Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 68: What is humiliation, anyway?

Bellie brought us tea and chocolate biscuits, smirking like the sort of girl who isn’t embarrassed when she’s winning at Monopoly. I suppose she was pleased to see that Raylene was relaxed and happy. At the same time, a sister can also be quite pleased with the knowledge that her younger sister has just had her arse thoroughly smacked.  

Bellie said she and Lynette had found moussaka in the freezer, and they’d expect us down for dinner in about half an hour. Then she said Raylene was a bad girl, and I was a bad man, though for different reasons. She waved at us, but perhaps just me, pausing at the door just before she left.

Raylene still sprawled on her back on her pile of pillows, looking like the Venus de Milo, all pampered but without arms. She looked at me. “She’s just jealous.”

tied handsI wasn’t sure about that, but I didn’t to discuss Bellie with her sister just then. I said, “Just a second,” and rolled her onto her side. Her hands were still tied, her arse still gloriously, tomato-ey red. I smacked her again so that she made a protesting noise.

Then she decided that she wasn’t allowed to protest, and fell silent. I said, “Good girl,” again, and untied her hands. When she’d righted herself and relaxed against her pillows again I passed a mug of tea.

Raylene grinned, not nicely. “Bellie’s always thought you were hers.”

I frowned. That had to mean that Bellie had talked about our night together, and that Raylene had known things about me when we met in the kitchen. Sisters are competitive. I thought again about that moment she’d come close to me and pulled her jersey up to show me her tattoo. And her creamy body. Then I pushed the thought aside. It had happened, and whatever Raylene’s motivations had been, I was happy with the outcome. And she seemed to be too.

stairssmackInstead I said, “Is that why you didn’t move, on the stairs. When Bellie and Lynette came home?”

Raylene looked at me as if I’d said something extraordinary. “No. You hadn’t told me to move.”

“Ok. But if you were on the road and a car was coming, you wouldn’t wait for me to tell you to move.”

“Well, I guess not. But that’s different. I don’t want to get run over.”

“But you did want – . Ah. Never mind.”


“Never mind.” I passed her a chocolate biscuit.

So I’d learned two things. One was why Raylene and I had moved so fast. I hadn’t been as firmly in the driving seat as I’d thought. Raylene had had her own impetus too. The other thing I’d learned – 

That isn't Photoshop, by the way; just an unfeasibly large spoon

That isn’t Photoshop, by the way; just an unfeasibly large wooden spoon

I now knew that if I ordered Raylene to go down to the kitchen naked to fetch me a wooden spoon, she’d think that was hot. If I said that while she was down there she’d explain to Lynette, say, that we needed it for me to spank her arse with, then that would be hotter. And if I said she’d have to wait down there till I came down and spanked her in the kitchen,I’d find her there red-faced, but also  a hot, wet and needy girl.

I couldn’t actually do it, of course, because it wouldn’t be right to use Bellie and Raylene, without their consent, as props for a sexual adventure between Raylene and me.

But I did know what Raylene’s reaction would be, to exhibiting herself like that. It would be … positive.

And that knowledge gave me some clues about how I was going to deal with her guilt and my disapproval about her time with that gang of boot boy dickheads. 

2 thoughts on “Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 68: What is humiliation, anyway?

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