Anna Keaton - Training Sessions

“Strip.”

I reached for the buttons of my blouse with shaky fingers and tried to ignore Sir and Mistress who stood watch over me. Sir had given the order.

Concentrating on my husband’s dark eyes, I fumbled over each button that seemed to have shrunk to the size of seeds in the last few minutes.

“Faster, woman,” Sir commanded, his voice sharp. I flinched when he flicked the ends of the flogger against his leather pants making a snapping, hissing sound that terrified me. Excited me.

I worked the buttons faster. I knew what was to come. Jared and I had met with Sir and Mistress a week ago, discussed all the details, but now that we were here with them, beginning our training, I was both exhilarated and scared out of my wits.

Shrugging out of the shirt, I let it fall to the floor since there had been no instructions to do otherwise. Following instructions was the first step in finding the freedom of release I longed to obtain.

I pushed my jeans down my legs, kicked off my shoes, and peeled off the denim along with my socks, leaving them in a heap on the cool, tile floor.

“Everything,” Sir said in an almost amused tone.

When I glanced in his direction, I was again startled. We’d met at their house just days ago, and he and Mistress had both been dressed casually. Not tonight, though. Sir was all in black, reminding me of Zorro with the leather pants, silk shirt, mask, and bandana. He was an imposing figure standing over six feet tall. A very well built, sexy Zorro. He even wore black leather gloves. I imagined the sensation that supple leather would bring to my skin when he touched me, and I shivered with anticipation.

He flicked his wrist, and the flogger slithered against his leather.

Goose bumps popped out on my arms and bared thighs. I reached behind me for the clasp of my bra. I hadn’t been naked in front of another man since marrying Jared five years ago.

Looking back at my husband, I saw his nostrils flare as I dropped the lacy bra onto the heap of clothes at my feet. He’d always loved my body. He loved me. If he hadn’t, we wouldn’t be here. Tonight was about me, he’d said on our way to Inferno, the fetish club where we were. He wanted me to experience all my fantasies. Happy anniversary, Sheri , he’d whispered just before we walked through the front door into a place filled with sex and revelry, loud music and more sex. Luckily, Sir and Mistress had reserved this private room for us so we didn’t have an audience to our newcomers’ training.

My underwear was the last thing I removed, shoving them down my legs and stepping out of them, and then I stood totally naked in front of three fully clothed people. I concentrated on Jared, how his eyes sparkled in the candlelit room, how his darkly tanned skin seemed to glow, but since Mistress stood next to him, she was hard to miss. In her fire‐engine red leather mini dress that hugged every beautiful, ample curve of her body, she was the type of woman even I, a definite heterosexual, found attractive. Unlike Sir, she hid little of her body. Her long red hair was pulled back into a ponytail that fell nearly to her butt, and four‐inch red stilettos made her calves gorgeous.

I licked my lips and stood tall as Sir came toward me. I wasn’t afraid of the pain he would eventually inflict—in fact, I anticipated it. I wasn’t afraid he’d cause permanent damage to my body or mind—he and Mistress had reiterated over and over their policy of safe, sane, and consensual BDSM play. Jared and I had been given safe words to use should anything become too overwhelming for either of us to bear.

What I worried about was how, in reality, my dear husband would take to watching another man lay hands on me.

“Raise your arms over your head,” Sir instructed.

I complied without hesitation. I was to be bound now. My breathing sped a bit beyond my control as excitement coursed through my blood.

Sir handed the flogger to Mistress before taking my left wrist into his gloved hand. He stretched my arm as far as it would go, and then the padded insides of a thick cuff closed around my wrist.

Jared’s jaw ticked as he clenched his teeth, but what I saw in his eyes was desire, not anger. He stood next to Mistress, hands at his sides flexing and clenching as if he wanted to get his hands on me.

Sir clasped my other wrist into the cuff suspended from the ceiling then moved out of my line of sight for a moment.

Jared and I had tried delving into the world of BDSM on our own several months back, but the one thing we learned was that we were both bottoms. We both wished to be the submissive in the bedroom. He feared he’d hurt me even though I begged to be spanked harder than his gentle taps. And I found little pleasure by inflicting pain of any kind upon him and constantly wished to be on the receiving end.

Though we shared a contented sex life, we’d been looking for a little excitement, a change. With the discovery of our submissive natures, it explained why neither of us were ever totally satisfied after sex, even though we both reached orgasm frequently and easily together. That discovery led us here, to the husband and wife training team of Sir and Mistress. Both Dominants. Both had been part of the well‐guarded life of BDSM fetish clubs for over fifteen years.

“Spread your legs as far as you can,” Sir said from behind me, touching my inner thigh with one gloved hand, “and still remain flat‐footed.”

I did as told, and he placed a spreader bar between my ankles, shackling me to it with more padded cuffs. I wiggled my hips, testing my range of movement, and got popped on the ass for it. I groaned when that supple leather glove over Sir’s big hand rubbed the sting he’d inflicted.

“Silence,” Sir commanded in a harsh tone. “Not a sound unless I permit it.”

My nipples puckered, but it wasn’t because the room was cold. In fact, I was overly warm. All the blood seemed to rush to my skin, flushing my face and making my breasts heavy.

His hand lingered on my bottom an extended moment, and then was gone. I wanted more. More of the spanking; more of the soothing.

“Your turn,” Mistress said to Jared. “Strip. And don’t take as long as Sheri, or the consequences will be severe. I’m not as lenient as Sir.”

Though I didn’t wish to flog him myself, I wasn’t beyond wanting to witness my husband’s submission. I’d always had voyeuristic tendencies, and I very much enjoyed hard‐core pornography, especially of the BDSM variety. The harder the sub got it, the hotter I became. The thought of experiencing it in person rather than through a DVD was something that forced my blood to pound through my veins.

Jared did move much faster than I had. He kicked off his shoes as he unbuckled his belt. Within moments he stood naked just feet in front of me, his cock already semi erect, his breathing labored. He was excited, and that made my cunt grow damp. His excitement spurred my own body. My fears abated that he wasn’t totally with me on this training session.

Being the strong, silent type that he was, it had been difficult to discuss our visit to the club, though we’d muddled through because both Sir and Mistress had made it clear that communication was vital in a BDSM relationship. Jared had agreed, but I’d feared it was only for my benefit. He’d do anything to make me happy, to express his love to me, but the very last thing I wanted was for him to be uncomfortable.

“Good,” Mistress purred. “You follow directions well, it seems.”