Raylene bent herself back over the desk, getting her ass up, knowing the effect that would have on me, and keeping her face turned to Lynette, knowing the effect that was having on her. I could see the side of her face. She was smiling peacefully.
She was nearly naked, showing off fresh stripes across her arse. She was the centre of attention.
She was enjoying her caning both for the cane-induced spikes of arousal and for the notion that she was a girl under discipline, being properly submissive. And – it just can’t be said too often – she was near-naked and the centre of attention.
So I made the seventh stroke hard, aiming low, meaning it to hurt. I could feel, as the cane landed across Raylene’s arse, something of the softness and firmness of her flesh, transmitted by the feel of the cane in my hand at the moment of impact. I loved that sensation.
Raylene’s sensations were less subtle. She howled and shook while the red stripe formed and raised itself into a welt. But though her face was anguished, stricken with sudden pain, she fought to keep her breasts touching the desktop and her face turned to Lynette.
We watched in silence, broken only by Raylene’s gasps as she struggled to ride the pain out without losing her position. I felt proud of her, and of myself. The seven stripes were well spaced, three of them much brighter and darker then the others, and likely to remain clearly visible, I expected, for the next three or four days. That seemed about right for a first experience, even for a girl with a high pain tolerance.
Eventually Raylene was still, and breathing normally. The room smelled of sex, or more specifically of female sexual arousal. That would be mostly Raylene, but Lynette and Dorabella were both making their own contributions. This will always effect my judgment. I felt light and elated, elevated: sex-drunk. Fortunately, most of the important decisions had already been made.
“Right. You’re a good girl, Raylene. Now get up. Off the table, stand straight.”
Raylene muttered a quiet, “Yes, master.” I didn’t make her repeat it louder: she was nearly beyond words. She complied, straightening a little stiffly.
I said, “Good. Hot girl.” I meant that her arse must be burning, and also that she looked utterly, unutterably fuckable. Raylene only smiled. She had no words. “Now turn and face Lynette.”
Raylene whispered something; I assume it was an even quieter “yes master”. She stopped smiling when she faced Lynette. What was coming was serious.
“Get that t-shirt off.” Raylene obeyed. Orders were good. They kept her focussed. “Now tell Lynette you’re sorry for being a silly, rude little girl, and that you’re learning your lesson now.”
Raylene made a little sound. It was lust. Her pain, her humiliation and her consciousness of her own obedience had delivered a sudden lightning blow, direct to her cunt. She opened her mouth, and no sound came. She coughed.
Lynette waited, expectant.
