Sinful Sunday: A moment’s peace

There’s a moment of peace after her Master puts the cane down, and tells her that it’s over and she’s been a good, brave girl. 

Her mind is at peace. She was caned for her Master’s pleasure, and hers. There was nothing for her to forgive herself for, nothing for him to forgive. He’d just woken up needing her submission, urgently, and he’d cuffed her to their bed, and reached for the cane.

His strokes hurt as they fell on her, of course. But how quickly those individual flashes of pain turn to warmth, to a kind of sensual glow, and then to sexual longing. She watched him as he raised the cane. His cock lifted with that movement: caning her turned him on. 

He takes photos for her to admire later, and then puts on a condom. And he leaves her cuffed, wrists and ankles spread for him, while he poises his body above hers, ready to take her. And then that moment of peace is over. 

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Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 140: Raylene’s pain does not matter

Raylene looked at the bed. While her freshly-thrashed arse burned, she didn’t want anything to touch her bottom, not even the air. So a simple order like, “Bed,” presented her with challenges she didn’t know what to do with.

I kissed her. “I said ‘bed’, Raylene darling. Yes, you’ve had your ass caned. Looks nice and sore, too. Now you’re going to get your ass into bed.”

She grimaced. “If you don’t mind, Master, I think I’d prefer to stand for the next couple of years.”

I held her to me, her head pressed loving and trusting against my chest.

And I reached down and gave her ass an open-palmed spank, as hard as I could. Raylene cried out in pain and some indignation. If I wasn’t going to feel sorry for her under those circumstances, then … when?

“Darling, you’ve got a Master. What does that make you?”

“A slave, a slavegirl of some sort?”

“Yes. We won’t say so too often, but yes, that’s exactly what it makes you.” I wasn’t sure that was true. But in the moment, sometimes I just say what I think will be hot.

“You’re property. I own you. I mentioned I’m falling in love with you, and I’ll look after you. But you don’t choose what you do, not anymore. Not once I’ve told you what to do.” 

Raylene said nothing. She put her arms around me and let her breasts weigh on my chest. She clung to me like a jasmine. 

“So you’re worried that the sheets are going to hurt your poor little ass, right?”

She looked at me, big-eyed. “Well, I can’t think of any way of being in bed where the sheets won’t hurt me. Even if I lie flat on my tummy.”

“Ok. Now, guess something. Does it matter, even a tiny bit, if the bed hurts your ass?”

“Oh.” That was a new thought. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

“That’s right. You just got a hard lesson in behaviour. It’ll go on hurting a lot for an hour or two, I expect. But it’s over. And I don’t care that your ass still hurts. Understand that. You having a sore backside: it’ll happen to you whenever I see fit, and it does not matter if it hurts. Your pain does not matter. Not during. Not afterwards.”

Raylene had listened to this open-mouthed. She didn’t disagree. These were just things that hadn’t occurred to her before. “Oh. Ok.”

“So, get onto the bed. I’d going to fuck you. I need to fuck you. I think you need to be fucked. As if what you need matters.”

She looked solemn. Then nodded. “No, of course that wouldn’t matter.”

I kissed her. I suppose I don’t cane for irony. “Get up on the bed. Hands and knees. Get your ass up, and keep it up.”

“Yes, master.” And she scrambled up onto the bed, pulling the top sheet and blankets aside, and posing like a cat needing fucking.

A cat with the yummiest, reddest, striped ass in the universe. She looked so beautiful.

“Good girl. I’m going to fuck you, pressed against that nice hot ass. I’m going to enjoy your heat. And I’m going to hurt you while I fuck you. What do you know about that?”

Raylene arched her back, presenting herself as spectacularly as she could. “I know now that it doesn’t matter if it hurts, Master.”

“Good girl. I knew you’re a clever girl.” And I took my clothes off and climbed up onto the bed with her, wanting her more desperately than I was going to tell her, and put my hands on her hips.

Sinful Sunday: the castle and the cane

Time slowed almost to a stop. The cane landed, branding its line of pain and fire across her body. She would absorb it. Eons later the cane would land again.

Perhaps time was all submission and fire,. Perhaps this never would end.

 

Note:

Still in the dining room of the castle. The light: wood and leather. And girl. And bamboo. 

 

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 139: The subtle threesome

Note: 

The last episode of this story was posted back in February, here. It’s very forgivable if you’ve forgotten, or never knew, that there is such a story. 

“Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive” is the click-baity but entirely accurate title of the story of something that happened relatively early in my bdsm career. I’d been interviewing Raylene in her kitchen about her time with a neo-Nazi gang, which she’d joined to annoy her mother, at a bad time in her life. But then we discovered that she was submissive and I was a dom, and that we fancied each other. Things happened very quickly from there, though I’ve been telling it excruciatingly slowly.

When we left Raylene, she was being caned in front of witnesses. The witnesses were Dorabella, her half sister, and Lynette, who’d been trying to get Dorabella into bed.

By now, Lynette had switched her sexual ambition to Raylene and, to my surprise, me. But although we hadn’t liked each other much when we met yesterday, we’d exchanged breath, our tongues had touched the other’s teeth, and we’d fondled each other’s genitals: through my clothes in her case, but fingertips to soft wet skin in my case.

The attraction was real, and starting to feel urgent. So we’d interrupted Raylene’s caning to take a kissing break. To Raylene’s disbelief.

Now read on. 

The subtle threesome

Raylene said, again, “Master?” 

I could see her point. Generally, if you’re getting caned in front of witnesses, you should expect to be the centre of attention. But I’d shown Lynette that being humiliated was one of Raylene’s most favourite, hottest things. She’d caught on quickly, and she’d found that humbling Raylene made her feel wicked. She was starting to enjoy feeling wicked. All this added a pleasantly perverse edge to our kisses. 

I slid my hands down to hold Lynette’s bare ass under her skirt, Lynette made a little “ah” sound, and straightened her back. She had a sensitive little arse: that was worth remembering. She explored my back under my shirt. Doing anything except pulling each other down to the floor and fucking then and there would clearly be ridiculous. But I said, “I said yes, Raylene. What do you want?” 

“Master, I’m sorry, I lost count. How many strokes do I have to go? Master?” 

I sighed ostentatiously, and said, still facing Lynette, “you’ve got the last six of your dozen to go. And there’s one penalty stroke. So far. So seven. Girl.” 

There was a pause, from Raylene. “Thank you, Master.” Her voice was small. 

Lynette smiled at me. She’d enjoyed our intimacy for its own sake and for its effect on Raylene. We hadn’t been to bed together yet – Lynette was to join Raylene and me at midnight that night – but we were already playing a pleasantly complex three-way sexual game. A subtle threesome.

Lynette pulled my shirt back down and picked up the cane, holding it the middle as Raylene had done, and passed it to me. She mouthed, “Duty calls.” Silently. She was still amused.  

I turned and shook my head at Dorabella, who was at the other side of Rayleme’s desk, holding Raylene’s shoulders down. She’d been watching Lynette and me while we pressed bodies and mouths. Since Dorabella was the only person in the room who didn’t want to fuck Lynette, she was no doubt relieved that Lynette’s interest had switched. Anyway, Dorabella read my look correctly and nodded.

Raylene was to have no warning. I swung the cane, catching Raylene hard across the other stripes I’d already laid on the lower curves of her bottom. 

The crack of cane meeting softly muscled flesh was followed by Raylene’s rising wail. Her legs kicked up, level with her body, and she fought Dorabella desperately to get up. She lost that struggle within a few seconds, and her toes touched the floor again. “Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oooohhh…”

I knew I’d have to make the next stroke harder, to get the same reaction. So I made it harder. When Raylene settled her body again, she was still making that soft, almost mumbling cry. It was her pain song.

I gave her the remaining strokes at the same intensity, but she no longer reacted so dramatically. She was getting tired, and she was learning to take a hard caning. There was a kind of acceptance, which was deeper than the mainly verbal submission she’d given me to this moment. I wondered if she’d convinced herself that she deserved to be punished this severely, though she certainly didn’t. 

When the last, penalty, stroke was delivered, I said, “that’s it for now, darling. You’ve been very good, and very brave for me. I’m proud of you, little Raylene.”

She was still producing tears, and singing her “oh fuck oh fuck” song, but she paused for long enough to say, “Thank you, master. And I’m sorry.”  

“Good girl. My girl.” I raised my voice, into public speaking mode. “Raylene is going to thank you for witnessing her punishment. And she’s going to apologise to both of you for her rudeness last night. But she’ll make her formaI apology at dinner tonight. Right now, though, I think I’ve got a girl who needs looking after. Ah?”

It was Dorabella, again, who caught on fastest. She leaned down and kissed her sister’s forehead, then her cheek, and then walked to the door, bustling Lynette out with her. She said, “ok, we’ll leave you two alone for a while. And look in later and see if there’s anything you…”

Lynette said, “Need. Like cold cream?” She wanted to get back into the room. And maybe to get to apply it to Raylene’s glowing ass and thighs. 

Raylene stopped singing “oh fuck oh fuck” and said, “I’ve got some. In a drawer. We’re fine.” She looked at me. I nodded.

“We’ll see you guys later.” I shut the door. I considered jamming a chair against the handle, in case Lynette thought of another way to get inside. The thought made me smile. I knew Raylene wanted to fuck Lynette as much as I did, and if Lynette was getting keen, and devious, that was no bad omen.

I took the cold cream from her top drawer, where it nestled against knickers and a small collection of vibes, I helped her rise, though she moaned when she straightened up. “That hurt, master. Oh fuck, that hurt so much.”

It wasn’t an accusation. And we kissed. I grinned at her. She looked puzzled, but she couldn’t see how bedraggled and woeful, and how triumphantly sexy, she looked. Oh well: I had plenty of time to tell her.

“Girl. Lovely brave girl. Mine.”

“Yes, master.”

“Bed.”

Wicked Wednesday: Maddie trembles

Note: 

This was intended to follow the prompt, Recollection. Unfortunately, the story grew before the recollection part came up. So I’ll have to use this week’s prompt next week. Or, knowing me, it might be the week after. I’m slow. Sorry!

Jennifer’s pleats and pleas: Maddie trembles

Maddie returned, sinuous on all fours, with her panties in her teeth. She stopped at my feet, so the cane was beside her again. She straightened her back, remaining on her knees, and said, “‘Ay ‘anties, sir.”

I took them from her mouth, without speaking. Or smiling. She wanted the tension broken, and at the same time she’d have been horrified if it were. So I said, “You pick up that cane, and hold it out in front of you. Palms up. You’re not to grip it.”

“Yes, sir.” She took the cane and held it as I’d instructed, offering it, and of course herself, for me.

She knew I’d come back from my encounter with Jennifer highly aroused, and that I was going to take her far, as well as hard. We were going to be dramatic. 

I crossed over to the neatly stacked shelves. “Tidy means ‘clean’, girl. Do you think these shelves are clean?”

“Sir, please, I did my best.” It wasn’t like Maddie to beg. But she knew she’d lost any chance of influencing what was going to happen to her, and she was a little unnerved.

I rubbed her panties, white and lacey, on the upper surface of the top shelf. She watched me, like a trapped bird watching a cat. I said, without looking at the panties, “Because if that shelf is not absolutely clean, I should take that as an insult, shouldn’t I?”

She froze, stricken. There was no safe answer to that. Eventually she said, “I’d never want to insult you, sir.”

I held her panties in front of her eyes. There was, fortunately, a reasonable collection of dust there. “Don’t even try, girl, to say you think that’s acceptable.”

“No sir. Oh, sir, I’m so sorry!” Somewhere, she knew this was theatre, designed to ramp up her reactions, and to express my needs. But that part of her that knew that was no longer in control.For now she knew only that the man she’d surrendered to was going to punish her, and that events were happening too fast for her to even think about how to influence what happened. Her palms, holding out the cane, were trembling. 

I said, “Stand up.” This was hard, with her hands still stretched out in front of her, but she managed.

I took the cane from her at last, and said, “Now turn around. Bend over and touch your toes.”

“Yes, sir. Do I count the strokes aloud?”

“Count and thank.”

I caned her hard, poor girl, letting the stripes form from the crown of her bottom to about three inches down her thighs. And I took my time, letting her feel each one, while I watched her tremble and fight for control.

She stayed down throughout, keeping her fingers in contact with her toes. When the count got to “13, thank you, sir”, I paused.

The was a tremor in Maddie’s voice, and I liked hearing it. I’d intended to give her more strokes, but her well striped ass and trembling thighs called me, urgently.

I put the cane in her mouth, unzipped, letting my pants fall to the floor, and took condom and lube from my coat pocket.

 

 

Sinful Sunday: Without a word

“Arr-ffaa!”

As the first pain reached into her body she sobbed, not with the hurt but with relief. Her long, longing wait was over. 

He said nothing. He hadn’t spoken yet. But there had been two canes resting beside her right flank. Now there was only one.

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Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 138: Kissing Lynette

Beside me, Lynette sighed pleasurably. Languorously, with shining eyes. She was taking a video of the whole thing on my phone camera. She was enjoying watching Raylene’s anguished movements, her toe-clenched kicking and the writhing of her ass and thighs.

I wasn’t sure if she liked the fact that Raylene’s arse hurt, not the way I liked that knowledge.

But at the very least that consideration didn’t interfere with her pleasure. She was also enjoying her flirtation with me. Actually we’d passed flirtation. She’d kissed me with tongue and enthusiasm. Back in the corridor, she’d put her hand on my cock.

That was the other puzzle in this room. Lynette had only come to this house because she’d been trying to get Dorabella into bed. Her first reaction to my presense, doing perverted things to Raylene on the stairs, had been openly hostile. I expected she had a fine line in “all men are bastards” conversation. I also suspected that she’d leaned on it while she was chasing Dorabella. And yet she was coming to bed with Raylene and me at mid-night. I was sure she’d demand penile, as it were, penetration.

I shrugged, mentally, and tapped the cane across the roundest, fullest, curves of Raylene’s bottom. The next two strokes would be the last of her two dozen. I was letting her know where to expect them. Raylene expelled a breath. “Master? God, it hurts… I’m so sorry, Lynette, I wish I hadn’t been rude to you.”

Lynette looked at me. A little earlier I’d encouraged her to be hard and unforgiving when Raylene asked for forgiveness. I smiled and nodded, giving permission. Lynette made her voice icy. “I know you’re sorry now, Raylene. But that’s only because you’re getting punished.”

Raylene made a shocked, nasal noise. Her arse rose and fell still, driven by burning pain. And lust.

Lynette frowned, a little unhappy with herself. Being cruel was fun, but as she’d found earlier, it was hard. She looked at me again. I made the OK symbol with my cane-free hand. “And it serves you right, Raylene. You were being a real bitch last night. Tell me again how sorry you are when he’s finished with you.”

Raylene wailed. I kissed Lynette again, for the sweet sake of it, and to let her know that she wasn’t a horrible person. She’d said the right thing, for Raylene’s pleasure and entertainment. Raylene said, “Master? Please, Master?”

She knew she was interrupting Lynette and me, and she was hesitant. In any case, she was about to ask a question, and I suspected she was scared of the possible answer.

I put my hands on Lynette’s ass, and she reciprocated. We kissed like people about to fuck. “Yes? Raylene?”

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 137: Strokes get in her thighs

So there we were, at a dramatic moment. Raylene naked and bent over the table, bottom and upper thighs already well striped. There should be 19 welts, but they’d merged and crossed each other and I couldn’t count the marks any more in a general splash of corrugated red.

I’d tapped Raylene’s thighs, so she knew where the next strokes were going to go. I raised the cane, and whipped it down, twice, across the backs of her legs. I left little pause between them.

Stung, Raylene yowled and twisted, kicking her legs in the air, since it was the only movement she could make. I watched her with awe and desire, and listened to her pain song.  

Dorabella, Raylene’s half sister, held Raylene’s shoulders down. She did it with real determination, leaving her robe flapping open.

I’d told her that if Raylene got up she’d get extra strokes, and that I’d give the same number to Dorabella. She hadn’t definitely conceded that I had the right to cane her, which wasn’t surprising since clearly I didn’t.

However, Dorabella was afraid that if I told her to take her place beside Raylene, presenting her arse for the cane, she’d do as she was told. By now, I was also pretty sure she wouldn’t disobey. 

In the meantime, she was making sure the issue, and her choice, didn’t arise. She was taller than Raylene, and though they were both strong girls she’d made sure her extra height gave her the advantage.

Raylene was going to take her caning, and she wasn’t going to get out of position.

There were puzzles there: Dorabella seemed to be enjoying herself too much. It didn’t seem to be sororal spite, where one sister will sometimes enjoy mild misfortune happening to the other. It was more that there was some sort of unacknowledged sexual vibe between the two of them. This was turning Dorabella on. I didn’t understand quite what was going on, but there was no doubt that Dorabella was aroused. 

I gave Raylene two more strokes, quite firmly, and fast. This time I aimed high, getting them as close as possible to that wonderful fleshy crease where the thighs and buttocks meet. Raylene screamed, head shaking and hair flying. feet lifting from the carpet, and kicking in the air, until they were the highest part of of her body. Dorabella fought Raylene down again until she subsided.

Dorabella wasn’t looking at Raylene. She looked me in the eyes.

Wicked Wednesday: The return of Jennifer!

I should have had more faith in Maddie. The message that Jennifer Perch was to report back to the headmaster’s office, immediately after her last class, went over the PA system just before the lunch break.

That gave her fellow pupils an hour to tease her about how she must really be in trouble this time. And the rest of the school day trying to concentrate on her work while she worried about what was in store for her, when she entered my office for the second time.

So she was pale, and her voice trembled when she stood in front of my desk. She was acutely self-conscious. She’d give anything not to be here. But she said, “You wanted to see me, sir.”

I looked at her, unsmiling, saying nothing, until her bare knees shook. She was fighting back tears, certain she was about to be spanked again. Or worse.

Finally I said, “Your uniform.”

“Yes sir?”

“Jennifer, you’re out of uniform. In school hours. That’s a serious offence. The school regulations clearly state that the uniform will be appropriately fitted. Yours is at least two sizes too small.”

Jennifer blushed furiously. “I know, sir. But my mother bought it without me. And when I put it on, and found it was too small, the shop wouldn’t take it back. My mother had already ironed it. There’s a … well, you can see where she she’d set the iron too hot, when she started. But … but she said she’d talked to you, and that you’d said it would be ok.”

She sounded almost frantic now. She’d realized that she couldn’t be sure that her mother had told her the truth. She watched me like a rabbit watches an approaching dog.

I still hadn’t smiled. “Yes, she did. And I did agree. But that, Jennifer, was before I understood that you were taking advantage of your uniform to make an indecent display of yourself. Yes?”

Jennifer thought. I meant before school this morning, how she’d displayed herself for the boysl. The tears spilled at last, and she hung her head. “Yes, sir.”

“Look at me, Jennifer.” She did, and I finally smiled at her. She took a deep breath and gulped, and some of the tension left her face and body. “And we dealt with that this morning. Thoroughly, I think?” I looked at her. After a second or two she smiled.

“Yes, sir.” Her bottom would have recovered by now, and the memory of her spanking was not entirely unpleasant. More embarrassing than painful, and some of her feelings had had nothing to do with embarrassment. Her thighs had trembled, slightly parted, while she’d hovered on the brink of orgasm.

And the thought of her experience made her smile. We shared a moment of complicity.

“Well, Jennifer, I haven’t called you back to re-visit that incident. I’m more interested in making sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Sir?”

“Jennifer, you know that this morning you were playing up to the expectations that had been created for you by that uniform. You were being teased, and boys couldn’t take their eyes off you. Your immodest display was your way of dealing with that. Or trying to take control of it. Yes?”

“I suppose, sir.”

“I don’t think it’s naturally you. And the way you tried to deal with it didn’t turn out so well, did it?”

The flush was back. That bare-bottomed spanking over my knee. It was never far away. “I – I suppose it didn’t, sir.”

“I don’t just mean your spanking, girl. That put a stop to it. Or it better have.” She nodded fervently. “If that happens again, I’ll cane you, Jennifer. Twelve of the best. Understand?”

She put her right foot over her left foot so she stood cross-legged before me. “I do, sir.”

“You possibly heard that I had to paddle two girls from your class yesterday. Yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You know what they were wearing when I’d finished with them?”

“No. They haven’t talked about it. Not to me, anyway.”

“Well. I can see that they wouldn’t want it known.”

I was giving her a powerful gift, of course. In her class, and in her circle, gossip is power. “The pair of them were wearing red paddle marks across their bottoms. Nothing else. Nothing at all.”

“Oh.” Jennifer was wide-eyed.

She swore that she wouldn’t need to be caned. But we both knew that was nonsense

“I am authorised to specify what pupils will wear while they’re being punished, Jennifer. Now, if I have to give you those twelve strokes, Jennifer -“

“You won’t! Sir, I promise you won’t!”

“Well, we’ll see. But you see how what those two silly girls were wearing will apply to you?”

Her mouth dropped open.

“You won’t be worrying about uniforms, if you earn yourself a dose of the cane, Jennifer. Twelve strokes. Naked.”  

“Oh sir!” Oddly, I had no idea what she meant by that.

Sinful Sunday: Shake it all about

God! It’s huge!

Uncomfortable?

Master! You should bloody try it and see.

Actually, I don’t think I will, girl. Who’s Master?

The man who just shoved a plug up my bum? 

The same. Ah, would you like me to take it out?

Er, no. It’s kind of ok. I think I could get used to it. Thank you. No.

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