As mentioned in my story My Journey Into An FLR, here is a continuation which delves deeper into an episode that stands out in Jason and Anna’s shared history—a camping trip they embarked on to mark their anniversary. While some elements draw from truth, this narrative leans heavily into the fictional, offering a more vivid retelling of their adventure. During their stay in the wilderness, the couple encountered two women whose presence would, unbeknownst to them, enrich and solidify their relationship. The new friendships blossomed, influenced by a chemistry that neither couple could deny. Intimacy and adventure interwove, blurring the line between friendship and something more far more daring. Their time together explored the boundaries of trust, freedom, and love, setting the stage for nineteen immersive chapters that chronicle profound discoveries, and emotional revelations. If you haven’t read the Journey, I suggest you do before starting this new story. New to this story? Start with Chapter 1! Thank you for reading! – RG John
Chapter 8
I stepped outside again, and was disappointed to see that the ladies had put their top’s back on. It was obvious that they felt they were getting a little too much sun on their bare breasts.
As I headed for the steps, Anna’s voice cut across the air.
Two words. “Clothes off.”
I stopped as though yanked backward on a tether. It was obvious that it was time for a power exchange again… I was to be naked while they were dressed. Anna loved that.
“Really?” The question slipped out before my brain could clamp down on it. Stupid.
Their reaction was instant and visible. Sandra blinked like she’d misheard. Molly’s mouth parted slightly, a smirk forming but halted by surprise. Whatever they expected of this lazy summer afternoon, this wasn’t it.
Anna’s expression hardened, the warmth in her cheeks from the wine taking on a sharper edge. “Are you questioning me?” She didn’t raise her voice, didn’t need to. The steel was in her tone, polished and dangerous. My gut clenched.
The answer was simple and immediate. “No, ma’am.” But already I knew my fate. That brief hesitation—those two foolish syllables—had sealed it.
“Yes, you were. Shorts. Off. Now.” That last word was flat, decisive, impossible to sidestep. My throat was dry, my heartbeat heavy in my ears. I hooked my thumbs under the waistband, and peeled the shorts downward, kicking them free.
My ass was already red from the previous discipline, but I could see in Annie’s eyes that that no longer mattered. She would do what she wanted to do. I had disrespected her in front of her friends and that was a cardinal sin.
Suddenly I was naked again, my cage prominently on display. I could feel every eye on that part of me. It was natural focus that couldn’t be denied. I was a caged man. The evening air prickled along my bare skin, as if making me more visible, more vulnerable.
Anna’s hand lifted—not in a strike, but in a gesture toward the railing at the porch’s edge. I knew that place well; she’d bent me over it just the night before, the sting of the switch still fresh in my nerves. The memory of it whispered up my spine as I crossed to it now. I tried not to imagine what she had in mind, but denial was useless. My hands rested on the rail and I leaned forward, aware of every creak in the wood and every pair of eyes on my back. Behind me, the sound of shallow, heightened breathing told me the newcomers were transfixed. I was certain that they had never seen anything like what they were about to witness.
Anna’s wineglass emptied with a final sip. Her footsteps approached—not the hurried clip of anger, but the measured pace of someone savoring the moment. From the corner of my eye, I saw her pause beside the wall, reaching for an object. One of the switches from the night before lay exactly where she’d left it. Thin, supple, its length swayed slightly as she picked it up. She gave it a few experimental swings in the air, each one splitting the silence with a faint, cruel hiss.
My stomach sank like a stone in deep water.
“He questioned me,” she narrated, her gaze on our guests rather than me. “So, fifteen strokes seems fair.” A sweet, almost conversational lilt carried her words. “Five from each of us.”
I heard the inhale from Sandra—surprised but… intrigued. Molly’s low chuckle answered it.
Anna stepped closer, the switch brushing lightly against my thigh in a teasing prelude. Fine tremors ran through my muscles, the reality of what was about to happen settling in with heavy certainty. The air between each of us was charged, thick with a tension that had nothing to do with the summer heat.
Part of me braced purely for the physical pain, but another part—quieter, buried deep—understood the larger picture. This wasn’t just about punishment. It was demonstration, exhibition, and reinforcement of the unspoken order that governed my days. And now, with the wine-fueled giggles of Anna’s friends shivering in the air, I was about to become a teaching aid. I closed my eyes, gripped the railing, and waited for the first stroke.
The moment I realized what was about to happen, my stomach dropped like a stone. My ass was still raw from yesterday, each movement already a reminder of the punishment I’d endured. I knew it wouldn’t take much to push me past my limit again, but I didn’t have the option to refuse. I clenched my jaw, trying to summon whatever reserves of endurance I still had, and braced myself for what was coming.
Anna moved behind me without hurry, her presence radiating that unshakable confidence she always carried when she had me under her control. I could feel the faint breath of air as she tapped the switch in short, testing strokes, letting the supple rod kiss different spots. The taps were almost teasing—light enough to feel harmless, but also a reminder of exactly where the real pain would land.
“I’ll try to avoid the worst of yesterday’s marks,” she murmured into the air, her voice laced with something both playful and cruel. “Because I’m feeling charitable. Unfortunately… that won’t be easy.”
I almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Not only was she going to do this despite the condition I was in, she was going to do it here—in front of them. Two women who barely knew me, strangers who were seeing far more than I’d ever intended to share. My humiliation was already blooming hot in my cheeks.
From somewhere off to my side, I caught Sandra’s voice. “Is she really serious about this?” she asked.
Before Molly could give an answer, the first blow came down. The sound alone cut the air like a whip crack, but it was the pain that nearly took the breath from me. A searing sting ripped across my skin, sending a jolt of white-hot agony up my spine. I grunted, unable to stifle it.
“Oops. Missed,” Anna said, giggling like she had just spilled a drop of wine on the tablecloth. “I’m not that accurate with the switches… yet… especially when I’m drinking.”
I couldn’t turn my head far enough to see their faces, but I didn’t need to. I could feel their stares—glasses suspended in midair, eyes wide, bodies leaning forward despite themselves. The air on that deck had become heavy, the kind of tension you could almost chew.
The rest of Anna’s strikes came in rapid succession. Five in total—each sharp, each merciless. The switch whipped and hissed before every landing, biting into me with an accuracy that belied her claim of inebriation. My muscles tensed without my consent, convulsing against the pain, every fiber in my body screaming but bound to silence by the rules she had set.
When she finished, she didn’t even pause for effect. “You’re next, Molly,” she announced, her voice cutting through the thick silence. “Don’t worry about where you hit. There’s not much unmarked space left.”
I knew for certain that she would never have staged this without the alcohol dulling her inhibitions—and I doubted the other two would have agreed to it sober either. Even so, there was an energy in the air, a mix of fear, curiosity, and—something else.
I risked a glance over my shoulder. Molly was rising to her feet, a subtle sway in her stance betraying the wine in her system. Her breasts moved freely as she stepped into place, the silver rings in her nipples visible under her top.
Even in my current position, curled in taut, painful anticipation, that sight sent a deep, pulsing ache through the cage at my groin.
Her first strike was almost delicate—more a warning tap than anything else, the kind of thing that carried more uncertainty than force.
“That’s not near hard enough,” Anna said, her tone flat, almost scolding. “You barely left a mark. Look at what I did. That’s what it’s supposed to look like. A few beads of blood will ensure that you’re hitting hard enough.”
Molly’s second attempt was stronger, though still shy of Anna’s searing ferocity. It stung, and the heat lingered, but it wasn’t enough to draw more than a reflexive twitch from me.
The third, fourth, and fifth swings bore the mark of growing conviction. She was still tentative compared to Anna, but she’d shed most of the hesitation. By the last blow, the switch caught me hard enough to send a lancing sting deep into the tissue, forcing a gasp from my throat.
“I think I got a little bit of blood there,” she said, almost with pride. Her fingertips brushed the spot, making me flinch away before I could stop myself.
Then Sandra stepped forward.
Her blows were different—lighter in weight, but each delivered with a sort of deliberate rhythm. The first few barely left more than a deep sting that glowed red-hot after impact. But the fourth whistled bitterly through the air before it struck, and the fifth snapped across my flesh with enough force to match Molly’s hardest. Yes—two tiny beads of blood welled where it hit.
Anna, I knew, had gone further than she might have in another setting. She’d been drinking—yes—but she was never truly careless in moments like these. I could see it now, in the arc of her arrangement: she had known exactly how far to take each woman, how to calibrate their actions so they stepped just past their own boundaries without losing all control.
This was more than punishment—it was theater. A demonstration of an FLR in its purest language: structure, authority, sensual power delivered with precision. Even through the haze of pain, I realized what she was doing. She wanted them to feel it—not in their skin, but in their minds and blood. And she’d gotten exactly what she wanted.
By the time Sandra stepped back and sat down, both women were breathing harder than I would expect for five swings of a switch. There was a flush in their cheeks, yes, but there was something else there too—something dark, stirred, half-acknowledged.
Anna came over and gently caressed my swollen and stripped ass. “Hmm, nice ladies. He will be feeling that for a long time. I’m proud of you for your first time. Excellent.
“God, that was amazing. I’m still shaking,” Molly said. “I know what you mean now. I can see where it would become addictive.”
“Really,” Sandra agreed.
I swallowed, my muscles trembling now, not just from the pain but from the oppressive weight of the moment. My voice came smaller than usual, stripped of its edge. “May I stand up?” I asked, breaking protocol just by asking at all.
And in that pause—those short, burning seconds before Anna’s reply—I knew the evening had shifted into entirely new territory for all of us.
“You may,” Anna said, her voice steady but edged with authority. “But first, apologize to my friends for your disobedience. I will not tolerate that in front of guests.”
If my backside hadn’t been radiating heat like a bonfire, I might’ve smirked at the theatricality of it all. At that moment, the pieces came together with crystal clarity—this wasn’t just a scolding, it was a performance. And I, whether I liked it or not, was the main attraction. So I leaned into the role, lowering myself onto my knees before the two women, feeling the deck’s rough wood on my skin.
“I’m deeply sorry, ladies, for my egregious display of disobedience,” I said, pitching my voice to carry the right blend of humility and regret. “Please forgive me.”
Anna’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “They might forgive you,” she mused, “but you’ll show them the respect they deserve in the future. Otherwise, I’ll hand them each a brand new switch and let them give you the full measure.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, earnest enough to be convincing, though privately wondering if she was still pulling the strings of this little drama. At the same time, I wondered what the “full measure” meant.
“Now, go back to the railing and get on your knees for your time-out and contemplate what you did wrong,” Anna said.
“Time out? That’s what we used to do with our children,” Molly said.
Anna smiled. “Exactly. When a man acts like a child, he has to be treated like one. You would be very surprised at how effective it is in correcting behavior.”
Molly and Sandra laughed and pulled their chairs over for a better view. Obviously satisfied about their first time disciplining a man, they clinked their glasses together. The feeling of the harsh wood on my knees and my burning ass was nothing compared to the humiliation I felt at that moment.
After about fifteen minutes Anna told me to get up. I rose and made my way into down to the main cabin. My task was simple—fetch water and massage oil—but I took my time, partly to let the tension on the deck dissipate, partly because the ritual of preparation was oddly grounding. I warmed the water and oil over the small burner, inhaling the faint herbal scent as it drifted up, the soft hiss of heating liquid underscoring the distant hum of conversation from the deck.
The women’s laughter floated down to me, bright and unrestrained, mingling with the bird cries overhead. It was the easy sound of old friends reunited, their bonds picking up as though no time had passed.
When I arrived back on the deck the undercurrent of what had just transpired lingered between us. The performance might have ended, but I knew all too well—it had left its mark.
The ladies had obviously shifted their chairs so they watch the sunset over the mountains.
As I knelt on the deck again, arranging the container of warm water and sponge, and setting out the bottle of massage oil, their voices drifted to me in that unhurried, conspiratorial tone of women who had found both comfort and amusement in each other’s company. I kept my eyes on my task, but my ears were shameless.
Sandra’s voice carried a playful note, though there was an undercurrent of honest surprise in it. “You were right,” she said, “using that switch on his ass was very, very exciting. I never even thought of that before. I always thought spanking was pointless… unnecessary. Didn’t even do it with my own kids.”
There was a laugh—the low, knowing kind—from Anna. “I tend to agree on that… when it comes to children. But Jason’s a grown man, and more importantly, this is the life he asked for. He knew the rules. Knew the consequences when he agreed to an FLR. And in our world, discipline isn’t negotiable—it’s the glue that holds it together. You let him skirt the line once and he’ll pretend the whole line disappeared. Give an inch, he’ll take a mile.”
Molly, who had been quieter until then, leaned in, her tone thoughtful. “I think I’m starting to understand that,” she murmured, as though tucking the idea away for future use.
I pretended their conversation was background noise, but every word sank in. My hands tested the water’s warmth, and I reminded myself to keep my expression neutral—though deep down, I knew I was still very much their lesson of the day.
