Bedroom Eyes 28

Posted on August 27, 2023 by jaime

So I lay in bed. Just a few minutes ago that bed had had two women in it, then one. Now there were none. I liked it better before.

Maires, who I loved, had taken the riding crop to see Stephanie, who I also loved. Our dynamic was complicated because Stephanie had reacted submissively to Maires as well as to me, and Maires had discovered a dominant streak in herself. At least when it came to Stephanie.

Since I was nominally and perhaps really in charge, I’d granted Maires her wish to explore her new-found dominant side with Stephanie. I was ashamed of myself for it, but I was frightened that they might get on so well that I’d lose them both, and that would destroy all my happiness, possibly for years. But I knew that Stephanie really did love me, and so did Maires.

And both of them liked male energy and smell, and they enjoyed their interactions with cock too much to want to give it up. So I told myself. So I lay alone and tried to get to sleep. I was exhausted, having spent that night as a sexual provider for both of them.

But I heard a gasp from the kitchen. That was Stephanie. Then there was a low conversation, which ended with a slap. It might have been Stephanie’s face, or her bottom. Then I heard Maires. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but she did a reasonable imitation of my command voice.

At the end of Maires’s order I heard a quiet sound from Stephanie. I knew she’d just said, “Yes Mistress.”

Then there was silence. I tried not to imagine what might be happening, and I was drifting to sleep when I heard Maires’s orgasm noise. The guttural, grunting, hard one. Stephanie had paid homage, lip and tongue and nose service, to her Mistress.

There was more silence, and then I heard a kitchen chair dragged across the floor. A sharp command from Maires, loud enough so I knew she’d said Stephanie hadn’t been trying hard enough, and to bend over the back of that chair. Now, slave!

Stephanie, and in a different way I, had to wait nearly ten minutes before the flogging started, the unmistakable sharp slap of a riding crop hitting flesh, over and over. Stephanie was using the shaft as well as the tag. Well, she’d always liked the sight of her own stripes.

Stephanie began to whimper, barely audibly from my room though it would be louder in the kitchen. After a time, with Maires still remorseless, the whimpers became cries and ultimately screams. Maires didn’t stop or even slightly vary the speed or force of the strokes. The flogging went on for what felt like an incredibly long time, though I knew it was only about six minutes.

When the strokes stopped coming, Stephanie for some reason only cried out and wailed louder. She ignored Maires’s command, “Silence!” There was another resounding slap, probably Maires’s hand across her cheek, and Stephanie stopped her noise, instantly.

There was another murmured command, and as silence resumed I knew this time what was happening. And though I’d been exhausted, my cock was taking an interest and taking on blood. I seemed to be developing an erection again.

The silence continued until Maires came again. It wasn’t quite as loud as her first orgasm, but there was no question that she was enjoying herself. I heard Stephanie say something. It was the hesitant question of a submissive afraid she’d failed to please.

So Maires, I took it, gave her notes on how better to please her. After a few minutes the kitchen chair jerked again and then the flogging resumed, with Stephanie responding high and pained to each stroke. I would not have flogged Stephanie so hard. Maires was pitiless. I had a sense, though, that this was what Stephanie had wanted, and that Maires was right.

After a long time Maires stopped. Stephanie had wailed and screamed throughout her flogging, but after the last stroke she fell silent immediately without being told. After a few seconds I heard her say, loudly by her standards, “Thank you, Mistress.”

Then more silence, followed at last by Maires’s third orgasm, sounding more wrenched from her than her first two.

I waited for Stephanie’s third flogging, but it didn’t come. Instead I heard rustling and kitchen drawers opened and shut. After a while I heard the slap of crop on flesh again. Incredibly, they were moving. The crop sounded every fifteen to twenty seconds. They passed my bedroom door and went on to the bathroom.

There I expect Maires allowed Stephanie to inspect the state of her bottom and thighs in the mirror. The shower ran, and afterwards I assume that Stephanie received an anointment of cold cream and perhaps even, finally, a loving word from Maires.

At last I heard a knock on the lower panels of my bedroom door.

Sinful Sunday: Submission?

Posted on August 23, 2020 by jaime

The lovely Zoë, in submissive mode, and perhaps mood.

There’s quite the pile of implements for improving the colour and temperature of her bottom, and perhaps her moral character, though in truth that can’t be improved.*

Mostly they’re hidden under her body. Perhaps she hopes I won’t see them.

Ha! That’s the first place I’d look!

* Because of its existing excellence, I should clarify.

Kink of the Week: Thoughts on Flogging

Posted on June 20, 2020 by jaime

We Doms/Dommes sometimes make house calls. Sometimes. Conditions apply. The submissive has to have been exceptionally bad. Or good.

But when we come visiting we can’t take all our paraphernalia with us. Generally the whipping bench and the leather sling attachable to the ceiling have to stay at home. Forlorn.

We have to choose just a few treasured items to take with us.

Some Dom/mes have a basic house call bag. There’s mine, above. A flogger, a tawse and a paddle.

As well as those implements it contains the usual stuff: padded cuffs, a collar and leash, nipple clamps, condoms, lubes and so on.

But if I was only going to bring one implement to a scene, it would be a flogger.

Floggers

In this post “implements” means “things used in impact play, usually on the buttocks and upper thighs.”

There are two kinds of implements, broadly speaking. Some are rigid or nearly so, like a hairbrush, wooden paddle, ruler, cane and so on. Others are pliable, like a belt or strap, a whip or a flogger.

The difference between a whip and a flogger can get a little hazy, but essentially, a whip has a single tail, or anything up to around five. From the recipients’ point of view, whips are generally thought to deliver a stingy sort of sensation.

Floggers generally start around nine tails (the cat’o’nine tails used in the Navy was essentially a flogger). And from the recipients’ point of view, they deliver a thudding sensation. As most submissives prefer thud to sting, that makes floggers more popular than whips.

Kinds of flogger

There are two basic kinds of flogger. Some have hard lashes, whether of leather or whipcord, rubber or silicon. Others have soft lashes, of soft leather, often suede, or rubber or silicon.

There’s one more distinction to make. Most floggers have lashes about half to a third of a metre long, and are fairly substantial implements. They can be used while the partners are in bed together, but also for a more formal flogging, in which the submissive is bound, standing up or lying across the bed, while their disciplinarian stands a short way aside from them to deliver the strokes.

There’s another class of flogger that is much smaller, almost always has soft lashes, of about 10 to 20 centimetres long. These can’t really be used for whole body flogging: they are designed for nipples, cunts, cocks, the sensitive skin between the buttocks, and other areas that couples, or threesomes or whatever, considers to be especially erogenous and sensitive.

1 Flogger with hard lashes

This implement comes closest to being a whip. That’s partly because the lashes are hard like a whip’s tail or tails.

So this implement is best in a relationship where the submissive partner likes more pain than most, and where there is a D/s or M/s relationship.

The advantage is that it’s easy to use and aim, and though it delivers the right kind of pain, very effectively, it’s unlikely to draw blood or do any harm unless the person wielding it behaves like an absolute maniac.

The disadvantage of the flogger with hard lashes is simply that it may hurt the submissive more than she or he likes. The Dom/me has to take care and make sure the submissive is feeling sexy and happy. And that may be easier with a soft lashed flogger.

The feedback I’ve had from submissive I’ve flogged using this kind of instrument is that it hurts, of course. A hard flogging will leave redness and sometimes small welts that will last a few days.

Other submissive reported that the impacts were too intense to be enjoyable as they happened, but that the glowing heat and the sense of having been genuinely punished was worth it. In short, they didn’t enjoy the flogging, but they loved having been flogged.

This implement definitely has its place, but it should be used carefully.

2. Flogger with soft lashes

The soft lashed flogger is probably the flogger I would take with me on a one-implement mission. It tends to be popular with submissives. It delivers thud more than sting, and that seems to be the ideal mix in impact play. For most people.

Like the hard-lashed flogger, it’s easy to use and aim. It delivers warm, good-painful sensation, and the blush from a good flogging can last a couple of days. It has to be used extremely hard to get more marking than that.

That’s a useful fact, for submissives who go swimming, gymming and other activities where they have to change in public or leave their upper thighs or lower buttocks exposed.

Everybody has different tastes, even submissives! However, I’ve yet to play with a submissive who likes impact play who doesn’t openly or “secretly” love the soft-lashed flogger. It’s relatively gentle, with a kind of warm comfort mixed with the pain. It can safely be used for a long, long flogging while the submissive drifts off to that floaty space where submissives may go.

Though if the Dom/me wants it can be used harder and more punishingly. I like to give a “reminder” stroke every so often, in the middle of a flogging, so the submissive doesn’t feel that their flogging is predictable or within their control.

Disadvantages? At the moment I can’t think of one. I suppose you’d choose something else if you were going for an intense “real punishment” scenario.

So if I were going to visit a submissive, especially one who is new to “discipline”, and I could bring only one implement, the soft-lashed flogger is the one I’d bring.

3. The cute little flogger

This small flogger isn’t one you can usefully use for whole body punishment, unless you have a lot of time on your hands. It’s for flogging erogenous zones, essentially.

Its big advantage is sexual intimacy: you use it at close quarters, to flog your partner’s cock or cunt, their perineum and the sensitive skin between the lower buttocks. And you use it on nipples.

Many small floggers come with a dildo handle, so that when the submit is aroused, the Dom/me can insert the dildo into sensitive spaces, and stimulate their submissive another way. I recommend one of those, so long as you can find one that you think looks stylish.

Generally I like natural fibres best, and my choice for the two larger floggers reviewed above is leather.

However, I’ve found that for this smaller implement silicon lashes are better. They can be heavier than leather, so that a small implement with short lashes can deliver a satisfactory thud. Silicon also allows for finer lashes than you can usefully get with leather strips. And finally, it’s easier to clean. Do these little floggers have a place in a Dom/me’s toolkit? Yes.

General notes

When shopping you should look carefully at the way it’s made. Personally I’ve never had or handled a flogger that wasn’t well made. Standards are high. Still, check before you buy. The handle should be solid, and reasonably weighty.

Some makers produce floggers with quite wide lashes. It’s a matter of taste, but I prefer lashes to be fairly narrow. Maybe a little over a centimetre for a soft lash, a little under a centimetre for a hard lash. But your taste may vary. A shop should allow you to have a practice swing or two, so you get the one that feels right to you.

Colour is up to you. I prefer the traditional black, though I once bought a pink one, because the intended recipient was a very girlie girl, and though she liked discipline she liked to feel it came with sparkles and a bow. Anyway, colour is up to you.

Happy flogging! Or being flogged!

Sinful Sunday: In the middle of the night

Posted on September 16, 2017 by jaime

it was three in the morning. They’d spent the night fucking, but – to her surprise – he hadn’t spanked her. His belt lay on the sheet beside them, as it usually did when they were in bed, and the cane hung on the wall beside the bed. Both were unused.

She thought they were going to sleep now, but he said, “Up, girl. Up!” The first time he said “up” it was as though he had a treat for her: there was mischief, and enticement, in his voice. The second time it was clearly an order.

She murmured, “Yes, Master,” and rolled out of bed, and stood up. HJe got up and put on a dressing gown. He didn’t offer hers. He took her by the hand and led her out of the house.

The night air was cool on her skin. She could feel goosebumps forming on her shoulders and breasts. She wore only her wrist and ankle cuffs, and her collar. She was grateful for the little bands of warmth they offered.

She could hear birds above, sleeping in the trees, mildly complaining at their disturbance, then deciding they were no risk and returning to silence. There were nocturnal mammals around, she knew, but they had heard humans and crept away.

He led her down past the greenhouse, down the slopes to the bottom of the garden, a spot under the plum tree, over-looking the valley.

There was a trestle there. She’d never seen it before, or anything similar, though she knew what it was. And what it was for. He’d made it for her.

“Bend over, little one. Legs apart, head down. And reach your arms right down.” She obeyed, and attached her wrist and ankle cuffs to the snap bolts he’d put in, low on each side. She experimented a little, so she could confirm to herself that she was helpless, held fast.

He fetched from below the plum tree a wooden paddle. She hadn’t seen that before either. It looked very home-made.

He held it to her mouth, and she kissed it. Her heart was beating fast. It was hard, and it was nearly an inch thick. He’d made it, just to hurt her with it.

He took the paddle from her mouth, and stepped back. He said nothing.

Then it landed, against her lower bottom. Noise and pain overwhelmed her, and she yelped. She didn’t usually cry out at the first impact, but this was too strong. She was in its control, not hers.

By the third impact she was wailing continuously. Not loud, but uncontrollably. Except by Master. He was in control of the sounds she made, how she moved and what she felt, and when.

The paddle landed, over, and over. The strokes got no harder, but each one hurt a little more, burnt more fiercely, than the one before. Now she jerked each time the paddle landed, body rocking with the impact but held fast by her cuffs. If it was cold, naked in the night air, she no longer knew it. She knew nothing but pain, and the sound of her own wailing, what Master called her pain-song.

Eventually she became aware that the paddling had paused. Her Master said, “Thirty-six.”

She’d had three dozen! Simply for his pleasure. But at least it was over.

He said, “So I think, just four more. You can count and thank me, for these last strokes.”

Then the paddle again, against her lower bottom, almost reaching her cunt. “Aiieee! Uh. Uh. Oh, fuck. Thirty seven, Master. Thank you!”

“Good girl.”

He concentrated on her lower bottom and upper thighs. But when she said “Forty, thank you, Master,” he didn’t tell her she was good.

Instead she felt his hands holding her hips like talons, holding her as if her cuffs weren’t enough. His cock slipped into her cunt, deep, then all the way out, then deep, then out. She breathed in time with his movements. It was so good. But on the fourth withdrawal, his cock didn’t return. She stopped herself from protesting. That paddle was on the lawn beside her. He pushed her ass down, and she felt his cock pressing against her sphincter.

Her head dropped, helpless, as he thrust into her ass. He usually took his time when he butt-fucked her, but now he was urgent, insatiable need. She heard him grunt once, when he was all the way inside, his cock deep in her ass and his body pressed against the fierce heat of her buttocks. Then he fucked her, hard, fast, working on his own orgasm. Not hers. But soon, ruthlessly fucked, she heard herself wailing again. Not a pain song.

Note

The halo of light above my girl’s body: I’m not sure what that was. But I like it. It was a night of mysteries, and there was something deep and sacred going on. I don’t know what it was, in technical terms, but to me it adds to the magic and mystery.

Terror of the Cane! (Or: How to make a caning sexy)

Posted on October 11, 2016 by jaime

I’ve been meaning to write about the cane, and how it can be used in ways that make it just the right amount of scary. It should be a bit scary, and there should be a sense of milestone and achievement about taking the cane, but it shouldn’t be so scary that it gets in the way of it being sexy.

No really, you can always trust a man with a cane in his hand… (From Restrained Elegance )

The truth is that the cane’s reputation is somewhat more fearsome than the reality. I know it’s all very well for a dom to say that, since I’m never going to be at the receiving end of a caning. But doms learn by paying attention.

What I’ve learned about making the cane not too scary is that you talk about it first.

A dom about to introduce someone to the cane should mention that it doesn’t have to be as scary as it’s made out to be. The dom should say – and they’d better be clear on this in their own minds – that they’re going to take care. There are rewards for the submissive, like the hotness of the “you’re going to get the cane” scenario, the sharp clear sensation of a cane-stroke, and the beauty of the cane stripes afterwards.

How getting consent works depends on your relationship. With Arethusa and I, there wasn’t any prior discussion because it wasn’t that kind of relationship. I was her master and (conditions applied) consents had already been given. It was a punishment caning and not for pleasure. Well, not hers, anyway. I’d warned her that I’d cane her if she missed another assignment deadline, and she did. So there was nothing to discuss.

Instead I told her how disappointed I was, produced the cane, flexed it in an alarming manner and told her to get her clothes off and bend over the table. She could have used her safe word or said it was a hard limit, or she could obey. She chose to obey. Neither of us had any doubt that she would.

In other relationships I’ve talked about it first, and introduced the cane in a sexual context rather than a punishment one. Of course a punishment scenario is a sex scenario too, just a couple of layers of rhetoric deeper down. Anyway, the wise dom goes at the submissive’s speed, and doesn’t just get driven by their own desires. Or not completely.

Anyway, once they’ve got informed consent, the dom should usually start with a slow warm-up before introducing the cane. The idea is to focus on things that the dom knows the submissive enjoys. Usually, that means using hand-on-skin at first, and some of the more familiar instruments that the submissive partner already likes.

At some stage the dom switches to the cane, but it should be with continuity, not with a sudden “and now we’re going to get serious!” change of pace and mood.

The idea is to keep the intensity of the cane low, at first. I like to give four or five light strokes, like a drummer using brushes on his drums, and then one stroke a bit harder. Repeat, and repeat, for a long time. Without going harder. Usually, the submissive getting the cane will find that quite pleasant, in a floaty way.

Stay there for a while, with lots of stroking in general and cunt-stroking (or cock-stroking, if that’s your submissive’s equipment) in particular, and the submissive and the cane will settle down together. After a while – the dom should be watching his or her submissive very closely – it may be time to increase the intensity and make the strokes a bit harder.

The dom’s job is to watch the submissive and back off any time it looks or feels like it’s hurting too much for it to be sexy, and take it back to the level the submissive was enjoying before. Towards the end the intensity should increase, and the strokes should get harder. But the aim is to get pink stripes, not red, or raised (much) or bruising.

The dom shouldn’t be too ambitious the first time, but the next time, taking and applying all the things that worked best the first time, it can probably be taken all the way up to leaving marks that outlast the caning by a few hours and have it be sexy, at least for submissives who like impact play at all.

By the way a hard caning leaves marks that last over a week. That’s not a good idea for a first time, though you will know your own relationship. Usually, with a first, pleasure-focussed caning, a few hours is fine.

The stripe in the First Strike picture is unusual, because it was Arethusa’s first, and it’s a punishment stroke. There was no warm-up and it was a firm to medium hard stroke. The marks of that caning lasted about four days.

It’s not the stroke you’d deliver first if you were wanting to demonstrate that the cane is good, sexy fun. What I wanted to demonstrate was, “You want to graduate? From now on do your assignments on time, or you’ll do them standing up!”

But even then, as I said, she finished up liking the fact that she was a girl who got the cane, though not exactly loving each instant of impact.

The point is, based on reactions and comments from submissives, there’s ways of making a caning pleasurable, and the cane probably is worth exploring some time, Especially for submissives who like impact play but are freaked out by the cane’s reputation.

I’m nerd enough to have three canes. The bamboo, the lighter rattan (whose effect can be seen above) and the heavier dragon cane, also rattan. But the point with a cane is not the implement but how it is used.)

Those submissive should make sure they explore it with someone they really trust and who knows that they find the idea scary.

The dom has to get the set (the emotional and physical expectations), the setting (the place where it happens and the submissive’s position while being caned) and the emotional flow just right.

The dom has to take care of the submissive before, during and afterwards.

There’s much more to be said, but on the day lust and love should do most of what’s needed.

Note:

This post began as a reply to sub-bee (so hat-tip to her), when she commented on the First Strike post.

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

Posted on August 30, 2016 by jaime

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

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

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

“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.

“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 122: Raylene says sorry 3

Posted on August 23, 2016 by jaime

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.”

She 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.”

“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.

The elegance of whipped cream

Posted on August 16, 2016 by jaime

This blog, and this blogger, have pretty much turned into the Gretel fan club. If it’s not about Gretel, her cleverness, wit, ethical base and, oh, also hotness, I don’t currently want to write it or think about it.

The photo below was taken before we went out for dinner last night. So it’s just a playful belt spanking you can see glowing so very prettily there. Nothing brutal. Add very stylish knickers, skin the colour of cream, at least in the unwhipped areas, and you have a really elegant image.

She wore a “spank me and fuck me” little kilt to the restaurant, with fishnets, and attracted a bit of attention. The proprietor even came out and did all the things that gauchos do instead of kissing a lady’s hand, when they want to show off to a hot girl.

So I had that thing men get when they’re squiring the hottest girl in the room around. Not mature, I guess, but fun.

Anyway, here’s Gretel being elegant.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 120: Raylene says sorry 1

Posted on August 8, 2016 by jaime

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.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 119: Raylene’s caning 6

Posted on August 3, 2016 by jaime

Raylene was looking into Lynette’s eyes again. But it was too late for that. And I could see she was slightly shocked. She dropped her gaze suddenly, not wanting to look at her betrayer.

I took the cane out of the clasp of Raylene’s cunt, making her gasp.

She gasped again when I tapped the wet section of bamboo against her arse. “Well, Raylene, it seems you’re a bad girl. Even when you’re being punished. You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“I’m sorry. I did try.”

“But not hard enough. You know Lynette’s coming to see us tonight.” Lynette didn’t react to that. She hadn’t definitely said she was coming to our bed at midnight. But by letting that pass she was conceding what everyone in that room already knew. “So I’ll deal with you then.”

“Master. Um. Please, master” – it seemed I had my rank back – “can I please take the extra strokes now? Please? I don’t want to have to spend the rest of today waiting for them. And” – she waggled her striped ass at me, which should have been persuasive enough – “having to think about it.”

I touched the bamboo back to her cunt. “But you should think about it, Raylene love. I said I’m going to punish you later.”

Raylene dropped her arse, to press herself onto the cane. “Uhh… Yes, master. I’ll be thinking about it all right.”

“See?” Now I was talking to Lynette. “She is a good girl. Really.”

“Master, do I apologise to Lynette now?”

I said, “No.”

Lynette stared at me, also shocked and betrayed. It seemed she’d been looking forward to that.

“Raylene, you’ve got a penalty stroke you’ve already earned. When you disobeyed me about looking down at the floor. You can have that now, as an add-on to your first six, or you can take it at the end of the second six. Do you want it now?”

Raylene rolled her hips, so her cunt took the cane in a little deeper. “Now, please master. I’d much rather.”

“That’s fine. Then you can apologise.” Raylene and Lynette both sighed. Happily. I wanted them, both at once, right then and there. And Dorabella: I wanted her mouth on my cock while I caned her sister. But I said and did nothing. Those things could happen some other time. I raised the cane.