Beneath his hands, she'd felt totally real with her partner. Playing had been her years before Seth.
"Hi, Liz. Of course I am. What's up?"
"You sound weird. What's going on over there? And why didn't you answer the phone when I called a second ago? Is everything alright?" Liz fired the questions like a machine gun.
Really, was it any of Liz's business? "I ran for the phone, but didn't catch it in time."
"Hum." Liz's skepticism was obvious. "Look, if there's something wrong, then don't say the safe word and Mike will be right over."
"Seth better not be fucking around." Mike's roar was distant but audible in the background.
Abby winced. Fucking around? Not now, but he had been only moments before, much to their mutual enjoyment. "You're being silly."
"Abby? What's your answer?"
She felt her cheeks warm and a sense of restlessness creep over her. She shifted her position, her butt rubbing across the carpet. Bare-assed from fucking on the floor, dear God! Behind her, the rattle of Seth's belt and the rustle of fabric told its story as he dressed.
"Goddamn him!" Mike shouted, as the silence lengthened. "I've got my keys. Tell her to hang on. I'll be right over."
On the other end of the phone, a door opened and closed.
Abby rushed her answer. "Peanut butter snarf-a-lot."
"Oh, thank God," Liz gasped out. She next tucked the phone against her shoulder, judging by the sounds, but her shout to Mike was clearly audible. "She's okay, Mike. She gave her safe word."
The call ended soon after, leaving Abby to locate her panties and jeans and pull them on. Once dressed, she felt much better, as though the clothing was a suit of emotional armor. She joined Seth at the table, where he nursed the last of his soda.
Squinting at her, he said, "Peanut butter what-the-fuck?"
She tensed against a threatening blush and strove to act as cool and composed as he appeared. "Snarf-a-lot. Liz called me that once as a joke," she explained. "She says I love peanut butter so much I must be made of it."
He put his fingers into his mouth, the ones he'd used to finger-fuck her with, and gave them a noisy suck. "No," he said, dropping his hand. "You don't taste like peanut butter."
Abby squeaked, mortified to the tips of her toes.
He laughed; a full-throated boom of humor that filled the room. It eased her embarrassment and pointless guilt enough that she could chuckle over the situation.
"Mike was threatening to come over here and kick your ass."
"He's welcome to try." Seth finished his soda and set the glass down with a snap of his wrist. "I need to know one thing before I leave. Do you want a master?"
The brutally abrupt change of topic stole her breath. Abby rose and walked to the dining room, where she gathered up the dishes and took them into the kitchen, taking the time to rinse them clean and run the garbage disposal as she pondered her answer. Seth sat in his chair, a still body amidst the tornado that was her emotions.
She turned off the water and gave Seth his answer. "I don't think I've ever met anyone who was capable of being someone I could trust that completely. Men have always disappointed me."
"Is that a yes or a no?"
Absolute accountability...he demanded nothing less. "Yes, I want a master."
He nodded. "Fine, I agree to train you. I will introduce you to the lifestyle seven more times. I will introduce you to the expectations of your role and determine your comfort level with differing kinks, but know this--some say I over-train slaves. Your future owner might be less rigorous than I, but you will not go to him or her unprepared."
Moments of silence passed before it dawned on her that he awaited an answer. "I see," she said, not really seeing at all.
"We will meet for two weeks, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. The final session will be on the last Saturday of those two weeks, the afternoon of the upcoming local munch. Do you work?"
She blinked. "Yes, I have a job."
"Email me your schedule. I need to know when
"Hi, Liz. Of course I am. What's up?"
"You sound weird. What's going on over there? And why didn't you answer the phone when I called a second ago? Is everything alright?" Liz fired the questions like a machine gun.
Really, was it any of Liz's business? "I ran for the phone, but didn't catch it in time."
"Hum." Liz's skepticism was obvious. "Look, if there's something wrong, then don't say the safe word and Mike will be right over."
"Seth better not be fucking around." Mike's roar was distant but audible in the background.
Abby winced. Fucking around? Not now, but he had been only moments before, much to their mutual enjoyment. "You're being silly."
"Abby? What's your answer?"
She felt her cheeks warm and a sense of restlessness creep over her. She shifted her position, her butt rubbing across the carpet. Bare-assed from fucking on the floor, dear God! Behind her, the rattle of Seth's belt and the rustle of fabric told its story as he dressed.
"Goddamn him!" Mike shouted, as the silence lengthened. "I've got my keys. Tell her to hang on. I'll be right over."
On the other end of the phone, a door opened and closed.
Abby rushed her answer. "Peanut butter snarf-a-lot."
"Oh, thank God," Liz gasped out. She next tucked the phone against her shoulder, judging by the sounds, but her shout to Mike was clearly audible. "She's okay, Mike. She gave her safe word."
The call ended soon after, leaving Abby to locate her panties and jeans and pull them on. Once dressed, she felt much better, as though the clothing was a suit of emotional armor. She joined Seth at the table, where he nursed the last of his soda.
Squinting at her, he said, "Peanut butter what-the-fuck?"
She tensed against a threatening blush and strove to act as cool and composed as he appeared. "Snarf-a-lot. Liz called me that once as a joke," she explained. "She says I love peanut butter so much I must be made of it."
He put his fingers into his mouth, the ones he'd used to finger-fuck her with, and gave them a noisy suck. "No," he said, dropping his hand. "You don't taste like peanut butter."
Abby squeaked, mortified to the tips of her toes.
He laughed; a full-throated boom of humor that filled the room. It eased her embarrassment and pointless guilt enough that she could chuckle over the situation.
"Mike was threatening to come over here and kick your ass."
"He's welcome to try." Seth finished his soda and set the glass down with a snap of his wrist. "I need to know one thing before I leave. Do you want a master?"
The brutally abrupt change of topic stole her breath. Abby rose and walked to the dining room, where she gathered up the dishes and took them into the kitchen, taking the time to rinse them clean and run the garbage disposal as she pondered her answer. Seth sat in his chair, a still body amidst the tornado that was her emotions.
She turned off the water and gave Seth his answer. "I don't think I've ever met anyone who was capable of being someone I could trust that completely. Men have always disappointed me."
"Is that a yes or a no?"
Absolute accountability...he demanded nothing less. "Yes, I want a master."
He nodded. "Fine, I agree to train you. I will introduce you to the lifestyle seven more times. I will introduce you to the expectations of your role and determine your comfort level with differing kinks, but know this--some say I over-train slaves. Your future owner might be less rigorous than I, but you will not go to him or her unprepared."
Moments of silence passed before it dawned on her that he awaited an answer. "I see," she said, not really seeing at all.
"We will meet for two weeks, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. The final session will be on the last Saturday of those two weeks, the afternoon of the upcoming local munch. Do you work?"
She blinked. "Yes, I have a job."
"Email me your schedule. I need to know when
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