sweeping the hair away from her face. We stared at each other in silence, neither of us knowing what to say.
Finally April’s mouth twitched into a guilty smile. “You… you have been on my mind,” she said in understatement. “I’ve been thinking about last night and the idea of submission – a lot.”
I didn’t say anything. April was wringing her hands together, torn by her excruciating embarrassment. She had given herself four orgasms while fantasizing about me. She glanced around the small studio like she was looking for a place to hide.
“You didn’t have to spank yourself…” I began.
April shook her head vehemently. “No,” she insisted. “I wanted to. I decided I wanted to learn how to submit, and I can’t do that unless I commit to the experience completely. But our understanding hasn’t changed, Jericho,” she looked me steadily in the eye. “You arouse me – I never knew that submitting sexually in this way could be such an intense emotional and physical thrill… but I am in a relationship with my partner and I love her very much.”
“I understand,” I said. April was new to the lifestyle, and she would evolve into the woman she wanted to be in her own time. She was young – there were plenty of years ahead of her to work out who she wanted to be, and what sexually aroused her.
But it gave me an idea.
“You want me to train you through these sessions, but you don’t want it to develop into anything specifically sexual, right?”
She nodded her head. The second commercial finished playing. There was less than a minute of time left before we would be back on air. “That’s right. That’s the way it has to be.”
“Can I touch you – without it being sexual?”
“Why would you want to do that?” she asked.
“For the program,” I said sincerely. “That’s all.”
She thought for a few seconds, studying me carefully – perhaps trying to decide how far she could trust me. “I guess that would be okay,” she said.
I nodded. “And can you rig a microphone that can be hand held?”
“Of course – but we don’t use them normally. It doesn’t give the purest sound on air.”
“Try for me,” I urged her. “Quick as you can.”
April bent back over the desk and reached for a drawer. I watched the fine lines of her leg, the flex of her calf and the toned flesh of her thigh as the muscles came under strain. Her bottom was clenched tight into a provocative cleft through the gossamer satin of her panties.
She found a hand-held microphone and plugged it into a jack on the console. She passed it to me. It was a standard mic, but with a much larger foam-padded head, and there was a small cover that hung over the end of the microphone.
“Hold the edge of the guard against your lip,” she explained quickly. “It stops your mouth from getting too close to the mic and distorting the sound.”
I nodded and glanced at the monitors. I didn’t really know what I was looking at. April followed my gaze. “Twenty seconds,” she said. “The last commercial has begun.”
I nodded. “You better get into position.”
The sound of husky jazz music was a smooth transition as we came out of the commercial. I picked up the microphone, unaccustomed to the small amount of freedom it afforded. The cord was long enough that I could easily move to any point of the studio.
“Welcome back to the sub-club segment,” I said calmly. “You should be in position on your knees with your hands clasped behind your back. If you’re not – do it now.”
Manipulating the words I used, the rhythm of those words, and my tone of voice was a skill that every experienced BDSM Master developed with time and practice. In a normal training session a Master gives a lot of emphasis to his body language, and his facial expressions. I had none of those resources to draw on, so the careful play of my voice and the words I used was critical. I wanted listeners to know that I was in an abrupt and
Finally April’s mouth twitched into a guilty smile. “You… you have been on my mind,” she said in understatement. “I’ve been thinking about last night and the idea of submission – a lot.”
I didn’t say anything. April was wringing her hands together, torn by her excruciating embarrassment. She had given herself four orgasms while fantasizing about me. She glanced around the small studio like she was looking for a place to hide.
“You didn’t have to spank yourself…” I began.
April shook her head vehemently. “No,” she insisted. “I wanted to. I decided I wanted to learn how to submit, and I can’t do that unless I commit to the experience completely. But our understanding hasn’t changed, Jericho,” she looked me steadily in the eye. “You arouse me – I never knew that submitting sexually in this way could be such an intense emotional and physical thrill… but I am in a relationship with my partner and I love her very much.”
“I understand,” I said. April was new to the lifestyle, and she would evolve into the woman she wanted to be in her own time. She was young – there were plenty of years ahead of her to work out who she wanted to be, and what sexually aroused her.
But it gave me an idea.
“You want me to train you through these sessions, but you don’t want it to develop into anything specifically sexual, right?”
She nodded her head. The second commercial finished playing. There was less than a minute of time left before we would be back on air. “That’s right. That’s the way it has to be.”
“Can I touch you – without it being sexual?”
“Why would you want to do that?” she asked.
“For the program,” I said sincerely. “That’s all.”
She thought for a few seconds, studying me carefully – perhaps trying to decide how far she could trust me. “I guess that would be okay,” she said.
I nodded. “And can you rig a microphone that can be hand held?”
“Of course – but we don’t use them normally. It doesn’t give the purest sound on air.”
“Try for me,” I urged her. “Quick as you can.”
April bent back over the desk and reached for a drawer. I watched the fine lines of her leg, the flex of her calf and the toned flesh of her thigh as the muscles came under strain. Her bottom was clenched tight into a provocative cleft through the gossamer satin of her panties.
She found a hand-held microphone and plugged it into a jack on the console. She passed it to me. It was a standard mic, but with a much larger foam-padded head, and there was a small cover that hung over the end of the microphone.
“Hold the edge of the guard against your lip,” she explained quickly. “It stops your mouth from getting too close to the mic and distorting the sound.”
I nodded and glanced at the monitors. I didn’t really know what I was looking at. April followed my gaze. “Twenty seconds,” she said. “The last commercial has begun.”
I nodded. “You better get into position.”
The sound of husky jazz music was a smooth transition as we came out of the commercial. I picked up the microphone, unaccustomed to the small amount of freedom it afforded. The cord was long enough that I could easily move to any point of the studio.
“Welcome back to the sub-club segment,” I said calmly. “You should be in position on your knees with your hands clasped behind your back. If you’re not – do it now.”
Manipulating the words I used, the rhythm of those words, and my tone of voice was a skill that every experienced BDSM Master developed with time and practice. In a normal training session a Master gives a lot of emphasis to his body language, and his facial expressions. I had none of those resources to draw on, so the careful play of my voice and the words I used was critical. I wanted listeners to know that I was in an abrupt and
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