Read Online The Training (Book 3: The Submissive Trilogy) by Tara Sue Me - Free Book Online
Authors: Tara Sue Me
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just need to”—I wrinkled my eyebrows—“is
adjust
the right word?”
“‘Adjust’ is just as good as any,” he said, pointing to the couch. “Sit with me? It seemed to help Friday night.”
He sat down first, patting the spot next to him. “Put your feet in my lap. I’ll give you a foot rub.”
“I’m tempted to say you’ve given me far too much already.” I settled myself onto the couch, placing my bare feet in his lap. “But I’m a sucker for a foot massage.”
He smiled and took my left foot, his long fingers magical as they stroked between my toes and tugged them. “I’ve given you far too much? How is that?”
“By letting us be us,” I said. “However we choose
us
to be.”
“Does that mean you’re not going to throw your hands up and tell me you don’t want my collar anymore?”
“Of course not. Why would you think that?” I asked.
He worked silently for a few minutes, a frown marring his expression. “I wondered if I was too rough, too hard. That you would decide you didn’t want me. Not
every
part.”
“That’s what you wondered?”
“Yes.”
I had to tell him my fears. I had to be honest. He was working so hard to be honest with me. “I feared you wouldn’t want me. That you’d decide training me was too much work. Not worth it.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I messed up so much.”
His hands stopped. “It was our first weekend. I was harder and more demanding than I’d been before. I’d have been more surprised if you hadn’t messed up.”
“Really?” I felt better for some reason.
“I told you that Friday night,” he said.
“Right, and an hour or so later, I messed up again.”
“I need you to be honest with me,” he said, restarting with the rubbing. “Not letting you swallow, how did you feel?”
“Honest?”
His only answer was a raised eyebrow.
“I was so afraid I was going to gag and spit everything out on you,” I said, remembering. “And I felt so bad for not answeringand knowing I’d disappointed you. I hate that feeling.” My voice dropped a notch. “But then there’s a certain power in knowing how strongly I affect you. Knowing you wanted to wake me up. Had to wake me up.”
“Yes.”
“But to turn that power back over to you, to give you free rein . . .”
He smiled and waited for my response.
“I love that part,” I finished.
“The actual punishment, though?”
“I didn’t love
that
part,” I said, then noticed his mouth start to open. “I know it’s punishment. I’m not supposed to.”
“Was it effective?”
“Yes.”
“Then it served its purpose,” he said. Then he added, “Why didn’t you answer?”
“My brain thinks too much,” I said. “I kept thinking about how I should answer, how you wanted me to answer. What would happen if I said the wrong thing?”
“The only wrong thing was what happened.” His thumbs swirled over the bottom of my foot, pressing and rubbing the spot right under my big toe. “It’s not often I’ll give you a choice on the weekends, but when I do, I expect you to make a decision. You could have picked anything—even your hand.”
“If I’d said I wanted to ride you?”
“Did I give you any stipulations?” His eyes were dark. “I simply wanted you to choose.”
An image of us moving together floated to my mind. “And if I’d asked you to make love to me?” The way he’d burst into my room didn’t mesh with the image. I doubted I would have asked him to make love to me, but I still wanted to know what he’d have done.
He lifted my foot to his mouth and kissed the underside. “It would have been a very different ending.”
“You would have done it?”
“Yes,” he said. “If that was your choice.”
“Oh,” I said, disappointed in myself once again.
“Abby,” he said, as if sensing my sadness. “Don’t let one mistake weigh you down. It’s a learning experience.”
“But it was a rare occasion, and I blew it.”
“And
adjust
the right word?”
“‘Adjust’ is just as good as any,” he said, pointing to the couch. “Sit with me? It seemed to help Friday night.”
He sat down first, patting the spot next to him. “Put your feet in my lap. I’ll give you a foot rub.”
“I’m tempted to say you’ve given me far too much already.” I settled myself onto the couch, placing my bare feet in his lap. “But I’m a sucker for a foot massage.”
He smiled and took my left foot, his long fingers magical as they stroked between my toes and tugged them. “I’ve given you far too much? How is that?”
“By letting us be us,” I said. “However we choose
us
to be.”
“Does that mean you’re not going to throw your hands up and tell me you don’t want my collar anymore?”
“Of course not. Why would you think that?” I asked.
He worked silently for a few minutes, a frown marring his expression. “I wondered if I was too rough, too hard. That you would decide you didn’t want me. Not
every
part.”
“That’s what you wondered?”
“Yes.”
I had to tell him my fears. I had to be honest. He was working so hard to be honest with me. “I feared you wouldn’t want me. That you’d decide training me was too much work. Not worth it.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I messed up so much.”
His hands stopped. “It was our first weekend. I was harder and more demanding than I’d been before. I’d have been more surprised if you hadn’t messed up.”
“Really?” I felt better for some reason.
“I told you that Friday night,” he said.
“Right, and an hour or so later, I messed up again.”
“I need you to be honest with me,” he said, restarting with the rubbing. “Not letting you swallow, how did you feel?”
“Honest?”
His only answer was a raised eyebrow.
“I was so afraid I was going to gag and spit everything out on you,” I said, remembering. “And I felt so bad for not answeringand knowing I’d disappointed you. I hate that feeling.” My voice dropped a notch. “But then there’s a certain power in knowing how strongly I affect you. Knowing you wanted to wake me up. Had to wake me up.”
“Yes.”
“But to turn that power back over to you, to give you free rein . . .”
He smiled and waited for my response.
“I love that part,” I finished.
“The actual punishment, though?”
“I didn’t love
that
part,” I said, then noticed his mouth start to open. “I know it’s punishment. I’m not supposed to.”
“Was it effective?”
“Yes.”
“Then it served its purpose,” he said. Then he added, “Why didn’t you answer?”
“My brain thinks too much,” I said. “I kept thinking about how I should answer, how you wanted me to answer. What would happen if I said the wrong thing?”
“The only wrong thing was what happened.” His thumbs swirled over the bottom of my foot, pressing and rubbing the spot right under my big toe. “It’s not often I’ll give you a choice on the weekends, but when I do, I expect you to make a decision. You could have picked anything—even your hand.”
“If I’d said I wanted to ride you?”
“Did I give you any stipulations?” His eyes were dark. “I simply wanted you to choose.”
An image of us moving together floated to my mind. “And if I’d asked you to make love to me?” The way he’d burst into my room didn’t mesh with the image. I doubted I would have asked him to make love to me, but I still wanted to know what he’d have done.
He lifted my foot to his mouth and kissed the underside. “It would have been a very different ending.”
“You would have done it?”
“Yes,” he said. “If that was your choice.”
“Oh,” I said, disappointed in myself once again.
“Abby,” he said, as if sensing my sadness. “Don’t let one mistake weigh you down. It’s a learning experience.”
“But it was a rare occasion, and I blew it.”
“And
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