Raylene wriggled while she absorbed this latest hurt. Her wriggling on my cock, I decided, is a good thing, and I lay back to enjoy it. It crossed my mind to give her another whack with the razor strop, just to set her a-wriggling again.
But I had a different goal, and when she was still I started thrusting into her from underneath, setting up a regular rhythm that lifted her ass on the up strokes.
I swung the strop down as her ass was rising so they met in mid-air, catching her at the highest point. I din’t strap her every time she arched her ass up; I’d give her a fresh stroke roughly every thirty seconds.
I watched Raylene’s excellently mobile ass writhe and rise and fall in its dance with the strap. She was beautifully firm and rounded, glowing with color and heat. After the second stroke she figured out that the strop would always land when her ass was up, and she could handle it best and avoid extra strokes if she dropped instantly to take my cock fully inside her. And, of course, it was sexier that way.
She reached back to hold my thigh with both hands, to reassure and anchor herself while her ass was caught between my cock and the razor strop. While she was being fucked, the hard leather across her arse added exclamation points to her sensations.
She concentrated fiercely, her face crimson. I took my time applying the last seven strokes. I made the middle strokes less hard, but put extra speed and force into the last two so that she cried out.
When I’d finished her strapping the tension dropped a little. Raylene’s eyes were gleaming a little: she’d come close to tears. But she ground herself luxuriously on my cock, seeming happy to have it where it was. She looked sideways at me. “Is that it?” I nodded, and her eyes widened. “I took thirty strokes! Co-ol.”
I said what a dom has to say, under the circumstances. “You were very good, Raylene. You’re a very brave girl.”
Raylene puffed out a breath, sceptically. Still, she smiled. Simple things work.