Naughty Bits Part II: The Training Session (8 page)

“I don’t need a cage to make my pet obey me,” he said, glancing meaningfully at the open space he’d left her for escape. “But I like how your pupils got bigger and you stopped breathing when you were looking at the one in my workshop. Since then I’ve thought a lot about what you would have done if I had ordered you into it, rather than just offered you the chance to try it out.”

She reminded herself to inflate her lungs, which only made his gaze slide down, watching the rise of her breasts. At this angle, he could see a great deal of their shape beneath the vest, almost to the areola. But she wasn’t drawing away from his heat or challenge.

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t invite me,” she said, holding on to her resolve with both hands.
I am in control of this. It’s just aggressive flirting.

“Yeah, you do. You want me to say it, to be sure. Which is why I won’t. When you’re sure, it’ll be because my actions have left no doubt in your mind, Madison. You’ve had too many pretty words and lies.”

Had Alice told him
everything
about her? It was like one-sided computer dating. She could be resentful of it, but so far, he hadn’t been wrong in any assumption he’d made. That took more than just being fed facts. He’d deduced things deeper than what Alice could have told him, because some were things Madison herself hadn’t even articulated. She really needed some quid pro quo so she could be less in the deep end with him. It was time to start studying him as carefully as he studied her.

Avoiding a direct comment, she touched that loose strand of his hair again. The rest of it lay in a thick, glossy tail between his shoulder blades. “She was right. It is a crime for a man to have hair this beautiful.”

“It’s a pain in the ass,” he grunted. “You better appreciate it every day, or off it all comes.”

“Whatever you wish, Master,” she teased him.

His eyes flashed, fingers digging into her hip. “Say it again,” he demanded.

She shook her head, put a quivering hand on his chest, the only defense she could manage. “I know how to cut hair,” she said. “I’ll cut it for you tonight. I don’t want you to be different for me.”

As much as she loved how he looked with long hair, short hair suited his face, his profile. She wanted him to look like who he truly was.

“I intend to be different for you, Madison,” he promised. Shifting away from her, he held on to her scarf. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Don’t lose that,” she warned. “It’s thirty-five dollars plus tax.”

Putting it to his nose, he inhaled as he gave her a roguish look. “I’ll buy it. So I can hold on to your scent until tonight.”

How could she trust something that sprang to life so quickly when, fast or slow, her relationships always ended up crashing and burning? Maybe by merely having fun with it, not making too much of it. Which was probably all he was doing, and she needed to follow suit. He was headed back into his store, but the door hadn’t quite closed behind him yet. She cleared her throat. “No sex, right?”

The door caught as he stopped it with his palm, peered over his shoulder. She raised an innocent brow. “Just wanting to know how firm you are on that. The terms of tonight’s date, that is.”

His lips twitched at the double entendre. “You wanted to take it slow. We’re taking it slow.”

“And you never change your mind about a session, once the parameters are set at the beginning.”

“No. I don’t. You have a good memory.”

“Okay. Just checking.” His speculative look almost made her laugh. Then he nodded past her. “UPS, with a late afternoon delivery. You’ll want to get that. Be sure you open it first thing when you get home.” He turned and disappeared back into his own store.

She watched the truck trundle up. Clarence disembarked with a flat dress box from her regular costumer supplier. She hadn’t remembered placing a new order, though she needed to do so, since she was starting to know which outfits turned over more frequently than others.

“All good today, Ms. Fine?”

“Yes, Clarence.” She’d told him he didn’t need to call her Ms. Fine, but she suspected he’d called Alice that. Maybe it reminded him of her, to keep doing it.

He smiled at her when she took the package and told him she’d have chocolate chip cookies next week. Those were his favorites. Maybe she should expand, buy the empty storefront across the street, hire some help and run a bakery. She and Logan could take over the whole block, their own little empire.

She chuckled at the thought and went to her car, opening it up and putting her keys and purse in the front seat. Laying the box on the hood, she slit it open with her pen knife, too curious to wait to see what it was.

On top of the folded tissue paper was a typewritten note.

Wear this tonight.—L

Pulling back the tissue paper, she saw he’d ordered a replacement for the Catholic schoolgirl uniform Sam had bought, only this one was in her size. Or at least as much as size was relevant for two scraps of cloth; a white shirt that tied between the breasts and a plaid skirt the width of a curtain topper. He’d gone all-out on the accessories, though, including the long white stockings, black patent shoes and a white cotton thong, which he apparently preferred to the frilly panties.

The day he’d helped stabilize the shelf, he’d been wearing a gray T-shirt that molded to his upper body. With his size, it had to be an X-Large. That night, she’d lain in bed and imagined herself in the cotton thong panties he preferred and that shirt, surrounded by his scent and body heat, the cotton fabric slightly damp from his sweat so it would cling to her skin.

Even as far back as grade school, she couldn’t remember having a crush this strong and fast. It was terrifying. She thought of Sam in the Catholic schoolgirl outfit, Chris on his knees, kissing his way up the inside of those long legs. Geoff “discovering” their transgression and devising a punishment that resulted in all three of them together in bed, sweaty and replete, limbs twined together.

Except for the Bohemian outfit she’d worn that first day, most of her clothes had come from the shop. It was a good sales approach, but part of it was avoiding digging deeper in Wonderland. However, on the dresser in Wonderland was a cameo on a black silk ribbon. It would tie snugly around the throat and be a nice addition to the schoolgirl outfit. There was also a black garter with satin ribbon clips she could use to hold up the white stockings.

She fingered the fabric. Was it ridiculous, a woman in her thirties wearing something a girl Sam’s age could pull off so much better?

Apparently Logan didn’t think so.

The thought gave her self-confidence a boost, brought the doubts down to a quiet roar. If she wore this, she might test his resolve about the no sex thing. A lot. She liked that idea.

* * *

She got dressed at seven o’clock. He hadn’t provided a bra, though she had several very sexy ones in Wonderland. Alice had obviously added some things since they’d last “played” in there. Madison even found a latex catsuit. Holding it up in front of the mirror, she thought, with her long brown hair, she might look a little bit like Catwoman. She remembered playing Batman and Catwoman when she was little, wanting Batman to come rescue her. She’d liked how “bad” Catwoman was, and how stern Batman was with her.

She snorted at herself. If she searched the Internet, she was sure she’d find fan fiction where Catwoman received that spanking she’d deserved from her nemesis. The web was a wealth of such dark yearnings.

She decided against the bra, concluding Logan’s omission was intentional. The shirt was thin enough that her nipples were displayed prominently. After donning the cotton thong, she added the garter belt with black ribbon straps, clipping the ends to the long stockings which came up to midthigh. She also tied the cameo around her throat, feeling the rapid beat of her pulse beneath it. She closed her eyes as she tightened the ribbon, imagining Logan doing it.

She’d planned to make
him
crazy, but by the time she’d added the last piece, the panel of the thong pressed against her noticeably wet crotch. Turning, she verified that yes, the lower curves of her ass cheeks were visible right beneath the pleated hem.

He’d said firmly, adamantly,
no sex
. Yet he’d dressed her as if she had one purpose in life, and that was to be fucked.

He was a sadist.

She went downstairs to the kitchen. She’d set out clippers, scissors and cape to cut his hair, and she had beer and wine in the fridge. Alice had a movie popcorn popper, and she had that loaded in case he wanted to share a bowl during the movie. She wondered what he would bring for them to watch.

As she drew a bowl out from the lower cabinet, the cool air of the kitchen caressed her ass, making the damp cotton against her pussy more noticeable. Her reaction to that forced her to steady herself against the counter. It was no use. No matter how she tried to distract herself, every movement of her body reminded her of what she was wearing, how she looked . . . how aroused she was.

When the doorbell rang, she struggled to compose herself. She wanted to torture
him
. Surely she could have enough self-control to do that, given how much satisfaction it would give her to see him unbalanced. She sauntered down the hallway with a lot of hip action. Though she knew he could see through the window panel of the front door, she didn’t look through it, not brave enough to make eye contact.

Opening the door, she saw he’d worn a sports coat, dress jeans and nice shirt. He’d even brought flowers, yellow daisies, and a bottle of wine.

At her amazed look, he lifted a shoulder. “It’s our first official date, after all.”

“I’m underdressed.”

His gaze coursed over her. She’d opened the door but stepped back from it, letting him open the storm door so she wouldn’t be glimpsed by the neighbors. As he shouldered in, a big man filling her foyer, he took her hand, setting the flowers and wine on the side table. His scrutiny was thorough and avid, making her skin heat under his attention. “You wore it.”

“You told me to.”

She cast her eyes down when she said it. Part of it was an involuntary reaction to his proximity, but she made the conscious decision to keep her gaze down, trying to battle down the butterflies as she did so. D/s permeated his life—training Troy in his store, doing demonstrations in the evening. Was she crazy to try her hand at giving him such an overt submissive cue?

She thought of Sam, how brave she’d had to be to initiate things. But Madison didn’t need to take the lead as Sam had with Geoff. Logan lived and breathed Dominant. It wasn’t play for him at all, which probably meant she shouldn’t be encouraging it.

However, as she tried to bring her gaze back up, she found herself unable to do so, as if her subconscious was stubbornly insisting on the message, inviting his next reaction. He stepped closer and she let herself be backed up against the wall. His hand settled on her waist, the other under her hair, holding her still.

“I put out all the things to cut your hair,” she said, apropos of nothing. “If you’d like to do that before the movie.”

“You were serious about that.”

“Yes.” She managed to lift her gaze briefly to his and was held there, breath catching in her throat. “I can tell you prefer it short. I want you to be . . . you.”

“All right,” he said. A woman with hair that beautiful would have agonized over it, at least a moment. It meant no more to him than shearing a sheep. She rolled her eyes at him.

“But you’ll cut my hair without this.” Giving her a wicked look, he tugged on the knot between her breasts. When he grazed her nipple with his thumb, she caught her lip between her teeth. “Nothing better than a topless female barber.”

“Sounds like another business opportunity.”

“Probably been done, but yeah, we could use one around here. Though I’m not suggesting you sign up. I want you as my private hairdresser.”

She chuckled at that, but stayed still as he came even closer. She let out a little moan as he imprinted his erection on her thigh, then shifted his stance so it rubbed against that nothing skirt and panties. “You’re hot and eager, aren’t you?” He nuzzled her hair, ran his hand down her shoulder, her upper arm. “God, you test a Master to the limits. Show me where you’re going to cut my hair.”

She needed his supportive hand to straighten from the wall. She wanted him, right there, right now. For the first time, she noticed he was carrying a tote slung over his shoulder. Her mind went in a dozen different directions, imagining what he’d brought.

“Where’s Troy tonight?”

“Somewhere else.”

She bit back a smile. Guiding him to the kitchen, she put the wine on the counter and retrieved a vase from the cabinet. Adding some water before she arranged the flowers in them, she made a note to trim the stems a little later to keep them fresh. It wasn’t one of those cheap mashed-together grocery store bundles, but a bouquet that looked arranged by a florist. Amid the grouping of daisies and black-eyed Susans were several pale pink rose buds. She’d have the pleasure of seeing them open up over the next few days.

Turning, she found he’d dropped the tote in a chair and was surveying the kitchen, the trio of “kitchen witch” puppets Alice had kept hung over the sink, the stained glass ornaments that caught the sunlight in the morning. “You haven’t changed much yet.”

“No. Having it the way she had it makes me feel like she’s still here.” She fussed with the flowers, fluffing them out, keeping her attention on them. “You were here a lot? I mean, even before she was sick?”

“Yeah. We were friends.” His hands closed over her waist, the bare flesh so accessible above the tiny skirt. His thumb slid along the waist band, caught the edge of the thong beneath. “Just friends,” he reminded her.

She believed him. Alice had never mentioned him in her letters. Alice always mentioned her lovers. Of course she often mentioned acquaintances or friends, and she hadn’t done that with him, either.

He set his jaw alongside her temple, his arms coming around her front, over her chest, as he suddenly held her against him. Not in a sexual manner, but in a way that had her putting her hands over his strong forearms.