Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 114: Caning Raylene 1

Lady in waiting

Lady in waiting

So Raylene, freshly comforted, waited over the desk for me to resume her caning. She arched her ass up a little tighter, presenting two straight and red cane-lines neatly ruled across the pallor of her buttocks. Her legs were tense and spread.

She signalled readiness and quivering obedience with every atom of her body.

Her witnesses, Dorabella and Lynette, were in place. Everything that needed to be said had been said.

Though when I’d told her that I seemed to be falling in love with her, maybe I’d said a little more than was strictly necessary. Still, though we’d need to talk about that when we were alone, making a declaration in front of witnesses could have been the right spirit. It was the same spirit as Raylene’s, anyway: crash or crash through. 

So I took my stance behind Raylene and raised the cane. It’s a good moment, that. I paused to savour it, and to help the tension build in that little room. Lynette had told Raylene that she hoped it’d hurt, but I expected she’d been playing up for Raylene’s benefit, and perhaps mine. Anyway, I didn’t want Raylene jumping up on her first stroke in front of Lynette, so this stroke would have to be hard, but not as hard as later ones would be. I’d just have to trust Raylene’s courage and control. She shouldn’t suspect I was going to go easy on her.  

early in caningSo I swung, aiming low, just above the sweet fold at the juncture of her buttocks and thighs. And I let it bite fiercely.

A half-second after the “snick” of impact Raylene’s head shot up. Her arse trembled, at the edge of her control, while that third stripe redly announced itself.

She gasped twice and let her breath out with a sweet, low moan.

I could see in her shoulders and arms the effort she’d made to keep from rising. But I spoke as if I was angry with her. “Keep still, girl. Or I’ll give you the stroke again.”

raylene lynetteRaylene gasped twice more, gathering herself to speak. But her voice was still a little unsteady when she said, “Sorry, master.”

Lynette’s eyes widened. She hadn’t heard about my promotion from “sir” to “master”, till then.

She watched the stripe forming on Raylene’s excellent ass. So did I.

I grunted as if I were – provisionally – satisfied, and raised the cane again. I figured Lynette was committed now. So this next stroke would be harder. 

Homeward bound and gagging (a girl) for it

tiedbedSomeone just wrote me saying that last night they dreamed I was tying their wrists together before tying them to the bed-end. They said it was a good dream, so that was a nice thing for me to think about.

I’ve had a similar dream about her, but I used leather cuffs rather than rope.

She’s dropping by. “Dropping by” makes it sound a bit more casual than it is. It’s the sort of “dropping by” you have to pack for.

And she brings new experiences, which is to say, herself. 

Obviously it won’t be the first time I’ve done that small bit of bondage in general, but it will be the first time I will have done it with that woman. Like Prometheus, she’s been more or less unbound. Till now. Or till soon, anyway.

So it will be exploration: a completely new experience. You don’t have to leave home for them. Which is lucky because I’ve been to so many new places, including 200 miles above the Arctic Circle, in my travels. Now I’m back in my bit of the world I’d hate for the Shock of the New to stop coming. 

gagfuckThe gag reference was only there for the feeble pun. But it’s funny how a casual idea, that only crossed my mind for the silliest possible reason, solidifies into a project.

So I shall explore that – with her – too. She’s a vocal girl, and what she has to say is always interesting. So she’ll find silence hard. I suppose she’ll find me hard in her silence.

I think we’ll both be happy. Happiness is simple. 


In the four weeks I’ve been away from home, a tree has blown down so I’ve got plenty of firewood. The lawn hasn’t grown (winter) so that’s good. Six new book cases were delivered this morning, so I’ve got my work cut out getting them into place without making the place seem crammed. And I have to get organised for that wonder-girl’s arrival.

And once I’ve got myself organised, I can continue with the Raylene story. The episodes can appear while I’m too busy to write.

E[lust] 84: Sexcrime

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About Those “Apple Thighs”
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Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 112: Sex math and aftermaths, or How many threesomes?

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 111: Lynette’s cunt’s desire, corridors and perhaps me

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Pubic Disturbance
Colds and Lust
Sex Machine
A Dirty Bathroom Floor
I’m Sorry I’m So Silent
S’il Vous Plaît
Edge of Morning
Dancin’ (Most) of the Night Away
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42 Kinds of Casual Sex
Living in Fear – An Essay on Male Entitlement

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How To Give A Bare Handed Spanking
Reconciling dominance and love
She’s a Very Kinky Gor

Body Talk and Sexual Health

Run the good race

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We Made A Resolution To Make Love Everyday
The 20 Minute Orgasm
More on cunt, corridors & Schroedinger’s cock
Stoned Birthday Sex
Room with a View
I’m Not Done With Your Throat Yet
It’s a strange path to trust.

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Why Write Erotic Fiction?
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Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 113: Tableau viva! & Ars amo

So I’d said, “Shall we join the ladies?”

Lynette nodded, and to my surprise let me lead her into the room, side by side, my arm round her waist and her hand on my ass.

canerayleneRaylene was still bent over the desk, head facing forward, still wearing the teeshirt she’d worn on her visit to the back of the church, and still holding the desk’s legs on the far side. Dorabella had moved to her front, her dressing gown half open, leaving her left nipple uncovered and her right poking, in its attention-demanding way, through the silk.

Lynette had to be seeing more of Dorabella than she’d managed before, despite her best efforts. Dorabella stroked Raylene’s hair silently. She still had the cane in her hand, that I’d told her to hold until I needed it.

They’d both been good, even in my absence. Even though Dorabella didn’t, strictly speaking, have to be. Though Raylene wouldn’t have had any trouble obeying my instruction not to speak, since they’d both been listening to Lynette and me in the corridor. 

I said to Lynette, “Two beautiful girls. Two good girls.”

Lynette didn’t reply to me. “Hi you two. He’s right. You are both amazingly beautiful.” Dorabella made to clutch at her robe, then decided not to bother. I considered telling her to take it off. I expected that she’d obey. But Raylene was the star: she wouldn’t want her sister up-staging her.

“Lynette,” I said, “that’s your chair. You’re guest of honour. Raylene’s being caned for her rudeness to you. You get to watch her arse, and her face.”

“Hmm.” Lynette moved past me and sat in the chair facing the desk, side-on to Raylene’s body. “Hi, Raylene. It’s okay. I know you’re not allowed to speak. I’m here to watch you get punished. I’m not a cruel girl. Not like him. But I hope it hurts.”

Raylene dropped her head, at that. I said, sharply, “Head up, girl. And keep your face turned to Lynette. She can watch you when the cane lands.” Raylene lifted her head, and turned to Lynette, face beautifully red. I had an idea. “And keep eye contact with Lynette throughout. Until I’ve finished with you. Or you’ll get extra strokes.” 

Then I said the part part that almost certainly meant she wouldn’t get any extra strokes. “And Lynette, can you tell me if she breaks eye contact, or looks away, even for a second?”

Lynette looked at me, considering again. “Yes, of course.”

But she wouldn’t. I was sure she wouldn’t. And that was fine. I didn’t want to add more strokes, just add to Raylene’s delicious sense of humiliation. I said, “Thank you. Okay, we’re nearly ready to begin again. Dorabella, can you come back and film?”

“Just a moment.” Dorabella kissed Raylene’s forehead, just above the hairline, picked up the phone from the desk, and came back to her place beside me. She focussed the camera on Raylene’s arse, and knelt to get the angle right. 

I stepped past her, and came round to the front of the desk. “Raylene, you can speak again, now.”

canedrayleneRaylene coughed a couple of times, to get her voice back. “Thank you, master.” She was still gazing at Lynette. Partly because it was an order, and partly because it was hot. I stroked her hair, then pulled her face to me. She smiled.

I knelt before her, her humble and admiring servant with a cane, and kissed her. 

“I love your arse,” I said. “I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with you too. Even if it’s a bit early for that.”

Raylene looked at me. Then she nodded. She believed me. It seemed to be good news, though we’d have to talk about it later. Not everything needs a witness. I put my palm under her chin and ran my fingers along her cheek. “Still going to cane you till you cry though. And then some more.”

Homo-phobia: stay away from Russians in uniform



It’s nice when a violently homophobic country like Russia decides to reach out to gays by naming their special police forces in their honour.

These are two officers of the Otryad Mobilny Osobogo Naznacheniya or Special Purpose Mobility Unit, who beat up and sometimes kill civilians at the orders of the Russian government. Gays, lesbians, transvestite and transgender people are frequent targets.

According to Wiki the unit was broken up three months ago. All I can say about that is that I took this photo yesterday, and there are still a hell of a lot of them around.

The previous post was about Russians being cool. Something fairly nasty happened yesterday, which I can’t talk about because there are going to be processes happening about that. But I had to revise that view.

Russians are cool, generally. Really. But Russians wearing uniforms are the faecal-matter-in-skinbags scum of the earth: stupid, corrupt and brutal. Long, nasty story, not for here. Anyway, here are two paramilitary cops wearing the names of people they hate.

(I flipped the image horizontally. Butterfingers!)

The (slightly drunken) coolness of Russia!

I’m back from a Russian restaurant (of course it’s a Russian restaurant; I mean Russian in the sense that it serves Russian food). It was a game restaurant, where neither the proprietor nor his son spoke more than a couple of words in English. There were guns, crossbows and animal pelts and mounted heads all over the walls.

A vegetarian’s nightmare. I ate bear, and elk.

catskinI gained the admiration of the proprietor by asking about the pelts on the wall. Since we had no words in common, I finished up by pointing at something I thought was a dead wolf, or what a dead wolf used to wear, and asking, “Ah-hoooo?”

And so on, through to bear noises. And my version of a civet cat was, essentially, “miaoww?” to establish the genus, then doing it again in a deep voice.

Anyway, as a consequence, though I arrived at nine and was still there at midnight, their sole customer, they brought out “samples” of their vodka collection.

They were home-made vodkas, with various things steeped in each one. For example, cedar, birch, ginger, horseradish, some red berry, peppery-sweet, and one other. The proprietor said, “Taste!”

They weren’t “tastes”; they were double shots. I managed heroically, except for the horse-radish vodka, which defeated me.

So now I’ve had an encounter with “the Russian soul.” We agreed on things like, “Russia good”, and “Australia good”, and other important matters.

Neither of those propositions is true, by the way. Russia is transitioning into a theocratic fascist state, and Australia has just voted in a bunch of red-necked racists who run off-shore concentration camps where refugees are kept, subject to being raped or murdered, until they go mad. Then they’re kept on in captivity anyway. But we couldn’t manage nuance.

horseI got home. On the way a beautiful girl nearly ran me over with a horse. Oddly enough, that really did happen. You can hire horses in St Petersburg, even after dinner. She may have taken on more vodka than me.

The evening was good, because I started today not much liking Russia or its culture, because of the relentless nightmare of Immigration: two hours in a concrete bunker while nothing happens. Now I’ve changed my mind. Russians are cool!

The Baltic Beat!

I’m in Tallin. Drinking beer, in the square. 

The beer’s compulsory because buying one is the only way to sit and get wi-fi. But I’m not actually complaining.

I’ll add some pics to this post tomorrow, when I’ve got properly working wifi. For now, text is the best I can do. I’m in a sailing ship going down the Baltic. They’re not big on wifi or democracy, really, round these parts. 

Anyway, here’s a “Viking Slave” from Stockholm. He doesn’t seem too unhappy about his predicament.

vulcan love slave

“Pick me! Pick me!”

Above the Arctic circle!

venus anasyrma

“No, Master, the marks are still showing. Honest!”

I’m in the land of the midnight sun. It never stops being day, or starts being night. 

But if you pull the curtains they have up here, it’s night, eternal night, until you want it not to be.

Today I’m wandering about Sweden’s highest mountains, and eating reindeer burger beside some lake.

I’ve got nothing bdsm to write about today. Here’s another marble girl, whose pants would be on fire if she were wearing any. She’s from the Konstvarmuseet, back in Stockholm. 

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 112: Sex math and aftermaths, or How many threesomes?

So, whatever Lynette said next, it was clear that just after midnight she was going to join Raylene and me in Raylene’s bed. What she said was, “Maybe. We’ll see.”

Good morning!

Good morning!

“Well, up to you. You’ve invited, and we’ll be, um. Welcoming. Happy to see you. Specially Raylene. No, or especially me. Both of us, anyway,”

But I wasn’t trying to persuade her any more. That part was already done.

I just didn’t want to irritate her by being smug about it.

Then I pulled her back towards me and held her crushingly tight, the cane in my right hand casually pressing her left hip. We went back to kissing, tongues and teeth. I’d cleaned mine. She hadn’t. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that I knew she wasn’t wearing knickers. The kiss lasted a long time. Eventually she looked up and saw my face. “Smug bastard.”

“Not smug. I don’t think I am, anyway. Just happy.”

“Huh.” Kissing resumed, whether I was smug or not. I thought about Dorabella: would she join Lynette, Raylene and I, and make it a foursome, or would she want to do me a bit later, with Raylene only? I had no idea which would be better.

Anyway, I squeezed Lynette’s arse, then walked the fingers of my left hand over some pressure points, pressing as I went. That felt good, apparently: she straightened her back a little. So I smacked her, very lightly. An experiment. She didn’t react. That was the best I expected, so I filed the information and didn’t repeat.

I wanted to make her apologise for what she’d said about me wanking sadly in the next room while she and Raylene fucked. I thought that apology would go best if she was naked over my knee and I was looking down at her well-reddened arse, and about to start on the backs of her thighs.

I didn’t speak that thought, and though it turned me on I was already pressing my cock, hard and super-sensitive, against her. She can’t have noticed any change.

I broke the kiss. “Um. Lynette. Can you watch a sexy girl take her first caning now? I mean, will you be ok with it?”

“Ah, it’s a sex thing. It’s not my sex thing, but I know it’s Raylene’s. And yours, you pervert. So I can take it.”

“Some of the strokes are going to be hard. It has to hurt or Raylene won’t feel right about it. I’m saying, you know: it could be confronting.”

“Hah! Trigger warning! Look, I’ll be OK. I’m not going to grab your precious cane and break it it. I’ll know what I’m seeing.”

cock in jeansI nodded. “That’s good enough. And I’m glad you’re here. Raylene is too.”

Lynette unexpectedly reached between us and touched my cock, forefinger and thumb through denim. I said, “Uhh.” And, a little later, “Ahh. Lynette. Oh fuck.” Then I just gasped for breath, open-mouthed. 

“Guess I haven’t completely lost my touch.”

I put my hand on her ass. It took all the will-power I possessed not to make it a smack. “Well then. Shall we join the ladies?”

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 111: Lynette’s cunt’s desire, corridors and perhaps me

e0047f29e58fbafe9f669a5f6de9b861.22I’d told Lynette that she and Raylene could fuck without me, and Lynette had detailed just how unhappy that’d make me. I don’t think she minded me being unhappy as much as I might. But I said, “Yeah, more or less.”

Though actually the next room was Dorabella’s, and I was reasonably sure I’d find consolation there.

Lynette nodded. “Good decision.” She kissed me again. “And very noble, I suppose. But if I did join you and Raylene, would you expect to fuck me too?”

“I’d want you. Promise you that. But whether we fuck depends on you. In the moment.”

“Fair enough. Not saying I’m agreeing. Just that you’re not being a total shit. Um, what are you doing after you’ve finished caning Raylene?”

consoledI had a fairly detailed plan for the minutes while the pain receded, and the hours after that when it was bearable, a warm aching but still there. My cock featured prominently in those plans. But I said, “Consolation.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. What if I do want to join you? How would that work?”

“Well, I’ve told Dorabella that today’s Raylene’s. I mean Raylene and mine. We’re new to each other. I just want to spend today with her, mostly in bed. I’m pretty sure she feels the same.”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed about that. Which meant – Anyway, I tried to hide the elation I felt about her being disappointed.

“But tomorrow’s another day. Scarlett O’Hara said so, so it must be true. If you showed up at, say, seven in the morning, I can guarantee we’d make space for you. And find some spare limbs to wrap round you.”

“And you’d wave your cock at me.”

“Optional. Recommended, but optional.”

“Hah!” She spoke that, but then she really did laugh. But after that she looked serious again. “Ah shit. I don’t think I can. I’ve got a tutorial in the morning. It’s compulsory.”

three headsSo now we were plotting how to make our threesome work. It made me light-headed. I thought of many very stupid things I could do or say in celebration. This time I managed to keep them down.

I said, “Damn. Buttfuck. If buttfucking was a bad thing. Bother.”

She still held me, but she’d loosened her grip. “Yep. That’s about it. We might find the mood and the circumstances another time.”

“Oh.” I had wanted the night to be just for Raylene and me, too. But this was letting something potentially wonderful go, with no certainty of a later chance. I pulled Lynette in tighter and kissed her. The kind that comes with need and passion. “Actually.”

Lynette was engrossed in being held and kissed. By a man. With passion. And an erection. I wondered if I smelled good. But eventually she looked up. “Actually?”

“Well, technically today will end at midnight. If you were here at, oh, a minute past, I know we’d both be very pleased to see you.”