Raylene looked at the bed. While her freshly-thrashed arse burned, she didn’t want anything to touch her bottom, not even the air. So a simple order like, “Bed,” presented her with challenges she didn’t know what to do with.

I kissed her. “I said ‘bed’, Raylene darling. Yes, you’ve had your ass caned. Looks nice and sore, too. Now you’re going to get your ass into bed.”

She grimaced. “If you don’t mind, Master, I think I’d prefer to stand for the next couple of years.”

I held her to me, her head pressed loving and trusting against my chest.

And I reached down and gave her ass an open-palmed spank, as hard as I could. Raylene cried out in pain and some indignation. If I wasn’t going to feel sorry for her under those circumstances, then … when?

“Darling, you’ve got a Master. What does that make you?”

“A slave, a slavegirl of some sort?”

“Yes. We won’t say so too often, but yes, that’s exactly what it makes you.” I wasn’t sure that was true. But in the moment, sometimes I just say what I think will be hot.

“You’re property. I own you. I mentioned I’m falling in love with you, and I’ll look after you. But you don’t choose what you do, not anymore. Not once I’ve told you what to do.” 

Raylene said nothing. She put her arms around me and let her breasts weigh on my chest. She clung to me like a jasmine. 

“So you’re worried that the sheets are going to hurt your poor little ass, right?”

She looked at me, big-eyed. “Well, I can’t think of any way of being in bed where the sheets won’t hurt me. Even if I lie flat on my tummy.”

“Ok. Now, guess something. Does it matter, even a tiny bit, if the bed hurts your ass?”

“Oh.” That was a new thought. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

“That’s right. You just got a hard lesson in behaviour. It’ll go on hurting a lot for an hour or two, I expect. But it’s over. And I don’t care that your ass still hurts. Understand that. You having a sore backside: it’ll happen to you whenever I see fit, and it does not matter if it hurts. Your pain does not matter. Not during. Not afterwards.”

Raylene had listened to this open-mouthed. She didn’t disagree. These were just things that hadn’t occurred to her before. “Oh. Ok.”

“So, get onto the bed. I’d going to fuck you. I need to fuck you. I think you need to be fucked. As if what you need matters.”

She looked solemn. Then nodded. “No, of course that wouldn’t matter.”

I kissed her. I suppose I don’t cane for irony. “Get up on the bed. Hands and knees. Get your ass up, and keep it up.”

“Yes, master.” And she scrambled up onto the bed, pulling the top sheet and blankets aside, and posing like a cat needing fucking.

A cat with the yummiest, reddest, striped ass in the universe. She looked so beautiful.

“Good girl. I’m going to fuck you, pressed against that nice hot ass. I’m going to enjoy your heat. And I’m going to hurt you while I fuck you. What do you know about that?”

Raylene arched her back, presenting herself as spectacularly as she could. “I know now that it doesn’t matter if it hurts, Master.”

“Good girl. I knew you’re a clever girl.” And I took my clothes off and climbed up onto the bed with her, wanting her more desperately than I was going to tell her, and put my hands on her hips.

Note: 

The last episode of this story was posted back in February, here. It’s very forgivable if you’ve forgotten, or never knew, that there is such a story. 

“Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive” is the click-baity but entirely accurate title of the story of something that happened relatively early in my bdsm career. I’d been interviewing Raylene in her kitchen about her time with a neo-Nazi gang, which she’d joined to annoy her mother, at a bad time in her life. But then we discovered that she was submissive and I was a dom, and that we fancied each other. Things happened very quickly from there, though I’ve been telling it excruciatingly slowly.

When we left Raylene, she was being caned in front of witnesses. The witnesses were Dorabella, her half sister, and Lynette, who’d been trying to get Dorabella into bed.

By now, Lynette had switched her sexual ambition to Raylene and, to my surprise, me. But although we hadn’t liked each other much when we met yesterday, we’d exchanged breath, our tongues had touched the other’s teeth, and we’d fondled each other’s genitals: through my clothes in her case, but fingertips to soft wet skin in my case.

The attraction was real, and starting to feel urgent. So we’d interrupted Raylene’s caning to take a kissing break. To Raylene’s disbelief.

Now read on. 

The subtle threesome

Raylene said, again, “Master?” 

I could see her point. Generally, if you’re getting caned in front of witnesses, you should expect to be the centre of attention. But I’d shown Lynette that being humiliated was one of Raylene’s most favourite, hottest things. She’d caught on quickly, and she’d found that humbling Raylene made her feel wicked. She was starting to enjoy feeling wicked. All this added a pleasantly perverse edge to our kisses. 

I slid my hands down to hold Lynette’s bare ass under her skirt, Lynette made a little “ah” sound, and straightened her back. She had a sensitive little arse: that was worth remembering. She explored my back under my shirt. Doing anything except pulling each other down to the floor and fucking then and there would clearly be ridiculous. But I said, “I said yes, Raylene. What do you want?” 

“Master, I’m sorry, I lost count. How many strokes do I have to go? Master?” 

I sighed ostentatiously, and said, still facing Lynette, “you’ve got the last six of your dozen to go. And there’s one penalty stroke. So far. So seven. Girl.” 

There was a pause, from Raylene. “Thank you, Master.” Her voice was small. 

Lynette smiled at me. She’d enjoyed our intimacy for its own sake and for its effect on Raylene. We hadn’t been to bed together yet – Lynette was to join Raylene and me at midnight that night – but we were already playing a pleasantly complex three-way sexual game. A subtle threesome.

Lynette pulled my shirt back down and picked up the cane, holding it the middle as Raylene had done, and passed it to me. She mouthed, “Duty calls.” Silently. She was still amused.  

I turned and shook my head at Dorabella, who was at the other side of Rayleme’s desk, holding Raylene’s shoulders down. She’d been watching Lynette and me while we pressed bodies and mouths. Since Dorabella was the only person in the room who didn’t want to fuck Lynette, she was no doubt relieved that Lynette’s interest had switched. Anyway, Dorabella read my look correctly and nodded.

Raylene was to have no warning. I swung the cane, catching Raylene hard across the other stripes I’d already laid on the lower curves of her bottom. 

The crack of cane meeting softly muscled flesh was followed by Raylene’s rising wail. Her legs kicked up, level with her body, and she fought Dorabella desperately to get up. She lost that struggle within a few seconds, and her toes touched the floor again. “Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oooohhh…”

I knew I’d have to make the next stroke harder, to get the same reaction. So I made it harder. When Raylene settled her body again, she was still making that soft, almost mumbling cry. It was her pain song.

I gave her the remaining strokes at the same intensity, but she no longer reacted so dramatically. She was getting tired, and she was learning to take a hard caning. There was a kind of acceptance, which was deeper than the mainly verbal submission she’d given me to this moment. I wondered if she’d convinced herself that she deserved to be punished this severely, though she certainly didn’t. 

When the last, penalty, stroke was delivered, I said, “that’s it for now, darling. You’ve been very good, and very brave for me. I’m proud of you, little Raylene.”

She was still producing tears, and singing her “oh fuck oh fuck” song, but she paused for long enough to say, “Thank you, master. And I’m sorry.”  

“Good girl. My girl.” I raised my voice, into public speaking mode. “Raylene is going to thank you for witnessing her punishment. And she’s going to apologise to both of you for her rudeness last night. But she’ll make her formaI apology at dinner tonight. Right now, though, I think I’ve got a girl who needs looking after. Ah?”

It was Dorabella, again, who caught on fastest. She leaned down and kissed her sister’s forehead, then her cheek, and then walked to the door, bustling Lynette out with her. She said, “ok, we’ll leave you two alone for a while. And look in later and see if there’s anything you…”

Lynette said, “Need. Like cold cream?” She wanted to get back into the room. And maybe to get to apply it to Raylene’s glowing ass and thighs. 

Raylene stopped singing “oh fuck oh fuck” and said, “I’ve got some. In a drawer. We’re fine.” She looked at me. I nodded.

“We’ll see you guys later.” I shut the door. I considered jamming a chair against the handle, in case Lynette thought of another way to get inside. The thought made me smile. I knew Raylene wanted to fuck Lynette as much as I did, and if Lynette was getting keen, and devious, that was no bad omen.

I took the cold cream from her top drawer, where it nestled against knickers and a small collection of vibes, I helped her rise, though she moaned when she straightened up. “That hurt, master. Oh fuck, that hurt so much.”

It wasn’t an accusation. And we kissed. I grinned at her. She looked puzzled, but she couldn’t see how bedraggled and woeful, and how triumphantly sexy, she looked. Oh well: I had plenty of time to tell her.

“Girl. Lovely brave girl. Mine.”

“Yes, master.”

“Bed.”

Note:

This is a story about something that happened relatively early in my bdsm career. But I’d been doing wicked things long enough to learn that submissive women, though wonderful, aren’t made of porcelain, and that it’s not necessarily bad if I made a submissive woman cry. In the right way, not because of emotional hurt.

Also, I was about half-way out about bdsm, not through my own choice but because I had ex-girlfriends who gossiped with their friends that – with their consent – I spanked them and told them what to do. That meant that some women avoided going to bed with me, while others would pop round to see me, precisely because of that.

It was Raylene, heroine of our story, who made me realise that my interest in bdsm wasn’t so much a secret as a reputation, at least in the circle of women I knew, and that there was a good side to being a safe, non-scary bad boy.

(I could’ve been the centrefold for Lisa Simpson’s guilty subscription: “Non-threatening Bad Boys”.)

The last episode of this story was posted back in October. We left Raylene naked, with a sore ass, bent over her bedroom desk and about to get her second dozen, enjoying the sexual admiration of two girls (one of them her half-sister, so that didn’t entirely count, except that in complicated ways it did count) and the intense sexual appreciation of one man: me.

A lot of things had happened very quickly between Raylene and me, once I recognised who and what she was. It helped that Raylene already knew about me, and steered things in the direction she wanted to go. I was following, while thinking I was leading.

Anyway, she liked submission, and she was no end of an exhibitionist, so she was brightly striped and giddily happy. If you want to see where we are and how we got here, that post is here.

 Episode 135

We were all in position. Lynette taking video with my cellphone, Dorabella pushing Raylene’s shoulders down, under threat of getting a share of Raylene’s extra strokes if she let Raylene get up, and me, holding the heavier cane and visibly pleased about the while situation.

I’d tapped the cane against the tops of Raylene’s thighs, to let her know that was going to be a target area. Still, it was a new cane, a bit thicker than the one I’d given the first dozen with, so I swung it medium-hard, against the most excellenty padded part of her bottom.

Raylene jerked under the impact, so that Dorabella tensed, ready to wrestle her down. She grunted, than arched her ass up for the next stroke. 

There was nothing Raylene could do that wouldn’t have the effect of turning me on, but I realised I missed the soprano pain-sounds she’d been making during the first dozen strokes. To get those sounds I could go a little harder, and I would, but there was another option. 

“Open your mouth, Raylene.”

“Yes, master.” I couldn’t see her face, but she was being a good girl now. An ostentatiously good girl. So I was sure she’d be looking as if she was at the dentist. 

“Good. You’re not to close your mouth again until I say you can.”

It’s hard to speak without closing your mouth at all. I heard something like “Ess, ‘aster.”

Then I applied the second stroke, a little lower and a little harder. Her whole body jerked under the impact, with a flurry of blue-green hair. Her breath hissed out, then she drew a fresh breath. She said, “Uh, uh, ahhhh…” before she had herself back under control.

It took two more strokes, each lower and harder than the last, before Raylene resumed soprano voice, and her pain-song.

I wasn’t sure why I liked that sound so much, I mean liked it so very, very, much. But it was at once the hottest and most tender sound in the universe.

And once we’d reached that place, I gave Raylene two fast hard strokes across the tops of her thighs.

That made her all activity, legs kicking, arms waving, trying to get purchase on her desk, while she sang that sweet, incoherent song.

Dorabella had to push down with all her strength. Her robe fell open, and both Lynette and I watched their struggle. Lynette’s mouth fell open too.

I said, “That’s six, Raylene. You’ve been good, and brave. But there’s six to go, plus the one penalty stroke.”

Raylene moaned. You can do that with your mouth open.

Lynette was first in the room. She stood at the door for a while, watching Raylene’s ass as she joggled and ran on the spot, lifting her knees high. Then she looked at me. 

“That’s to prevent bruising, is it?” 

“Yeah. And reduce swelling.” 

“Hah!” That was Dorabella, looming up behind Lynette. She was looking at my cock.

I glanced down. I was in swollen condition, that was pretty obvious even through my jeans. “Okay. I meant reducing swelling for Raylene’s ass.” Raylene glanced at me. It seemed to be some sort of warning. Maybe I was saying her bum looked big, wearing nothing but cane stripes. “But it’s not universally effective, no.” 

Lynette said, “It affects me. I – No, never mind. This conversation has gone south. Really south.” 

Dorabella was still staring at my cock. I’m a short stocky guy, and that’s about the best you can say for my looks. But for now I was a sex object. That doesn’t happen enough for me to get sick of it. So I smiled at Dorabella, and at Lynette. No reason. Just happy. 

A reminder should be given, every so often, that at the time Raylene had blue-green hair

But Raylene, still jogging on the spot obediently, was starting to breathe hard. I said, “Raylene.”

She stopped. Her breasts stopped a couple of seconds later. I waited that couple of seconds, because that was beautiful and distracting. “Good girl. You’re doing well, Raylene.” She nodded, knowing that praise, though good, wasn’t where I was going. “But I’m going to give you your second dozen now. Well, a dozen, and one penalty stroke. Baker’s dozen.”

She nodded again, face serious, as if some part of her believed this was fair and right. I said, “So I want you to bend over the desk again now. Same position. Same conditions: don’t get up or you’ll be in trouble.”  

Dorabella and Lynette walked all the way into the room while Raylene said, “Yes, master,” and pressed the tops of her thighs against the edge of the desk before leaning forward and lowering her body to rest on the cold, cold wood.

Dorabella looked to me, once her sister was back in place. “I still hold her down?”

“If you know what’s good for you.” Dorabella sniffed, not sure if I was kidding. Nor was I.

Then I decided that I wasn’t kidding. If I gave Raylene extra strokes for getting up, I’d tell Dorabella she was getting the same, and to drop the robe and bend over on her side of the desk, facing her sister.

I’d had hints from Dorabella, and maybe it was time to put her on the spot.

I’d look stupid if she refused, and I’d just have to back down as gracefully as I could. But I figured I should try, and leave Dorabella to flip the coin. If she obeyed, she’d get three strokes and then the attention would go back to Raylene. But that would give her plenty to mull over until our time tomorrow. Anyway, Dorabella wasn’t going let Raylene get up, so it was likely to be a hypothetical problem. 

While Dorabella took her place at the other side of the desk, hands pressed firmly down on Raylene’s shoulders, I passed Lynette my phone again. “Filming duty.” 

“Yes, sir!” The “sir” was mockery, still, but I didn’t mind. Irony isn’t as powerful as some people think. Lynette took the phone, activated the camera, and then filmed the front of my jeans. I snorted laughter, and after a second so did she. She switched to focus on Raylene’s ass. 

I tapped the cane against the tops of Raylene’s thighs. This second dozen would give more attention to her thighs. It seemed only fair.

“Straighten your legs, Raylene. Bit further apart. Better; good girl. Now get your ass arched up.”

While she complied I tapped the cane against the same place at the top of her thighs, but a little harder so that she winced, and a new, pinkish stripe formed. 

Then I raised the cane. “Okay. Second dozen. We begin.” 

She laughed again. “You! You’re not making it up as you go along. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

I decided to leave that unchallenged. It wasn’t remotely true, but it was good that she thought so. So I shrugged, I hope ambiguously. “Anyway, I’m falling in love with you. And, you don’t have to fall in love with me. I just blurted.”

“Yeah. It’s okay. Seriously, it’s much better than okay. Just .. give me time, ok?”

“Yeah.” To mark of the end of one sensitive conversation, and to remind her of other sensitivities, I smacked her ass, hot and welted under my hand.

Raylene jolted. “Yah fuck!”

So I smacked her again, then let my hand stay, stroking her. Firm, beautifully rounded, a little rough where the cane had directly landed, and blazing heat.

She said, “Jesus, my arse is sore. How long does it hurt for?”

“Well, this is peak hurt. It lasts maybe half an hour from the last cane stroke, though it’ll keep on hurting quite a lot, slightly lower level, for a couple of hours. Especially after I’ve given you the second dozen.”

“Yuh. I haven’t forgotten. Master.”

“Good girl. It’ll maybe hurt most of today. Though it’ll be at a lower level. You’ll feel it, but it’ll be background. And you’ll probably like it. A nice, sexy, buzzing feeling. And I’ll be looking after you. And for the next couple days you’ll get a reminder any time you sit down. Or, I don’t know, walk backwards into anything. And don’t forget I can bring you back to peak hurt anytime, just by smacking you hard with my hand. And I won’t hesitate, if you’re out of line for a second. You put the Me in Master.”

She frowned. “And without the ME it’s a-s-t-r. Star! Ah! You’re a star Master!” 

“Yeah, it was really stupid when I said it. Now it sounds cool.” 

“You’re going to hurt me when you fuck me.” That was a demand.

“Promise. That’s a promise. Not accidentally.”

Her eyes shone. She might not be in love with me, but we were perverts. “Yeah.”

I heard the bathroom door open. “Yeah indeed. Now. Running on the spot, Raylene.”

“What?”

I put the cane in her mouth, for her to hold. And I put my cock all the way back inside my jeans “On the spot. Running. Get your knees up.”

“Ub.” Raylene took her hands down from her head, and shambled into action.  

“Knees higher or I’ll beat you. Girl.”

Raylene lifted her knees. I could hear Dorabella, still talking, in the corridor. Raylene jogged and jiggled, with her spectacular back to the door.

I’m a good host.

There was a pause while Dorabella, Lynette and I gazed at Raylene, who stood straight, her hands on her head forcing her gaze down slightly. The floor; the visual fascination of floors, for submissives. Her buttocks well and redly striped, with a few downward-sloping welts on her upper right thigh where the end of the cane had whipped. Those would be hurting.

Her face was flushed with sobbing, and her cheeks still wet with tears. Her upper lip was shiny, unromantically enough, with phlegm. I took the tissues box and stepped in front of her so she could watch me.

“Good girl.” I wiped her face clean and dry, dabbing at the tears and wiping her lip, then holding a handful of tissues to her nose. She leaned forward at the waist and blew. After four fierce snorts, head shaking and many, many tissues, she smiled and straightened up. She could breathe through her nose. Then we looked into each other’s eyes.

Dorabella suddenly sang out, “Loo break! Loo break!” She put her arm round Lynette’s shoulder – Lynette had been slower to react – and bustled them both to the door. “Come on, we can, oh, powder our noses. Girl stuff! Exciting!”

Lynette said, “Buh,” and then she was gone. 

So Raylene and I were suddenly alone, in a silent room. I put my hands on her back, just above the highest cane stroke, and pulled her close. “Subtle, your sister, isn’t she?”

Raylene laughed suddenly. She hadn’t expected to be laughing anytime soon. “Like a truck!” She shook her head, amused, then lifted her face up to be kissed. I provided kisses. Time passed. I could hear Dorabella and Lynette in the bathroom, though I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Dorabella was doing most of the talking. 

Eventually Raylene looked up. “Did you say you were falling in love with me?” 

“Yeah, sorry. The awkward declaration. You don’t have to … reciprocate. I mean you have to do as you’re told. But your emotions, they’re mostly up to you. It’s true, but I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. You know. I can’t take it back, but – ”

“Shut up.” I must have looked astonished. “Shut up, Master. I don’t know, Master. I know you weren’t trying to put me on the spot. And it’s not like it’s a bad thing. How can I mind you falling in love with me? “

“Yeah. I lead with my chin, me. Possibly my mouth.”

“That’s not what you’re leading with.” She rubbed her belly against my cock. 

I said, as I had to Lynette in similar circumstances, “Ah fuck…” But to Raylene I added, “And I really need to fuck you.”

“Yeah. Oh, yeah.” That was enthusiasm. She took her hands down and stroked me. My mouth fell open, information from my cock and its soft handling over-riding all else. I had nothing to say.

“Anyway, you’re my Master. That happened fast. And I didn’t actually ask you if you wanted to be.”

“You can’t have had any doubt, though. Very happy to be your Master. Fucking happy. Going to fuck you.” I was still being stroked. 

I had both hands on her burning ass now. My body was moving with her hands.

She didn’t stop. I couldn’t tell her to stop. “Well, we’re going pretty fast. If I’m calling you Master, that’s a pretty big commitment anyway. And I don’t mind that. And I mean it too, I mean everything that goes with it. Whatever that is.”

“We’ll make it up as we go along.”

She laughed, as if I’d said something ridiculous and she was in on the joke.