Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 28

We stood, a naked woman and a clothed man standing close behind her, both facing the top of the stairs. Raylene held an armful of her clothes to her belly, and she was biting lightly on the razor strop in her mouth. She’d arched her back to press her buttocks and cunt back onto my cock. She’d rubbed a wet patch onto that lump in my jeans.

It was time to warm her arse properly. I was sure, from the way she’d responded to the smack of my hand across her ass and thighs, that I knew how she’d respond to the leathering. She’d be curious about her own sensations when I started, then the heat would build up, which she’d experience as pleasure. I’d make the last few strokes harder, and I expected that they’d make her desperate, needing to be filled and fucked.

I wanted her submission from her as urgently as I was sure she needed to give it. I expected the half querulous, half joyous grunt she’d make when my cock entered her would be the same as the sound she made when she felt the first hard stroke with the strop.

For now Raylene seemed completely focussed on rubbing her cunt on my cock, through my jeans. And maybe she was thinking about what I intended to do with the razor strop she held in her mouth.

I put my hands on her hips and sighed with the pleasure of this moment, and the possibilities ahead of us. She felt my breath on her neck and shoulders. Suddenly she had goose bumps. I kissed them.

strap mouthRaylene made another nasal noise, whose exact meaning was unclear. It seemed she wanted something. I decided it was time to let her speak again. Or that it was time to let her feel the razor strop. Or, of course, both. I reached up and stroked Raylene’s cheek, touching a finger to the corner of her mouth, then gripped the handle of the strop.

Raylene froze. She knew what that meant, and no matter how much she might want to feel that leather landing across her skin, and no matter how excited the anticipation was making her, it was still alarming to know the moment had come. 

“Mouth open, Raylene.”

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 27

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.

naked on stepsI 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.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submission 26

Raylene stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and glanced back to make sure I was following. Of course I was. I closed the gap between us, to stand behind her and put my hands on her shoulders, reaching down under the bundle of clothes she carried to hold her breasts. She sighed, voluptuously.

I took each nipple between my thumb and forefinger and rolled the hard rubber flesh gently. She sighed a little louder. Raylene was happy.

She turned her face so I could kiss her, which wasn’t so easy with the razor strop in her mouth. So I kissed her ear, then her cheek, and pinched her captive nipples, not gently this time. Then, in clear stages, I applied even less gentle pressure, and then cruel pressure. Raylene’s eyes opened wide, and she made snorting noises, perhaps of protest, but she kept her mouth firmly closed on the razor strop.

I held her nipples tight, and said, “that’s good, you’re doing fine.” Then I released her. Raylene grunted, not ladylike, as that pressure eased and blood came back. I stroked her nipples then, and the surrounding flesh, lightly to help soothe the pain, and for my pleasure.

Raylene relaxed and pressed back against me. She found the hardness of my cock, trapped tightly in jeans. She pressed back so her bottom pushed hard against that hardness, and I stopped breathing. And stopped moving. Raylene rose on tiptoes and leaned forward and arched her back so her cunt pressed directly against that focal point.

cunt finger 1“Ay yah,” I said, intelligently. Raylene slowly rutted and rotated against me, moist cunt pressed against clothed constricted cock. Until I reached down to slip the fingers of my right hand into her, so that – though this was still very pleasant – we soon lost our coordination. The corridor smelled of sex. Eventually I smacked the back Raylene’s thigh, left-handed.

“Come on, love, we need to be in your bedroom.”

Raylene made a nasal agreement noise, which seemed heartfelt. I made her climb ahead of me again, for aesthetic reasons. But when she reached the landing, at the halfway point, I told her to wait.

Silent night: some Christmas thoughts on gags

silent nightThinking back, I’m surprised at how very little time submissives of mine have spent gagged. I have a ball gag, and one that intrudes a rather realistic penis-shaped column into the mouth of the person wearing it.

But in the heat of the moment I’m more likely to want to kiss her, to hear her moan and cry out, to thank me for her pain and her orgasms, and to have her kiss my boots or, of course, suck my cock. And if she’s not doing any of those things, then I might just want to have a conversation. Gags don’t help much for any of that. 

But I need to use my imagination more. Not being able to speak is frustrating, and she can enjoy the frustration. I can enjoy that too.

Then there are ring gags. I’ve never used one, because I’ve always thought that the rim – especially of the metal type – looks uncomfortable. I mean uncomfortable for the dom, of course. They look likely to interfere with the serious business, for the submissive, of pleasuring the master’s cock.

ring gagOn the other hand, there’s the emotional and sexual power of the idea that “you’re not sucking my cock; I’m fucking your throat”.

That means the ring gag would have to be large enough to allow penile entry all the way up to the base of the cock.

Another advantage of ring gags is drool. A submissive wearing one can’t control her saliva. At least in my experience, submissives tend to be extremely neat and tidy. For example, there’s that odd attraction that many submissives have to to stationery and little pads and pens in different colours, and so on. Which are kept in a meticulously orderly way.

Being unable to avoid dribbling and drooling would be exquisitely humiliating for most submissives I know.

So I shall start shopping for a ring gag.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 25

Let’s get back to the Raylene story. The story so far is that a while back I interviewed Raylene, the younger half-sister of a woman I knew, for a story I was writing on gang violence. Raylene had spent a year with a neo-Nazi gang. She’d been in a bad state when she joined. Her main aim had been to hurt her mother, which she did.

But when her brain and conscience came back on line she’ got out. She was back staying with her mother until she got a job and a new place to live and generally sorted herself out.

We talked at the kitchen table, but although it started as a magazine interview we soon found ourselves talking about personal stuff that I couldn’t use in the story. I realised that I liked her, because even though some of the things she told me about were horrible, she knew she’d fucked up. She was honest about what she’d done and why, and she was brave, smart and funny. 

And then, over a cup of tea we moved from liking each other to wanting to fuck.

And while we were starting to get sexual, I discovered that Raylene rather liked being told what to do. And then, because I pushed a little, that she rather liked being smacked if she didn’t obey quickly enough. And Raylene made her own, reciprocal discoveries about me. So we knew not only that we were about to fuck, but the kind of sex that we were going to have.

That process of recognising each other, and deciding to proceed, took quite a while, it seemed. Although in another sense it all happened very quickly.

stairs againI’d left off the story at the point where Raylene was glowing rather beautifully from having had her breasts smacked with a ruler, and her bottom smacked and her pussy stroked with my hand. It was time for her to lead the way to her bedroom. She held her clothes in a bundle, and was biting on an old razor strop that her mother had bought (as an antique, not for sexual purposes). I smacked her bottom, to set her walking.

I collected my laptop from the table. It was supposed to record a story on gangs, and had instead recorded something much more interesting. It shouldn’t be left lying around. And I followed Raylene, watching her.

She was a strong girl, in a feminine way. Her bottom would normally glow palely in contrast to tanned skin, but at this moment she was pinkly splotched from my hand.

I watched the crease and uncrease of buttock and thigh, left, then right, as she walked. I could watch that all day.

Anal hooks in use

My knots were nowhere near as neat and tidy as that, I'm afraid.

My knots were nowhere near as neat and tidy as that, I’m afraid.

Some time ago I mentioned that I’d never used an anal hook.

I’d thought it was interesting that no-one had heard of them until quite recently, which means it might be one of the most recently invented sex toys.

They seemed kind of unnecessary, in the sense that people have done bdsm with each other for centuries, and in all that time no-one had ever felt that there was something missing, and that missing item was the anal hook. 

Still, they seemed a good way of keeping a submissive in position, held absolutely ruthlessly with her ass presented. 

Now I’ve used one. This post is just a foreshadowing, because I’m not up to writing much at the moment, but I’ll write a consumer’s report shortly. 

So this is Christmas

Just interrupting the Raylene story, now that we’re finally getting out of the kitchen, for some personal notes.

I’ve just bought a lot of champagne and white wine for Christmas, which is largely, damn near entirely, a close family occasion. Usually I like to host as many people as I can, people who aren’t doing family Christmases, but the family outvoted me on that one. So there it is.

Christ on a bike

Christ on a bike

As for me, I spent three days sleeping round the clock, hardly getting out of bed, after finding that I didn’t have cancer. Then I got flu and something horrible and gastric (you don’t wanna know about it).

Finally I got up, weak as a kitten.

Usually I run down to the bottom of the nearby waterfall and back, but all I’ve been able to manage is a walk down my own property and then back to the house. Exhausted.

So that, I think, is my body telling me enough is enough. It’s been a year of death and separation and loss, and various systems want me to take it easy for a while. So I’ll be sensible for a change.

I’m basically stoical, cheerful and optimistic, and I intend to stay that way. But I’m not feeling any sort of Christmas spirit – no jollity, and I have to remember that I love people – not all the people, obviously. Still, I’m going to get back to normal. 

On the day, since my father isn’t able to do it, I’m going to be a gurning fool, possibly in a white cottonwool beard, shouting ho ho ho, pressing champagne on people, and announcing and doling out the presents one by one with a lot of shouting. A sort of meld of my father and Brian Blessed. 

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 24 (leaving the kitchen!)

I stroked her cunt some more, for comfort, finding a nice wet girl, who gasped when my fingers moved inside her. She was having trouble standing still. She said, “Ahh iiii,” which became a sigh, and she leaned against me so I could whisper to her ear while she wriggled wetly on my hand. 

“It won’t be more than you can take.”

 Raylene made a sceptical sound, and I grinned at her. She couldn’t see that, so I said, “And it definitely won’t be more than you deserve.”


“But you’ll be all right, love. It’ll be a learning experience, but I promise it won’t be too much. Don’t be scared.”

“Hah! That’s easy for you to say.”


“Sorry sorry sorry Sir! Anh!” That was a third finger in her cunt. “Well. I did wonder what it would feel like. A good strapping.”

“Stropping. It’s a strop. For a stroppy girl.” Raylene laughed. She seemed to have bounced back a little too easily, so I withdrew my fingers from their wet little home, and said, “Take those jeans and panties off now, love.”

Raylene hopped about, tugging the jeans and panties off, and put them on the table with her jersey. She stood naked now, feet apart, hands behind her head.

mouth“You know you look fuckable. Lovely, and fuckable. Here.” I pressed the strop to her mouth. She kissed it. “Good girl, but not quite. Open.” She obeyed and I pressed the leather between her lips. “Now hold it. If it falls I’ll whip you, little Raylene. Whip you hard.” 

Raylene bit lightly on the leather, and made a noise through her nose that might have been “Yes Sir.” 

“Pick up your clothes, love.” Raylene made another nasal sound of acknowledgement, and gathered up the clothes, holding the bundle to her breasts.

I turned her to face the door into the corridor, and smacked her bottom. It really was a delicious, meaty impact, her sweet round chubbiness over hard muscle. I smacked her again. Raylene made a sound, not exactly of protest.

 “You do colour beautifully,” I said. She made what seemed to be an ironical noise at that, so I smacked her again. And then again. “That’s nicely pink. That can be my beacon so I don’t get lost. Now,” and I smacked her one last time, “your bedroom. Lead the way.”


Is there life outside the kitchen? Tune in, etc.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 23

“Huh? It’s just in the drawer.”

“Yeah, but why is it in the drawer?”

Raylene shook her head, dumbfounded. “Why?”

“Well, I mean, your mother never strapped any of you, did she?”

“God no.” 

I knew her mother a little, from when I’d been going out with Raylene’s older sister. She wasn’t the sort of mother who could hurt her children with a razor strop, under any circumstances. As I’d understood her. So I was glad to be right. “Well, good. But … then why’s she got something like this?”

“She found it in the farm house. That they’re fixing up. She was going to shine it up and hang it on the wall. With some, you know, old farmhouse things.”

“Ah. Okay. Well, you’re going to shine it for me, now. It needs oil, it needs a lot of rubbing. That’s going to be your job.” 

“Oh? It’s not like there’s anything in that for me, is there?”

nipple pinch“Well, you’ll like it much better when the leather’s more supple. And anyway, you’ll do as you’re told. Won’t you?” I pinched her nipple again, to remind her of certain things.

Raylene snapped back into role. “Yes, Sir. I will. I want to. Um. Sir?” 


“Are you going to. You’re not going to. Use it on me, now? While it’s all hard?”

I held her again, kissed her and stroked her. Raylene came in close to be embraced, but even though I held her comfortingly, I had that leather strip in my hand. Hard leather touched her left flank, rubbed against her thigh, while I held her arse, “Look at me.”

She did. “Sir?”

“We’re going up to your room now. Before we come down again, you’re going to know what this feels like, pretty Raylene. I’ll tell you what to do, and all you have to do is what you’re told. It’ll be easy. And then you’ll keep still while you get your bottom strapped. And when you’re nice and warm I’m going to fuck you. All right?”