The Taming School
An Excerpt - Part One
SAF 25 SUB VIRGIN
That was all Kat Valdez had written in her online ad. It was all she’d had to write. Really, if that didn’t get people’s attention, she didn’t know what would. Tired of feeling like a spinster waiting to shed this staining status, Kat logs onto a BDSM forum to look for a way to lose her virginity.
Moderator of the forum, Peter Richards, knows that sex isn’t limited to just one act. That sensuality isn’t straight-up sex, that weakness isn’t submission, and innocence is not virginity. And, before he finishes with Kat, he’s determined that she’ll know that too. He'll make sure that she doesn't dismiss or discount herself anymore. Before they’re done, he will teach her to understand and love the full breadth of her virginity.
The more they explore kink and play together, Peter discovers something different—something special—stirring within himself. As he touches Kat in every possible way he can, her indomitable spirit touches back. During their time together, he can see her changing. Growing. Under his tutelage, he can see her becoming the stronger, more confident woman he knows she can be. The woman he hungers for.
And, for the first time in his life, Peter knows that this time he wants to play for keeps.
She liked his home. It teetered that fine line between the masculine and the feminine, leaning on the grace and beauty of both. She felt comfortable there—even in her nudity—as if she’d been there and walked its rooms countless times. It was nice.
Idly, she walked to the big round dining table, letting her fingers trail its edge. There, wrapped up prettily, was a box. She wondered what was inside. It looked expensive, expertly wrapped the way that it was. The glitteringly gold wrapping paper was perfectly creased and folded and the shimmery, deep green ribbon was tied in the kind of big, floppy bow that she’d never seen outside department store displays.
Kat had grown up lower-middle-class and unaccustomed to having luxuries—always scraping by paycheck to paycheck. The gift box alone looked too lavish for someone in her income bracket, never mind the gift inside. She was afraid to touch it.
But because Peter said she could—because he’d gotten it just for her—she did, carefully undoing the bow before rolling the ribbon neatly. Then she carefully turned the package over and scrounged around for the hidden strips of tape, before gingerly peeling back the paper from the box. She lifted the plain white cover and reached inside.
Kat practically moaned as her fingers grasped the soft silk that ran smooth like liquid lust through her hands. She pulled the forest green robe from the box and held it against herself. It wasn’t the polyester-blend synthetics that she’d admired in the stores. It was real. She’d never felt anything so sinful in her life.
She grinned as she slipped it on, letting the fabric drape over her before tying the sash around her waist. Unlike the long-cotton robes she’d tried on in the shops, Peter’s gift didn’t drag on the floor or pinch in the sleeves. It fit as if it’d been tailored for her, created for her.
She felt like a queen.
On a whim, she took the green ribbon from the table and wound it around her head, binding her long hair into a bun at the base of her skull.
She felt like a gift. She wanted to give herself to him.
With her mind on Peter, waiting for her in his office, Kat made her way up the stairs. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the first door to the right.
Peter waited until he heard the door shut behind her before glancing up leisurely. He’d chosen his office as their meeting place for several reasons. It was the seat of power in his house. The place where he ran his lucrative technological securities business. The place where he was boss.
It also made for a great image. The wall behind him was almost all window, backlighting him with soft twilight, with a postcard-esque backdrop view of the ocean—making an otherwise stark, almost Spartan room seem like the frame to a magnificent work of art. His desk, the most prominent feature in the room, faced the door with the rest of furniture—all dark leather and polished mahogany—set around him, angled toward him, making it—and by extension, him—seem larger and more imposing. An elegant, older female client had once remarked that, if the ancient gods could have modern day offices, they would look like this.
But none of it compared to the vision she made standing in front of his desk in his gift.
Damn, he thought, trying his best to ignore his burgeoning erection.
He’d chosen the robe online the night he’d met her—while his mind was still full with the vivid memory of her—liking the color and cut for Kat. The deep leafy green draped over her dark brown skin, putting in his mind thoughts of Daphne and Diana, mythic figures whose virginity hadn’t made them innocent but instead made them strong.
He wanted to give her that strength, wanted to see her use it and own it. To wield it like a weapon against the world. Against him.
“Have a seat,” he said matter-of-factly, determined to make quick the usual niceties and agreements. Treat it like a business meeting. Quick and efficient. Because he had better things he’d like to do with her than converse. So he steeled himself, putting play out of his mind and focusing on the task at hand. He trained his gaze on her, feeling ready and calm.
But then she sat down. Settling deep into one of the cushy, brown leather chairs across from his desk, she’d let her robe part to frame her thin, but shapely legs like a curtain before opening act. He groaned, anticipating his own explosive denouement.
God, he could just imagine the feel of those legs, that looked just long enough to wrap around his waist, clinging desperately to him as he thrust deep and hard inside her. He swallowed roughly, his hunger a brutal thing raging inside him. Peter caught himself staring—leering—at the barely covered juncture between her exposed thighs before snapping his attention upward.
Damn, he thought again.
He’d chosen the robe’s long length because, while he planned for her to spend a good deal of their time together naked, there were times—in particular, this moment—where he needed both their minds clear, alert, and aware.
But just the way the robe dipped and flowed over her body, opening to reveal while still cleverly concealing, made his mouth water and his mind fog with lust. With toes barely scraping the carpeted floor, she crossed her legs primly at her ankles, the play of shadows between her thighs mesmerizing before disappearing into the close. Double damn.
He cleared his throat as he adjusted his glasses. “We need to discuss the rules of our arrangement,” he told her.
“Okay,” she said, her voice breathier and just a pitch higher than normal. She was nervous. To be expected, but in the midst of her nerves was excitement too. Peter could feel it coming off her in waves and his cock instinctively twitched.
“Thank you for the robe, by the way,” she said, fingering the soft material over her tanned, toned thighs. “It’s beautiful.”
“It suits you,” he said more gruffly than he’d intended, his eyes still following her fingers’ every flick over the silk. He felt his fist fiercely clench just to avoid reaching out to touch and grab and take.
Lord, he had to find his bearings. This was not the way this worked. Not the way he worked, turned so completely on by a robe! Albeit an expensive, designer, silk robe specially ordered to fit her precisely and to perfectly display her every asset, but still a scrap of cloth. Certainly nothing to get this excited over.
But it wasn’t just the robe. It was her. The whole package. Her small, sweet voice reminiscent of school-girl fantasies had him wondering if he had a ruler, one of those sturdy twelve-inch wooden ones, somewhere in the house. The way she sat with her hands folded on her lap, tucked between her knees, was unconsciously sexy—both pushing her small breasts together to reveal delicious cleavage between the folded halves of the robe and drawing his attention lower. Ever lower. Her features made every moment a test in restraint. Even her posture, deferring and dipped just a bit—making her already tiny form even smaller—made him feel huge and foreboding in a way that he’d never really experienced before with any other woman. The rush was incredible.
He shook his head and bit back a groan. Get it together, Richards, he ordered himself.
“The rules,” he started again, standing to stalk the room. “The first being that I am in charge.” He moved to stand at the back of the large, leather chair, standing behind her, over her. “Say it.”
She shifted to face him, but Peter laid his hands on her shoulders, keeping her firmly in place. He wanted her here, like this, for a little longer. Understanding, she settled back down, facing forward, her spine straightening into perfect posture. She nodded and stated clearly, “You’re in charge.”
“Good girl,” he said, soothing his hands over the silk before removing his hands. “I am in charge. Not you. You will do what I say, when I say it, and without question, because you want to please me. Don’t you, Katherina?”
“Yes, Peter,” she murmured emphatically, making him swell.
“In addition, you will not do anything without my express permission. Any deviations from my precise instructions will result in punishment. And I promise, you will not like it, is that understood?”
Again, she answered dutifully, “Yes, Peter.”
“You will give yourself completely over to me. Not just your body, but your mind—your thoughts, your desires, all of it—without hesitation. Do you have questions on any of this?”
“All right,” Peter told her, moving once again to face her with his arms crossed in front of him, the ridge of his erection scant breaths from her lips. “Your second rule, you will rid yourself of everything from your everyday life—clothes, jewelry, stress, worries—before you enter this house. I may leave you instructions that you will follow exactly. At the end of each of your stays, I may have more instructions for you. You will follow these guidelines perfectly, even while you are outside of this house. Do you agree to this?”
“Do you understand what this means, Katherina? Do you really?” he asked. “You will be mine in every way until our contract ends. You will do whatever I want whenever I want however I want or you are welcome to leave. Once you leave, you cannot come back. Do you understand?”
This time she paused slightly, understanding weighing heavy in her mind. He gave her the moment she needed in order to be sure. He saw her take a deep breath before answering. “Yes, Peter.”
“Good,” he told her, laying a gentle hand on her head. A glimmer of a smile played on her lips. Lord, his hand nearly shook with the need to pull her face a quarter of an inch further so her lips would lay flush across his fly. He imagined his fingers threading through her hair as his flesh parted her smiling lips on an impassioned “o.” Instead, he patted her head before crossing his arms again. “Moving on, tell me, do you know what a safeword is?”
She nodded her head, the tip of her nose just barely brushing the front of his bulging pants. In a breathy voice, barely loud enough to hear, she said, “It’s a word you say when you want to stop, when you’re hurt or uncomfortable with what’s happening.”
“It’s more than that,” he told her, staring down his nose at her sitting stiff and wanting with her gaze locked on his hard-on. “In BDSM, the mental games we play are just as important—if not more so—than the ones we play with our bodies. Often these games make us face parts of ourselves that we didn’t even know existed, tests the boundaries of what we thought we were capable of, within a safe space of our own control. In order to do that, you must give yourself completely over to that space, must commit to it fully, leaving everything else out. Safewords are the only things that exist outside that space. With those words, you can decide the fate of the game. You, Kat, have three.” Peter paused to tip her head back, letting his fingers glide over her hair until they cradled her skull, so she was looking into his eyes. Her black eyes were so wide, almost all dark pupil, and hazy with her own eager hunger. Her lips were parted, her breath coming out in quick, heated pants. “Green means you’re good and the game can continue as is. Yellow means you want the action to slow down, but the scene can still go on. Red means you want to scene to stop. Repeat this back to me.”
She swallowed, licking those full, pink lips before replying, “Green means I want the game to go on. Yellow means I want it to slow down. And red means I want it to stop.”
“Exactly,” he said with a curt nod. “If I ask for your color, you will respond with one of those words and only those. Any other response will be ignored or possibly penalized.” He leaned in close and, digging his hands into her bound hair, he gave a slight tug, just enough to hurt, to get her attention. He wanted to know she heard him. This was important. He pulled her head back to stare into her black eyes, sparking with hot-edged fear. He leaned in close and whispered, his voice a raspy rake against the soft curve of her cheek. “You could scream and beg for me to stop and it wouldn’t mean anything—not one thing, Kat. All the tears in the world wouldn’t protect or save you. You could strike back at me and all I would do is bind your hands and feet and punish you. Severely.” He gave one last tug, sharp enough to make her wince and suck in a harsh breath, before loosening his grip to gently massage the back of her head. Leaning back again, he watched as her eyes fluttered shut in response, practically purring at this small, tender gesture. “But with one word, either yellow or red, you can stop my hand, stop the game. So, Katherina, what’s your color?”
Read Part Two Here