First Taste 15

"Syd, please...let's just go. If we get there and you hate it, we'll leave. But I want you to see this. C'mon, Syd. It means a lot to me."

Pressing my lips together, I looked at Stan for a long moment, brow furrowing, knowing he was holding his breath, waiting for me to say something.

"All right." Sharp exhale from both of us, I think. Then I smiled a little, shaking my head.

"But you're in for a serious evening of dancing to pay me back, okay?"

"Deal." His relief was almost palpable as he leaned in and kissed the corner of my mouth.

"Can you at least try to explain why this is so important to you?"

His eyes flickered with something, then looked away and down. His voice was soft. "To be completely honest, Syd, I don't know why it's important to me. I just know that it is."

Damn. He knew that soft voice always got to me. He'd get that tone when he was holding our kids when they were tiny, or when we were making particularly intense love, which seemed to be less frequent and less intense lately...we were both so busy and tired all the time.

My mind flashed back to college...having sex in the dorm room, trying to stay quiet so the resident assistant wouldn't come knocking...the first time I'd gone down on him...he got that thin whispery tone then too...after he shouted his orgasm into a pillow.

That ferocious energy...sighing, wishing I had a measure of it now. Kids, careers, parents who weren't getting any younger, and needed more from us now. It was a shame, in a way, that Stan had to pull out the "big gun" of the soft voice, but honestly, if he hadn't pushed me, I wouldn't have gone.

"Stan...what on earth do I wear to something like this?" A paddling demonstration...my mind reeled that such a thing even existed. I mean, I'm not exactly a prude. A swat on the ass, a tug on the hair...it felt good, but never in my wildest dreams did I think that there was a group of people who got together to watch other people get spanked and paddled. A paddling demonstration. I remember hoping like hell that Stan was talking about canoes.

When Stan had started playing around on the Internet a couple of years ago, I really didn't worry about it too much. Not that I wasn't occasionally jealous and bitchy about it, of course. But he and I had agreed to some ground rules, and he agreed to stop if it was starting to interfere with our relationship. It really never did. He usually chatted when I was busy doing other stuff. I'd even said hello to a couple of his online friends.

But when the B and D, D and s, S and M, BDSM...pick the letters, there were so many of them...started creeping into his vocabulary, I started to get worried. Straight sex I could give him, but this stuff? At first, he'd been kind of ashamed to talk about it, but as he got bolder, he started to resent that I wouldn't consider any of it.

"Syd...I'd never want you to do something that made you feel bad, but Jeezus, honey! It's like you won't even find out the first thing about it before you say no."

"Why on earth would people who love each other want to hurt each other?"

"It's...different...it's not the kind of hurt you're thinking about..." he looked at me and sighed, his voice trailing off. "Never mind."

Well, that kinda got to me. I'd never considered myself closed-minded, and I wasn't about to start now.

"Look, Stan...this is completely unknown territory for me. You're going to have to be patient. My mind is reeling right now...I don't know what to think! But I'm glad that you felt like you could tell me."

I reached out, touched his hair. He rubbed his head against my hand, and I let out one of those long-suffering wifely sighs.

"Okay...what is a REALLY SLOW way to get introduced to this? And not on the computer. I want to see faces, people in three dimensions. People that I can meet and ask questions."

Stan had put his search engine to work, and found a local organization with activities for terrified newbies like us. And now we were picking out clothes to wear to our first outing. I could tell this was NOT something that would be covered in my Sunday phone call to my sister.

He was nervous too, I could tell, but he helped me pick out an outfit anyway...black slacks and a silver blouse I'd worn to his company Christmas party...as I started to button it rather securely up to my throat...he stopped me with gentle fingers.

"Leave a few undone, Syd...I want everybody to see how hot and sexy my wife is."

Blushing, pleased, I still couldn't resist a little jab. "Yeah, I'm sure I was hot and sexy when we were doing the yardwork yesterday, or while I was cleaning the bathtub...ooh baby! Do those taxes..."

His dove-gray eyes crinkled up at the corners as he grinned at me. They nearly matched the silver that was just beginning to dapple his hair. Jesus, he was still so handsome. I forgot sometimes.

His dressing was easier than mine, because he had suits from work, whereas I worked out of our home, running a mail-order business. As he dressed, I couldn't help but notice his cute little ass, still firm from those long bike rides. I reached out with my short fingers and gave him a little pinch, which caused him to yelp, then grin at me, blushing.

The cab let us out at a rather ordinary-looking building, although I don't know what I was expecting...probably something resembling a haunted house! Stan opened the door for me, and I hesitated, glancing up at him. He swallowed softly, glancing around, looking as though he were about to bolt.

Something in me made me square my shoulders resolutely, looking him dead in the eye. "No way," I said, propelling myself through the doorway, taking hold of his wrist. "You got me here...now, we're going in!" He chuckled and fell into step behind me.

As we took a seat in a couple of folding chairs, I realized immediately that we were pretty damned overdressed. There were folks lounging against the wall, talking animatedly, in jeans . Others were decked out in head-to-toe leather, and I was trying to stare discreetly, if one can do such a thing. My eyes widened as I noticed that several of them had "things" attached to their belts...paddles, whips... I looked at Stan and sighed. I really didn't think we belonged here.

A woman wearing leather pants and a sleeveless top made her way to the front of the room. She was rather petite, and her voice was a bit soft, but she had a presence that made people pay attention to her.

"My name is Mistress B. Welcome to tonight's demonstration, on spanking and paddling. We're going to be talking quite a bit about the technical aspects of doing this safely, and err...effectively..." she said, grinning a bit.

"But first, I'd like to tell you some things about myself."

She filled us in a little about her experiences, how she'd been introduced to 'the lifestyle.'

The 'lifestyle?' I cringed a bit at that, but she soothed my annoyance a bit later when she said,

"The important thing to remember is that this is for you. This is all about you, and your gratification. We can show you things, and we can share our experiences with you, and try to help you make sure you don't hurt yourself or somebody else. But ultimately, how this fits into your life is entirely up to you."

She then proceeded to talk about good communication, use of "safe" words, different kinds of spanking, different kinds of paddles...leather, wood, rubber...God, who knew there were so many choices? She talked a bit about safety, about marks, about bruising...meanwhile she was demonstrating a darned fine job of whacking on the young lady who was writhing ass-up in front of her. She certainly seemed to be enjoying herself, her moans soft and plaintive at first, but rising in pitch and loudness as the demonstration continued.

I was watching the demonstration closely, but my eyes kept shifting to a young couple just in front of us and to the right. She was seated in a chair, while he was sitting on the floor next to her left thigh, his cheek on her knee. Her long, red-painted nails drew lazy circles over his back, and he sighed contentedly and snuggled closer.

The whole thing was positively surreal. I flinched with each smack of the paddle, giving Stan anxious glances, thinking, "I can't possibly let him DO this to me!"

Stan's eyes were riveted to the scene playing out in front of us. I looked at him more closely...his breathing became more shallow with every strike...his pupils dilated...holy mother, was he SQUIRMING? Then I glanced at his lap out of the corner of my eye. He was as stiff as if I were giving him head.

Shaking my head involuntarily...oh, Jeezus...how could I have missed this? He wants ME to do it to HIM.

When Mistress B asked if anyone wanted to give this a try, Stan's hand shot up. I gave him my best "Are you fucking deranged?" look, but it was too late. He gave me a pleading look, then practically sprinted to the bench, bending over and bracing himself.

Mistress B handed me the paddle, which I held as gingerly as a gun, holding the handle by two fingers, far away from my body. She must have noticed my horrified look, because she gave me a reassuring smile and said, "I can do a few first, if you like...then I'll show you how."

Dazed, I nodded, handing it back to her. She talked to both of us the whole time, as she raised her arm and gave his buttocks a soft smack. He exhaled sharply and clenched his teeth, his salt-and-pepper head dipping down. He was embarrassed, I could tell...embarrassed that he'd put himself in this position...embarrassed that he was so aroused in front of everyone. She smacked him a few more times, a bit harder, and he gasped.

"Would you like to try it?" she said, handing me the paddle.

Stan's dove-gray eyes turned to mine, pleading silently. I could hear the 'soft voice' echoing, even though he wasn't saying anything.

"I don't know why it's so important to me, Syd...I just know that it is."

She showed me how to grip the paddle, how far back to swing, where and how hard to strike. I struck a pillow several times first, then another, more experienced volunteer, before turning to my husband, chewing my lip.

Taking a deep breath, my mind began to drift. I thought about all of the different ways he deferred to me...'served' me in a million ways, large and small, there were small things he just didn't do without checking with me first...

He was silent, but the soft voice came to me again and again, eyes pleading...

Please, Syd...do it. Do it. I need it. I need YOU.

Knowing that I was the more dominant of the two of us, knowing it in that instant, gathering up all of those feelings, all those memories, and swinging the paddle, connecting with a warm, satisfying thud onto that fine ass that I've gripped and squeezed a thousand times during sex.

"God...yes..." he groaned audibly.

My eyes widened, realizing what I'd done, and what his reaction was. And I struck him again with the paddle. And a third time. And a fourth. And he writhed and moaned like the young lady did before.

It felt good. Really good. Strong. Powerful. Strong and powerful and loving enough to give my man what he needed.

I decided I'd had enough of the spotlight for the time being, and handed the paddle back to Mistress B with a slightly sheepish smile. I took my seat, and looked up at Stan, teasingly pointing to the ground at my feet. Stan paused for a moment, the corners of his mouth lifting, gray eyes full of such emotion, and slid down to his knees, sitting back on his heels. I raked my nails lightly down his back and smiled to myself when he shivered.