Raylene had bent herself over the table as instructed. She looked wonderful. There was a slight muscular tremor in her inner thigh that suggested that she wasn’t quite as relaxed as she was pretending. But that was a good thing. Also, it was a very cute muscular tremor, just below her inter-gracile sub-pudendal fossa, and I thought I could be happy enough just watching it all day.
I stroked her arse, partly to reassure her that I loved her ass and would do it no damage, and partly to check for warmth.
The strap marks still showed clearly, and the smacks I’d given her during the night were still warm, so I decided I wouldn’t need to give her any further warm-up. That was a good thing, because if Lynette did turn up – she’d said she would, but I wasn’t counting out the chance that she’d cry off at the last second – she’d have found the warm-up and then the caning was a little too much for her.
I whispered to Raylene, “Don’t be too worried. It’ll hurt. It’s meant to. But it won’t be more than you can take. Or more than you deserve.”
That last part was a dom’s lie; she didn’t deserve anything more painful than a word of caution about teasing guests, but it was sexier if she believed she deserved it. She was in a receptive frame of mine, so that whatever I said she deserved, within reason, would be right.
“You’ll have to be brave, though. You’ve got an audience coming, so I want you to behave yourself.”
Raylene lifted her head. “I know, sir. I will. Be brave, I mean.” Then she laughed. “Be brave and be-have.”
I leaned over her body to kiss the side of her face, letting her feel my cock against her thigh as I did so. Raylene smiled, and got kissed again. “Good,” I said. “Sexy girl. And don’t forget that I own you, and I think you’re wonderful. I’ll hurt your arse, but I’ll make sure you’re ok.”
“Don’t damage the goods, hey?” She got a slap across the bottom for that, as she expected. “No, I know. Punish me, master. And please don’t be too easy. Please punish me hard.”
That was a spoken cliche, as you know. But in the moment, no-one’s a critic. Doms are fairly predictable creatures. Blood flowed to my cock, and stayed there, as would the memory of her saying that. Only every fourth stroke was going to be hard. But I was hard, fully, and likely to stay that way until Raylene’s caning was over, I’d dispensed with the witnesses and fucked her. Why was Raylene calling me “master”? I’d never required or even suggested it; it just felt right to her. I liked hearing it, so I was now her master. That was, apparently, that.
There was thumping from the stairs, as of a herd of water buffaloes in rubber boots. That, I guessed, would be Dorabella coming up the steps, giving advance warning in case we needed it. But I looked out the door to check, making my appearance with an erection tenting my jeans and a cane in my hand. Oh well.
Dorabella looked at me and, a second or two later, giggled. Then she held open her dressing gown for a second, to show me that she’d taken my suggestion, or order, on what she was to wear. She was naked under the gown, and there was only the slippery silk tie at her waist holding it together. “Welcome!” I said. “You look great!”
“And you look -” The rest of what Dorabella had to say on that was lost in more giggles.