Caned, Safewording out and some Gorgeous Cunnilingus

She’s standing in the middle of the room, hands behind her head, and she’s crying, tears on her cheeks. She’s being beaten, her man is wielding the cane, striping her. She’s so vulnerable and she is so proud, doing her best to take it without flinching. He’s keeping a slow steady rhythm, circling her. Her tits, ass and gorgeously plump thighs are being striped.

I’m seeing red, I’m so fucking irate, it’s taking all my willpower not to punch him to the floor. I keep telling myself that she wants it, asked for it in fact, but it’s not helping.

He murmurs to her, words of love and encouragement I can barely hear. God, I’m too fucking wired to hear. All the right parts of her bounce each time the cane kisses her flesh. I’m disgusted with myself, jeans feel far too tight and my balls are getting heavy – why am I getting so hot? I want to knock him down and wrestle the damn cane off him. I want to beat the crap out of him for hurting her, even though I know she wants it.

She’s stopped crying now, has become quiet. The caning is rhythmic, mesmerising and she is just taking it. I’m doing everything in my power to not rescue her. I realise I feel angry with myself for my bodily reaction, and I’m angry with her too. Why am I angry with her? I don’t get it, I don’t understand it at all.

For the first time since I’ve been scening with them I use my safe word.

He immediately stops beating her. Cradles her in his arms, stroking her hair, whispering praise to her.

I stand mutely there, awash with anger and guilt. My body a pillar of hard tension.

“Are you alright, mate?” He says.

I’m invited to them. Wordlessly, she takes my hand, brings it between her legs. And there it is, proof how much it turns her on. She’s as wet as I ever felt her. She smiles up at me.

“I’m OK, I’m OK,” I say.

She asks if I want to continue the scene with them. He assures me the beating is over.

“Yes,” I say, “OK.”

He helps her onto the sofa, and she lies on her back. Her poor striped thighs arranged before us and they invite me to take her. She holds her arms up towards me.

But there’s this imbalance of power in me. I’m standing over her, and shit, I’m confused. I’m hot and oh god, so hard. And still so damned angry. And I do want her. I want to fuck her, violently. I want to use her until I’m spent, until I don’t feel angry anymore.

I want to shake her.

I want to hurt him.

But this is their scene, I am just a privileged guest, invited in. I swallow it, I gesture my intent to him and he nods.

I get down on my knees in front of her. I position myself, pass two fingers into her slit and finger fuck her gently, working her g-spot. I ride my anger and channel it. My lips on her clit, gently brushing and tickling it. Whispering air over it. 

I listen to her, feel how she reacts and adjust what I do to the cadence of her breath, her occasional moan, her shaking muscles. Concentrating entirely on her pleasure, my anger abates, dissolves, it leaves this feeling I can’t identify.

I lick her, great sweeping licks, dragging my tongue widely from my fingers upwards, my tongue catching her just there, that hardened nub, lifting the hood and grazing her exposed clit. Her juices soak into my beard, ah glorious. And oh the taste of her, her slickness coating my tongue, the licks gliding over her. She’s panting. I move my focus to her clit, sucking it tenderly, circling my tongue, nuzzling, sucking. Her whole body shaking, muscles taut. Still I keep going, sliding my fingers out of her, I let my tongue explore her depths. She moans again, I keep my tongue inside her, pushing and probing until the sounds she makes become desperate. Then I move my mouth back to her clit and suck, gently lapping up under her hood, letting my beard tease around her whole cunt … until she comes hard, her cunt clenching around my teasing fingers, pulsing, pulsing, shuddering, on and on.

Later, they include me in the after care, and I tell them how it was for me. We agree I won’t take part in that side of them again.