Raylene, for perfectly good reasons, which you’ll have to read earlier instalments to discover, was climbing the stairs, naked, in front of me.
She could still feel the impact of my hand landing on her bottom, several times, leaving her skin buzzing warmly, and nicely hand-printed. And she could surely feel my eyes, also on her bottom, watching her walk up the stairs.
I guessed she was hoping that she looked good, and that she was reasonably confident that she did, since she’d taken care to wiggle nicely with every step. Raylene was a cheerful exhibitionist, and I was an appreciative audience. She was biting on an ancient razor strop, and I also guessed that she was wondering what that would feel like across her ass, and how long it would take for her to find out.
I’d told her to stop when she reached the landing halfway up the stairs. She waited for me, still clutching her bundle of clothes. I stood behind her, and reached down to smack her left inner thigh, a signal for her to part her legs. She moved her feet obediently apart. Her position was fine, but I smacked the same spot on her thigh again, purely for the pleasure of it.
But I didn’t want her to think I was displeased with her. “Good girl.”
Raylene made the sort of response a woman might make, if she had a folded strip of old leather in her mouth, and she has been promised that she would be whipped, hard, if she let it go. She believed that promise, which was wise because I would certainly have kept it. So she would not risk opening her mouth.
She made a sort of two-note humming noise of assent, and moved her feet even wider apart. I put my feet between hers and reached round her belly to pull her in close to me.