The novel this is from was unpublished when I put this post up.

Now it’s about to be published, so free segments from it have to be taken down. However, I’ll leave the note, which isn’t part of the novel, where it is.

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.