Raylene, decorated with two broad red bands across her bottom, her upper body supported by her forehead pressing against the stair, turned her head slightly, wanting to look at me. She said, “One, thank you, sir.”
I was touched. I hadn’t told her to count the strokes. She wanted to make this harder for herself.
I cupped my hand on her nearer, left buttock, feeling the cool of her pale skin, where the razor strop hadn’t yet heated her. Raylene edged her body over, trying to tough me with her hip. I rewarded her, stroking her vertically between her buttocks, getting my fingertips wet with her arousal. Raylene shivered.
I pushed my fingers a little further inside. “You really want to be fucked, don’t you?” The first time I’d asked that I’d meant to humiliate her a little, since nice girls weren’t supposed to say that sort of thing, and she hadn’t yet been fully comfortable with revealing her submission to me. This time I meant it with affection. And appreciation. Lust is good.
It turned out Raylene wasn’t speaking just then. I took her grunt as heartfelt agreement, and stroked her cunt again, fingers a little deeper inside. The grunt became a moan and rose in pitch.
I smacked her affectionately, but hard. “Good girl. You’re being brave. Now I want you to stay brave.”
I raised the strop over my shoulder, and contemplated my target. The strokes would start crossing each other soon. But for now there was still virgin territory to colour in, the soft and sensitive skin of the undercurve of Raylene’s buttocks, an inch or two above the crease of her thighs.
I put my free hand on Raylene’s back to steady and, I hoped, comfort her. And, aiming low, I swung the strop again.