her hair, and she worked to keep her head down. Excellent. I had not yet given her permission to look at me.

“You told me once you could handle anything I gave you physically,” I said. “Do you remember?”

She didn’t speak—I had not given her permission to do so.

I jerked her hair. “I’m going to test that theory, Abigail. We’ll see just how much you’re able to handle.”

I let go of her hair and moved to stand in front of her. “I’m going to train you. Train you to service my every need, desire,
and want. From now on, when I give a command, I expect you to obey immediately and without question. Any hesitation, raised
eyebrow, or disobedience will be dealt with on the spot. Is that understood?”

She still didn’t speak.

“Look at me and answer,” I said. “Do you understand?”

Her head lifted and her eyes met mine. “Yes, Master.”

Yes,
Master
? She called me
Master
before I collared her?

Again?

“
Tsk, tsk, tsk
.” I’d known she would mess up. Expected it, even. But I had not thought it would happen in my office. “I thought you learned
that lesson last time.”

She looked completely confused.

“How do you address me before I collar you?” I asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“I let that mistake slide before,” I said, and walked to my desk. Could I do this? “But like I said, I won’t be as lenient
this time around.”

I had to. To show her I meant it when I said I was easy on her last time.

“Lift your skirt and put your hands on top of my desk,” I said.

My penalty for improper forms of address varied depending on what the violation was and when and how it occurred, but I had
nothing down for failure to use the proper name before collaring.

“Three strokes,” I said as she positioned herself. “Count.”

My first smack landed on the fleshy part of her right butt cheek.

“One.”

The second landed on the left.

“Two.”

My strikes were strong enough to color her ass—she needed to feel them—but not hard enough to leave any lasting mark. The
final one landed on her sweet spot.

“Three.”

Just like that, it was over. I felt better. We were going to be fine. I rubbed her gently, noting she didn’t wince or shy
from my hands. I smoothed her skirt down. “Go stand where you were.”

She walked gracefully back to her spot in the middle of my office.

“Do you remember your safe words?” I asked.

“Yes, sir. I remember the safe words.”

“Good.” I opened a drawer, took out a box, and lifted out the collar. “Are you ready, Abigail?”

A smile lit her face. “Yes, sir.”

I went and stood in front of her, collar in my hand.

“Kneel.”

When she dropped to her knees, I fastened the collar around her neck.

Mine.

“I’ll put this on you every Friday evening at six o’clock,” I said, repeating what we had agreed to, “and take it off Sunday
afternoons at three.”

The collar looked so fucking good on her.

She would take me in her mouth now—it was the next step in the ritual we had decided on—but first, I had to do something .
. .

“Stand up,” I said.

She rose to her feet, obeying, even though I knew she didn’t understand.

Every time I’d collared her in the past, feelings of possessiveness had overwhelmed me. The joy of seeing her in my collar,
the sheer animalistic nature it released in me, was staggering. Every time before, I had wanted to kiss her.

“You look so fucking good wearing my collar.”

This time, I would.

I slipped a hand under her chin and brought her to me, crushing her lips under mine. Showing her with my kiss how she affected
me. How the sight of her wearing my collar affected me. She was tentative at first, but responded at my urging.

I finally broke the kiss and pushed down on her shoulders. “Back to your knees.”

She dropped back into position and licked her lips. “Please, Master, may I have you in my mouth?” she asked, as we had agreed.
I would put my collar on her, but in return, she would ask to serve me.

“You may.”

I closed my eyes as she unbuckled and unzipped my pants. Over the last few weeks, she had given me oral sex, but it had always
been in bed and never on her knees. I’d wanted to save that for when I recollared her.

I took her hair in my hands and, when she tried to ease my cock into her mouth, forced myself in. Showing her I was in control.
She belonged to me. All of her. And I’d use her mouth in any way I desired.

For that was the gift she gave me.

And that was the gift I accepted.

I thrust in and out of her mouth and she worked herself on me. Running her tongue along me, sucking me deeply. I hit the back
of her throat and still she took all of me, using her teeth, the exact way she knew I liked.

“Fuck,” I groaned.

I tightened my grip on her hair and thrust harder. Fuck, she felt good. My balls tensed up, and I knew I wouldn’t last much
longer. She recognized I was close and grabbed on to my thighs in expectation.

I pushed my cock to the back of her throat and groaned again as I filled her mouth. She swallowed around me, drawing me deeper
down her throat as she did so.

I slipped from her mouth and slowly untangled my hands from her hair. I ran my fingers over her head, stroking her scalp,
hoping to soothe away any pain.

“Buckle my pants, Abigail.”

Once she obeyed and my clothes were straightened, I told her to stand.

I cupped her chin and lifted her face so she looked at me. “I’m going to work you hard tonight. I’m going to bring you to
the edge of pleasure and leave you hanging. You will not release until I give you permission, and I will be very stingy with
my permission. Do you understand?”

She was silent.

“Answer me.”

Her eyes shone dark with desire. “Yes, Master.”

Very good.

“I’ll be home in an hour. I want you naked and waiting in the playroom.”

To be continued
. . .

Abby and Nathaniel’s story reaches its enticing
conclusion in the final instalment
of Tara Sue Me’s explosive trilogy,

THE TRAINING

Coming in October 2013

The drive back to Nathaniel’s house took longer than it should have. Or maybe it just felt like it took longer. Maybe it was
nerves.

I tipped my head in thought.

Maybe not nerves exactly. Maybe anticipation.

Anticipation that after weeks of talking, weeks of waiting, and weeks of planning, we were finally here.

Finally back.

I lifted my hand and touched the collar—Nathaniel’s collar. My fingertips danced over the familiar lines and traced along
the diamonds. I moved my head from side to side, reacquainting myself to the collar’s feel.

There were no words to describe how I felt wearing Nathaniel’s collar again. The closest I could come was to compare it to
a puzzle. A puzzle with the last piece finally in place. Yes, for the last few weeks, Nathaniel and I had lived as lovers,
but we both felt incomplete. His recollaring of me—his reclaiming of me—had been what was missing. It sounded odd, even to
me, but I finally felt like I was his again.

The hired car eventually reached Nathaniel’s house and pulled into his long drive. Lights flickered from the windows. He had
set the timer, anticipating my arrival in the dark. Such a small gesture,
but a touching one. One that showed, like much he did, how he kept me firmly at the forefront of his mind.

I jingled my keys as I walked up the drive to his front door. My keys. To his house. He’d given me a set of keys a week ago.
I didn’t live with him, but I spent a fair amount of time at his house. He said it only made sense for me to be able to let
myself in or to lock up when I left.

Apollo, Nathaniel’s golden retriever, rushed me when I opened the door. I rubbed his head and let him outside for a few minutes.
I didn’t keep him out for too long—I wasn’t sure if Nathaniel would arrive home early, but if he did, I wanted to be in place.
I wanted this weekend to be perfect.

“Stay,” I told Apollo after stopping in the kitchen to refill his water bowl. Apollo obeyed all of Nathaniel’s orders, but
thankfully, he listened to me this time. Normally, he would follow me up the stairs, and tonight that would be odd.

I quickly left the kitchen and made my way upstairs to my old room. The room that would be mine on weekends.

I undressed, placing my clothes in a neat pile on the edge of the twin bed. On this, Nathaniel and I had been in agreement.
I would share his bed anytime I stayed over Sunday through Thursday nights, but on Friday and Saturday nights, I would sleep
in the room he reserved for his submissives.

Now that we had a more traditional relationship during the week, we both wanted to make sure we remained in the proper mind-set
on weekends. That mind-set would be easier to maintain for both of us if we slept separately. For both of us, yes, but perhaps
more so for Nathaniel. He rarely shared a bed with his submissives, and having a romantic relationship with one was completely
new to him.

I stepped naked into the playroom. Nathaniel had led me around the room last weekend—explaining, discussing, and showing me
things I’d never seen and several items I’d never heard of.

At its core, it was an unassuming room—hardwood floors, deep, dark brown paint, handsome cherry armoires, even a long table
carved of rich wood. However, the chains and shackles, the padded leather bench and table, and the wooden whipping bench gave
away the room’s purpose.

A lone pillow waited for me below the hanging chains. I dropped to my knees on it, situating myself into the position Nathaniel
explained I was to be in whenever I waited for him in the playroom—butt resting on my heels, back straight, right hand on
top of my left in my lap, fingers not intertwined, and head down.

I got into position and waited.

Time inched forward.

I finally heard him enter through the front door.

“Apollo,” he called, and while I knew he spoke Apollo’s name so he could take him outside again, another reason was to alert
me who it was that entered the house. To give me time to prepare myself. Perhaps for him to listen for footsteps from overhead.
Footsteps that would tell him I wasn’t prepared for his arrival. I felt proud he would hear nothing.

I closed my eyes. It wouldn’t be long now. I imagined what Nathaniel was doing—taking Apollo outside, feeding him maybe. Would
he undress downstairs? In his bedroom? Or would he enter the playroom wearing his suit and tie?

Doesn’t matter, I told myself. Whatever Nathaniel has planned will be perfect.

I strained my ears—he was walking up the stairs now. Alone. No dog followed.

Somehow, the atmosphere of the room changed when he walked in. The air became charged and the space between us nearly hummed.
In that moment, I understood—I was his, yes. I had been correct with that assumption. But even more so, even more important,
perhaps, he was mine.

My heart raced.

“Very nice, Abigail,” he said, and walked to stand in front of me. His feet were bare and I noted he had changed out of his
suit and into a pair of black jeans.

I closed my eyes again. Cleared my mind. Focused inwardly. Forced myself to remain still under his scrutiny.

He walked to the table and I heard a drawer open. For a minute, I tried to remember everything in the drawers, but I stopped
myself and once again forced my mind to quiet itself.

He came back to stand at my side. Something firm and leather trailed down my spine.

Riding crop.

“Perfect posture,” he said as the crop ran up my spine. “I expect you to be in this position whenever I tell you to enter
this room.”

I felt relieved he was satisfied with my posture. I wanted so much to please him tonight. To show him I was ready for this.
That we were ready. He had been so worried.

Of course, not a bit of worry or doubt could be discerned now. Not in his voice. Not in his stance. His demeanor in the playroom
was utter and complete control and confidence.

He dragged the riding crop down my stomach and then back up. Teasing.

Damn. I loved the riding crop.

I kept my head down even though I wanted to see his face. To meet his eyes. But I knew the best gift I could give him was
my absolute trust and obedience, so I kept my head down with my eyes focused on the floor.

“Stand up.”

I rose slowly to my feet, knowing I stood directly under the chains. Normally, he kept them up for storage, but they were
lowered tonight.

“Friday night through Sunday afternoon, your body is mine,” he said. “As we agreed, the kitchen table and library are still
yours. There, and only there, are you to speak your mind. Respectfully, of course.”

Both of his hands traced across my shoulders, down my arms. One hand slipped between my breasts and dropped to where I was
wet and aching.

“This,” he said, rubbing my outer lips, “is your responsibility. I want you waxed bare as often as possible. If I decide you
have neglected this responsibility, you will be punished.”

And again, we had agreed to this.

“In addition, it is your responsibility to ensure your waxer does an acceptable job. I will allow no excuses. Is that understood?”

I didn’t say anything.

“You may answer,” he said, and I heard the smile in his voice.

“Yes, Master.”

He slipped a finger between my folds and I felt his breath in my ear. “I like you bare.” His finger swirled around my clit.
“Slick and smooth. Nothing between your pussy and whatever I decide to do to it.”

Fuck.

Then he moved behind me and cupped my ass. “Have you been using your plug?”

I waited.

“You may answer.”

“Yes, Master.”

His finger made its way back to the front of me, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from moaning.

“I won’t ask you that again,” he said. “From now on, it is your responsibility to prepare your body to accept my cock in any
manner I decide to give it to you.” He ran a finger around the rim of my ear. “If I want to fuck your ear, I expect your ear
to be ready.” He hooked his finger in my ear and pulled. I kept my head down. “Do you understand? Answer me.”

“Yes, Master.”

He lifted my arms above my head, buckling first one wrist and then the other to the chains at my side. “Do you remember this?”
he asked, his warm breath tickling my hair. “From our first weekend?”

Again, I said nothing.

“Very nice, Abigail,” he said. “Just so there’s no misunderstanding, for the rest of the evening, or until I tell you differently,
you may not speak or vocalize in any way. There are two exceptions—the first being the use of your safe words. You are to
use them at any point you feel the need. No repercussions or consequences will ever follow the use of your safe words. Second,
when I ask if you are okay, I expect an immediate and honest answer.”

He didn’t wait for a response, of course. I wasn’t to give one. Without warning, his hands slipped back down to where I ached
for him. Since my head was down, I watched one of his fingers slide inside me and I bit the inside of my cheek again to keep
from moaning.

Shit, his hands felt good.

“How wet you are already.” He pushed deeper and twisted his wrist. Fuck. “Usually, I would taste you myself, but tonight,
I feel like sharing.”

He removed himself and the emptiness was immediate, but before I could think much about it, I felt his slippery finger at
my mouth. “Open, Abigail, and taste how ready you are for me.” He trailed his finger around my open lips before easing it
inside my mouth.

I’d tasted myself before, out of curiosity, but never so much at one time and never off of Nathaniel’s finger. It felt so
depraved, so feral.

Damn, it turned me on.

“Taste how sweet you are,” he said as I licked myself off his finger.

I treated his finger as if it were his cock—running my tongue along it, sucking gently at first. I wanted him. Wanted him
inside me. I sucked harder, imagining his cock in my mouth.

“You will not release until I give you permission, and I will be very stingy with my permission.” His words from the office
floated through my mind and I choked back a moan before it left my mouth. It would be a long night.

“I changed my mind,” he said when I finished cleaning his finger. “I want a taste after all.” He crushed his lips to mine
and forced my mouth open. His lips were brutal—powerful and demanding in their quest to taste me.

Damn, I’d have a stroke if he kept that up.