Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 42

 All this waiting was torturing Raylene. Since I was feeling cruel, and enjoying her fear and excitement, I didn’t start her flogging. It was time for one of the ritual pre-strapping lectures. “Raylene, this is going to hurt you, but I want you to stay in this position. Bottom up high, presented, legs apart and straight, hands behind your neck. Just like you are now. Is that understood?”

 Raylene’s face turned, if anything, even redder. “Yes Sir.”

Wide stance.

Wide stance.

 “You won’t be able to help moving when you get this strop across your arse, but you must get straight back into position. Present yourself exactly like you are now, with your legs apart, ass up, ready for the next stroke.”

 “Okay. Oh! Sorry, I mean, yes, Sir.”

“And you get your ass up quickly. If you take too long I’ll repeat the stroke. And I’ll add an extra smack across the back of your thighs. Those really hurt. Do you understand?”

 “Yes. Well, no: how long is taking too long?”

“Um. It varies a bit cause I’ll try to be vaguely fair about it. If it’s a hard stroke you get a couple of seconds of extra time. But if I think you aren’t trying your very hardest, then you’ll know about it. Just make sure you get back into position quickly.”

Raylene said nothing. I smacked the strop, not too hard, across the fleshiest part of her buttocks. Raylene neither moved nor moaned. That hard stroke I’d given her, a few minutes ago, had set a high standard, and she knew this one wasn’t going to count as a stroke. “You were supposed to say, Yes, Sir.”

“Well it’s hard, Jaime! Yeah, I’ll get back into position. Sir.”

I nodded, not that she could see me. “Good girl. You ready?”

Her right thigh muscle twitched again; that butterfly, under her skin, was trembling. Raylene said nothing. I counted slowly to ten, letting her wait.

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