A Malmö question: Can men come without touching their cocks?

I’m at a sexology conference in Malmö, in south Sweden. It’s just across the water from Copenhagen, with a rail bridge connecting the two cities, and countries.

images-3Malmö’s not as cool a town as Copenhagen, where I’d move at the drop of a troll hat. I haven’t found a really nice place in the shade looking at water, where some waiter will bring me beers or mineral waters whenever I manage to make eye contact. Lots of places like that in Copenhagen; scarcer in Malmö.

Before I get to my question, here are some observations about Scandinavia, as experienced by me so far. 

1  The people here, and the way of doing things, are friendly and (some people would say “but”) punctual and efficient. 

2  It’s all very civilised. For example, they’ve preserved weekends as times when friends and family can get together and do things, because most people aren’t working at week-ends. Most English-speaking countries were fooled and bullied into giving that away, at great social cost and to no economic benefit. 

3  However, they can’t make a cup of chai tea to save their lives. I asked for a cup in Christiania in Copenhagen, and the girl asked me “what flavour”. By “chai” they mean some sort of powder that you mix with hot water, and that might be vanilla, chocolate, strawberry or whatever. 

4  You should have heard the cheers when England lost to Iceland at soccer the other day. Brexit has not exactly endeared the English to Europeans. 

5  There are no non-pretty girls in Scandinavia. Or if there is one, she must be hiding in Trollhättan. (Trollhättan is a town in Sweden. I think of it as meaning “Behatted Troll”. Obviously, it doesn’t mean that. I think “hättan” has the same meaning as in “Manhattan”.)

Anyway, at the conference there are poster sessions for academics who have something interesting to say, but who don’t have the material or weight for a full session of their own. So you get a room full of posters, with the relevant person standing beside it hoping you’re interested enough to want to talk about their work.  

The orgasm question

One raised a question about male and female orgasm. It’s that some women can come without touching their own genitals, or having someone else do it for them. Just the arousal, the flow of erotic ideas, can bring them to orgasm. But men can’t do that. They can get erect, obviously, without penile touch by themselves or others, but they can’t come without touch. They need friction, ideally slippery friction, to be able to come. 

I thought about that. In bdsm we do a lot of orgasm control. Me, I like female orgasms (I might be a female orgasm fetishist), so as a dom I may deny a submissive girl the right to come without my permission, and sometimes withhold that permission when she really, really wants to let go. However, usually I don’t deny her for long, if we’re in the same bed. Even a few minutes of denial, where she’s fighting back her orgasm while still being vigorously fucked, can get a huge release when I finally tell her to come. 

There are doms who’ve taken that further than I’ve ever felt the urge to. So they might deny the girl any orgasm while she’s being fucked. And then tell her to hold herself in suspense, not erotically relaxing, until he or she gives the word.

Because I like female orgasms, and the more of them the merrier, I’ve never done the kind of training. you need for that However, I’ve met submissive women who can hold on to their peak ready-to-come level for over an hour, and you can command them to come when they’re doing something like watching a movie or doing the dishes. I think of that as interesting rather than peak sexy, but it is interesting.

Master? Tell me a story?

Master? Tell me a story?

The closest I’ve come to that is getting a girl to come by tying her legs apart and her hands behind her back, and telling her a story calculated to appeal to her particular sexual tastes and fantasies. It’s the best possible writer’s audience. 

But she was cheating in a way. That is, she wasn’t being touched externally, but she could get physical stimulation by clenching and unclenching the muscles around her vulva and clitoris.

think that’s how women get to orgasm without apparent touch, though I could be wrong.

But men … We don’t seem to be able to do that, or any useful equivalent. If I have an erection, and I clench the muscles around my penis, I’ll make it wave up and down in a friendly way. But there’s no stimulation for me in it.

And I thought: If anyone can make a man, at least a submissive man, come without his being touched, it’d be a pro-domme. I asked this on Twitter, and got a couple of replies from pro-dommes saying that they’d never seen it done.   

Now I’m throwing the question to the room. Does anybody know of men being made to come without touch?

I’d  count it if the dom/domme used touch to bring the man close to orgasm, followed by orgasm denial, followed by instructing him to stay ready, and more than an hour passing before he was told to come. 

Can anyone help? (I mean, with reports of having that done to them, or doing it to some guy.)

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 110: More on cunt, corridors and Schroedinger’s cock

girlkissLynette had wondered, aloud, whether Raylene desired her. Not in those words. She’d put it in the form of an accusation against me, but I know wistfulness when I see it. Well, I do sometimes. I said, “No. She absolutely wants to fuck you.”

Lynette took that in. It shocked her for a second, not that Raylene wanted to fuck her, but that she’d got the confirmation from Raylene’s … boyfriend. Still, knowing it for certain was more important than the source. She smiled. It lit up her face.

“I thought she did. But it’s so good to hear it.”

I slipped a finger between her hard little buttocks. I couldn’t quite reach her cunt, in our standing position, but my intention was clear. Lynette moved her left foot, in the helpful direction.

I said, “Look.” Lynette looked at me, but that didn’t count as an order, or an obedience. “Raylene’s given me that kind of power over her. Which we both like because of our false, most mistaken, consciousness and so on and so forth. And Raylene wants you, and you want Raylene. So far so good. Then there’s me.”


“I’ve gone past way wanting to fuck Raylene. I mean, I want to be fucking her more or less permanently. All the time. But it’s more than that. I’m starting to feel a bit, you know, emotional about her. I’m on her side.”

“Okay. And?”

“Well, I absolutely want to fuck you, too. And you really do smell great. Just by the way.” 

skeptical girlShe said, “Huh.” But she looked more pleased than she sounded. “Okay. I think you’re …” She stared at me, as if for the first time, looking disapproving. “Not impossible. I guess. But I’m walking out if you think you’re compulsory. To get to Raylene.”  

I moved my fingers, between her buttocks, a little further under and around. Her cunt was still out of reach from behind, but I stroked damp, soft perineum. Lynette moved her legs further apart, to help, but I still couldn’t quite reach. It didn’t matter.

“No. I don’t think I’m compulsory. Truth?”

“Always good.”

I didn’t know about that, but I said, “What Raylene wants is a threesome. With you and me both doing her. I’ve got a feeling she hasn’t had that kind of threesome before, though -” I stopped. The threesomes that had involved Raylene and Dorabella and a series of lucky guys were Dorabella’s secret as well as Raylene’s. “Anyway, if having me there waving my cock about would only make you uncomfortable, I can’t see how that’d be any fun. Soooo…”

male tearsI’d left the pause so she could ask me what I’d decided.

But she said, “So you’d give Raylene permission, and we’d make squeaky squelchy noises together on her bed”


“While you sat sadly in the next room pulling at your sad little penis and squeezing out sad little tears.”

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 109: Lynette, her cunt’s desire, and a corridor

I’d just accused Lynette, come up the stairs unshowered to watch me cane Raylene, of smelling good. I’d had a girlfriend not so long before, who’d have been horrified by that. I guess she’d taken “female hygiene” advertising seriously. Which was why I’d decided not to risk it with Lynette. And then done just that. So when Lynette squirmed out of our embrace, I knew I’d fucked it up.

pittShe pulled a face and sniffed an armpit. One of hers, I mean. She pulled a worse face. “I smell like the women’s changing room at the gym.”  

So I said, “That’s what I meant! You smell great!”

“Hmmmmm. Well, you’re the weirdo. I knew that.” 

“No, really, you do. I mean, smell great. I can’t comment on the women’s changing rooms. And you look great. Hot. In a, um, dignified, poised way. Umf.” The ‘umf’ was me deciding to shut up and take her back into an embrace.

Her belly pressed against my cock again. She put her hands back on my ass so I did the same for hers. I liked her ass, small but muscled. Yeah. I pressed my fingers, hard, into those muscles. She made a satisfied sound. So I said, “Come. Back. Here.” As though it was an order. 

She took her hands off my ass for a second and pushed me. Then she came back, and my ass resumed being grabbed. “I was already here. That was like telling a sleeping dog to play dead. And Raylene’s the one who obeys orders. I don’t. Try to give me a real order and you’d be sorry. I mean it.” 

I nodded. “Yeah. That wasn’t an order.” 

I don't know how the women's changing rooms smell, except in general terms. But the internet thinks it knows what they look like

I’ve never been in a gym’s women’s changing room. I guess they smell like one sweaty woman multiplied by a dozen or so, plus air freshener. But the internet thinks it knows what they look like

Lynette decided to let that pass for agreement, though she knew what I’d conceded and what I hadn’t.

We were playing, showing off to each other that we could both give and interpret ambiguous signals. As ambiguous as you can be while holding each other’s asses.

It’s not everyone’s favourite form of flirtation, but we seemed to be enjoying it. And we were liking each other for that.

She said, “All right. For now. Ummm… You’re the gate-keeper, aren’t you?”

“The what? Oh. You mean, I control access to Raylene?” 

“Yeah. I want to fuck Raylene. Well, you know why. She’s lovely. She’s barking mad, if you ask me, I mean this thing she’s doing with you. But she’s seriously fucking hot. ” I nodded. That was true. She said, “Course I want her.”

“And you think -“

“You’re the gate-keeper. I don’t get to fuck Raylene unless you give her permission. Actually, you could tell her to, even if she didn’t want to fuck me. And she would, wouldn’t she?” She didn’t mean she wanted me to do that. She was just pointing out what a bastard I was.


Music is my aeroplane, and it’s circling over Copenhagen

Mile-high club. Disclosure: I'm not a member of that club, in the Clintonian sense

Mile-high club. Disclosure: I’m not a member of that club. Well, not in the Clintonian sense

I’m in an aeroplane, at the moment. And I’m not listening to the Chillies, despite the title. Actually, it’s the complete symphonies of Carl Neilsen on the headphones, since I’m heading to his part of the world.

Also, the quartets, songs and piano music of Edvard Grieg, since he’s a small composer but perfect, and he’s a local up here, too.

Also, Lullaby and the Ceaseless Roar, some Kidney Thieves, and some Canadian music. Neil Young makes that easy, but there’s Mac DeMarco, Tragically Hip and some local bands. I don’t think I brought along any of William Shatner’s amazing vocal stylings, though.

I’m not a fan of Bachman Turner Overdrive, but “You ain’t seen nothing yet, b-b-b-b-b-baby” should be the Canadian national anthem. And for every other country on earth. It’d make the Olympics sound better for starters. (Except for women’s ice skating. Whoever wins, they should just play “Fever” when they get their medals.) And some Americana. Songs about murdered children wailing in the wind, that kind of thing, with banjo and fiddle. 

Anyway, all that’s not to boast about my music taste, because obviously my taste is rubbish. It’s just a guide to my state of mind. 

There Little Mermaid, in Copenhagen

The Little Mermaid, in Copenhagen

Anyway, I’m flying, and I’ll soon be in Stockholm, where my adventures begin. 

As for this blog, I’ll continue the Raylene story until the point where everybody’s in the same room and Raylene’s demonstrating “how to be sexy while getting the cane”. There’s a lot of story to go after that point, but Raylene will just have to wait, bent over a table with three people watching her ass, until I get back. She’d like that.

Then there’ll probably be a series of shorter, one-off posts on this and that, as I go. I got my Russian visa, by the way, so that’s a relief. They didn’t even lose my passport. And I’m spending summer in the Arctic Circle, which I’m very enthusiastic about.

JointsUnless, of course, I get completely distracted in Copenhagen. Er, what were we talking about?

Anyway, that’s where in the world your blogger is, and how the blog will be until late July.

Posts will continue more or less as usual, in frequency, but most likely different from my usual style.

Wish you were here, every last one of you.


E[lust] 83: One-stop shop

Elust #83

Elust 83 Header Holden and Camille
Photo courtesy of Holden and Camille

Welcome to Elust #83 

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #84 Start with the rules, come back July 1st to submit something and subscribe to theRSS feed for updates!


~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

London Crows and London Kisses

I am Her. She is Me.

You Say You Want to Cook for Me


~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Unusual Liaison

Community. Respect. Friendship. Fucking.

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Dirty Little Secrets

A male dom, a straight girl and a bi girl wait for Lynette

A male dom, a straight girl and a bi girl wait for Lynette 2

A male dom, a straight girl and a bi girl stop waiting for Lynette


You Know

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

My Bed
Secular Submission
My therapy
from “hard limit” to “want”
We Measure the Nostalgia
The Cure and The Cause


Smut in the 6ix – Porn Conference & Gala

Erotic Fiction

Typing Errors
La Belle Dame
Sex and chocolate
The Imprisoned of HIM-HER-THEM
The Gift
Becca’s Story
Rope and Fixtures
As salty as his cum…
Dominating the Doctor

Erotic Non-Fiction

Teen Sex in Woolly Tights with 60s Beat Music
Dear Sadist: Your Cruelty Is Your Love
A male dom, the straight girl and the bi girl
Owned, Leashed, & Beaten
Jan 2015 Owned & Collared by Mistress Claire
Rinse The Days Filth Away
Power On
Keeping tally

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Formative Kink Epic Fail: “Buck Rogers”

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

If it was easy anyone could do it
What’s a service submissive?
Prescient Words

Writing About Writing

What if aspirational meant something else?


ELust Site Badge

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 108: Lynette’s cunt, in the corridor

But though I’d sensibly decided not to kiss Lynette (she having belatedly climbed the stairs in response to Raylene’s and my invitation for her to watch Raylene get caned), I’d walked into touching distance. I said, “I’m glad you decided to come.” 

She scowled at me. “How’s Raylene?” 

I thought about that. “Slightly caned, I guess. You missed the first two strokes. But about to to get a lot more. Caned, I mean. And she’s, um, pretty happy about that. She’s having a good time.” 

scowl“Yeah. She’ll be telling herself that. She’s a victim not only of male violence, yeah, and on top of that of false consciousness. She thinks she chose this, but really she didn’t. Because the patriarchy chose it for her.” 

My mouth dropped, dismayed. I’d had that argument before. I’d been interested in discussing it, once, but now it only bored me.

“Just because she likes something you might not choose, doesn’t mean you can discount her choices as false consciousness.”

“Well, you would say something like that, wouldn’t you?”

‘Yeah, I’m enjoying myself, too. That’s how it works, any kind of sex. And this is something Raylene’s enjoying. It’s as free as any choice is. Also -“

I stopped, because Lynette punched me lightly on the side of my stomach. She laughed. “I’m kidding, you fucking fool. You were looking too smug, so I thought I’d wind you up. Sorry. But you should’ve seen your face.” 

My mouth was still open. I gaped at her. I managed to say, “Oh.” And then she kissed me. It wasn’t a big kiss, but her mouth pressed on mine, compressed and sucked briefly and lightly. She stepped back. I said, “Bloody hell, I hate dialectical arguments. They just … go on, don’t they?” 

Lynette looked at me. Then she grinned, probably looking more smug than I’d been. “Gotcha.” 

So I said, “Yeah, you did. Scared the arse off me.” And – maybe since I’d decided not to only seconds before – I kissed her. She was stiff for a microsecond. She hadn’t expected it. Then she relaxed and kissed me back. So that was that.

Eventually she stepped back, but put her hand on my arse, squeezing me through my jeans. “What scared you? A little feminist talk and you go running to stand on a chair?”

“No. It’s not that I haven’t heard that argument before. And it’s not that I don’t know why it’s wrong. I mean, incorrect, not immoral or something. But having that argument just now … It’d just be a buzzkill, that’s all. I feared the buzzkill.” 

assgrab fmThat seemed like a good last line, and she was still holding my arse, so in celebration I moved a little closer and put my hands, one of them holding a cane, on Lynette’s ass.

And because she looked up at me, half brat and half princess, I kissed her again. This kiss stayed, and became open-mouthed when I felt her tongue press against my teeth. We explored teeth and tastes and spit. 

This was going well. “I’ve saved you a good seat.” 

She said, “ooooooooh!” That was mock-excitement, but I thought it covered up real excitement. She was more turned on by this – by Raylene, by Raylene enacting a strange sexual ritual – and even possibly by me, a little bit – than she was prepared to admit. 

inner thighSo I held her tighter, and she stopped holding her body away from my erection. I let my hand prowl, lifting her borrowed skirt and holding bare thigh, not so far from her cunt. I thought about saying something about her having one of the three best seats in the house, and rejected that vehemently. I could get away with saying that to Raylene or Dorabella, because they were patient with me. Lynette, on the other hand …

So I said the only other thing that had recently come near the top of my mind. “Ah, this is good. You smell good.” 

Orlando thoughts: the bdsm and LGBTI communities

The rainbow flag

The rainbow flag

Sometimes people in the bdsm community – that would include me – talk about discrimination against people who are known to be involved in bdsm.

For example, there was a Cabinet Minister in New Zealand who was outed by right-wing nutters as belonging to a bdsm club. That ended his political career. 

Women who have any sort of public profile can’t afford to be open about being dom, or submissive. People wrongly think a submissive is a doormat, and no women who is outed as someone who enjoys getting a good flogging in bed, or being tied up, artfully, is going to get to have a political career. (There are many out lesbians in politics where I live, but no out submissive women.) They won’t get to be Businesswoman of the Year, either, no matter how great their achievements are. 

The BDSM Rights flag

The BDSM Rights flag

They’re also more likely to get raped, by guys who think that a submissive is a victim to be preyed upon. And in court, they will find that if they are submissive, they don’t have a right to complain about being raped or beaten up. There’s a British case where a woman was brutally raped, but her rapist’s defence established that she was into submission.

The judge said to the jury, “What was this young man to think, when he discovered a riding crop by her bed? When he saw those magazines?” The jury found the young rapist not guilty, and the judge commended their verdict. 

And so on. There are a lot of out gay men in Parliament where I live, on both sides of politics. But if I stood, and someone pointed out that I’ve been known to flog and cane women, and so on (see this blog for further details), the fact that it was for those women’s pleasure wouldn’t matter at all. I’d be de-selected as a candidate so fast it’d make my ears rotate. Widdershins. 

Adult couples outed for practicing consensual bdsm with each other, in private, have lost custody of their children as a consequence. 

So we are subject to discrimination.

And after Orlando, I thought, is it unthinkable that someone fired by by some mix of religious frenzy, hatred and (perhaps) self-loathing, could go and shoot up a bdsm club, mainly involving heterosexuals. And I had to say that it’s not unthinkable.

In the local bdsm club, I’ve seen submissive women fucked publicly by their masters (under the table, where the club staff can’t see them), men and women almost naked on the whipping frame, male and female doms leading their boy or girl on a leash, and so on. So, yes, I can imagine some holy nutcase with a gun deciding to cleanse the earth one pervert at a time, by blasting us all to hell.

Holy book (one of them) and Golden Shower

Holy book (one of them) and Golden Shower

We’ll politely ignore, for now, the fact that the holy books of the Judaic, Christian and Muslim monotheisms specifically endorse keeping man and women as slaves, and women in particular as sex slaves.

But, hey, they only endorse non-consensual, real slavery and rape. When there’s consent and mutual pleasure involved, that’s perverted.

Anyway, let’s ignore that.


But there are distinctions between the shit rained upon LGBTI people and bdsm people. For example, I remember when I was new to the internet, going to an IRC bdsm chat-room. An American woman took a fancy to my … typing, I guess, and enticed me into her own chatroom.  

A little later I started getting hate messages from Nazis, attempted hacking attacks, flooding and various other kinds of cyber-bullying. Then one of them looked at this chatroom I was in, and he apologised. The American woman had named her chatroom #bendover, and the Nazis had thought it was a gay room. When they realised that it was a bdsm room, and mostly involving women submissives and male doms, they had no problem with us. 

I can’t say I felt good about that. I feel better when Nazis hate me.

The rainbow and loving

The rainbow and loving

But it does illustrate that people into bdsm have various advantages over gays and lesbians, and so on, in relation to persecution. I can go out with a slavegirl, who is wearing my collar and a slavegirl anklet, and a flappy little tartan skirt with no knickers, so she knows she risks giving a flash of recently-caned arse of she isn’t careful, holding hands, and no-one will notice.

Except maybe someone else who’s into bdsm and can see and read the signs. We risk getting smiled at, in a conspiratorial way.

But if I were a gay man, holding hands with my loved one, outside the city and a few safe suburbs, would mean risking getting beaten up. The risk of getting killed just for that is small, but it’s not zero. A lot of people hate and fear all kinds of sexual differences. Gays, lesbians, transgender people and intersex people cop the worst of it; there’s no doubt of that.

So we, as fellow perverts in the world’s eyes, need to make sure we stand up for each other. That damn rainbow, we’re part of it whether we like it or not. 

There’s also the issue of cross-over. Gay men and lesbians make up a tiny proportion on the population as a whole, about two-three per cent. But they make up a bigger proportion of the bdsm community: about 8-10 per cent. So we need to be together, politically. 

The attack in Orlando, and other violent or repressive acts of homophobia are aimed at a minority sexuality that I’m not part of. But they’re still an attack on all sexual difference: I could have been in that club, or a similarly motivated killer could have come to mine. 

Gays and lesbians are fighting for equality, particularly in relation to marriage, and people involved in bdsm are fighting to remove ridiculous anti-bdsm censorship laws. Though boringly straight, I’ve written submissions to Parliamentary Select Committees in relation to gay decriminalisation, and marriage equality, and I’ve been on marches and so on.

The rainbow and living

The rainbow and living

I’ve written a book that (among other things) summarises the current state of research into the effects of porn, and of bdsm porn in particular, which tends to tear the ground out from under the people who want to censor and silence our media. I hope it’ll have some impact. Both kinds of activism are part of the same project, really.

Anyway, attacks on one of us, or one segment of us, are attacks on all of us. We need to share griefs, and share our determination and energy to fight back. 

Because the people who hate us, hate us all, more or less equally.

Orlando furioso

Some of the Orlando dead, from the Pulse Nightclub massacre of gay men and women and their friends

Some of the Orlando dead, from the Pulse Nightclub massacre of gay men and women and their friends

“Alas, good friend, what profit can you see

In hating such a hateless thing as me?

There is no sport in hate where all the rage

Is on one side. In vain would you assuage

Your frowns upon an unresisting smile,

In which not even contempt lurks, to beguile

Your heart, by some faint sympathy of hate.”


From “Sonnet”, Percy Bysshe Shelley, 

But that’s an ideal, of course. I’m not sure that I don’t hate that man, but he isn’t to be remembered. The beautiful, blazing lives blasted apart by hate because of who they love, are to be remembered and mourned. 

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 107: Don’t wash!

Lynette had decided to join us, though she’d missed Raylene’s first two strokes. I looked down at Dorabella, still filming the development of the second cane stripe. I said, “The irresistible pulling power of your sister’s arse.” 

She tilted her head in acknowledgement, still focussed on filming Raylene’s stripes. “It must be magic.”

“Yours’d have the same effect.”

Dorabella shook her head. “My little sister. She’s braver than me.”

kneelI figured that was enough affirmation for Raylene, so I bent down and kissed Dorabella’s forehead, then nose, then, when she lifted her head, her mouth. We kissed, softly, a standing clothed man and a kneeling, near-naked woman. I’d been there before. The cellphone in her hand filmed the carpet. But I straightened up. “Hang on, you two. Don’t go away. Raylene, don’t get up and don’t you dare say a word.”  

And I went out to the corridor to greet Lynette. I could have just let her let herself into the room, but I wanted to get an idea of her mood before I resumed Raylene’s caning. Anyway, it might be Raylene’s bedroom, but she wasn’t allowed to move. Or speak.

So I must be the host.

Lynette had reached the landing. Like Dorabella, she looked first at my face, and then dropped her attention to the front of my jeans. There wasn’t much I could do about that: erections can be blatant, and anyway I still had the cane in my hand. Lynette looked up again, quickly enough. Dorabella had thought the state of my cock was hilarious. Lynette, it seemed, was more ambivalent.

She’d changed into one of Dorabella and Raylene’s mother’s skirts, with a swirling maroon and purple pattern. It was a mini-skirt when the mom wore it, but Lynette was a waif, a gamin. It came down to her knees. And she wore a black blouse, from the same source, which had probably also provided her glowing goth lippy. 

unsilliedShe hadn’t been able to shower, but she’d changed her clothes and made herself up. She wanted to look her best. That said encouraging things about her attitude to the frankly weird stuff we were up to in Raylene’s bedroom.

But what occurred to me just then was the question of whether Lynette was wearing yesterday’s knickers, or none. I didn’t really care which, but I did care about whether I’d get a chance to find out. I still didn’t think much of my chances. But I said, “Hey! That skirt really suits you! You look great!”

“And you look, uh, happy.” I laughed at that, mostly from relief. It was almost as demure as the outfit she was wearing, but it was an erection joke. I revised my chances slightly upwards. Still under under 50 per cent, though. When I laughed Lynette stopped walking towards me. She was waiting, or considering. Still, she was smiling, with big red lips and lots of kohl about her eyes. She looked like Homeless Cleopatra. So since she wasn’t walking towards me, I walked towards her.

Don’t be a fucking idiot, I told myself. Don’t try to kiss her. And if you tell her she smells good – which I was thinking – she’ll think you’re making some sort of non-washed cunt reference. That makes you a sleaze-bag. So don’t tell her she smells good.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 106: The third girl

Raylene lowered her body so her breasts and belly rested on wood that, even through her t-shirt, must feel cold and hard. She straightened her legs again so her arse arched and offered itself. I nodded. She didn’t see that, so I said, “I know it hurts, Raylene, but you’ll get through it. Just twelve more with this cane, then we’ll give you a short break. Ok?”

caned speakRaylene had to take several ragged breaths before she could answer.

“Yes, master. Um. Do I say, ‘One, thank you, master?'” 

I’d spanked her in Lynette’s room when she’d asked a question instead of waiting for me to tell her what to do. But I didn’t want to add to her punishment just then.

Not when she was so obviously trying to be helpful, and good.

So I put my hand on her arse above that first red stripe, and squeezed lightly so she knew it was affectionate. “No, love. I want you to concentrate on what you feel. Counting distracts you. It makes it easier.” This isn’t really true, by the way, though having to count can stop a submissive from floating into subspace. I just didn’t want to have to give her extra strokes when she got the count wrong, as she inevitably would. “And I don’t want you to have it easy, girl. So just do what you’re told. Leave the rest to me.” 

That must have reminded her, too, of the spanking she’d had in front of Lynette. “Course. I’m sorry, master.” That sounded sincere. She was.

“It’s ok, love. You’re being good. I’m proud of you.”

Raylene paused, thinking about that: this was praise for being properly submissive while getting the cane. Not many people got that kind of praise, and now she was one of them. “Thank you, master.”

Dorabella crept a little closer, presumably to get a closer picture of the first stripe, now slightly raised, and my hand. The end of the cane she held between her thighs poked the back of her robe from her body, leaving the tops of her thighs and her hips uncovered.

“You’ll need to come back beside me, Dorabella.” She dropped to her knees, and crawled backwards, trying to keep the phone level and steady. I touched the top of her head, and then put my fingers to her mouth as a caress and so she could kiss them if she wanted. She did. Then she looked up at me. She was happy, bright-eyed, though I suspected she had some message she was trying to signal to me, that I couldn’t read.  

flinchI raised the cane and drew it back. Dorabella swung the phone to capture that. I tried to look serious for the camera. Then I struck, and Dorabella swivelled.

She missed the instant of impact, but filmed Raylene’s reactions, her muscles straining as she held herself nearly still. The second stripe rose and colored, more or less horizontal with the first but three centimetres higher.

Raylene tensed then relaxed, her upper body flat to the desk. “Fffffff….” 

She arched her ass up for the next. I said, “That’s good. You’re being very brave.” 

Raylene wasn’t ready to speak. Her knuckles were white. She gripped the front desk legs for dear life. “Ahhhh…” 

I raised the cane again. 

But there was bustle on the stairs. “Hold it! Sorry I’m late! Sorry! Can you … wait a sec?”