Raylene’s amazing hypnotic arse

Raylene had settled again, and managed to keep her face turned to Lynette as I’d instructed. It looked to me as though she’d been a bit vague about holding eye contact, and that Lynette hadn’t mentioned it. 

Lynette would be telling herself that this was womanly solidarity, and she’d be feeling good about that.

That and the sexual atmosphere in the room would keep Lynette here. She was focussed and bright-eyed, watching what had become the slow, undulating movements of Raylene’s ass. She was happy. Moderately hypocritical, perhaps, but by then I’d learned not to mind mild hypocrisy. We can’t live without it.

Dorabella still held the cane between her thighs, and filmed Raylene’s arse. Dutiful girl. Beautiful girl. I knew I was being unfair to her, giving her less attention because she was neither my new lover nor a woman I hadn’t had sex with before. That’s shallow, and it’s one of the ways the male brain works. It’s still my fault if I do it, but I don’t think that one’s just me. So I smiled at her. “How’s the filming going?” 

Dorabella was still on her knees, with the phone camera to her eye. “I think you’ll like it. It’s hard keeping Raylene’s arse in frame, though. When it’s really moving. Thought a sadist like you would have tied her down?”

“Pervert, yeah. Sadist, no. Can’t stand Sade. But it’s hotter if Raylene has to keep herself still. This time.”

“And next time?” 

“If you film another episode of ‘Raylene Gets the Cane’, I’ll tie her down. Ok?” 

“That would be very thoughtful.” 

“Then you might want to be ready for the next stroke. It’s going to be hard. I don’t think that ass is going to keep still.” Then, not really talking to Dorabella, I said, “But if Raylene lets go of the desk or breaks eye contact with Lynette, she’ll get the stroke again. Even harder. Until she gets it right.”

Lynette said, “Jesus.” I was sure Raylene would hold the desk but lose eye contact. I wondered if Lynette would tell on her. I expected – and hoped – not.

And that was enough preamble. “Show me how brave you are, Raylene.” 

She didn’t answer, except to adjust her grip of the desk legs she was clinging to. I raised the cane, and counted, everything held in awed suspense, silently to twenty-five. Then I swept it down, putting a little more force into the stroke.

Dance de la croupe. Raylene could come dancing, and Lynette could probably come from watching.

It landed across the crown of Raylene’s ass, with a high, loud SWACK, though it was only a slender cane. It would have been worse if I’d aimed for her lower buttocks again, but Raylene had no sense of being treated mercifully.

Her ass shook while the fresh stripe bloomed, and her body flopped on the desk as though it was trying to buck her off and she was trying to stay on.

My lovely cowgirl. She sang, “Ohhhh! Huuuuuuuu! Oh-owwwwwww, fuck!”  

Eye contact was forgotten in the turmoil of pain until suddenly, guiltily, she snapped back to face Lynette. Still mewling: “ooohhhhhhh.” I expected that her mouth looked very beautiful. I expected that Lynette thought so too.

“Lynette.” She looked at me, startled. She’d been entranced. I said, which hadn’t been what I intended, “Lovely, isn’t she?”

“Oh, god yes.” That sounded heartfelt. Cunt-felt.

“But I could have sworn she broke eye contact with you. Did she?”

Lynette paused. Solidarity hung in the balance, with lust jumping on the other scale.