Cindy's Training Ch. 01

But, sobbing is not allowed. This could be trickier than I thought.

She smiled at her clever deductions, but decided that she had better not push her luck. Working his way down her torso, he applied more moisturizer as he went. His hands kneaded the fleshy globes of her ass, soothing the sting that his palm had left on the one, and sending flashes of energy shooting through her jangled nervous system. Working down the backs of her thighs, he ran his thumbs down their tender insides. Her legs spread themselves apart giving him better access; it wasn't something that she consciously willed. His fingers worked deep into the stiffness in her thighs and calves. The aching muscles complained at first, but she fought to ignore the shooting pains, knowing that he would make them go away.

What did I do to deserve this? Would he still do this for me if he knew what sort of person I really am?

Then he arrived at her feet and she felt her first taste of euphoric bliss. He skillfully massaged, poked, rubbed, kneaded and moisturized her tired, sore feet until they tingled. She could feel the blood rushing to parts of her dogs that only hours ago had been howling. The long days that she had spent on the stakeout had punished them sorely and his magic hands set them free. Quiet mewling sounds escaped from her lips; she wasn't testing her silence limits, she hardly even realized that she was making them. At that moment in time, her mind was far away. But, as in all good things, it came to an end. His voice dragged her back to the present.

"Roll over, Pet."

She languidly complied with his order, forcing her body to roll over on the towel. As she arranged herself comfortably, she suddenly realized that she hadn't made the effort to shave her pussy in the time that she had been stalking the abuser. She gasped, her body froze and her hands flew to cover the coarse, dark stubble that she knew would displease him. Her eyes flew open to find his steadily boring into her soul. Nothing was said; they maintained eye contact for what seemed to be an eternity, his stern gaze fixed on her panic stricken brown orbs. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes as she slowly dropped her arms back to her sides.

I failed him again. And there's nowhere I can hide. Oh, please forgive me, Sir!

"I told you to close your eyes."

Damn! Damn! Damn! Why can't I remember the simplest thing?

His hands gently worked at spreading the moisturizer up her legs towards the source of her embarrassment. Her body involuntarily tensed as his touch reached her womanhood and then melted when he stroked his long fingers over the offending stubble, evenly coating her pussy with the lotion. The severely conflicting emotions that whirled around her brain almost made her dizzy: pleasure, anguish, shame, delight, fear, desire. She vaguely took notice of the heat within her that battled with the cooling lotion. She didn't realize just how close she was at that instant. So close.

All too soon, his hands moved on, sliding easily over her hips and belly, across her ribs and gently over her firm round breasts. Her nipples were harder than they had been in ages, standing proudly erect and oh so sensitive. But, the hands, that made her willing to do anything to please him, again moved on, sweeping across her collar bones and departing off her shoulders. She lay there for moments after his weight had left the bed, savoring the delightful feelings that enveloped her. So close.

Anything he wants. No doubts, no reservations.

"Let's get moving, Pet. You need to get dressed for dinner."

Her eyes flew open to see him buttoning up his shirt. Total confusion flooded her brain. This was about the last thing that she had expected. He already had his pants and shoes on.

What is he doing to me? Why is he doing this to me?

The look in his eyes subtly began to change and she abruptly realized that she was in danger of again displeasing him. She leapt from the bed and hurried to her dresser only to draw up short in a quandary. She turned to him and started to ask him what she should wear, only to snap her mouth shut a scant instant before she made yet another blunder. The look she flashed him could not have been mistaken for anything but panic.

"Dress for casual dining. You would look lovely in a blouse and skirt," he casually instructed.

Cindy collected herself and opened her lingerie drawer. There they were - on top of all her plain white utilitarian underwear - the tiny red lace bra and thong set that she had recently bought just for him. She reached for them and froze. She couldn't allow herself to splurge on expensive frills, her budget was tight enough as it was, so they had been a special treat. And her romantic fantasies had all revolved around how good they would look on her as he peeled off her clothes, not how they would look while he watched her put them on. She almost made up her mind and reached for them only to hesitate again.

"Maybe I'll just take you as you are," his voice said casually, but a chill ran down her spine.

You wouldn't!

Just then, her mind flashed back to that fateful Saturday at Jack and Laura's when he had ordered her to strip. And how she had. And how he had led her into their house and introduced her to everyone, stark naked. It didn't matter that everyone else had been nude, he had commanded her to take off all her clothes and she had acquiesced. Her mind reeled; suddenly she realized that she was powerless to prevent him from doing the same thing again.

Her mind made up, she pulled the package from the drawer, fastened the bra around her chest and slid her arms through the straps. She smoothed the flimsy cups over her breasts, running her fingers lightly over the stiff nipples, and noticed in her mirror that he was sitting in her rocking chair across the room, admiring her. Returning to the task at hand, she pulled out the scrap of fabric that matched the bra. Her first thong. Never before had she considered wearing anything so wanton. Even the bottoms of her bikinis covered most of her crack. Carefully putting her feet through the straps, she slid the tiny item up her legs to her waist. Stepping back to get a better view in the dresser mirror, she was shocked at how little it covered. Turning around to see the back, she felt the blush rise in her cheeks.

Why am I more embarrassed to wear this than to be naked?

"Are those new, Pet?"

She looked back at him, a sheepish grin across her face, and nodded.

"Very pretty, Pet. You look delicious."

She felt the heat rise in her core. Reaching into another drawer, she pulled out a pair of nude pantyhose.

"No."

Frozen in place, she glanced at him in her mirror. His frown of disapproval reinforced what she thought he had meant. The pantyhose went back into the drawer. Next, she reached into another drawer and selected a nice, light half slip, turning toward him and holding it in front of her. He simply shook his head. Then she modeled her favorite camisole for him and again he shook his head. She felt her anger flare up inside her. She was close to losing it. So close.

Well, you might as well take me naked, if you won't let me wear anything I own!

He pulled out his cell phone and snapped it open. "I'm going to make our reservations for 7:30. It will take us at least a half hour to get there. That leaves you less than twenty minutes to get ready." He selected a number from the menu and put the phone up to his ear. Cindy felt a sense of panic override her anger. Quickly running through her wardrobe selections in her mind, she eliminated most of it before her dark green pleated skirt came to mind. It was lined and yet light enough for summer wear, but she hadn't worn it in months!

Please, Lord, let me still be able to fit into it.

She dove into her closet as she heard what she thought was him addressing someone by their first name. Digging through her meager selection of personal clothes, she found what she was searching for. Holding it up, she checked it closely for cleanliness and was relieved to find it wearable. Now, her quandary was what would go with it. The only thing she could think of was her new white blouse, but it was much too sheer to wear without something underneath it. Still, she couldn't think of anything else. Not that wasn't in the cleaners. Finding the blouse on its hanger, she stepped out of her closet and held the blouse and skirt in front of her for his approval.

"OK, Henri. That will do nicely," he said into the phone. Snapping it shut, he looked to her and pronounced, "Very nice selection, Pet."

She felt a warm glow at his approval and gave him a sincere smile.

Henri? He pronounced it like the French would. We're not going to McDonalds.

Holding her breath, she slipped her legs into the skirt and slid it up over her hips. First objective accomplished. Sucking her tummy in desperately, she slid the zipper up to the top. Gradually letting out her breath, she was pleasantly surprised to find that the skirt still fit her nicely. Snug, but not too tight. Glancing up to see his reflection in the mirror, she caught what she thought was a smirk on his face.

Men! They'll never understand!

Hurrying into the bathroom, she quickly applied her usual minimal makeup. Looking at herself in the mirror in the flimsy red bra, she decided to put on just a touch of eye shadow as well. And then some eyeliner. Just a very thin line, nothing excessive. If she was going to have to speak with her eyes tonight, they needed to be properly dressed. Then she brushed out her hair and let it fall naturally around her face. A pair of unobtrusive clips would keep any from straying into her face.

Finally satisfied, she hurried out into the bedroom, looking to see his reaction. He looked at her impassively, so she went to her dresser and again pulled out her favorite camisole and held it up in front of the white blouse. Again, he shook his head. She dropped the camisole back in the open drawer and turned to him with the blouse on the hanger. Running her hand up and down the inside of the blouse to emphasize how transparent it was, she pleaded with her eyes for him to reconsider.

"That's a very nice blouse, Pet. You'll look delightful in it."

When he looked at the time on his cell phone, Cindy finally resigned herself to her fate. She slipped into the blouse and buttoned it up to the neck, horrified at what she could see in the mirror. Her wicked red bra was easily visible through the fine material. As she carefully tucked her blouse in and adjusted her skirt, she decided that she might be able to distract some of the attention from her breasts by unbuttoning just the top two buttons and wearing a necklace.

Her jewelry selection was even more limited than her wardrobe, but she did have a nice gold cross and chain that would look good around her neck. The cross would hang right in the V of the blouse. And it might just make her look a little more God-fearing and respectable. She also had a nice gold bangle bracelet that she used to add a bit of color to her outfit. Her comfortable brown flats finished the ensemble. Turning around, she begged for his approval.

"Very pretty, Pet. But, don't you have some dressier shoes?"

Her initial annoyance rapidly vanished when it dawned on her that, indeed, she did. Diving back into her closet, she hunted in the back until she found the strappy black sandals with the two inch heels that she had almost completely forgotten she owned. She hadn't worn them in ages. It wasn't often that she had the opportunity to dress up. She held them up and showed them to him with a big smile on her face. He smiled back and she knew that she had pleased him. Slipping the shoes on her feet, she skipped over and closed the bedroom door to examine herself in the full length mirror. Twirling around slowly, she carefully examined her attire.

I wish I could be wearing more, but what there is does look pretty good. I just hope I don't run into anyone that I know. Mom would have kittens if ever she saw me in this outfit.

"That's my girl. I'd take you anywhere in that outfit."

Not to church, you wouldn't!

"You've even got two minutes to spare."

Cindy reached in the drawer of her bedside table and grabbed the holster that held her 9mm PF-9 and put it into her little black purse. She pulled her wallet, cell phone and key ring from her everyday purse and added the little emergency makeup kit as well. On the way out, she removed her badge from her uniform belt and stuffed it in. She caught up with Ron at the front door and he followed her out. His Mini was illegally parked directly behind her cruiser with the top down. Suddenly realizing that she didn't have a hairbrush with her, she stopped abruptly at the top of the stairs. Turning around, she made hair brushing motions to let him know what she had to go back for.

"I have one in the car, Pet," he said, turning her back around with his hands on her waist and gently urging her on. She skipped down the stairs, her sandals almost tripping her twice, until she got the feel of skipping on her toes. He was right behind her coming down the stairs and managed to reach the Mini's passenger door at the same time that she did. Graciously opening the door for her, he helped her in. She nestled back into the cool leather of the seat and fastened her seatbelt. Once he had settled into the driver's seat, clipped his cell phone into its holster on the dash, strapped in and started the engine, he pulled out of the parking lot. Turning right, they headed away from town. The hot summer evening sun was still well above the horizon.

I wonder where he's taking me.

She knew exactly where they were until they crossed the county line, heading east. She still had a fairly good idea of their location until he turned off the main highway and started driving down picturesque, back country roads. Two more turns and she was in unfamiliar terrain. She still could tell from the sun that they were heading in a generally easterly direction, but, other than that, she was lost. She gave up hopes of figuring out where they were going and let herself enjoy the fine weather and the pretty rural landscape. The wind blew through her hair and when she decided to take a risk and lay her hand on his hip, he didn't push it away. His slacks were smooth beneath her fingers and she didn't press her luck by trying to do anything more than let her hand rest gently on his muscular thigh. She realized that she felt a special thrill whenever she was this close to him. So close.

I wonder why I feel so safe and secure when I'm with him?

The music he had on the stereo was a mix of seductively suggestive jazz songs by the same woman that he had played for her on their second date. That is, their second date since she had accepted her submissive nature. She struggled to remember the singer's name. Diana something. Seems like her name had something to do with swimming. Or… Yes – Krall, that was it, Diana Krall. Cindy had let herself get so involved with remembering the singer's name that she almost missed the sign on the huge stone pillars that he turned between. She sat up straight when she read the metal plaque set in the stone: Idle Creek Country Club.

Definitely not McDonalds.

He drove down a winding drive lined by mature trees. To the right was the golf course and on the left she could see tennis courts and a swimming pool. The pool wasn't crowded; there were a few adults on the deck and a number of children splashing in the water. Ahead was an imposing stone building fronted by a large white columned portico.

Ron pulled the Mini into the parking lot to the right of the building and parked in the first empty spot. Reaching into the center console, he pulled out a hairbrush and handed it to her. She flipped down the visor and opened the lighted mirror. Putting up the top, he rolled the windows part way up as she ran the brush through her hair and checked her makeup. Taking the hairbrush from her, he brushed his thick black hair back from his forehead. He pocketed his cell phone and climbed out of the car, ignoring the chime that warned that the keys were still in the ignition. When he opened her door and offered her his hand, she looked up at him quizzically, pointing to the keys.

"It's safe here, Pet. Shall we eat?"

They walked across the parking lot at a leisurely pace, arm in arm. She felt a flush of pride steal up across her chest and over her neck. Just being with him made her tingle all over. He guided her up the front steps, through the imposing double doors, the huge ornate foyer and down the hallway to the left. It wasn't until the short, rotund man behind the counter at the doorway of the dining room looked down at her chest that she remembered that she was barely covered. She tightened her grip on Ron's arm and drew strength from him.

I can do this. If this is what he wants me to do, I can do it.

Her eyes steadily challenged the Maitre d's when he glanced back up from her red bra. She held her chin high and refused to let him intimidate her. He looked away from her to greet Ron by name and then led them through the large room, almost empty of diners, to a booth directly in front of a large picture window that overlooked a part of the golf course. The sun setting behind the tall trees threw long intricate shadows across the neatly manicured grass. It was quietly peaceful and comforting. She opened the fancy menu that the Maitre d' had placed before her on the table and was glancing through the selections when a smartly dressed waitress appeared at the table.

"Good evening, Frankie," Ron greeted her, familiarly. "How are the kids?"

"Good evening, Mr. Wexler. The kids are growing like weeds and eating me out of house and home,"

"Are you suggesting that I need to leave a bigger tip?"

"Oh, no, Mr. Wexler, you're always more than generous. Can I get you something from the bar?"

"I'll have my usual and the lady will have a Shirley Temple," Ron ordered with a wink that only the waitress could see.

"Do I need to check her ID?" Frankie asked.

"No, she's legal."

Oh, Ron. You know I don't drink alcohol.

Her eyes begged him to not get her drunk. She couldn't stand the smell of beer and had tried mixed drinks a few times in college only to find that she really dreaded feeling like she was losing control. Once when she had gone out with a few of her girlfriends, they had talked her into one drink too many. She had gotten violently ill and made an ugly mess. The following morning she felt so miserable that she hadn't had a drink since. When he wouldn't catch her eye, she reached across the table and squeezed his hand. He merely squeezed her hand back and continued to peruse the menu. Frustrated, she gave up and began studying her dinner choices. It took a moment for her to realize that there were no prices on the menu.

Frankie returned with their drink order and carefully served them both tall glasses on cocktail napkins. Ron's was a clear carbonated drink over ice with a slice of lime in it. Hers was a fizzy orange colored iced drink with a thin layer of some reddish liquid on top and a bright red cherry. A little paper umbrella stuck out of the top. Ron lifted his glass and offered her a salute. She raised her own glass to return the salute, lifting it to her lips when he took a sip from his drink. The decorative umbrella almost poked her in the eye. With a straight face, Ron reached across the table and pulled the hazard out of her glass and placed it on the table. She thought she noticed a twinkle in his eye.

Why does he play with me? Am I nothing more than a toy to him?