Cindys Training Ch 01

Chapter 01 – So Close

*

Dear Reader: This chapter of Ron and Cindy's exploration of D/s does not have any mind-blowing, thundering orgasms or hot rigid cocks spurting ropes of cum all over whatever your favorite target is, however, it is background material that is essential for your understanding and appreciation of the characters and situations that they find themselves in when the hot and heavy sex erupts in the following chapters. So, please take the time to wade through this chapter so I won't be bombarded with e-mail questions about subsequent chapters that I have carefully tried to explain in this introduction.

Thank you.

Note: This story presents adult situations in graphic detail. It is not suitable for anyone under 18 years of age. The characters and situations in this story are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to actual people, places or events is coincidental.

She slouched in the chair, shoulders hunched forward and chin buried on her chest. Her body looked as if it had been carelessly flung down and then deflated. Bare arms hung loosely over the sides of the comfortable armchair. Her eyes were puffy and streaks ran down her cheeks, continuing down her chest and curling around into the hollow between her breasts before disappearing into the band of her bra. The TV across the room was on, but unnoticed, and the Mountain Dew on the side table hadn't been touched. At that moment, the young woman in the chair looked much older than her twenty-four years. It had been a bad day.

Her favorite professor had gone to great lengths to warn all his students that a career in Criminal Justice would not always be easy, but nothing he'd said had prepared her for this day. She couldn't get the visions of the tow-headed little boy out of her mind. In one he was lying on a hospital bed that was so big that it made his little 4 year old body look even tinier. One arm was encased in a cast and his fractured skull was completely wrapped in bandages. However, the earlier image, caught through the telephoto lens pointed into the dirty window of the rundown house, was the horror that she couldn't shake. She was at the monitor when the boy's supposed father picked him up by the arm and slammed his defenseless little body into the wall. Her skin crawled as the images replayed in her mind

Then there was the blur of images that followed. She had been out of the van and running toward the house before her surveillance partner had any chance to react. There was a vivid image of the moment that she had the bastard in her sights in the filthy living room – her eyes locked on his – pleading silently for him to do something that would justify her pulling the trigger. The look on her face challenged him – dared him – to make a move, to do something, anything. But the son of a bitch had waited until her partner burst into the house before he reacted. Then it was too late. She had been so close to shooting her first person. She had been so close to killing another human being. Her mind reeled; the shock of what she had almost done still hadn't fully set in. And the fear lurked deep in the recesses of her mind that she would have done it.

Then there had been the chaos: wrestling the drunken perp to the floor while trying to keep the flailing bodies away from the little boy crumpled against the wall, the back-up units finally arriving to finish the job, the EMTs working over the child, the blood and the grime and the mess. Now there was one tiny, broken child in intensive care, two older children in state care, a bereaved mother, strung out on pills, alone in a squalid shack and a drunken father in the holding cell looking at ten to fifteen years for something that he probably will have no recollection of ever doing.

But, this wasn't his first trip to the drunk tank. And not the first time one of her kids had been hospitalized. This time, however, they had everything the DA would need to put the creep away for a long time. This time they wouldn't have to rely on the kids' flakey mom to testify. The stake-out had taken long hours and intense dedication, but this time the evidence was captured on video and couldn't be blackmailed into not testifying. This time they had nailed him red handed. Signed, sealed and delivered! But, if it was all over, why couldn't she feel any sense of accomplishment? Satisfaction? Relief? Why did she feel so drained and empty?

The knock on the door jolted the woman in the chair as if she had been shocked. She rose to her feet and had taken one step toward the door when she realized who it had to be. Her heart sank even further into the depths of despair when she remembered that she had promised to meet Ron for dinner. They had gone out on vanilla dates twice in the almost three weeks since he had shown her and everyone else at Jack and Laura's her submissive side. She glanced through the peephole in her front door and saw his tall handsome figure in the lens. Her heart stopped. Desperately, she tried to think over what options she had. She couldn't claim that she wasn't home; her cruiser was parked out front in her reserved space. Her head spun, her entire body shook, and the tears started to flow anew. She had no choice but to open the door and beg him for mercy. She had failed him!

She waited until he raised his arm to knock a second time and slowly opened the door, peeking around the edge, hiding her nakedness behind it. He just stood there examining the tears pouring down her cheeks until she realized that she had to invite him in. Slowly, she opened the door wider, staying behind it, until he could step into her small apartment. She let the door close itself behind him, wrapped her arms around her chest and sobbed, "I'm so sorry, Ron, I…"

"Silence!" His voice had that familiar command presence to it that she hadn't heard since that Saturday when he had awakened her hidden nature. She looked up to meet his glare and he transfixed her with his deep green eyes. With nothing more than a look, he pinned her soul just as an entomologist would pin an insect to his collection board. Without further thought, she slowly sank to her knees in front of him, her head bowed, knees apart and her hands at her sides. She shook violently and the tears ran off her chin onto the carpet below. She desperately tried to control her sobbing, but failed again.

"I told you to be silent." He said the words firmly, but not harshly, leaving no doubt that it was a command.

She struggled, holding her breath until she almost blacked out. But she finally managed. The sobbing had ended, but she still shook violently. Her sinuses drained through her nose and the mucus ran down over her lips to merge with her tears. Standing behind her, silent and motionless, he watched her battle for control, patiently allowing her time to compose herself.

What am I going to do? How can I let him do this to me? How can this possibly feel right?

He had never been inside her apartment before. Looking around the neat, tidy home, he smiled inwardly. Leaving her where she knelt, he stepped across the living room and switched off the TV. A deathly quiet hung in the air, broken only by her gasping as she struggled for air. He noticed her uniform shirt and body armor on the dining table. Her belt and pistol had been carefully wrapped and placed on the side table near the door to the bedroom. A box of tissues on the table beside her chair caught his eye and he took a small handful back to where she knelt. Bending over, he took a few tissues and gently wiped her face. Then he held the remaining tissues under her nose.

"Blow."

She blew her nose long and hard. Glancing up towards him, she started to voice her thanks until he gently pressed his finger to her parted lips. Instead of saying anything, she kissed the finger that robbed her of her voice… and her will. Lowering her head again, she continued the struggle to compose herself. Gradually, she was winning.

How can he be so kind and yet so demanding? What is it that requires me to completely surrender my will to his?

He found the trash can where he expected - under the sink in the kitchen - and disposed of the soaked tissues. Stepping back into the living room, he gazed down at her, kneeling by the door, her earlier tremors now reduced to shivers.

"Come here, Pet," he demanded calmly.

She struggled to her feet, abruptly aware of how exhausted she really was and stumbled toward him, regaining her balance as she came. He watched her cross the room, admiring her inner beauty. Even with her face red and puffy from crying, and her sturdy young body dressed in a plain white bra, uniform pants and black shoes, he found her very attractive. As she approached him, he handed her the rest of her outfit from the table.

"Put these away."

She took the shirt and armor and headed into her bedroom. He followed, taking in the neat, feminine décor for the first time. After she draped her vest over its stand in the corner and hung up her shirt, she stood in front of her closet, unsure of what to do.

"Strip."

Her eyes pleaded with him desperately, but he merely stood before her impassively. When she slowly brought her hands to the front of her pants, her fingers shook so badly that she couldn't unfasten the button.

Oh, please, Sir. Don't make me. I don't have anything left to give!

Without a word, he stepped close to her and reached between her useless fists. The tears were again flowing across her cheeks. Gently undoing the button and carefully lowering the zipper, he stepped back and left her to the rest of the task. She dropped to one knee and untied one shoe and then the other. Slipping them and her anklets off one at a time, she rose back up and dropped her pants to the floor, stepping out of them.

Hesitating as if she was uncertain what to do next, she stood before him, dressed only in her bra and plain white cotton panties. Her head hung down and her shoulders sagged forward in resignation. She gasped when she saw him kick off his loafers and reach for his belt.

How can he? I can't do it. Not now. Not after the day that I've had.

"Hang your clothes up, Pet," he said as he walked into her bathroom, leaving her to her chore. She scrambled to put away her shoes and hang up her pants. She was standing before the closet when he returned from the bathroom, unbuttoning his shirt.

"All of it," he said and there was no doubt as to what he meant.

Resigned to her fate, she unfastened her bra, letting the straps slide off her shoulders and catching the cups as they fell away from her firm breasts. She had done this for him once before, she considered, so, why was it so difficult this time? She held the bra in one hand while she slipped her panties down her legs and off her feet. Finally, she stood naked before him with her dirty underwear hanging from her hand. Her eyes were dull and almost lifeless, her face now emotionless. She barely reacted when he slid his pants and underwear off and added them to the shirt on her bed.

"Lead the way," he ordered, gesturing her toward the bathroom. She stumbled through the door, in a confused daze, and dropped her underwear in the hamper. His hand guided her to a spot by the wall near the shower. Opening the door and reaching in, he turned on the water and adjusted the temperature as it warmed up. Once to his liking, he held the door for her to enter. She stepped in and was startled when he followed her.

Oh, my God! What is he doing? I've never shared a shower with a man!

The shower stall was big enough for one person, but a little confined for two. He readjusted the stream of hot water cascading from the shower head and, with his hand resting gently on the base of her neck, guided her head under the flow. He held her there, letting the hot water soak her short brunette hair and pour down her aching body. When she tried to reach toward her head, he gently pressed her arms back down to her sides. With her head tilted forward, he guided it around until the stream of water had beaten evenly on her entire scalp. Then he gently turned her around, rinsed a washcloth and wrung it out. Turning the shower spray toward the wall, he tilted her chin up, brushed her hair back from her forehead with his fingers and gently wiped her face with the damp cloth.

She opened her eyes and looked deeply into his. Completely confused, she let him know with her look that she would no longer resist anything he demanded of her. She was now totally lost. He dispassionately noted the change in her and reached for the shampoo. Squirting a generous portion directly onto her hair, he returned the bottle to its shelf and began to work the lotion into her hair, taking care that none escaped down her forehead. As his strong fingers worked the lather deep into her scalp, she felt a mountain of cares fall from her shoulders.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. That does feel good.

He turned the spray of hot refreshing water back onto her head and thoroughly rinsed her hair. Deflecting the stream further down and to the side, he turned her around, facing away from him and squeezed a dollop of conditioner onto her head. As he methodically worked the lotion into her hair, she eased herself back until her body nestled against his solid frame. She delighted in being this close to him. So close. Satisfied with her hair, he reached around her and squirted a generous amount of her fragrant body wash onto the pouf. He washed her arms, one at a time, and let them drop back to her sides when he was done. Then he gently bent her forward and ran the pouf across her shoulders a number of times, letting the cleanser cascade down her back.

Turning her so that her left shoulder was almost touching the corner of the shower at the door, he used the pouf in his right hand to methodically wash the front of her while his bare left hand used the foam spilling down her back to simultaneously clean her other side. She was trapped between two strong, sensuous hands gliding across her exhausted, aching body on slick soapy films. When the pouf reached her breasts, her head tilted back involuntarily and her back arched to press her sensitive flesh further into the delightful feelings that were washing over her. As much as she silently pleaded, he didn't linger on her firm mounds that now suffered a different ache, instead moving downward toward her waist, across her belly and her back.

This is heavenly! I could let him do this to me for the rest of eternity.

She was momentarily startled when the delightful hands continued below her waist. Her body stiffened until she recalled her pledge: she would not resist. She fought to relax when one hand roamed across a firm cheek and the other over her mons. They both kept up their steady downward progress, washing her hips and her ass cheeks. When a hand ventured into her cleft and the pouf curled under her pussy to meet it, she closed her eyes, her knees opened of their own accord and her body responded by thrusting her hips forward and back. Any shreds of modesty that she thought she might have left were gone. And, after his hands had moved on, she tried to cling to the sensations that had shot through her core under their touch. He cleaned down one leg, lifting her foot and then repeated the motions for the other leg. All too soon, she was guided back under the refreshing spray and thoroughly rinsed, his wonderful hands again sweeping purposefully over her flesh.

When he turned off the water, she gracefully pivoted around and tried to wrap her arms around his neck, only to suffer more confusion and disappointment when he again pushed her arms back to her sides and eased her body away from his. Her eyes flew open and her look of outrage was met by his steady glare. Quickly realizing her mistake, she melted back into the wall of the shower and dropped her head, trying to express her apology through her demeanor. Satisfied for the moment, he opened the shower door and reached out to grab one of the bath towels that he had laid on the edge of the sink. As she started to reach for the towel, he lifted it just out of her reach. Again, she recognized her error and quickly dropped her hands back to her sides.

Why is this so hard for me to learn? Why do I constantly let him down?

The tears started again, but this time he was there to gently dry them away and she had herself back under control promptly. He gently guided her toward him until she was standing painfully close. Her body ached to press into his and allow her to lose herself in his strength. But it wasn't to be and she resigned herself to the thrilling sensations of his ministrations. He briskly fluffed her hair dry with the towel before letting the terry fabric wrap around her nakedness. Again he used one hand on her front and one on her back to efficiently run the towel across her skin. He worked steadily, pausing at her breasts and her pussy much too briefly for her liking. The rough cloth slid across her partially erect nipples, sending delicious sensations flooding her nervous system. She allowed a frustrated moan to escape her lips and quickly turned her eyes to meet his expected glare, but he didn't respond. He must have ignored the sound and she mischievously flirted with the idea of carefully exploring her non-spoken vocal limits.

This man is so good to me!

Wrapping the towel around her head, turban style, he gently guided her out of the shower. He told her to finish drying her hair. Stepping out of the stall behind her, he dried himself with the other towel he had laid out. Pulling her hairbrush and hair dryer out of the vanity, she blew the remaining moisture out of her hair. Her hair was thick and rich, but, since she kept it cut short, it was dry in just a few minutes. Ron had taken her towel from where she had draped it across the toilet and, after she sprayed on her deodorant, she tentatively peeked out of the bathroom door to find that he had spread the towel across her bed.

"Come here, Pet."

Surprisingly, she felt almost ready to give him anything that he wanted of her. So close. She stepped confidently into the bedroom only to be surprised yet again when he slipped his dark grey boxer-briefs up over his half-erect cock and wrapped his towel around his waist. The look of consternation on her face must have amused him, because he smiled broadly.

"You look so beautiful, Pet. Lie down on the towel. On your belly," he instructed, "and close your eyes."

She did as she was told and waited. She heard him in the bathroom briefly and then the bed shifted under his weight.

He said that I looked beautiful. What a sweet man.

SMACK! The sharp sound occurred at the same instant that a searing jolt of pain shot from her ass to her brain. She flinched and let an involuntary, "Ow!" escape her lips. Then she cringed, expecting the next slap. But, it never came.

What did I do to deserve that? Oh! I know! Maybe he's trying to teach me that silence doesn't mean no noise at all. Hmmm.

She heard the click of a plastic bottle cap opening and something cool was squirted across her shoulders and down her spine. The sound of another squirt that didn't result in any more coolness on her skin made her wonder until she realized that the other sound she heard was his hands rubbing together. When he laid his hands on her shoulders and began to slide them easily across her skin, leaving a cool sensation where they had passed, she realized that he was moisturizing her skin. He began to massage the lotion into the muscles of her neck and she let her body go completely limp, giving in to his strong hands as they absorbed all the tension that had accumulated over the recent days. Then they continued their therapy on her back, dragging the stiffness out of the long suffering muscles there.