Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 61: Raylene in sex romp shock!

Raylene yawned. She lay on her front across my lap, stretched out comfortably. Her thighs closed around my cock, still semi-erect. She’d reached one hand back to rest on my stomach. Our first fuck had lasted about four minutes, and I’d lasted about two of them before I came in her. I was too wound up to hold back. But I’d kept it together and stayed hard long enough for Raylene to scream once and begin gibbering in my ear. She’d been a little wound up, too. 

fuckbedThe second fuck, when we’d recovered and there was less urgency, had been slower and longer. I’d been tender when we started, above her, face to face, but after a while I’d turned her over, put pillows under her to keep her ass high, and fucked her hard and forcefully.

Her hands flopped like fledgeling birdwings when she came.

This time I could keep going, and eventually we lost count of her orgasms. But there were many. Finally, I’d taken a handful of her hair in one hand, and, smacking her flanks with the other, I’d ridden her to my orgasm. 

Then we’d collapsed, Raylene was uncomfortable with my weight on her back, so I held her and turned us both over. Raylene lay across my body, in the traditional spanking position, her thighs closed on my cock, which was still lazily half-erect. I lay back, my head and shoulders supported by a pile of pillows. And this is where we started this part of the story.

The sheets and blankets had fallen onto the floor. I looked down at my girl, her green and blue hair stuck to her scalp with her sweat, and her arse and thighs still shockingly, brilliantly red from the razor strop. I reached down and patted her ass again, carefully, then squeezed. Raylene said, “Ummm.”

 She meant that I wasn’t hurting her, but to warn me that it would hurt if I persisted. So – what would you do? – I didn’t pat her the next time: I smacked her. Then I smacked her again, harder. Raylene yelped again, not entirely complaining, and tried to squirm away. But while she squirmed she kept her thighs locked closed on my cock, so it was just possible that she wasn’t fully committed to her escape project.

I tightened my grip on her arse, and held her firmly down. She struggled some more, to feel herself being held hard, and to feel helpless. She found she could kick, and thresh her head and shoulders about, which had a dramatic effect on her breasts, but her ass wasn’t going anywhere. She said, “Ah yah.”

That sounded happy, so I took it that she’d enjoyed having her semi-rebellion subdued. It was clear that I’d enjoyed it too. My cock, symbol and executor of certain kinds of pleasure, was hard again. She began to stroke my cock with warm, soft inner thighs, raising her rump and lowering it again, her face turned to watch my reactions.

spank bedI still had eight strokes of the razor strop to deliver, but though her position was perfect, I couldn’t bring myself to interrupt the thing she was doing with her thighs. I spider-walked the hand on her ass down into her crevices and stroked her cunt,

Raylene made a low satisfied sound. Her lips wetly welcomed my fingers, and her thighs opened again. I reached down between us and guided my cock into her, and we joined and started to rut, slowly, with her lying across my lap.  

We fucked calmly, comfortably, almost companionably. I watched Raylene’s body move on me. Another need announced itself. It felt like the right time. The razor strop had been abandoned towards the side of the bed. It looked almost innocent. I reached over and picked it up.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 60: Raylene cavorts in sex slave love nest!

Raylene made a small sound, part sigh and part moan. She was no longer capable of feeling pain, the right kind of pain, as anything but sexual. Then, a second or two later, she said, “Ooh, ouch,” pronounced as written, to show me that it hadn’t hurt. So there! She was still feeling playful.

strapped on bedI didn’t want her playful. Playfulness has its place but in this moment it was only going to distract us, and deflect her from feeling the things I wanted her to feel. I decided on her behalf that she didn’t want that either. So I swung the strop again, a little harder, letting it land smartly across her lower buttocks. Raylene yelped and her ass waggled rapidly, side to side like a dog emerging from a river.

I let there be growl. “Quiet, girl.”

She puffed three times and made herself still again. After a while she blushed, though I didn’t know why. She hung her head, looking down at her sheet. I pulled her pillow down the bed so it was under her head. “Get your head on the pillow, girl. And stretch your arms out. To the side, that’s it. Keep your ass up.” Raylene obeyed, her back tightly arched. She was a folded girl, breasts and shoulders, knees and toes on the bed, ass in the air.    

I watched Raylene obey. I needed to push her down further, so she was focussed, solemn, and dropped into submission. “Raylene. when I give you an order, any order, I want you to obey quickly. Don’t think, just do as you’re told. Understood?”

Raylene nodded, face in her pillow. I said, “Speak.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You make sure you do. This little strop can hurt you, if you ask for it.”

Raylene said nothing. She thought her permission to speak had expired. It probably had. Instead, she showed her acquiescence by moving her right knee a little further to the right. The movement displayed her cunt to greater advantage. She was visibly a wet, needy girl. 

I said, as if I were unmoved by Raylene’s offering, “Right. You’ve got eight strokes coming. But you’re going to have to wait for them now, girl.”

Raylene made a snuffling noise into the pillow. I supposed she didn’t like the idea of waiting. I stood behind her and pulled my shirt off, then my shoes and socks, very quitly, and then my pants and underpants. My cock flicked free, pleased to be unconstricted by clothes. I condommed up, and tossed the razor strop so she could feel it lying beside her left breast, and climbed, on my knees, onto the bed behind her.

ass up fuckedI put my hand on her hip to steady myself, and held my cock with the other, to guide it till it pressed against that syrupy tropical flower that was Raylene’s cunt. She froze at the touch of my cock, hard against soft and wet lips. Then she moved backwards suddenly, trying to engulf my cock, to get it deeper into her. I tightened my grip on her hip, and held her still. 

She won anyway. I’d been intending to enter her slowly, letting her feel each centimetre opening and  filling her cunt. That would torture me as well as her, and I found that I couldn’t hold back. We pushed at each other, joining until I was pressed hard against the hot skin of her ass and thighs, and my cock was deep within a smooth and sugary paradise.

She said, “ah”, which was all that really needed to be said. I could feel her shaking. I withdrew so the head of my cock was just inside her, and took her again.

Raylene made another pleasured sound, low and musical. Her hands clenched.

Taste of cunt

In the Raylene story, I had a go at describing the aroma of aroused cunt.

I wrote: 

“a warm, woman-ish smell, the middle essence of almond and the blandness but not the sweetness of banana, but those smells made of animal and not vegetable.”

arousedBut I’ve heard from one of my critical readers that this description doesn’t ring a bell. And, since she’s a cunt-owner herself, I’m prepared to accept her criticism. 

Part of the problem is that what I wrote is so impressionistic that it’s almost a private language.

What do I mean “the middle essence of almond”? Well, in perfume that’s not the high note, or the low note. In almonds the middle essence is a sort of warm smell, with no strong taste of its own, except for that slightly mealy warmth. What does “the blandness but not the sweetness of banana” mean? Is “bland” even a taste? Well, I know what I mean, but it’s not necessarily going to communicate to someone else’s tongue, nose, brain and vocabulary.

And using vegetable comparisons to describe an animal taste, that wonderful exudation of the flesh, doesn’t help with clarity either. 

But I can’t think of any animal analogues. I don’t think cunt tastes or smells of fish, for example. 

1950s-housewifeANNNN-yway, I’m going to organise a cook-off, with people male and female who like the taste of cunt.

We’ll be mixing – not necessarily cooking – various ingredients in different combinations. If anyone has any suggestions, for a recipe that tastes like cunt, I’ll gratefully try it.

I will report on results. There could be a great commercial and scientific breakthrough, here. 

 

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 59: Raylene’s bedroom

smacked cuntRaylene waited as I’d told her, on all fours, still naked, on her bed. She’d chosen the angle of maximum exposure, her toes, her crimson bottom and her cunt pointing at the door. I gazed at her, feeling very happy. 

It crossed my mind to sneak up on her, so that her first sign I’d arrived would be my touch.

But somehow she suddenly became aware of me and flinched, as though I’d caught her doing something wrong. Whatever she was feeling guilty about, it wasn’t obvious to me.

I didn’t comment or ask her any questions. Encountering Dorabella and Lynette had thrown me a little, and I didn’t have any plan for what happened next. I needed one. 

Raylene said, without turning her head, “Well, you already knew my sister. You’ll have fucked both of us soon.” So my silence had knocked Raylene a little out of the mood and the moment. She’d bounced some of the way up again. “Don’t think that other girl’s ever going to fuck you, but. She’s -” 

Then I knew how I was going to proceed. “Quiet girl. Or I’ll use that hairbrush.”

Raylene’s room had obviously been given a quick tidy while she could still hear Dorabella and I talking. The wardrobe door wouldn’t close and there was a beach towel casually slung across the arms of wicker chair, to hide whatever was there. But her dresser was tidy, with the usual girl potions neatly arrayed and, indeed, a comb and hand mirror, and a solid-looking wooden-backed hairbrush. So Raylene shut up. 

“That’s better.” I coughed. I was trying to sound harsh. “Now what did I tell you? Get your knees apart, girl. Further!”

Raylene could reasonably have complained that my instructions hadn’t been so specific when I’d told her to go to her room and kneel on the bed. And anyway her knees were apart. But she was back where she wanted to be, in the wrong and exposed to a man with a razor strop in his hand.

drippingI stepped forward and put my hand on her hip. She quivered under my hand. I wondered if she was truly afraid. I squeezed her reassuringly.

When she moved I breathed in a warm, woman-ish smell, the middle essence of almond and the blandness but not the sweetness of banana, but those smells made of animal and not vegetable: the smell of aroused woman. 

I felt an intense rush of lust and affection for her. She shouldn’t know about that yet so I smacked the fullest part of her right buttock. It was an area of skin where the strop had landed repeatedly, slightly raised, so deep and dark, so sore and delicate.

E[lust] 73: Night thoughts

Ht Honey by a fence
Photo courtesy of HT Honey

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Humiliation of an ex-Nazi 58: Submission in public and private

I walked up the stairs, following Raylene’s path to her bedroom. I was feeling light-headed after the confrontation with Dorabella and her friend Lynette. I remembered Lynette’s expression when she’d seen the state of Raylene’s arse. But it wouldn’t do to laugh, not while Raylene could hear me.

She was undergoing something solemn, and I couldn’t let her think I wasn’t taking seriously her pain, her submission or her urgent sexual need and allure.

Still, I had the urge to say something stupid like, “Coming, ready or not.” Or perhaps, “Tremble!” I shook my head, and then slapped the wall hard with the razor strop. Did I hear a little gasp from Raylene? I decided to think so.

What the hell was with Raylene, anyway? When we were alone she’d been in and out of submission. Sometimes she’d drop deep and then she’d be bouncing back up and teasing me.

Detail from image from Pandora Blake's site, "Dreams of Spanking".

Detail from image from Pandora Blake’s site, “Dreams of Spanking”.

I didn’t mind being teased, since it’s fun to deal with it. But it was clear that there wasn’t going to be any more teasing from Raylene. She’d only fully committed herself after Dorabella and Lynette had seen her, and she told her sister she was doing what she wanted.

Still, why had it had taken witnesses, to make Raylene fully submit?

And why had she dropped the moment her sister could see her? And, for that matter, why she hadn’t simply run up to her room while she still had time, and could save herself embarrassment? I had an idea, but it was something to explore later.

I stood in the bedroom doorway, looking down at Raylene.

 

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 57: Raylene waits

on bed 1Raylene had turned to look into her room. Her arse really was an amazing sight. The colour of a Stop sign, but I’d follow it anywhere. I said, “Wait for me on your bed, girl. Hands and knees.”

Raylene said “Yes, sir,” again, and I gave the dark woman a gallic-style, what-can-you-do shrug.

Dorabella watched Raylene disappear. I guess she still found the colour of her ass hard to believe. A few seconds passed, Raylene-less. Dorabella had the floor. Eventually she put her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Come on, Lynette, we should go get a coffee or something. Jaime, we’ll give you, what? An hour? Two hours? Then we’ll come back and make dinner.”

I looked at Raylene’s door, and imagined Raylene, presented on the bed, obediently waiting for her last strokes, and hoping for rough, comforting fucking to follow. “Closer to two hours would be better.”

“We can do that. Well, enjoy. Both of you. And, Jaime, if you hurt Raylene.” She stopped and pulled a face. Of course I was going to hurt Raylene. “You know what I mean. Really hurt her, I’ll fucking come for you.”

“I’m not going to harm her. That’s what you mean. Hurt her, yes. But I know what you mean, and it’s noted.”

She smiled. Dorabella was hopeless at being grim. “Okay. Well, watch out for her.  We’ll see you later.”

She led her friend to the front door. I heard them talking, Lynette angry and upset, Dorabella calming. The door closed after them.

There were things Raylene had done, or not done, in the last few minutes that I didn’t fully understand.

So I slapped the balustrade with the razor strop, hard and loud, so she’d remember it was still in play, and went up to her room.

 

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 56: The cunt cover-up

Dorabella dragged her gaze away from her half-sister, climbing the last few steps naked, with her arse and thighs dramatically welted and coloured by the razor strop. She looked at me, her expression somewhere between worry and amusement.

“Well, Jesus, Jaime. I suppose you know what you’re doing. And Raylene usually does. Well, often. Sometimes. Ah, forget it.”

I said, “Just a moment.” Raylene had reached her bedroom door. “Raylene!” 

Raylene stopped. She turned to face us. The neo-Nazi tattoo on her lower belly was on open display. So was all of Raylene. “Yes sir?”

Her face was deepest cerise red. I was glad she was blushing. I’d been worried that she was taking this too easily. 

“How many strokes have you still got coming, girl?”

dunst cunst shyRaylene hesitated. But she had to answer, in front of company. Something made her try to balance out that exposure by putting her hands in front of her cunt. “Eight, Sir.” 

It’d been seven, actually. But then, she’d covered her cunt without permission. “That’s right.” I didn’t tell her to go in. So she stayed.

Dorabelle said, “Ahem.” I turned back to her. She was blushing too. I shouldn’t have involved her or her friend. But they’d stayed, staring, after they’d seen what we were up to. Dorabella looked at me. “Ah…. We were dropping by to have some dinner, and then sleep here tonight. But… I assume you’re still going to be making a lot of noise?”

I glanced at the razor strop. “Yep. Reckon.” I sounded too happy about that. The darker woman wasn’t liking me any more for it.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 55: Raylene’s display

pussy whippedDorabella stared up at Raylene’s prettily pursed cunt and her flame-red buttocks and upper thighs. “Raylene?”

Still nothing. Raylene didn’t move or speak. Then I realised. “Raylene, answer your sister.”

Raylene coughed. “Uh. Hi, Bellie.”

“What the fuck is going on? What are you doing?”

“Bellie, I’m fine. Really. This is fine. I’m doing what I want.”

The woman who’d been talking with Dorabella in the kitchen appeared. I didn’t know her. She had a dark page-boy cut and olive skin, and she was slender in a shapeless little dress. She was cute, I thought irrelevantly, rather than beautiful like the two half-sisters.

She didn’t ask for permission before coming up the stairs, level with Dorabella. She gasped when she saw Raylene, still glowing redly on the stairs. “Holy fuck, girl.”

The look she gave me, Raylene’s torturer, was not friendly.

quite canederI decided I didn’t have any more reputation to lose. Nor did Raylene. “Raylene. Get up now, girl, and go to your room.”

Raylene said, “Yes, sir,” and put her knees down so she could obey. Kneeling, she lifted her face off the step, and reached back to put her hands on her ass. She breathed out hard, at her own touch.

Then she climbed to her feet, a little shakey. She looked around, and remembered that I’d thrown her clothes into her bedroom. She was going to have to do this naked. 

Dorabella smiled. I suppose sisters like to see sisters suffer embarrassment. But the other woman was still shocked at Raylene calling me sir. Real women didn’t say, “Sir.”

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 54: Sisters!

stroppyRaylene’s slightly older sister – half-sister, really – appeared at the bottom of the stairs. She must have noticed my erection, which I couldn’t do much about, though at least I was still clothed. And the razor strop in my hand. “Oh, hello Jaime.” 

“Hey, Dorabella. Lovely to see you.” Dorabella was named after one of the girls in Cosi fan Tutte. Her father must have been a more whimsical man than Raylene’s Dad.

She was beautiful, with long blonde hair down to her waist, a gentle and loving face and firm, heavy breasts that a man could not hold in one hand. Or two hands, for both of them. She didn’t get the male attention she deserved, though, because she was tall. Taller than me, for example. 

I knew about her breasts because a few years ago she’d been at a party, obviously unhappy and neglected. So I’d come up to talk, and she’d told me, in the matter of fact tone that means sobbing isn’t far behind, that she was ugly, freakishly tall, and generally a fright.

I’d said how beautiful she was and always had been, and how especially beautiful she was right now. In that dress at this party. I said that more vehemently than I should, so that it wasn’t just obvious that it was sincere, but also that I was saying something I’d felt but kept quiet about for a long, long time.

She must have decided that in times of low self-esteem, you could do worse than fucking one of your fans, so we finished up in her bed. That was in the room next to Raylene’s bedroom, though that hadn’t been a significant fact at the time.

Some time in the night she’d asked me about this weird stuff she’d heard I was into, and I told her about dominance and submission. The conversation didn’t lead where I’d hoped it might. She’d brought up the topic partly out of curiosity, and partly so she had a reason for mentioning that she wasn’t interested. But she agreed that what I did with consenting girls was harmless.

exotic-strip-floor-indexSo I’d tried, instead, to get all of a breast into one hand, and found that it couldn’t be done. Though failing at that kept both of us happy. But I demonstrated that her nipples fitted easily into my mouth, and I spend a long time with that less surprising fact, which she appreciated even when I bit her from time to time.

We parted on good terms after the mid-morning final fuck, but she never did take me back into her bed, or go out with me. I’d wanted us to become an item, but she felt we were too different. It’d been good, and it had made us into friends, but it was best to leave it as a one-off. 

Now, on the stairs, we looked at each other, one of us visibly aroused and carrying a leather strap. Dorabella smiled up at me, then frowned. “Is Raylene okay?”

I looked at Raylene. I didn’t understand why she hadn’t moved. Or answered her sister. “Raylene is very okay. I mean, she’s fine.”

Dorabella pulled the corners of her mouth down. “Then why hasn’t she … I’m coming up.”

I said, “Ah, no! This is kind of …” – Dorabella was level with me now, looking up at her sister’s presented, scarlet ass – “private.”