Read Online Boy (The Training House #2) by Eden Bradley - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Eden Bradley
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around my neck, both because I know it will comfort her, and because I need to feel her holding on to me.
Finally, I feel her relax in my arms, and I lay her down in the hay. That’s when I realize there’s blood on my hands—her blood.
“Hey. Stay right here for me. Okay? I’m going to get the first aid kit and clean you up.”
She nods, curling into a ball as I let her go and get to my feet. My head is still spinning, but I find the handlers’ room, which would have been the tack room in the horse stable, and open a cabinet, pulling out the first aid kit, blankets, and a few bottles of water. After cleaning myself thoroughly, I take it all back to our stall.
When I return she blinks up at me, her green eyes glazed and sleepy and full of slavespace, a small smile on her pretty pink mouth.
“Drink this.” I hand her a bottle of water and watch as she drinks it all down. “Good girl. Do you need the bucket?”
She’s too dazed to answer, so I take her by the hand and lead her to the metal bucket in one corner, steady her as she squats over it and pees.
There’s a certain eroticism in having your lover or your slave urinate in front of you, even if it’s not necessarily done for erotic play. It’s the vulnerability of it. She doesn’t even flinch—she simply does it, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. And it feels natural. But even so, it’s fucking hot, making my blood boil. Any other time, it would make my dick hard, but currently it’s too spent to do more than twitch lazily.
She’s quiet as I clean the blood from her ass first, then using a handful of wipes, I clean her stomach, her thighs, the plump, pink flesh of her pussy. Then I use the wipes, followed by the antibiotic ointment, to treat the bite wounds, which are on her breasts, her shoulders, her ass, the back of her neck. My heart is hammering the entire time—with excitement, a deep pleasure, and stark emotion I don’t know what the hell to do with, other than to lie down next to her when I’m done and pull her into my arms, spooning her once more. Her lithe little body is warm, then gets warmer as I pull a blanket over us.
“How are you?” I ask her.
“Sooo good,” she says, drawing out the syllables, still totally gone from sex and pain and the D/s dynamic. “Wonderful. That was…wonderful.” She ends on a sigh.
“You’re in dreamland, prettiness.”
“Mmm…yes. I never want to wake up,” she murmurs. “I always want to be here with you, in this stable, with you commanding my body. This is perfect.”
I chuckle to hide the tightness in my chest. “You may change your mind about that once you’ve recovered, once you’re thinking clearly again.”
“No. This is the clearest I’ve ever been in my life.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I say nothing. Instead, I bury my face in the back of her hair and inhale, rub my face in the satiny strands. Kiss the back of her neck over and over.
“Christopher?” she says finally. “May I… Is it okay if I turn over to face you?”
Rather than answer I turn her with my own hands, keeping my grip rough so she’ll get that I’m still in command, that the dynamic never stops with the sex. That it never will.
When she’s facing me, she snuggles right in, and I don’t know if it’s because she’s lost that sense of the power dynamic, if my being nice to her has diluted my dominance, or if it’s only because she feels that at ease with me, regardless. But it doesn’t matter too much at the moment. It feels too damn good. It calms even the rage of the beast that lives within me, which is no easy fucking task, and I sort of melt into her soft, sweet skin, the tender flesh of her body, finding comfort myself, which is entirely new to me. But what the fuck? Why can’t I be comforted? Does it have to mean I’ve been rendered weak? And fuck it. I don’t give a shit if I have been. I’ll be weak for a few minutes with her. I’ll be weak for
Finally, I feel her relax in my arms, and I lay her down in the hay. That’s when I realize there’s blood on my hands—her blood.
“Hey. Stay right here for me. Okay? I’m going to get the first aid kit and clean you up.”
She nods, curling into a ball as I let her go and get to my feet. My head is still spinning, but I find the handlers’ room, which would have been the tack room in the horse stable, and open a cabinet, pulling out the first aid kit, blankets, and a few bottles of water. After cleaning myself thoroughly, I take it all back to our stall.
When I return she blinks up at me, her green eyes glazed and sleepy and full of slavespace, a small smile on her pretty pink mouth.
“Drink this.” I hand her a bottle of water and watch as she drinks it all down. “Good girl. Do you need the bucket?”
She’s too dazed to answer, so I take her by the hand and lead her to the metal bucket in one corner, steady her as she squats over it and pees.
There’s a certain eroticism in having your lover or your slave urinate in front of you, even if it’s not necessarily done for erotic play. It’s the vulnerability of it. She doesn’t even flinch—she simply does it, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. And it feels natural. But even so, it’s fucking hot, making my blood boil. Any other time, it would make my dick hard, but currently it’s too spent to do more than twitch lazily.
She’s quiet as I clean the blood from her ass first, then using a handful of wipes, I clean her stomach, her thighs, the plump, pink flesh of her pussy. Then I use the wipes, followed by the antibiotic ointment, to treat the bite wounds, which are on her breasts, her shoulders, her ass, the back of her neck. My heart is hammering the entire time—with excitement, a deep pleasure, and stark emotion I don’t know what the hell to do with, other than to lie down next to her when I’m done and pull her into my arms, spooning her once more. Her lithe little body is warm, then gets warmer as I pull a blanket over us.
“How are you?” I ask her.
“Sooo good,” she says, drawing out the syllables, still totally gone from sex and pain and the D/s dynamic. “Wonderful. That was…wonderful.” She ends on a sigh.
“You’re in dreamland, prettiness.”
“Mmm…yes. I never want to wake up,” she murmurs. “I always want to be here with you, in this stable, with you commanding my body. This is perfect.”
I chuckle to hide the tightness in my chest. “You may change your mind about that once you’ve recovered, once you’re thinking clearly again.”
“No. This is the clearest I’ve ever been in my life.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I say nothing. Instead, I bury my face in the back of her hair and inhale, rub my face in the satiny strands. Kiss the back of her neck over and over.
“Christopher?” she says finally. “May I… Is it okay if I turn over to face you?”
Rather than answer I turn her with my own hands, keeping my grip rough so she’ll get that I’m still in command, that the dynamic never stops with the sex. That it never will.
When she’s facing me, she snuggles right in, and I don’t know if it’s because she’s lost that sense of the power dynamic, if my being nice to her has diluted my dominance, or if it’s only because she feels that at ease with me, regardless. But it doesn’t matter too much at the moment. It feels too damn good. It calms even the rage of the beast that lives within me, which is no easy fucking task, and I sort of melt into her soft, sweet skin, the tender flesh of her body, finding comfort myself, which is entirely new to me. But what the fuck? Why can’t I be comforted? Does it have to mean I’ve been rendered weak? And fuck it. I don’t give a shit if I have been. I’ll be weak for a few minutes with her. I’ll be weak for
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