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.

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’s orgasm

Maddie said nothing. She could enjoy whatever was to come, but what happened or how it happened was not her concern. I put lube, more that seemed possible, on my condommed cock, then put my hands on her ass and opened her a little. The moment she knew she was to be taken anally was the moment my cock pressed against her little ring.

She said, “O”, teeth still holding the cane. I pushed forward into her, slowly but in one long movement. Maddie didn’t breathe. I stopped, then, my belly tight against her buttocks, my cock throbbing deep inside her. My body was shaking with the pleasure of it. 

I’d intended to fuck her hard and fast, refusing her permission to come, but something in her acquiescence called to me.

She was submitting deeply. She was being a good girl. So I fucked her ass hard, but less brutally than I’d planned. Maddie rolled her hips with my movements, holding my cock tight, keeping me deep inside her.

Her breath sped up, after we’d rocked together for some time, and so I sped up too, pumping her hard and feeling my orgasm collecting, building, at the base of my spine.

I reached under her to stroke her cunt, and we moved hard, bodies joined, until she came, squealing and yowling like a fucked cat.

I said, “good girl, good girl,” over and over, while she came. It was the first time I’d praised her since this morning, though she’d worked all day to obey and please me.

Later I dragged out the spare matters from the sick room, and we piled up sheets and [illows and lay together, a girl and her master.

Companionably. 

 

 

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.

 

 

Wicked Wednesday: Maddy’s tears

Maddie waited naked, her hastily discarded dress on the floor beside her, facing my door, on her knees. She’d heard the scene with Jennifer, and she well knew the mood I’d be in. I put the cane on the floor beside her. She knew that wasn’t because I wouldn’t be needing it, but so she could pass it to me when it was time.

I saw that she’d tidied the storeroom beyond any reasonable complaint. There were neat piles of papers, clearly labelled, tidied rows of books, and the boxes made neat stacks on the upper shelves.

When I looked back at Maddie she’d opened her mouth and put her tongue forward, covering her lower teeth and pushing out her lip. The invitation was almost irresistible. She wanted, as she always did, to direct what happened. I stepped forward and slapped her face with my left hand. Her head jolted the the right, then to the left when I repeated the slap, backhanded. 

They didn’t need to be hard slaps, and they weren’t. Their psychological effect on Maddie was what counted. They dropped her, instantly, into submission and a world in which she had no influence on what happened. It was only necessary for her to serve. I grabbed her hair then, unzipped and thrust hard into her mouth, filling her before she had time to gasp for breath. 

She sucked me, running her tongue under my cock, keeping her eyes on mine, as she’d been told. I savoured her warm, wet harbour, and counted to ten. That was as long as she usually took to start worrying about choking. Her eyes showed worry at twelve seconds. I counted slowly to fifteen. 

It wasn’t that she couldn’t hold her breathe; she could manage over a minute. It was that this was the ultimate loss of control for Maddie, and she feared it and desired it at the same time. At eighteen I pulled her, fast, off my cock, and she gasped for air. 

The tears ran down her cheeks, making runnels in her mascara while she fought for air, my cock poised in her mouth for the next thrust.

Then there was no more air, only cock.I pushed against the back of her throat.

Maddie stiffened and fought for control. Eventually she relaxed, and put her hands on my shins, not for support but for affection, while nearly twenty seconds passed. So I withdrew a little, and allowed her the comfort of having her mouth rather than her throat fucked. She sucked and tongued diligently. 

I watched her eyes while hers watched mine. She was happy. And she expected me to come soon. 

Reluctantly, and with seconds to spare, I withdrew from her mouth. I wanted to tell her she was a good girl and had pleased me, and she plainly needed that.

But it would break the mood. I said, “You think this is tidy, Maddie?”

She frowned. “Well, yes, Sir. I thought so.” 

“Well, we’ll see. Your panties are in your desk, I assume?” She’d shed them when I’d had her this morning. She knew I’d disapprove, painfully, if she’d put them back on. 

She nodded. “Yes, Sir.” 

“Fetch.” 

Maddie put her hands on the floor, and crawled to her office.

She knew better than to stand up.

Wicked Wednesday: Beautiful, bell-like, orgasm

I dipped my finger in the oil collected at her anus. “Hmm,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll often find this part of your body lubricated in the future.” 

“Sir?” 

“A man who wants you, Jennifer, will certainly need to take you here.” I pressed my finger down a little, not quite entering but letting her feel her own muscles ready to admit me. Then I spread the oil, moving down into her perineum. Jennifer’s moan was loud, and unambiguously sexual. She was nearly ready.

“But that’s in your future, girl. For now-” 

I resumed stroking her buttocks and thighs, with Jennifer rising and falling under my hands. Her breathing was urgent. She was close. 

At the last second, I reached low on her buttocks and pressed hard, fingers digging into where her sciatic nerves would be. Jennifer sobbed, once, and her body rose briefly from my table. She was silent after that, trying to conceal that deep and perhaps surprising orgasm she’d just had.

I maintained the pressure, and a few seconds later she gave another shudder, and then was still. Her face looked anguished. Her eyes were wet. There were tears on my desk.

I resisted the urge to take her in my arms, kiss her and praise her, and instead resumed kneading her as if nothing had happened. My cock ached, in restrictive clothing. I wanted her so powerfully. 

After a minute I slowed and stopped, and gave her right buttock a pat. “I think that’ll do you, little Jennifer. I’m sure we’ve dealt with any pain.” 

There was no response. Jennifer was still entranced. There was drool as well as tears on my desk. I reached for her shoulder. “Girl.” There were threats, disciplinary threats, in my voice.

She let me help her up. She stood, panties still round her knees, and looked at me, red-faced, wet-eyed. She wiped her mouth. She wore no lipstick. Suddenly she launched herself, threw her arms around my back and kissed me. It was passionate, needy. I was sure it was the first time she’d kissed a man.

I let the kiss last, because it was wonderful and I wanted to treasure it, and it meant she had surrendered to me more than she knew. Yet. She rubbed her breasts against my chest. “Thank you, sir, thank you, thank you!” 

But eventually I smacked her bottom. She remembered where she was. She stepped back. “Sorry, Headmaster. I was – I just wanted to say thank you.” 

Of course I smiled. “You are an incredibly good girl, Jennifer. And sweet-natured. And there’s nothing at all wrong with that.” I spoke with absolute sincerity. These things were true. “Now, the oil’s soaked into your skin, girl, so you can pull your panties up now.”

For some female reason she turned her back for this operation, so that I could watch the slow concealment of the lower half of her bottom. 

When she turned to face me, a smiling girl, her face only slightly flushed, I gave her a piece of paper I’d had Maddie type earlier. She looked at it blankly. “Sir?” 

“That’s a note to Wynetts. The shop your mother bought your uniform. Take that piece of paper to them – they’re expecting you this afternoon – and try on uniforms till you find one you’re comfortable in.” 

“Sir, please. I can’t take-” 

“There’s a school fund for exactly this sort of issue, Jennifer. You can and you will. Get s uniform that looks good. Not like the one you’re wearing now, and not too conspicuously modest either. Just get something so that you look like the other girls. All right?” 

She stepped towards me, then stopped. Propriety had broken out. She said, “I’m glad I kissed you, Sir.” 

I smiled. “Do you want your bottom smacked again?” 

Her face was pure mischief. “Perhaps.” 

So I tried to look stern, and said, “That’s enough of that.” But I couldn’t stop smiling. I took her ear and led her to the door. “Off you go, Jennifer. See me tomorrow morning, in your new uniform.” 

“Yes, Sir.” I resisted the urge to pat her bottom, and shut the door behind her. I sighed, happily. I need release. I needed Maddie, with some urgency. After some thought, I took the senior cane from my cupboard. I had no idea if she’d properly tidied and cleaned the storeroom, and I’d warned of consequences if she hadn’t. She’d be waiting for me, having listened to, among other things, Jennifer’s beautiful, bell-like orgasm. 

I opened the storeroom door. 

Wicked Wednesday: Rubbing it in

I gazed, awed, at the pink blush of Jennifer’s bottom and thighs. She was still red in the spots I’d concentrated the spanks: the centre of her buttocks and the tops of her thighs.

I took the oil and poured a little trickle onto the upper cleft of her buttocks, where she would be autely aware of the trickle running slowly down, some collecting at her anus, and some trickling lower.

She would want me to rescue her from that trickle when it reached her anus, certainly her cunt. She would want me to touch her.

As if having the same thought, she expelled her breath and moved her feet slightly apart, exposing her pretty, swollen and – I was sure – achingly wet and needy pussy. There was silence for a moment. Tribute not just to the sexual power of our situation, but also to her sheer beauty.

“That’s good, girl, that’s lovely. Your behaviour, I mean.”

“Thank you, sir.” She knew what I’d meant.

I poured a generous helping of oil onto my left hand, put the bottle down and rubbed my hands gently together. I rubbed her bottom gently until most of her bottom and thighs were slippery and shining.

Then I used more force, pressing my thumbs into the centre of her gluteal muscles. Jennifer made a little squeal of relief and pleasure, as I worked on the knots of tension in that gloriously firm and round ball of muscles.

Her upper body flattened entirely onto the desk and her ass rose, surrendering herself entirely to anything I might choose to do with her. Her head was turned so her left cheek rested on the wood. She was smiling, lips slightly parted, and her eyes shone.

I worked my way down to her parted thighs, finding and working on any knots of tension until they were gone. She made little pleasure noises as she relaxed, and I knew those would be the noises I would hear when her need and her nerve had build up to the point where she begged me to fuck her, and I decided she was ready. I resolved to hold off for at least a fortnight, no matter how prettily she begged.

The knots dealt with, I was gentler and more sensual as I stroked and pressed her thighs and bottom on the return. I wanted her to feel, just from my hands, how tender and beautiful I thought she was. She sighed, lost in pleasure, and her left foot again moved a little further to the left.

The trickle of oil running down her cleft had nearly reached her anus. I was sure that she was very aware of the oil’s slow encroachment.

I ignored it, and continued her massage, clasping and kneading her soft, now utterly relaxed, flesh. Jennifer’s sighs and other sounds were more overtly sexual, a young woman being pleasured, and her hips started to move, gently up and down as if being fucked by an invisible lover. Every breath she took was audible now. She was absorbed, and lost. Nothing existed except for my hands, I guessed.

She stilled suddenly. The trickle had reached her anus. “Sir?”

I pulled her cheeks apart, though it wasn’t strictly necessary.

Wicked Wednesday: Jennifer considers “feeling better”

“What do you mean, ‘feel better’? Sir?”

I put my hand on her cotton-cocooned right buttock and squeezed, to remind her that there was nothing to stop her from getting her morning spanking all over again. Jennifer shivered, her soft skin and firm muscles trembling under my hand. She understood that I was threatening to repeat her spanking. But she liked my hand.

 “Some people get spanked regularly and often, Jennifer-” She made a wordless noise, not of protest but of recognition. Jennifer had learned that that was the kind of girl she was. “That’s the world you’re in now. Now, girls like you often need aftercare. And if they’re been good after their spanking they should get what they need. Does that sound sensible, Jennifer?”

There was a pause. She was looking for the trap. But it was hiding in plain sight. Eventually she said, “No, that does sound reasonable, sir.”

“Now, Jennifer. You’ve got a sore bottom, but you’ve been a good girl all day, I’m told. So you can have something that can take the pain away.”

“Sir?” She sounded shocked. Her imagination was, of course, running wild. She was seconds away either from protesting or making some declaration of consent or need. The latter was more likely but I didn’t want her to do that today. She needed more time, to build up a deep and desperate need before I’d let her consent.

“It’s a natural oil mixture, with aloe vera, lavender, arnica and cocoanut oil for vitamin E. It cools the spanked area and takes away most of the pain, and sets about healing the skin. To let you sleep easy, and, well, let you sit down again without it being awkward. It’s for girls who get into trouble a lot but they’re good girls really. Would you like that?”

Nude young woman applying lotion to her bottom

There was a longer pause. Jennifer knew she wouldn’t be applying the mixture herself. That left strong, male hands kneading her flesh, healing the skin I’d hurt earlier that day.

I suspected that would appeal in its own right, and anyway it’d be better than going home with a sore bottom.

Finally and bravely Jennifer said, “Yes, I’d like that. You mean like a massage. I like those.”

I collected the tube of oils from the corner of my desk, where it lived with the pens pencils and felt tips and paperclips. I put a dab on the lowest vertebrae in the small of her back. A subdued, noctural animal sound from Jennifer. She was so needy, so aroused.

I put my fingers in the upper hem of her panties, and pulled them, not down, but away from her skin, revealing a perfect bottom, unlikely to be quite as sore as she’d claimed but still prettily pink from her spanking.

Jennifer groaned. “Oh sir, please. Can you leave my panties up?”

“Have I already seen your bottom, Jennifer? Quite recently?”

“Um. Well, yes, sir. You did. You have.”

“So is it something about your panties, then? Have you got a laptop hidden down there?”

She laughed. “No, sir.”

“So you’re fussing, girl. All right, you can help me. You take them down for me. All the way to your knees, please.”

“Thank you, sir.” Jennifer reached back obediently. The panties came down, slowly, as if she felt it was a gift that should be savoured inch by inch. She pulled the bunched cotton past the fleshiest part of her bottom and tugged them all the way down as instructed.

She was a spanked angel, smelling of musk and almond flour, half naked over my desk.

 

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?”

Wicked Wednesday: Jennifer and the desk

I watched Jennifer’s face while she thought about removing all of her clothes for her twelve strokes of the cane. She frowned, staring at the carpet in front of my desk. Then down at the desk, which she’d probably be bent over while I caned her. Then she looked at me.

Her face was calm, now. She’d assimilated it. If I thought it was necessary, then she’d be a good girl, for me. Or maybe it wasn’t about being good. That spanking had brought her close to orgasm. Maybe she was thinking of how she might feel, undressing at my command while I watched her, till she was fully exposed and about to receive that fiercer sting to her body. I wondered how long it would take her to make sure it happened. 

I interrupted her thoughts. “So, you’d best bear that in mind, girl. But I wasn’t just talking about discipline for you, though you do need that. Don’t you?”

She looked down, then, her face still hanging, looked up at me through her lashes. She was a natural coquette. “Yes.”

I let my voice be harsh. “What do you need, Jennifer?”

“I need discipline, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“I’m glad we agree. Now, I know that this uniform has given you a reputation, and it’s not one that’s good for you. It’s affected your behaviour already. and if you keep wearing it, it will affect those marks you’re so proud of.”

She looked confused for a second, then nodded. Oh, I meant her school marks. I was sure she’d looked at the marks of her spanking in the toilets, and rubbed them well. I wondered if she’d had that orgasm she’d been so close to, over my knee. “I think you’re right, sir. I wasn’t -” But it was too complicated. She shook her head.

“I know, Jennifer. It wasn’t so good for you. Now, I have a solution, that should help you concentrate on your schoolwork from now on.”

She looked expectant, and sure she was out of trouble now. So I pushed my chair a little way back from my desk.

“But we’ll talk about that shortly. For now we have some other things to consider. First, Jennifer, I made you an offer this morning. For extra tuition, and extra discipline. Have you been thinking about that?”

“Yes, sir! And -”

I held my hand up. “Not now, Jennifer. I said you had a couple of days. I don’t want to hear a rash decision from you. But I’m pleased you’ve begun thinking about it. I want you to think it over, very thoroughly.”

Her face fell. She’d been on the brink of telling me she’d accepted. Then she’d have made sir happy with her. And an adventure would start. “Now, Jennifer, step forward.”

“Sir.” She did as she was told, some of her wariness returning. “Now girl, bend over my desk.”

“Sir?” 

“Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me, girl. I have little patience for games like that.” 

“Sir? Have I -” 

“It was an order, Jennifer. You obey orders. You don’t question them.”

Her mouth dropped again. Had the adventure begun? She put her hands on the desk, palms flat. She looked at me. Her expression was solemn. This was an important moment.

Her palms slid forward as she bent neatly at the waist, and lowered herself into that most basic and uncompromising of punishment positions.

The skirt rose as she lowered her body,