In Training (11 page)

Seth tapped a taut nipple with the flogger's handle. Her womb clenched so hard she gasped. He bounced the flogger handle between one nipple and the other. A trickle of moisture eased down one inner thigh.

She couldn't deny that he liked her breasts, scars and all. What was it he'd said?
There's nothing about your body I don't like.
That had to include her breasts, right? In truth, every time he saw them, each time she'd offered them to him, he'd reacted with hunger. Breast and nipple play, whatever that was, she could handle it.

* * * *

He crossed Abby's chest with the flogger's tresses, the bite of the leather drawing a gasp. She froze in place, her mouth hanging open and her eyes going wide. A normal reaction; one he expected as she assimilated the sensations and reactions of her body. He striped her again, crisscrossing her breasts as he made a pleasing decoration on her skin.

She went chalk white and sweat broke out across her skin.

Shit!

Her full-bodied scream ripped through the room. She twisted and kicked, her shrieks ringing in Seth's ears. He'd touched upon something in her psyche, something he doubted she was aware of, but was clearly an emotional line in the sand. Sure, pushing a slave to her breaking point was a part of his job, but that fact didn't make it any less shitty.

He tossed the crop aside and reached for the releases. "Easy, li'l one, I'll have you free in a second."

"Stop! Stop! Stop!"

Abby fought the harness, jerking the leather so hard it was difficult to reach the emergency release. She was gone. Her body was here, yes, but mentally and emotionally she was somewhere elsewhere.

"You're almost free," he said. "Hold still for a moment."

"Stop! Stop! Stop!"

She continued to howl and struggle. Seth hauled on a leather strap, dragging her weight closer toward him enough to free the last hook from its anchoring. The harness fell from her, leather pooling around her feet. She wrenched open the door and raced down the hall.

* * * *

"Ogod, ogod, ogod..." she sobbed.

Lunging into the bathroom, she slapped on the light and wrenched open a drawer she hadn't touched in over a year. Grabbing a handful of bandages, dressing, and support wraps, she tossed them onto the counter.

"Ogod, ogod, ogod."

Cranking on the water, she grabbed a washcloth and immersed it. The water rushed; the mirror reflected...stitches, all over her boobs, holding her skin together, thin strips of thread holding sliced flesh against sliced flesh; stitches, tiny nips of thread that ringed her nipples; her nipples, cut from her body and stitched to her flesh; tiny little bits of thread holding her severed nipples to her body. Pain and bruising...pain and bruising...

"Ogod, ogod, ogod."

Hands shaking, tears streaming down her face, Abby examined her breasts, lifting and shifting them, back and forth and back and forth...where was she bleeding? The stitches, where were they breaking?
Where am I coming undone?

She searched and searched and searched until exhaustion caught her. Finally, reality returned.

No stitches marked her skin.

There was also no Seth.

"Seth? Seth, where are you?"

On the other side of the house, the front door closed. You may opt out by telling me to stop, he'd told her. Legally, I'll obey, but will do so on the understanding this will permanently end your training.

Seth had gone. He was forever gone!

Abby collapsed beside the toilet and vomited.

She heaved and spat and sobbed. Everything was over. Seth was gone. What had she done?

Behind her, the running water stopped. A shadow covered her and something cold was placed on the back of her neck. "Easy, li'l one," said a familiar, brogue-touched voice.

She lifted her head, dislodging the cold pack. "Master?"

Unfortunately, her tummy wasn't finished and she was forced to resume the unpleasant business for a while longer. The cold pack was returned to the back of her neck.

"I'm sorry," she managed when she could again speak. Her voice hitched as her body struggled and clenched. "I'm sorry...for saying...stop. I didn't...mean it."

Seth seated himself beside her on the edge of the bathtub. He plucked the damp washcloth from the floor before offering her a glass of water. "Here. Swish it in your mouth and spit. Don't swallow."

Abby obeyed, then resumed her apologies, while Seth reached over and flushed the fouled toilet. He snapped open the washcloth and used it to wipe away the sweat and tears from her face.

"Just relax," he said.

"But, Master, I want to tell you--"

"Enough." Tugging her between his knees, he yanked a towel from its holder and wrapped her in its warmth. "Lay your head on my leg and relax."

Sitting as directed, she focused on steadying her breathing. Her tense muscles began to ease and her tummy stopped its clenching. She'd started shaking sometime during this event and gratefully snuggled into Seth's warmth.

"Master?"

"Aye?"

"Is this sub drop?"

"Shock."

"Shock? Why am I in shock?"

"We'll talk about that in a bit."

They remained quiet, Abby huddling into the towel and Seth's warmth. "I wasn't aware my bathroom was so cold."

"The heat lamp is on."

She looked up to find it was true. It was getting a bit toasty in here, come to think of it. Sparkles of sweat dotted Seth's brow. He wasn't comfortable, yet he'd stayed.

After all of that, he'd stayed.

"Why are you here?"

Seth cocked a brow at her. "Should I leave?"

"No! That isn't what I meant. I only meant that--"

He sighed. "Abby, there's a difference between calling stop because you no longer wish to submit and forcing a stop due to a panic attack."

"But I don't have panic attacks."

Seth gave a non-committal grunt. "Can you stand?"

"I'm still a bit woozy." Or was it that she was just too comfortable in Seth's embrace?

He encircled her body with his arms and pulled her up with him as he stood. He guided them over to the sink. She shivered as the colder air moved across her skin.

"Didn't I hear the front door?"

"Your neighbor came by because of the screams. I sent him on his way." As he was speaking, he positioned himself behind Abby and slipped the towel from her body. Immediately, she cringed and glanced away from the mirror.

"Look up," he ordered. "What do you see?"

She shrugged. She hated her reflection, hated her looks, hated her scars. "Master, please."

"The mirror, girl, look into it. What do you see?"

She crossed her arms over her chest and sulked into the mirror. Focusing on her face, not looking at her less-than-perfect body, she grumbled her answer. "I see me."

Seth frowned. "Drop your hands."

Sullen, she complied.

"What do you see?" he asked again.

"The same thing you do. I see my fat and my ugly scars."

Seth snorted. "They're hardly visible. You make them ugly with your self-hatred. Look at them, girl, and this time I want you to
really
look."

She did. Her breasts, carrying bruises and stitches, lines of scars puckering the skin stormed her memory. Perfect little circles where her areolas had been reattached by the surgeon who'd severed them from her body. "I see them. They're still ugly."

"They are not ugly--and no, you may not gainsay me on this topic. It's up to me to decide on the issue of your attractiveness and I'm not very friendly whenever anyone tries to tell me that my judgment is suspect."

Seth sounds so serious. He looks so serious.
In fact, he was serious...about everything. His role in her life, his decisions as her life's compass, her body's attractiveness--all were now his to control. She struggled with the changed landscape of her life. "Master?"

"We all have scars, Abby. Every one of us has lived an imperfect life. These breasts"--he caressed them, his thumbs flicking the nipples and making her suck in a sharp breath--"are gorgeous. The woman who carries them is gorgeous--no, you are not permitted to argue my words."

He dropped his hands, revealing her to the lights.

The appreciative gleam in his eyes filled her with peace. "Yes, Master," she said, offering him no argument.

"Repeat after me," he ordered. "These breasts are protected by a hard limit. There will be no breast or nipple play with these breasts."

Abby dutifully repeated the words. They sounded hollow to her ears.

"Again. Mean it this time."

She repeated the words a few more times before Seth was satisfied.

"In the future, should anyone ask use of your body, you would tell them exactly that."

"Yes, Master."

"And should you be pushed to explain yourself, which shouldn't be necessary, you may tell them this: the trauma of my surgery has not fully healed. Say it."

She did, repeating the phrase until Seth nodded his approval. The reflection in the mirror gave Abby chills and in a very good way. Seth loomed over her shoulder, gazing down upon her as he ensured her emotional and physical wellbeing. She, small, soft and under his protection, had never felt more beautiful in her life.

"Master?"

"Aye?"

"What if they won't accept that explanation?"

His expression was remote and chilly. "Should you be faced with such an outright asshole, you'll direct him or her to me."

"Something like, 'Please talk to Seth if you have any other questions'?"

"That'll do." He nodded. "Now, get into something warm and meet me in the living room. I'll make coffee." With a playful tug on a lock of her hair, Seth exited the bathroom.

Compliant, she went to her bedroom and pulled on her pink flannel jammies and her favorite fluffy purple booties, making sure not to glance at the mass of leather and steel on her floor. Fear clenched her stomach at the smell of the harness, and she gave it a good berth as she stepped around it to join him in the living room.

Seth had relaxed onto the cushy sofa. Curling up alongside, she tucked herself against his leg and nudged her head into his lap. He sipped his coffee and started the movie he'd selected. As it began to play, he dropped one hand to her hair and stroked it idly with his thumb. She gave a sigh of contentment and snuggled close.

A glance out the windows showed a setting sun brilliant against the cloud cover, streaking the clouds with red and purples--and movement in her driveway. She pulled herself into a seated position in order to get a better look. "Is there someone in my driveway?"

Seth cupped her shoulder and guided her back down to her former position. "Your neighbor, no doubt."

"What? Why?"

"He's probably taking down my license plate and vehicle identification numbers."

A glance to his face proved Seth wasn't kidding. "For God's sake, why would he do that?"

He gave his patented lady-killer half smile. "In the event your decapitated body shows up floating in the Willamette River, he'll have info to give to the cops. Just a guess, though."

"Omigod," she squeaked, too shocked to do anything else.

"Don't forget your neighbor arrived in response to your screams."

Horror washed through Abby and she scrambled off Seth's lap. "I need to tell him I'm fine. That I don't--"

Seth caught her arm and hauled her back down to the couch. "We will honor the aged warrior's dedication toward your safety by not interfering with his efforts."

"The wha-- Oh, no..." Abby groaned and covered her face. "He told you he was a marine in Vietnam, didn't he? Said he knew fifty-seven ways to kill a man without making a sound, right?"

Seth tugged up one shirtsleeve to display his own U.S. Marine Corps tattoo. He gave his arm a manly flex and crowed, "
Semper Fi,
motherfuckers!"

Good grief!
Seth and Mr. Foster, both so alike and yet decades apart in age. She couldn't help but smile. "Two of you in my life...oh, joy."

Seth relaxed into the couch in a manner that could only be described as preening. "How'd you get so lucky?"

She settled back onto his lap and offered, in an overly innocent tone, "Gee, I don't know, Master." After a few moments, a thought made her glance at Seth. "What did you tell him? About my screams, I mean."

Seth gave a shrug. "That we were getting busy when a spider landed on your face and hid in your hair. I had to hold you down to get it out. Mood killed."

Abby felt her cheeks warm.
Horrid.
How on earth would she be able to face Mr. and Mrs. Foster at the next monthly block party? "And he believed you?" She'd have to remember the excuse for when Mrs. Foster made her gentle yet unrelenting inquiries.

"Not really. He was about to come inside and break off some shit when you started calling for me. That stopped him, but he did hit me with the stink-eye as I closed the door."

Her cheeks warmed further as she remembered her meltdown. So horribly embarrassing. "I'm sorry, Master."

"It's done. Over with."

She was almost too shy to ask. "Are you angry, Master?"

"Not a bit," he said. "Now let me watch the movie."

On the screen, space aliens fought space marines. Guns and bombs and green and red blood flashed across the screen. Her surround-sound speakers rumbled. As the action played out on the screen, Seth grunted his annoyance, snorted his disdain, and called out, "Oo-rah, devil dogs!" to the action depicted.

He was so cute.

Again, she glanced up. "Should I make some popcorn?"

He never took his eyes from the screen. "I hate popcorn. It stinks."

"Then I can't have any?"

"Not while I'm in the house."

Hmm...popcorn or Seth?
Not a hard decision to make. She resumed her position, cuddling across his lap, her fingers caressing his knee. Seth's thumb stroked her shoulder. Peace reigned until his cell phone rang from its position on the end table.

Seth caught it up and glanced at the display. He cursed and answered the call with a curt, "Taylor."