Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 18

Raylene frowned and looked at her feet, hands still on her head. I realised that the question I’d just asked her (should we spank your breast a bit harder?) was a difficult one.

She didn’t want to answer something like, “well, who the fuck do you think you are?” since that would, on the whole, break the mood. And she seemed to be enjoying the mood. But she had an idea – correctly, as it happens – that if she said, “No, sir”, that would have painful consequences. While she was calling me “Sir” she’d better not say “no”.

But saying “yes, Sir” was out of the question too. It admitted much too much.

breastsAfter about thirty seconds of thought Raylene dropped her eyes and bowed her head. Play-acting, but never wrong. She said, “Sir.”

“Good!” I was impressed. “That was clever, Raylene. Good answer.”

This time she did smile for a second before her face became intent again. But I placed my palm flat under that left breast, and lifted a little to give myself a better target. I drew back the ruler and smacked the same area, as promised, a bit harder.

The same sound of impact, but louder, and a beautiful shockwave of flesh, which quickly settled back to resilient roundness. But now there was a definite pink stripe, a band about an inch wide across her soft paleness. Her breast displayed two pinks; her dried-paw-paw nipple and below that the rose pink of punishment.

Raylene had not moved. She let out a long, reflective, audible breath. I let her take a couple of breaths to recover, then said, “Deep breath again, Raylene, and hold it. And keep still.”

And I pressed the ruler against that pink band it had made. And then drew it back. I wanted her to know the next impact would be harder still. And I wanted her to consider that, and hold herself still, and offer herself for it.

 Are we still in the kitchen? Bother. It seems we still are.

2 thoughts on “Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 18

    • It did escalate quickly, didn’t it? Thing was, we egged each other on. First she flashed most of her body at me, officially to show me her tattoo. Then I put my head under her jersey, among other things to gaze at her tits from underneath. And we took it from there, in small incremental steps.

      Every so often I took a risk when I felt it was time to lift the tension a notch or two. Like with the breast-spanking. But I already knew that would be shocking in a good way, and that Raylene would be interested to move into the new sexual territory that that opened up.

      So I was taking less of a risk than it may have seemed.

      One thing we had in common, apart from bdsm, was the notion that doing things that are a bit outrageous is fun. And it can cut through a lot of wasting time.

      Joining a neo-Nazi gang in order to have hotter sex might _sound_ like an excellent idea, but I’d still advise against. Leaving aside the insult to your own sense of intelligence and decency, etc, there’s Raylene’s report that boot boys can be quite good-looking, but they tend to be dud fucks.

      And her experience only got her dommed because she’d _left_ the gang, and her realisation that she’d really, really fucked up was quite appealing.

      Some other confession (“I used to be in Youth for Christ, and I was massively against casual sex and kinky stuff”) would probably work just as well, without involving quite as much damage to life and self-esteem.

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