Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 45: the razor strop’s work

Raylene had placed herself back in position. After a second she arched her back even further, so that her bottom, now decorated with two broad, parallel red stripes, offered itself in abject invitation for more of the same. Pain, please.

Her cunt, likewise presented, made a slightly different invitation.

Raylene waited for me to hurt her again. Her low moan had fallen away. She was breathing audibly, but more or less normally. 

I had now swung a razor strop, in earnest, exactly twice. I’d learned that its weight to some extent dictates how hard it’s going to land. It’d be difficult to swing the thing lightly without it being obvious that I was trying to spare her, to fake her beating.

I was certain that she’d be disappointed if she detected me trying to do that. So Raylene’s first beating was going to be a dramatic event. She might think of the events in her life as having happened before this afternoon, or after it.

When I’d set out the rules to Raylene, I’d been savagely excited by my promise to give her extra strokes across the backs of her thighs if she took too long to get herself back in position.

I’d imagined her desperation to obey me, to please me and avoid further punishment. I’d hoped she’d fail, so I would deliver those two biting lashes across her thighs. And I’d imagined Raylene’s cries of pain and repentance, and her struggle to  place herself properly for the next stroke, so it would be counted. 

I knew, with no doubts at all, that she’d submit to that discipline, and that I would savour the sweetness of it, of that inner “give” that Raylene would feel and I would read in her movements.

cryingMy cock was uncomfortably constricted. I’d decided I’d stay clothed and formal until it was time to fuck her. But I wanted to be in Raylene, pressed against the red heat of her ass, and savouring the sleek wet comfort of her cunt. I wanted the physical and psychological warmth of comforting and ruling a surrendered girl. We needed to fuck, and soon.

But now that I’d actually started I was on Raylene’s side. If she did waste any time in getting herself back in place I would certainly deliver those promised extra punishment strokes to her thighs. I would make them hard, to teach that lesson quickly and indelibly, and I’d enjoy that teaching.

But still, I also hoped that I wouldn’t need to give any extra strokes. Doms change sides, once a flogging has begun. Or I do, anyway. I was with Raylene now, hoping she’d find the physical courage and the pleasure in submission to get through this with no faults, and no faltering.

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