Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 116: Raylene’s caning 3

Please don't tell!

Oh, please don’t tell!

Raylene stared beseechingly into Lynette’s eyes. Lynette, I dare say, wondered about what to do with power. She’d enjoyed watching the two cane-strokes she’d witnessed so far.

Now, with a word she could get Raylene an extra stroke, entirely in Lynette’s honour. And at her discretion. It’s no bad position for a guest of honour to find herself in. So she hesitated.

But like a good feminist woman, all solidarity with the sisterhood (eventually), she finally said, “Oh. No, she was, you’d say, good. She didn’t break eye contact.”

I gave her the look you give a brat who’s denying that she ate all the chocolate biscuits.”Oh? Are you sure? Lynette? Really sure?”

Lynette’s eyes dropped. She didn’t like lying, and she was terrible at it. Then she looked me firmly in the eyes, radiating truth and sincerity. “Yes. She kept her eyes on me all the time.”

This was comedy and we both knew it. “Oh. OK. That’s all right then.” It was a very poor imitation of someone who believed her.

We looked at each other. I grinned at her, and a second or two later she smiled back. Two liars, in a conspiracy to save Raylene’s ass.


Stripes in blossom. Roses of red and white. It was Spring, on Raylene’s arse. 

I saw Raylene relax slightly, relieved, so I whipped the cane down again. Not hard, but low, catching the soft flesh of her underbum. This time she managed to contain the pain, expelling her breath hard but more or less silently. Though she couldn’t keep her ass still while the new stripe blossomed to red, she did manage to keep her eyes on Lynette.

Lynette smiled at Raylene. Her self-control meant that Lynette wouldn’t have to lie again. Approving of the behaviour of a girl getting the cane: that was a new and strange experience. She seemed to be enjoying it. 

“You can call her a good girl, if you like. When she is being good.” I was being helpful.

Lynette put her hand on Raylene’s cheek, touching her thumb to her mouth. “You are a good girl.” Then she stroked Raylene’s hair, lifting it away from her face.

Raylene accepted the caress but said nothing. She may have felt she could only address me. Lynette’s hand strayed down to Raylene’s shoulders. She must have been dying to get her hands on Raylene’s ass again. But she didn’t dare.

This time I didn’t help. Or give her permission.


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  1. Pingback: E[lust] 85: electronic forms of lust | Jerusalem Mortimer: Between the Lines

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