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.
“Come
in.”
———
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.
“Thank
you.”
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?”
“No,
Peter.”
“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?”
“Yes,
Peter.”
“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?”
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