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.”

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.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 136: Ambiguity and the cane

Lynette had watched Lynette’s struggles, now with extra red stripes across the tops of her thighs, and Dorabella’s breasts while she fought to keep Raylene in place across her desk.

She stepped closer to me so we watched together, breathing in unison. Lynette whispered to me, “Fuck, that’s hot.”

“Yeah. They’re hot.”

“But you’re not doing that to me. You’re not going to cane me.” 

I kissed her. She put her hands on the back of my head and kissed back. She meant it, as did I. So we were engrossed for a time.

Lynette did nothing to keep her body away from my erection, even when I slipped my free hand under her skirt, to cup and then squeeze her ass. Eventually I took a breath and smiled. “Well, that’s up to you.” 

William “Neckbeard” Empson, of Seven Types of Ambiguity fame. I’d used Type 3: the same word or phrase expressing two conflicting ideas

“Ah. That’s one of the types of ambiguity.” She was right.

At surface level it meant I wouldn’t cane her unless she asked me too. But I’d also meant that I wouldn’t cane her if she behaved herself, but I might if she didn’t: and how she behaved was up to her. 

“Can’t have play if you don’t have ambiguity,” I said, which can’t possibly be true, so I distracted her, reaching my fingers under her ass to stroke damp, soft, perineal skin. Lynette closed her eyes, still kissing me.

So there was no more discussion, even though the topic was interesting and all. 

Dorabella made an unconvincing cough noise. She hadn’t let Raylene get her body off the desk, so she’d been good. And Raylene was back under her own control, her body still and expectant, her feet well parted and her bottom posed and poised for the cane.

So I gave Lynette the look that means duty calls, and she nodded. But my fingertips reached, and pressed against, the outer folds of her cunt, and she made a sweet, soft sound. But I withdrew my hand after a few seconds, shaking my head. “We’ll want you here one minute past twelve, Lynette. Don’t you be a second late.”

“Is that a threat?” But she was bright-eyed, amused by me again.

“Well, it could be. But mainly it was desire. Um, extreme desire.” 

“Ok.” We looked each other in the eyes. We were both going to fuck Raylene after midnight, and then each other. And so the night would pass. But right now… 

I picked up the cane, looked into Dorabella’s eyes for a few seconds, and said, “That was well done.” She glanced for a second at the cane in my hand, but said nothing. Silence is another type of ambiguity.

I tapped the bamboo across Raylene’s upper thighs. She’d already taken a few strokes on that most sensitive flesh, but now I was going to mark them properly.

She said, “Oh fuck…” She knew what those taps meant.  

Those stripes would still be burning when I fucked her, whether I put her on her back or took her from behind. And I was certain that Raylene wanted that pain as much as I did. 

I said, “Ready?” She laughed. I raised the cane. 

 

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 135: Raylene’s second dozen

Note:

This is a story about something that happened relatively early in my bdsm career. But I’d been doing wicked things long enough to learn that submissive women, though wonderful, aren’t made of porcelain, and that it’s not necessarily bad if I made a submissive woman cry. In the right way, not because of emotional hurt.

Also, I was about half-way out about bdsm, not through my own choice but because I had ex-girlfriends who gossiped with their friends that – with their consent – I spanked them and told them what to do. That meant that some women avoided going to bed with me, while others would pop round to see me, precisely because of that.

It was Raylene, heroine of our story, who made me realise that my interest in bdsm wasn’t so much a secret as a reputation, at least in the circle of women I knew, and that there was a good side to being a safe, non-scary bad boy.

(I could’ve been the centrefold for Lisa Simpson’s guilty subscription: “Non-threatening Bad Boys”.)

The last episode of this story was posted back in October. We left Raylene naked, with a sore ass, bent over her bedroom desk and about to get her second dozen, enjoying the sexual admiration of two girls (one of them her half-sister, so that didn’t entirely count, except that in complicated ways it did count) and the intense sexual appreciation of one man: me.

A lot of things had happened very quickly between Raylene and me, once I recognised who and what she was. It helped that Raylene already knew about me, and steered things in the direction she wanted to go. I was following, while thinking I was leading.

Anyway, she liked submission, and she was no end of an exhibitionist, so she was brightly striped and giddily happy. If you want to see where we are and how we got here, that post is here.

 Episode 135

We were all in position. Lynette taking video with my cellphone, Dorabella pushing Raylene’s shoulders down, under threat of getting a share of Raylene’s extra strokes if she let Raylene get up, and me, holding the heavier cane and visibly pleased about the while situation.

I’d tapped the cane against the tops of Raylene’s thighs, to let her know that was going to be a target area. Still, it was a new cane, a bit thicker than the one I’d given the first dozen with, so I swung it medium-hard, against the most excellenty padded part of her bottom.

Raylene jerked under the impact, so that Dorabella tensed, ready to wrestle her down. She grunted, than arched her ass up for the next stroke. 

There was nothing Raylene could do that wouldn’t have the effect of turning me on, but I realised I missed the soprano pain-sounds she’d been making during the first dozen strokes. To get those sounds I could go a little harder, and I would, but there was another option. 

“Open your mouth, Raylene.”

“Yes, master.” I couldn’t see her face, but she was being a good girl now. An ostentatiously good girl. So I was sure she’d be looking as if she was at the dentist. 

“Good. You’re not to close your mouth again until I say you can.”

It’s hard to speak without closing your mouth at all. I heard something like “Ess, ‘aster.”

Then I applied the second stroke, a little lower and a little harder. Her whole body jerked under the impact, with a flurry of blue-green hair. Her breath hissed out, then she drew a fresh breath. She said, “Uh, uh, ahhhh…” before she had herself back under control.

It took two more strokes, each lower and harder than the last, before Raylene resumed soprano voice, and her pain-song.

I wasn’t sure why I liked that sound so much, I mean liked it so very, very, much. But it was at once the hottest and most tender sound in the universe.

And once we’d reached that place, I gave Raylene two fast hard strokes across the tops of her thighs.

That made her all activity, legs kicking, arms waving, trying to get purchase on her desk, while she sang that sweet, incoherent song.

Dorabella had to push down with all her strength. Her robe fell open, and both Lynette and I watched their struggle. Lynette’s mouth fell open too.

I said, “That’s six, Raylene. You’ve been good, and brave. But there’s six to go, plus the one penalty stroke.”

Raylene moaned. You can do that with your mouth open.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive and other projects

Followers of this blog, even casual visitors, have possibly noticed that there is a long, long story going on, in which I met Raylene, the half-sister of an ex of mine, to interview her about her time with a neo-Nazi gang.

But we moved fairly quickly from journalism to sex. There haven’t been any new episodes for a while, because I’ve been busy with other things. 

When I left the Raylene saga, she was in her bedroom getting the cane in front of her half-sister, Dorabella, and Lynette, the woman who wanted to be Dorabella’s girlfriend. The smell of female – and male – sexual arousal hung heavy in the air. It was one of the best moments in my life so far, believe me. 

I’m going to continue that story shortly. At least until I’ve got Raylene and I in bed, with the other two women departed for a while.

The story has a way to run after that, but I want to tell two other stories before I continue from that point. 

So we’ll have a brief continuation of Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive, until I feel I’ve taken everyone to someplace they can be happy while I ignore them (and us) for a while. 

Then we’re going to tell two other stories, which are a lot shorter than the Raylene saga. One of them features the reappearance of an old friend, and I’m hardly in it myself. The other reveals me to be a bit of a slut, also a scoundrel, on occasion. 

I suppose I should also do my Anal Hook user’s report, since I promised that a year or so ago. I get there eventually, you know. But I’m a busy man, also a lazy one, and anyway I’ve learned that anticipation is no bad thing. 

And then, at last, we’ll get back to Raylene, and show you the new world she found.  

If you want to read or re-read the Raylene saga, you can find all the episodes by clicking on the tag, “Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive”, just below this post. 

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 134: Running on the spot 3

Lynette was first in the room. She stood at the door for a while, watching Raylene’s ass as she joggled and ran on the spot, lifting her knees high. Then she looked at me. 

“That’s to prevent bruising, is it?” 

“Yeah. And reduce swelling.” 

“Hah!” That was Dorabella, looming up behind Lynette. She was looking at my cock.

I glanced down. I was in swollen condition, that was pretty obvious even through my jeans. “Okay. I meant reducing swelling for Raylene’s ass.” Raylene glanced at me. It seemed to be some sort of warning. Maybe I was saying her bum looked big, wearing nothing but cane stripes. “But it’s not universally effective, no.” 

Lynette said, “It affects me. I – No, never mind. This conversation has gone south. Really south.” 

Dorabella was still staring at my cock. I’m a short stocky guy, and that’s about the best you can say for my looks. But for now I was a sex object. That doesn’t happen enough for me to get sick of it. So I smiled at Dorabella, and at Lynette. No reason. Just happy. 

A reminder should be given, every so often, that at the time Raylene had blue-green hair

A reminder should be given, every so often, that at the time Raylene had blue-green hair

But Raylene, still jogging on the spot obediently, was starting to breathe hard. I said, “Raylene.”

She stopped. Her breasts stopped a couple of seconds later. I waited that couple of seconds, because that was beautiful and distracting. “Good girl. You’re doing well, Raylene.” She nodded, knowing that praise, though good, wasn’t where I was going. “But I’m going to give you your second dozen now. Well, a dozen, and one penalty stroke. Baker’s dozen.”

She nodded again, face serious, as if some part of her believed this was fair and right. I said, “So I want you to bend over the desk again now. Same position. Same conditions: don’t get up or you’ll be in trouble.”  

Dorabella and Lynette walked all the way into the room while Raylene said, “Yes, master,” and pressed the tops of her thighs against the edge of the desk before leaning forward and lowering her body to rest on the cold, cold wood.

Dorabella looked to me, once her sister was back in place. “I still hold her down?”

“If you know what’s good for you.” Dorabella sniffed, not sure if I was kidding. Nor was I.

cane-for-2Then I decided that I wasn’t kidding. If I gave Raylene extra strokes for getting up, I’d tell Dorabella she was getting the same, and to drop the robe and bend over on her side of the desk, facing her sister.

I’d had hints from Dorabella, and maybe it was time to put her on the spot.

I’d look stupid if she refused, and I’d just have to back down as gracefully as I could. But I figured I should try, and leave Dorabella to flip the coin. If she obeyed, she’d get three strokes and then the attention would go back to Raylene. But that would give her plenty to mull over until our time tomorrow. Anyway, Dorabella wasn’t going let Raylene get up, so it was likely to be a hypothetical problem. 

While Dorabella took her place at the other side of the desk, hands pressed firmly down on Raylene’s shoulders, I passed Lynette my phone again. “Filming duty.” 

“Yes, sir!” The “sir” was mockery, still, but I didn’t mind. Irony isn’t as powerful as some people think. Lynette took the phone, activated the camera, and then filmed the front of my jeans. I snorted laughter, and after a second so did she. She switched to focus on Raylene’s ass. 

thighsI tapped the cane against the tops of Raylene’s thighs. This second dozen would give more attention to her thighs. It seemed only fair.

“Straighten your legs, Raylene. Bit further apart. Better; good girl. Now get your ass arched up.”

While she complied I tapped the cane against the same place at the top of her thighs, but a little harder so that she winced, and a new, pinkish stripe formed. 

Then I raised the cane. “Okay. Second dozen. We begin.” 

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 133: Running on the spot 2

She laughed again. “You! You’re not making it up as you go along. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

I decided to leave that unchallenged. It wasn’t remotely true, but it was good that she thought so. So I shrugged, I hope ambiguously. “Anyway, I’m falling in love with you. And, you don’t have to fall in love with me. I just blurted.”

“Yeah. It’s okay. Seriously, it’s much better than okay. Just .. give me time, ok?”

“Yeah.” To mark of the end of one sensitive conversation, and to remind her of other sensitivities, I smacked her ass, hot and welted under my hand.

Raylene jolted. “Yah fuck!”

hands-on-head-canedSo I smacked her again, then let my hand stay, stroking her. Firm, beautifully rounded, a little rough where the cane had directly landed, and blazing heat.

She said, “Jesus, my arse is sore. How long does it hurt for?”

“Well, this is peak hurt. It lasts maybe half an hour from the last cane stroke, though it’ll keep on hurting quite a lot, slightly lower level, for a couple of hours. Especially after I’ve given you the second dozen.”

“Yuh. I haven’t forgotten. Master.”

“Good girl. It’ll maybe hurt most of today. Though it’ll be at a lower level. You’ll feel it, but it’ll be background. And you’ll probably like it. A nice, sexy, buzzing feeling. And I’ll be looking after you. And for the next couple days you’ll get a reminder any time you sit down. Or, I don’t know, walk backwards into anything. And don’t forget I can bring you back to peak hurt anytime, just by smacking you hard with my hand. And I won’t hesitate, if you’re out of line for a second. You put the Me in Master.”

She frowned. “And without the ME it’s a-s-t-r. Star! Ah! You’re a star Master!” 

“Yeah, it was really stupid when I said it. Now it sounds cool.” 

“You’re going to hurt me when you fuck me.” That was a demand.

“Promise. That’s a promise. Not accidentally.”

Her eyes shone. She might not be in love with me, but we were perverts. “Yeah.”

I heard the bathroom door open. “Yeah indeed. Now. Running on the spot, Raylene.”

“What?”

running-on-spotI put the cane in her mouth, for her to hold. And I put my cock all the way back inside my jeans “On the spot. Running. Get your knees up.”

“Ub.” Raylene took her hands down from her head, and shambled into action.  

“Knees higher or I’ll beat you. Girl.”

Raylene lifted her knees. I could hear Dorabella, still talking, in the corridor. Raylene jogged and jiggled, with her spectacular back to the door.

I’m a good host.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 132: Running on the spot

hands-on-head-caned1There was a pause while Dorabella, Lynette and I gazed at Raylene, who stood straight, her hands on her head forcing her gaze down slightly. The floor; the visual fascination of floors, for submissives. Her buttocks well and redly striped, with a few downward-sloping welts on her upper right thigh where the end of the cane had whipped. Those would be hurting.

Her face was flushed with sobbing, and her cheeks still wet with tears. Her upper lip was shiny, unromantically enough, with phlegm. I took the tissues box and stepped in front of her so she could watch me.

“Good girl.” I wiped her face clean and dry, dabbing at the tears and wiping her lip, then holding a handful of tissues to her nose. She leaned forward at the waist and blew. After four fierce snorts, head shaking and many, many tissues, she smiled and straightened up. She could breathe through her nose. Then we looked into each other’s eyes.

Dorabella suddenly sang out, “Loo break! Loo break!” She put her arm round Lynette’s shoulder – Lynette had been slower to react – and bustled them both to the door. “Come on, we can, oh, powder our noses. Girl stuff! Exciting!”

Lynette said, “Buh,” and then she was gone. 

So Raylene and I were suddenly alone, in a silent room. I put my hands on her back, just above the highest cane stroke, and pulled her close. “Subtle, your sister, isn’t she?”

kiss-betterRaylene laughed suddenly. She hadn’t expected to be laughing anytime soon. “Like a truck!” She shook her head, amused, then lifted her face up to be kissed. I provided kisses. Time passed. I could hear Dorabella and Lynette in the bathroom, though I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Dorabella was doing most of the talking. 

Eventually Raylene looked up. “Did you say you were falling in love with me?” 

“Yeah, sorry. The awkward declaration. You don’t have to … reciprocate. I mean you have to do as you’re told. But your emotions, they’re mostly up to you. It’s true, but I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. You know. I can’t take it back, but – ”

“Shut up.” I must have looked astonished. “Shut up, Master. I don’t know, Master. I know you weren’t trying to put me on the spot. And it’s not like it’s a bad thing. How can I mind you falling in love with me? “

“Yeah. I lead with my chin, me. Possibly my mouth.”

“That’s not what you’re leading with.” She rubbed her belly against my cock. 

I said, as I had to Lynette in similar circumstances, “Ah fuck…” But to Raylene I added, “And I really need to fuck you.”

hands-on“Yeah. Oh, yeah.” That was enthusiasm. She took her hands down and stroked me. My mouth fell open, information from my cock and its soft handling over-riding all else. I had nothing to say.

“Anyway, you’re my Master. That happened fast. And I didn’t actually ask you if you wanted to be.”

“You can’t have had any doubt, though. Very happy to be your Master. Fucking happy. Going to fuck you.” I was still being stroked. 

I had both hands on her burning ass now. My body was moving with her hands.

She didn’t stop. I couldn’t tell her to stop. “Well, we’re going pretty fast. If I’m calling you Master, that’s a pretty big commitment anyway. And I don’t mind that. And I mean it too, I mean everything that goes with it. Whatever that is.”

“We’ll make it up as we go along.”

She laughed, as if I’d said something ridiculous and she was in on the joke. 

 

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 131: Squat thrusts 4

raylene-squatRaylene dropped again, squatting then leaning forward to rest the weight of her upper body on her hands. Her face was face was red, with effort rather than embarrassment.

I watched her shoot her legs out, so her scarlet ass was the highest part of her body, now resting on her hands and toes. 

It occurred to me that I should make Raylene exercise more. 

Not because she wasn’t fit. Her ass proclaimed, in blazing color, that she was a naughty girl and now she was being punished for it. That’s always a distracting sight, at least for people like me. And for Lynette, it seemed. But Raylene’s ass and thighs also told of hours spent on gym equipment, or more likely just walking up and down the hills of this harbourside city. She was a fit, strong girl.

She straightened up again. “Seven, Master!”

“Good girl.”

raylene-tits“Thank you!” But her breasts bobbed and jiggled so beautifully when she had to move quickly that it’d be a shame not to make her do it more often.

Even if I couldn’t always get her an audience, other than just me.

“Ah, eight, Master!”

I looked at Lynette. “Do you think she needs an exercise program? Something like cycling in the air, and more squat thrusts every night before bed?”

Lynette was watching Raylene’s ass. Fervently. But she looked up and said, “Yes. I think so.”

“Nine, Master!”

“Good girl.” That was to Raylene. To Lynette I said, “Well, we’ll see. Perhaps we’ll hold it off till midnight tonight.”

Dorabella laughed, I guess at Lynette’s expression. Or Raylene’s. “Ten, Master!”

But Dorabella tried to sound serious and helpful when she said, “She’s always wanted a coach. Haven’t you, Raylene? She thinks she doesn’t exercise enough. So, Jaime, I think it’d be good for her if you make her.”

raylene-squat-2“Eleven, Master!” Raylene’s voice had taken on that whiny tone again. She wasn’t sure she liked the direction this was going. Which, because life is sexy when it’s complicated, meant that she loved it.

We all watched her last squat thrust. She stood straight, breasts still quivering, ass still glowing. “Twelve, Master.”

After a second she put her hands on her head.