Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 131: Squat thrusts 4

raylene-squatRaylene dropped again, squatting then leaning forward to rest the weight of her upper body on her hands. Her face was face was red, with effort rather than embarrassment.

I watched her shoot her legs out, so her scarlet ass was the highest part of her body, now resting on her hands and toes. 

It occurred to me that I should make Raylene exercise more. 

Not because she wasn’t fit. Her ass proclaimed, in blazing color, that she was a naughty girl and now she was being punished for it. That’s always a distracting sight, at least for people like me. And for Lynette, it seemed. But Raylene’s ass and thighs also told of hours spent on gym equipment, or more likely just walking up and down the hills of this harbourside city. She was a fit, strong girl.

She straightened up again. “Seven, Master!”

“Good girl.”

raylene-tits“Thank you!” But her breasts bobbed and jiggled so beautifully when she had to move quickly that it’d be a shame not to make her do it more often.

Even if I couldn’t always get her an audience, other than just me.

“Ah, eight, Master!”

I looked at Lynette. “Do you think she needs an exercise program? Something like cycling in the air, and more squat thrusts every night before bed?”

Lynette was watching Raylene’s ass. Fervently. But she looked up and said, “Yes. I think so.”

“Nine, Master!”

“Good girl.” That was to Raylene. To Lynette I said, “Well, we’ll see. Perhaps we’ll hold it off till midnight tonight.”

Dorabella laughed, I guess at Lynette’s expression. Or Raylene’s. “Ten, Master!”

But Dorabella tried to sound serious and helpful when she said, “She’s always wanted a coach. Haven’t you, Raylene? She thinks she doesn’t exercise enough. So, Jaime, I think it’d be good for her if you make her.”

raylene-squat-2“Eleven, Master!” Raylene’s voice had taken on that whiny tone again. She wasn’t sure she liked the direction this was going. Which, because life is sexy when it’s complicated, meant that she loved it.

We all watched her last squat thrust. She stood straight, breasts still quivering, ass still glowing. “Twelve, Master.”

After a second she put her hands on her head.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 130: Squat thrusts 3

Raylene dropped, as I’d told her, squatting on her toes. She looked up at me, still in slight disbelief, and I nodded. She let her weight fall forward onto her hands, fingers and thumbs on the carpet, and kicked her legs back.

She paused in plank position, her weight resting on her toes and her straining arms. Her arse, still freshly, redly, caned and – she’d complained – burning hot, squirmed appealingly with the effort. Then she came back to squat position. She paused. 

exercise-1I touched her side with the cane. The heavier cane that was going to deliver the next twelve strokes. “Keep going and don’t stop for a second. And count them. Out loud. Say, ‘one!'”

“One! Master.” There was a slightly whiny tone to the second word, as if a kind master wouldn’t do this to her.

I was unsympathetic. “Just do as you’re told.”

She dropped and performed again. “Two, Master.”

“And anyway, it’s for your own good. It’ll keep you from being too stiff tomorrow.”

She nodded as she came upright again. “Three, Master.” She sounded better.

exerciseI had no idea whether the exercise would reduce muscular stiffness from her caning. No one in their right mind should take health advice from an obvious pervert.

But I did know, or strongly guess, that Raylene was enjoying the display she was making. And I knew she could feel Lynette’s cool, appraising interest, watching her move as she worked her ass and thighs. As well as my more overt pleasure in her.

“Four, Master.” She sounded a little winded. I brought the cane down on her upper hip, very gently, and she sped up.

“Five, Sir. I mean Master!”

“You’ve already got an extra punishment stroke coming, Raylene. There can be more.”

“Yes, Master! I’m sorry. Six, Master.”

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 129: Squat thrusts 2

squat-thrustsSquat thrusts involve five steps. First, the person squats down on their toes. Second, they put their hands on the floor. Third, they shoot their legs back, so so they’re supported by their hands and toes, in the “plank” position you’d get in to do press-ups. Fourth, they bring their feet back under them, back into the squat position. Fifth, they straighten up. Then repeat.

Until the man holding the cane tells them to stop.

For most people this is a good cardio exercise that also gives the glute and quadricep muscles a bit of work. For me, it was the only exercise movement I could think of and name. For Raylene it meant a room full of people watching her breasts bounce while she awkwardly worked and showed off the muscles of her caned ass.

She looked at me. Her eyebrows arched appealingly. I pulled her shoulder before she had time to form a request. I had her half turned, and I smacked her ass, a hard fleshy impact on sore skin. So instead of begging me not to humiliate her she yelped: “Owww! Thank you, master!”

“Raylene, I didn’t ask you to thank me. But when I say ‘go’, you’re going to drop to the floor – quickly – and get started.” 

Raylene looked at her bedroom floor. She’d been seeing a lot of it lately. She sounded resigned. “Yes, master.” 

“Lynette. That cane under your arm. Could you pass it please?”

“Oh!” It was as if Lynette had forgotten she held the thicker length of bamboo. She grasped it like an officer with a swagger stick, and handed it to me. “One cane. Use it wisely.”

Our eyes met while the cane passed between us. “And hard, you think?”

“Oh yes. Yes, please.”  

raylene-drops“I think so too.” I looked at Raylene, who had nothing left of her usual self-possession.

She put her hands on her head. She wanted to show she was good.

She was thoroughly disconcerted, red-faced, a muscle in her torso fluttering under the skin. I touched her belly with the bamboo. She fought to keep still, sucking her stomach in.

“Raylene, it’s the heavier cane for you, from now on, if you put a foot wrong. So mind yourself. Now: Go!”

Aware of my gaze, and Lynette’s, Raylene dropped. In every sense of the word.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 128: Squat thrusts

To move or not to move

The first movement after a caning is the hardest

Even with my hand comforting her hips, Raylene seemed likely to continue being vocal unless stopped. So I said, “Get up, girl.”

“Oooh. Ooof. Oh Jesus, Master, that really hurt.” Raylene pushed her upper body up from the desk, and straightened up.

There was a box of tissues on her dresser. I passed them. “Clean your face up, love. And you can stop crying.”

“Thank you.” She meant for the tissues. She honked noisily. It took her four fluffy handfuls before she was ready. She stepped towards me and I held my arms out. I held her round her waist, no lower, while she snuggled in. Her belly bumped against my erection.

“Unh.” I said that. The contact had made me leak, a tiny trickle of pre-come.

Raylene pressed herself closer, and wriggled. “Oh,” she said. “You weren’t even slightly sorry for me, were you?”

Why do caned submissive want to rub their arses? I'll never know. I looks ... painful, and I'm against that

Why do caned submissive want to rub their arses? I’ll never know. It looks … painful, and you know I’m against that

“Unh. Girl… Well, a bit. Maybe. But hotness sort of overrode that.” I grinned lopsidedly so that she’d know I didn’t mean what I was about to say. “Sorry.”

“Hah.” Raylene stepped back and put her hands on her hips. She pushed down, straightening her back. “God, my arse feels like it weighs a ton. And it’s doubled in size.”

Dorabella had picked up the thin cane, holding it as I’d told her.

She was inspecting the business end for damage, “Raylene, your bum looks like an angry tomato. Actually.”

Lynette said, “In a good way. You look… well. Hot.”

Gymnastics, and thrusting, but the is NOT a squat thrust. They're doing it wrong.

Gymnastics, and thrusting, but the is NOT a squat thrust. They’re doing it wrong.

Raylene touched her fingertips very lightly on the corrugations across her ass. “Hot is right. It buuuuuuurns. I’ll be so stiff tomorrow.”

A joke about ‘stiff’ crossed my mind. But I thought of something better. “Well, we can fix that. Do you know how to do squat thrusts?”

“Squat thrusts?” She tried to sound amazed that such words even existed, especially in combination.

But she knew what they were.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 127: Last strokes of the thinner cane

This is what mascara is for. Though real-Raylene wasn't a mascara-wearer

This is what mascara is for. Though real-Raylene wasn’t a mascara-wearer

Raylene’s sobs enchanted me. The room was still, except for the writhing of her bottom and thighs and the bobbing and turning of her head as she cried. Tear tracks shone in the morning light.

Lynette and Dorabella seemed not to be breathing. So I wasn’t the only person in that room to be ensorcelled.

But if I stopped for too long Raylene would recover and the tension would dissipate. I had to get on with it. I said, “Two strokes to go.”

The cane sped down, making that sharp, loud CRACK of bamboo meeting flesh. I’d aimed for the rounded, muscled crown of her ass. Raylene managed to hold her upper body down, but her sobs got louder. The cane had marked a new track, already red, and rising into a weal.

I watched, open-mouthed, to make sure I’d remember the sight and sound of her forever. Her tears aroused me; her sobbing made me pitiless and hard. My face felt cold and my stomach felt empty.

(The least he could have done is take his watch off)

A helpful porn actor demonstrates what I did not do. The least he could have done is take his watch off)

I wanted to feel my cock buried in her, wet and warm and needy, and to savour the heat of her ass held tight against me.

If I did fuck Raylene right now I’d probably last only seconds before I came in her. I suspected Raylene wouldn’t be able to hold off much longer.

But fucking Raylene in front of Dorabella and Lynette wasn’t quite what they’d signed up for as witnesses. And it’d feel wrong to throw them out after going to all the trouble of getting them into this room. So I drew back the cane again. It would the last stroke I gave her with the thinner bamboo cane. It was written: this stroke had to hurt her.

“There’ll be a short break before we switch to the thicker cane. But the last one has to be hard. So be ready, Dorabella. One.”  

I made it a hard stroke, but still on the most well-muscled part of her bottom. So Raylene could keep her nerve, and her position, though she shouted incoherently before returning to full sobbing, like a wretched, abandoned baby. 

I put the cane down beside her on the desk, and ran my hand along the upper slopes of her hips to comfort her. Raylene let go her grip of the desk legs and reached back a hand to cover mine.

Lynette and Dorabella both breathed out. 

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 126: No pity for Raylene’s tears

robe open1

Dorabella’s robe falling open again was an MGM moment: that vista of creamy smooth stomach and the inner slopes of her breasts, revealed again. Dorabella knew she’d caught my attention. She didn’t close it, this time. 

I glanced at Lynette. She’d switched to filming Dorabella’s open robe and its revelations. She started a little guiltily when she saw me looking at her, and quickly moved the camera frame back to Raylene’s ass.

I said, “Bad girl.” But I might have meant all three of them, for one reason or another.

I swung the cane again, letting the bamboo land medium-hard, the stroke making that wonderful sharp sound of bamboo meeting flesh. It crossed other strokes on the fleshiest part of Raylene’s bottom. Raylene cried out, the impact and heat setting her ass bobbing in furious motion. But there were no sobs.

Beside me I heard Lynette sigh. A release of tension, or a response to the primordially sexual sight Raylene presented: I couldn’t tell.

“Last three with this cane now, Raylene. If you behave.”

She didn’t answer, except to move her grip on the desk legs. There was tension in her arms: she didn’t want to let go.

But the next stroke was the fourth of this series, and I’d decided that those had to be hard. I aimed it ruthlessly low.


Raylene jolted violently when the cane bit her, just above her thighs, and despite her determination her hands lost their grip of her desk. She gasped with the shock of pain, and struggled with Dorabella, trying to get up.


Dorabella’s face was a mask of concentration. She held on to Raylene’s shoulders and pressed down with all her weight and strength.


caned tears 2After a second or two Raylene gave up her struggle, relaxed and resumed her grip on the desk legs. She yowled once from pain and frustration, and her head turned anguishedly from side to side. She resumed her sobbing.


But this time I knew I had the audience on my side.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 125: Tears and fears

tearsRaylene’s sobs quietened while I watched her, holding the cane by my side. A sun-caught diamond tear fell from her cheek to the floor. Dorabella still held Raylene down but the look she gave me was accusing. 

At this time in my career, making a girl cry was still a new and unusual experience.

I’d thought, the first time it had happened, that it meant she was having a horrible time and she hated me. So I’d put down the paddle I’d been using and – I’d thought – comforted her. Only to find her annoyed: “Wha’d you stop for?”

So this time I listened. Raylene only had to say, “Stop!” and that’d make it clear. But she wouldn’t say “go on“. If she wanted me to continue I’d have to figure it out for myself. So I listened. The sobs were quiet, introspective, to herself. And, I decided, they seemed to be more a kind of release, a catharsis, rather than misery. So I should go on. 

But I had two other women watching, and they weren’t about to let me cane Raylene while she wept. If I were alone I’d take the risk of being wrong, but they wanted certainty.

tears comfortingDorabella took her hands off Raylene’s shoulders and began to stroke her hair. Lynette was still filming but she was frowning.

I was losing my audience. 

I said, as though I was cross with her, “Raylene.” 

Sniffles. Eventually she said, “Yes, master?”

“Where should Dorabella’s hands be?”

“Uh.” She looked up at her sister. “Bellie, you’re supposed to be holding me down. So I don’t get out of position.” 

“You sure?” Still stroking Raylene’s hair.

“Oh, yes. I really don’t want to get out of place. That really wouldn’t go well.” She looked back at me, as best she could, her upper lip shiny, then turned back to Dorabella. “Please?”

robe openDorabella frowned, uncertain. But I’d felt Lynette, beside me, relax. I could afford to push a little. I raised the cane. “Dorabella,” It was the command voice. Dorabella put her hands back on Raylene’s shoulders.  She looked at me, half defiantly. “Press down hard, Dorabella. If I give Raylene extra strokes because you let her up, I’ll hold you responsible.” 

Dorabella looked at me, uncertain. Was I still claiming a right to cane her? She frowned and then looked down at her sister’s bare back. She leaned forward, pressing her weight down.

The robe fell open again. 


Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 124: The meanings of “good girl”

While Lynette fiddled with the camera I swished the bamboo cane a couple of times, letting it speed past Raylene’s ass. The sound and then the wind of it unnerved her, and she flinched, buttocks clenching. Then, knowing that was wrong and possibly punishable, she arched her ass up again. 

“Ready.” Lynette had the camera pointed at me, rather than Raylene. Then she moved it, presumably to frame Raylene’s ass and catch the reaction when the cane actually landed.

Accepting "good girl" is accepting that the dam's judgment is worth heeding. And it means enjoying having his or her approval.

Accepting “good girl” is accepting that the dom’s judgement is worth heeding. And it means enjoying having his or her approval.

I said, “Good girl.”

Lynette frowned. I said, “You know what ‘good girl’ means, don’t you?”

“I know what it means when you say it to Raylene. And I know why it makes Dorabella uncomfortable when you say it to her.”

I glanced at Dorabella, who had her arms pressing down on Raylene’s shoulders. “Dorabella, I say it to you because you’re being good. I mean, helpful. And I mean it as praise.”

Dorabella tightened her robe, so her breasts and a long sliver of her tummy disappeared. “Maybe,”

“And it’s true, a couple of times I’ve been teasing you, because I keep getting the feeling that you’d like – Never mind. That’s probably wishful thinking.”

There's tenderness in that approval, and in sinking into it. But it's a dom's and a submissive's tenderness

There’s tenderness in that approval, and in sinking into it. But it’s a dom’s and a submissive’s tenderness

Dorabella’s face gave nothing away.

“Though I’m not completely sure I’m wrong, either. Regardless, I shouldn’t tease you, and I’m sorry. I won’t say it again without your permission.”

Dorabella smiled at me. I might have been being over-cautious. But she said, “Thank you. Actually, I quite like hearing you say  it. Doesn’t give you the right to cane me, though.”

“Raylene, would I start with a caning?”

Raylene raised her head as far as she could, which wasn’t far. “You spanked me, master. To begin with. And I guarantee that Bellie would -“

“Rayyyy-lene.” Raylene’s head dropped again. I couldn’t see her face, but I could imagine her smirk. I kept my face straight. “Anyway, Dorabella, I wouldn’t do anything  without your consent. And you’re still a good girl.” 

She smiled, with dimples. “Thank you. On both counts.” 

Irony is an ineffective shield. 'Good girl' still has power, even if accepted ironically

Irony is an ineffective shield. ‘Good girl’ still has power, even if accepted ironically

So I looked back at Lynette, patiently waiting through this comedy. She said, “Oh, you can call me ‘good girl’ too. It’s meant to be patronising. But I take it as a kind of parody.”

“Yeah, it is parody.” I was going to go on and say that even so, part of the way in which it felt good, below the layers of irony, was in submission responding to dominance. Safe, approving, warm dominance, but dominance just the same.

But I stopped in time. Better to let her feel she’d won a point than put her on her guard.

"Good girl" has most power when it's whispered

“Good girl” has most power when it’s whispered

“But you’re still a good girl, too. Thanks for doing the filming.” 

Lynette smiled. She liked praise. And, more dangerously for her, she was starting to like my approval.

I pulled her closer, this time, rather than step towards her, and kissed her, gently, one hand on her ass. No smacks. I whispered, “Good girl.”

 She closed her eyes, then said, “I know what you’re doing.” 

But she was smiling. I said, “Does it make any difference?” 

She didn’t answer. I kissed her again.

But it was time. I stepped back and raised the cane. “Raylene.”

“Yes, master.” In high, sing-song soprano. She was making her voice sound as cherubic as she could.

badgirlcaned3“You’re a bad girl.” I swung the cane down, medium hard, catching her low.

The stripe flared across that soft skin, just above the crease of her buttocks and thighs.

“A very bad girl.”

Raylene’s hair flew, and the desk rocked under her attempts to move, thwarted by Dorabella’s arms.

“Owwww-wowww, master!”

Being a bad girl has its pleasures too. But that's for more advanced players

Being a bad girl has its pleasures too. But that was for more advanced players. Like Raylene

I nodded, waiting for her to get herself still, and her ass up and offered to the cane again.

“Bad girl,” I said again, and lashed the cane down directly onto that delicate crease. Raylene was silent for a second, shocked by the pain.

Then, as the welt bloomed redly, there were sobs.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 123: Raylene says sorry 4

It had puzzled me that Dorabella approved of my squeezing Lynette’s ass. From her point of view I should be paying attention to her. Or to her sister, considering that I was Raylene’s lover and she was naked over her own desk, waiting for the next cane stroke to fall.

But Lynette had been chasing her ass for days, at least, and Dorabella didn’t do girls. So she was relieved that Raylene and I were keeping Lynette occupied. Raylene, meanwhile, knew that the better I entertained Lynette, the more likely Lynette was to come to her bedroom that night and join us. And if Lynette was sexually open to me as well as her, then Raylene would have a better time.

But I let go of Lynette’s ass reluctantly, and held up the phone I’d been smacking her with. She’d tucked the cane awkwardly under her left arm, perhaps because she’d noted how ungainly Dorabella’s strategy of holding it between her thighs had made her. So she had her right hand free, and she took the phone. I said, “Can you take over as camerawoman? Dorabella’s got her hands full, now.”

Now you see it...

Now you see it…

Dorabella looked at me, exasperated, and poked her tongue out. I was still speaking to Lynette. “That’d be the Dorabella who wants a spanking.” The tongue disappeared.

I’d meant to stir up more unconvincing defiance from Dorabella, with that remark. Her sudden compliance was a surprise. I expected it would set some of the agenda for Dorabella and me, when we were together tomorrow. A conversation-starter, at least.

Lynette was facing me, so she hadn’t seen the appearance and sudden withdrawal of Dorabella’s sweetly pink tongue. She kissed me again, then leaned back to study my face, as if it were a strange new plant, or insect. “You just think everybody wants a spanking.” She whispered that. We were still conspirators.

I didn’t whisper. “No. It’s a little bit evidence-based. For example I’m not sure that you do. I don’t have any data from you, either way. But statistically the odds are that you don’t.”


Not quite safe emotional ground, for Lynette. But she wasn't going to stop watching.

Not quite safe emotional ground, for Lynette. But she wasn’t going to blink, while Raylene was getting the cane 

“Though you like watching. When the girl’s gorgeous enough.” That, to my amazement, made her blush. She was embarrassed by her reaction to Raylene, or at least to Raylene being caned. That, in turn, gave me a moment of shame. I’d seen Lynette as super-humanly self-possessed. I hadn’t expected her to be feeling out of her depth, and so I hadn’t seen it.

I moved us to safer ground. “And the girl is gorgeous. Unbelievably.” 

“Oh yeah.” She sounded enthusiastic, and happier again.

“And she thinks you’re gorgeous. Raylene? You can speak.” 

More familiar ground. Very emotionally safe.

More familiar ground. Very emotionally safe. (As modelled by Catherine Cornelius and Una Persson.)

“Thank you, master. Lynette, the girl thinks you’re hot as fuck. And gorgeous.”

“Good girl.” I looked at Lynette. She was smiling, back on territory she knew. “And that ass is definitely worth watching. Under any circumstances.”

I picked up the lighter cane again. “Got the camera ready?” 

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 122: Raylene says sorry 3

Lynette swallowed. She’d had her hands on Raylene’s ass earlier that morning, but this was different. Now Raylene was being caned, there was colour there, and corrugations, and cunt: the smell of arousal.

But after a second she frowned, then her face lightened. “All right.” She got up and came to my side of the desk where Raylene waited, bent over, head down. She traced her finger-tips down Raylene’s marks. “They’re raised,” she said, surprised.

“And hot?”

“Oh, very hot.” 

I said, “Dorabella.” 

“Yes?” Dorabella had been filming Lynette’s hand, stroking her sister, the finger-tips straying into the tender, sensitive valley between her buttocks. But she looked over at me. 

“Give me the phone.” Dorabella held it out, a little puzzled. Did I think she’d done a bad job? But I held her hand and squeezed reassuringly as I took the phone from her. “And pass me the cane.”

caneheldShe reached between her thighs, where she’d been holding it by keeping her legs tight together. Our eyes met as I took it from her. “I want you to go round to the front of the desk now, love. Put your hands on Raylene’s shoulders, and hold her down. I don’t want her upper body to lose contact with the desk, is that understood?”

Dorabella nodded. She looked awed, wondering. I said, “She’ll can’t hold herself down, and that’s only going to get her into trouble. It’s up to you.”

Dorabella shrugged. Life was full of puzzles, like why I would care if Raylene got herself into more trouble. But she did as I’d asked, crossing in front of me, then bending down to kiss Raylene’s forehead. She straightened up and rested her hands on Raylene’s shoulders.

I didn’t say, “Good girl.” She knew she was being obedient, and there was no need to rub it in. Instead I said, “Hold her down hard, Dorabella. If she has to get extra punishment because you let her get up, you’ll get the same.”

2 4 cane“I bloody well will not!” Dorabella tried to sound defiant, but she pressed more firmly down on Raylene’s shoulders. She didn’t trust herself, I thought, to say ‘no’ if I gave Raylene an extra couple of strokes and then told her to take her place beside her sister. Best to make sure that choice didn’t have to be made.

I approved. I didn’t want to give Raylene extra strokes, so Dorabella’s blushing compliance was perfect. 

Lynette still had one hand idly stroking Raylene’s left set of lines and welts, but she was watching Dorabella, now. The robe was nearly open to Dorabella’s waist, though her breasts somehow managed to stay inside its material. 

“Lynette?” I touched her shoulder, and she turned to face me. I picked up the cane, and held it out. After a pause she took it. “Thanks. If Raylene behaves, you’ll only need to hold on to it for the next six strokes.”

Lynette quirked her mouth. “Oh, ‘if’. So it might be for eight strokes. Or ten. Or 20.”

She was getting the hang of this thing, doing no good at all for Raylene’s peace of mind. I smiled at her, and she smiled back. We were still conspirators. I took her shoulder, and stepped towards her.

If she’d been Raylene or Dorabella, I’d have pulled her to me. But I paused just before kissing her, and she kissed me. She put her arms around me, holding the cane awkwardly in the middle, as Dorabella had.

Then I stepped back and she followed me, and I slid my hands down her back, to stroke, then cup, her little ass. I smacked her lightly with the phone, and tightened my grip. Delicious muscles, smooth under a slight layer of girl plumpness. She sighed and leaned her body forward.

I said, “Muh!” when her belly suddenly pressed against my cock. She grinned lazily, satisfied, knowing the effect she was having. I caught Dorabella’s eye. She was amused again. I was funny.