There were rows of chairs set up facing the stage and people were taking their seats. Carly glanced at her watch and slipped into one of the back rows. She didn’t know what to expect but a little thrill of excitement was bubbling up inside her nonetheless.
It was as if she was embarking on a whole new life. The persona of steady reliable working woman had shifted. She was metamorphosing into something new, something different and exciting. For the first time in her life, Carly was taking risks.

Her attention was captured by a man who looked to be in his late twenties, with dark wavy hair curling around a face with finely chiseled features. He had rich brown eyes the color of dark chocolate and a full sensual mouth. He looked Native American or Hispanic, or some mixture of the two, with a creamy toffee-colored complexion and a strong jaw. He wasn’t tall, maybe only five foot, ten inches, but his bearing was regal, even commanding. He was dressed simply in jeans and a black long-sleeved T-shirt. He wore dark brown boots under his jeans that looked soft and well worn. Carly couldn’t help but notice how cute his butt looked packed into his close-fitting jeans.

She shifted in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable with her own strong response to this man. She noticed everyone was sitting now, quieting as the man walked up onto the stage and adjusted a microphone stand. The lights in the room were suddenly dimmed and the lights on the stage were turned up, drawing everyone’s attention to it.

The lovely woman with the dog leash still stood quietly by the stage, now in shadow. She hadn’t moved a muscle as he had walked past her.

“Good evening, everyone.” The man’s voice wasn’t deep, but more of a warm baritone, smooth like creamy butter. Carly wanted to hear it again. He obliged. “My name is Jesse Hernandez. I’ll be running the seminar tonight.” He paused, looking out at the small room.
“I see some familiar faces, and welcome you. I also see some people I don’t recognize and I want to welcome you as well.” Carly crossed her legs, looking away. It seemed as if he was looking right at her! She felt a flush on her skin and she licked her lips, wondering if he really was looking at her, if he could even see her with the bright lights trained on him as they were. Probably not. She looked back at him.

“Tonight we’ll focus on some basic techniques. First, I want to talk about whips. How to choose them, what to look for.” He stepped back to a long table Carly hadn’t noticed before. On it were a number of whips and floggers. Jesse lifted one after the other as he talked about what to look for when purchasing a whip, including the quality of the leather, the skill of the craftsmanship, the weight of the handle, the feel of it in your hand, the appeal to the eye.
He talked about different types of floggers, whips, crops and single lashes, lifting different items from the table as he spoke. Throughout the demonstration he emphasized the importance of trust and communication in a good D/s relationship. Finally he said, “And now, a demonstration in technique. Angela?”

The woman who had been waiting as still as a statue glided up the stairs, her head still bowed. She stood quietly next to Jesse as he lectured briefly about the “art” of a good whipping.

“When you whip your sub, it isn’t about punishment. Or it shouldn’t be. The whip is an instrument of passion. A way of expressing your sensual connection with your sub. It isn’t about pain or torture. It’s about the intensely personal connection that can be achieved when consensual partners share in this profound exchange.

“I know that sounds lofty and poetic, but really it’s the essence of a D/s relationship, or it should be. Now, Angela is going to help me show you what I mean. She is going to pick the implement for her whipping and she is going to submit with grace as she always does. Aren’t you, Angela?”

The room was perfectly still as the woman nodded and turned toward the table. She selected a large flogger of deep burgundy red. The thirty or so tails were braided together in strands of three. Kneeling gracefully before the man, she held the whip on upturned palms, her head bowed.

It was as if everyone in the room was holding their collective breath, including Carly. She watched in fascination as the man stepped behind the woman on stage and touched her head with his fingertips. Angela immediately bent forward so her forehead rested on the stage, her dark auburn hair spilling around her, obscuring her face.

Even from the back row where Carly sat, she could see the woman’s bottom was bare, the miniskirt now riding up to reveal pale globes. The woman was facing to the side but even so, it seemed she wasn’t wearing any underwear. Carly noticed many of the men were shifting in their seats, no doubt trying to unobtrusively adjust their sudden erections.

Jesse brought the whip down against Angela’s bared ass and the swish of leather making contact resounded in the silent room. Carly jumped at the sound, her eyes riveted to the scene. Angela didn’t move at all as Jesse continued to whip her, all the while continuing his lecture on technique in a casual tone.

Carly wished she could see Angela’s face. Did it hurt? Was she crying? How did she stay so still! She tuned into Jesse’s monologue as he was saying, “A volunteer, perhaps? Would someone like to come up and try this riding crop?”

He had set down the heavy whip and picked up a long, black, thin rod with a thick shiny square of leather at its tip. Jesse spoke for a moment about how to hold the crop to make the “prettiest mark” without damaging the skin. He peered out at the audience, looking past a few waving hands toward the back, toward Carly.