Learning to Yield (Power Exchange Academy - Submissive Center/Master's School) Read online

  She kept her head down, letting strands of her disheveled hair fall over her face, and put the ear-buds back in. Her knees were still weak, so she held onto a pole and leaned against it for support.

  As she waited for the next stop, she absently traced a finger over her lips, then ran her tongue around them slowly. She could still taste her own arousal.

  BDSM for Beginners

  Ashley walked through her door slightly late, having taken longer than usual to walk the few blocks from the station to her door.

  Relieved to be able to finally take off her shoes, she tossed them toward the couch. She sighed with relief as her bare feet sank into the carpet.

  With a start, she remembered the business card she had been given. She opened her bag and started frantically searching, finding the card amongst the napkins, lip gloss and various sales receipts.

  She hadn’t even looked at the card before stuffing it into her bag. It was simple, in plain white. Printed in its center was a URL. It was nondescript, giving her no idea what the site might contain. Frowning, she tossed the card onto the kitchen bench. Probably some scam or something. Maybe she’d look at it later.

  As she stood at the fridge and spooned yoghurt from the container, her thoughts lingered on her encounter on the train. Her panties were still wet, serving as a somewhat uncomfortable reminder.

  What she needed was a nice, hot bath.

  In the bedroom, she paused in front of her full-length mirror. Her legs really did look nice in the stockings.

  Ashley stood still for a minute and really looked at herself. Her dark hair was still a little messy, her face flushed. Her skirt hugged her hips and emphasized her waist and the round swell of her ass. Normally, she wore minimizing bras, but her new one pushed her breasts up, creating deep cleavage. The lacy blouse was taut across her breasts, the buttons straining slightly.

  Ashley tilted her head at her own reflection. Did she… actually look sexy? And was it simply the clothes, or the fact that she’d just let a complete stranger give her an orgasm in public? Anyway, it had been so long since she’d felt truly desirable, it was a welcome feeling.

  Her bath ready, she sank into the hot water with a smile on her face. Leaning back and letting the fragrant bubbles caress her skin, Ashley let out a long sigh.

  She wondered what she would tell Rebecca. Was this even the sort of thing you could tell your friends about? Secret encounters were one thing, when you had a bathroom stall or dark closet to hide in. But on public transport? In the middle of a crowd? She wasn’t sure she could admit it to anyone.

  It had been sexy, though. God, it was sexy.

  Just thinking about it, remembering the sound of the stranger’s voice, hot and heavy, made Ashley’s heart beat a little faster.

  She allowed herself to indulge in the memory, her wet hands wandering down over her body as she pictured herself in the arms of the anonymous man, his fingers working on her, his commanding voice in her ear. And yes, even the thrill of the possibility of being discovered.

  .

  Later, Ashley sat at her laptop, her mouth hanging open in shocked disbelief as she scrolled down the page. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting - but it wasn’t this.

  The first page was a short introduction.

  The Power Exchange Academy – Submissive Center

  Trainers of First Class Submissives and Slaves

  Training women through the basics of submission and service, to advanced techniques and disciplines.

  There were photos of students - submissives - in all sorts of compromising situations. They were tied up with elaborate knots, being spanked or whipped, dressed in leather, lingerie or nothing at all. But then there were also pictures of students sitting at neat rows of desks paying careful attention to a lecture.

  She had heard of BDSM before, had treated it with mild interest, but never delved into it. It was always something other people did.

  Somehow she’d always imagined the “lifestyle” the domain of thin, outgoing, beautiful girls and commanding older men. The women in the photos came in all shapes and sizes.

  Despite this, the submissives all had something in common. They were all striking, even those who were not traditionally beautiful. There was just something about them. Some look of deep inner peace and satisfaction. They were poised and graceful, self-assured.

  She clicked on the “Staff” page. There was a small cast of dominants, mostly male. Not paying much attention, she skimmed over their photos and introductions. Then she stopped with a gasp.

  Right at the bottom of the page was a handsome man, dark-haired with a sexy smattering of stubble and wire-rimmed glasses. He was immediately familiar.

  His name was Evan, and as well as being a trainer for the Master’s School (the other half of the Power Exchange Academy, it seemed), he was a “talent scout”.

  Ashley sat back against the couch, taking a deep breath and letting it out. She was still wrapped in a towel from her bath, even though her skin had dried long ago. She shivered and wrapped the towel tightly around her.

  What was it about her that made this Evan guy think she would be interested in such a thing? That she might be submissive – not only that, but interested enough that she’d want to go and train for it?

  Still curious, she looked through the rest of the site until she found a description of the Academy’s services.

  The introductory classes focused on general expectations for submissives, such as grooming and hygiene, dress, etiquette, speech, and included interviews and questionnaires, as well as fitting for clothing such as corsets, harnesses cuffs and collars.

  She kept reading.

  There were beginner’s classes, and then students graduated onto more intensive training. There wasn’t much detail about that part, except that along the way, students were assessed for three levels. Non or casual submissive, submissive, or slave.

  Ashley heard a shocked little laugh escape from her own lips. It was almost unbelievable. Slave? Who would want to be a slave? What did that even mean, in modern terms?

  A growing part of her wanted to find out.

  She spent the rest of the evening curled up in a blanket with her laptop, reading everything she could find on the topic of BDSM. Some of it was confusing, some conflicting. Some was frankly arousing. In the end she thought she had a slightly better idea what it was all about.

  Well… she had made the resolution to be more adventurous - even if this hadn’t been exactly what she’d had in mind. What was the harm in looking into it a little further?

  She sent off a quick email to the Academy explaining that she had been given the business card and wanted to inquire about their classes. Then she snapped the laptop closed and pushed it away from her.

  Then she let out a little giggle of disbelief. Had she really just done that?

  She sighed, feeling unbelievably tired. She would go to bed, hopefully sleep well, and in the morning she’d have a good laugh at everything that had happened today.

  .

  Ashley slept until late, got up and stood at the refrigerator drinking juice from the carton. She stole a glance at her laptop, which was sitting on the coffee table where she’d left it. Everything she’d read last night came back to her in a flood.

  Unable to help herself, she sat down and went straight to check her email. She wasn’t expecting to have heard back from the school so soon, yet there was the reply - sitting innocently in her inbox.

  Miss Kensington,

  We are glad you decided to inquire, as our scout spoke very highly of you. We would be pleased to offer you a placement in our scholarship program, so this course will be free to you if you wish to attend.

  Should you decide to accept, present yourself at the following address on Monday at 8pm. Beginner classes go for two-three hours, Mon-Thurs nights. Refreshments are provided.

  Wear a skirt or dress above knee length, and closed-toe heels at least four inches high. Your hair should be loose. Wear no
cosmetics or jewelry. After the introductory class - if you choose to return - a uniform will be provided for you.

  The address was close enough to walk. Well, perhaps not if she had to wear heels. Maybe she could wear her sneakers and change into the required shoes when she got there.

  Wait - was she actually thinking of doing this?

  She looked over the bizarre instructions, wondering at the reasoning behind it all. No makeup or jewelry? Ashley didn’t necessarily have a problem with that, but wasn’t the point of all this to be… well, sexually desirable?

  She couldn’t deny that it all made her very curious.

  The letter was signed: Ms West. Quickly, Ashley went back to the Academy’s website and found their staff page. Ms West was one of the two women listed. In her photo, her black hair was pulled back in a severe high ponytail.

  She wore blood-red lipstick and a black skirt and jacket, and held a thin rod or cane in her hands. She could have been anywhere between thirty and fifty, it was impossible to tell. She was a very striking woman, if slightly intimidating.

  Ashley sat for a long while with the reply box open, paralyzed with indecision. There was nothing to lose, really, and she was curious… very much so. But was it for her? She’d never really considered herself a submissive. Somewhat quietly spoken, non confrontational maybe. But as far as sex went, her limited experience in the bedroom had been decidedly vanilla.

  A memory suddenly came back to her. A couple of years ago, she’d read something in a book that made her curious. Something about bondage, which had sounded incredibly sexy. It filled her head full of fantasies, and she’d gone out and bought a beautiful silk scarf for the purpose of experimentation.

  Then she’d waited for Mark to get home. She’d enticed him into taking her to bed, then taken the scarf out of her hair and suggested he use it to bind her hands to the bed posts.

  What had happened then? She couldn’t remember - only that he hadn’t done it. Possibly another argument, or merely confused questions. Maybe that had been when she’d given up hope of any sexual adventure.

  Ashley shook her head, frowning. Thoughts of Mark only made her angry. She realized she’d been chewing on her lower lip.

  Her fingers moved quickly on the keyboard as she typed up a line in reply. Thank you, Ms West. I will be there.

  Meet and Greet

  Ashley clasped her hands tightly together in her lap in an effort to disguise her trembling. She crossed her legs and jiggled one foot unconsciously, brimming with nervous energy.

  It was somewhat relieving that most of the girls sitting to either side of her looked just as scared.

  The girl on the left must have been about Ashley’s age, small and blonde with big, watery brown eyes. She had smiled shyly at Ashley and said a quiet hello as she’d sat down, her pretty bow-shaped mouth turned up at the corners.

  The girl sitting on her right side was a brunette. She had had her eyes on her phone the entire time and hadn’t said a word.

  There were two others who had just come in. One, a tall long-legged blonde, had clearly not obeyed the “no makeup” rule and had come in with red lipstick and a lot of dark eyeliner. She looked beautiful though, in her short black dress, and walked in her six-inch heels as though she did it all day, every day.

  She hadn’t gotten a good look at the last woman. She seemed a little older, and was wearing a yellow summer dress.

  Ashley herself was wearing her accursed four-inch heels again, with the pencil skirt she’d worn to work.

  She’d dug another blouse from the depths of her closet. It had once been her favorite, but these days it hugged her figure a little closer than she liked. She couldn’t help tugging at it awkwardly from time to time, pulling the hem down or adjusting the neckline.

  Maybe she should have taken Rebecca up on her offer of help on a shopping trip – though shopping was one of her least favorite things to do. Ashley hated looking at herself in the mirrors, trying on clothes that refused to fit in one area or another.

  The five of them waited, mostly silent, fidgeting and stealing glances at each other. Finally, the door swung open, and they all looked up expectantly.

  A young woman came out, but it wasn’t the teacher Ashley was expecting. This woman carried a clipboard, and wore nothing but a pair of black stilettos and a black collar, the rest of her stark naked. It was an amazing sight here in such a plain, businesslike lobby.

  Her long dark hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her body was lean, her skin smooth and tanned, and completely hairless. She was pretty, but what drew Ashley’s attention was the way she moved - with practiced, purposeful grace, as though completely comfortable and at ease.

  She smiled warmly around at the prospective students. “Hi there,” she said. “My name is Juliette. I’m an assistant here. May I take your names?”

  She looked at them each in turn, writing down the names as they were given.

  Ashley barely registered the others’ names, waiting for her turn, mesmerized by the way the assistant stood there with such poise.

  She was last to give her name. “Ashley Kensington.” She had intended to sound confident but her voice came out as a squeak.

  The assistant gave her a small, understanding smile. “The professors are waiting, so if you will all follow me in and take a seat.”

  Well, it was now or never. Ashley swallowed hard and stood up to follow Juliette. Her feet were already starting to hurt, and she wobbled a little in her heels as she took her first steps. She cursed under her breath, wishing she were as graceful as the young assistant, who’s naked behind swayed seductively as she entered through the door to the next room.

  There were seven chairs in a row - more than enough for the five students, who all sat down next to each other.

  The professors were seated behind a long table at the front of the room, talking amongst themselves in low voices. None of them looked up at the students.

  Ashley recognized Ms West. She looked over at the two others. There was a tall, handsome but intimidating man with salt-and-pepper hair. Next to him sat a young, solemn man with shoulder-length hair slicked back from his face. It was he that drew Ashley’s eye, and she looked at him for as long as she dared.

  He sat leaning back in his chair, muscular arms crossed, swiveling ever so slightly from side to side as he raised his head and looked out over the students. His eyes met hers for the briefest second, and Ashley quickly looked away, feeling a blush already begin to heat her face.

  “Professors,” said Juliette in her lilting, pleasant voice. “I have five of the new students. The other two are late.” She approached the place where the teachers sat, placed her clipboard on the bench and gracefully knelt on the floor beside Ms. West’s chair.

  To Ashley’s surprise, Ms. West patted her primly on the head. “Thank you, Juliette.” She said, and Juliette all but purred, leaning into her hand and looking extremely satisfied.

  Ms. West took the clipboard, and stood up to address the class. “We have two no-shows.” She said. “So this will be a small group.”

  As if on cue, the side door banged open and a flustered looking young woman entered.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, through panting breaths. She hurried through the room and looked about to take a seat.

  Ms. West cleared her throat loudly, halting the girl in her tracks. “And who might you be?”

  The girl licked her lips. “Um, Lydia.” She smiled hesitantly. “I’m sorry I’m late. I had car trouble.”

  “You will not be joining us for classes this time, Lydia.” Ms. West said, making unmistakeable crossing-out motions with her pen on the clipboard.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You are late,” said Ms. West, “already proving you do not have the right amount of dedication to this program. You are welcome to apply again, perhaps for next month’s beginner classes – if you decide to take this seriously.”

  Lydia paused uncertainly. “But -”

 
; Ms. West raised her voice just enough to sound mildly threatening. “That will be all.”

  Ashley watched, wringing her hands together, as Lydia looked first confused, then angry.

  Her brows knit together and she drew in a deep breath, looking as though she wanted to shout back at the professor. But then she simply pursed her lips tightly together, turned around and stormed out of the room.

  The timid blonde girl sitting next to Ashley jumped in her seat as the doors slammed.

  Ms. West waited for the noise to be over, then gave a tight little smile at the students. “Now that that interruption is over,” she said, “let me introduce myself. You will call me Ms. West. To my left -” she gestured, “are Mr. Barrett and Mr. Morgan. You may address them as “Professor”, or “Sir”, unless they indicate otherwise.”

  At a quick nod from Ms. West, Juliette rose to her feet and collected a stack of paper from the counter. She came down among the students and began to pass out stapled sheets.

  Ashley looked down at hers, taking it in her trembling fingers. It was a simple questionnaire, a list with check-boxes. Just glancing at some of the things in the list made the blush creep back into her cheeks.

  All the things she would expect were at the beginning of the list – bondage, discipline, spanking, whipping, humiliation and servitude. Then came things she hadn’t considered, like blindfolds, toys, anal stimulation, caging, orgasm control… the list went on.

  “Before we continue,” said Ms. West, “please check the appropriate boxes. Indicate whether you have experienced, would like to experience, or do not wish to experience each activity. If you are unsure, leave the boxes empty. You have ten minutes.”

  Despite her preparatory online research, some of the options on the page completely puzzled her. Body modification? Suspension?

  But one option practically jumped out at her: exhibitionism. With a secret little smile, she checked her first “yes” box.

  Ashley puzzled over the many choices. Truth be told, she was undecided on most of them, because she hadn’t tried much of it. The blush remained, burning her face, as she bent low to the paper and tried to check as many boxes as she could. When the ten minutes was up, many remained empty.