Lady Deborah Turns the Tables

Chapter One-2

Robert walked off down the street, looking for a taxi, more than somewhat taken aback by recent developments. Over the next couple of days he gave a lot of thought to the question of who could have betrayed him. Though he guessed whose bottom was in the pictures, there had been so many pictures and so many bottoms. He’d been indiscriminate in choosing which girls to send pictures to, and he’d rather lost track of who had seen what. But assiduous research through his emails finally convinced him that the neat, firm little behind (rather severely bruised, he had to admit) belonged to Charlotte. She was perhaps the most submissive of all the girls he had caught within his net; certainly she was the biggest pain-slut, the one who most wanted a real thrashing, who not only enjoyed the act of submission but enjoyed the pain itself. There were many girls who liked to be dominated and controlled, but not so many who were real masochists, liking pain for its own sake.

Robert gave her a call. “I’d love to see you,” he said when she answered.

There was silence for a moment. Then Charlotte mumbled something about being very busy.

“Six o’clock tomorrow night at Wilton’s,” he said firmly, naming the wine bar where they had first met.

“I don’t know if I can,” she said. But he could tell from her voice that he hadn’t lost his hold over her yet.

“Be a good girl, or else you know what happens,” he said, then rang off. The implied threat had never failed in the past to set her submissive urges flowing. It was a kind of thought-control; he had only to say a few well-chosen words and her cunt began to ache. He knew because she had told him so.

He wondered how Charlotte had encountered Lady Deborah in the first place. Had Charlotte a secret life he didn’t know about? If Lady Deborah was a domme, had Charlotte found her way to her in search of further s****l thrills? Robert wouldn’t have picked her as bi-s****l; she’d never shown any interest in other girls in his presence, but there was no telling what kinks lurked in the depths of her slutty little mind. Perhaps she had gone to Lady Deborah when her bruises were still fresh, and then been interrogated as to how she came by them, and then perhaps induced to make a complaint against him. But why had she said nothing to him at the time? True he had given her a severe beating, worse than any he had administered before. He’d tied her down securely, wrists and ankles, bent over a bench, and gagged her to stifle her cries of pain, and then he’d indulged himself, using by turns his flogger, his tawse, his belt and finally the cane, ensuring that the marks he left were deep and lasting.

There had been tears, but it was not the first time. She was such a little glutton for pain, he had found, that it seemed she could never get enough of it. The previous time he’d beaten her long and hard, and her bottom displayed tiny flecks of blood where the skin had broken, and yet she had told him when he released her that she could have taken a little more. Only a very little more, she had said, with half a smile. And so the next time he had taken her at her word when she had said, as he offered to beat her, that he should ‘do his worst’. Perhaps he had gone too far; but whose fault was that? Hadn’t she asked for it?

Charlotte was waiting for him in the bar when he arrived the next evening, looking very nervous. There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt from her manner that it was she who had complained to Lady Deborah. Robert couldn’t resist the impulse to toy with her. “So,” he said, “how’s my little pain slut? Has your darling little bottom recovered?”

She blushed but didn’t answer.

“You haven’t been back for any more,” he said. “Wouldn’t you like a refresher?”

She shook her head. “No, thank you,” she said rather primly.

“I hope you haven’t found someone else to give you what you need.”

Charlotte blushed again. She said nothing. I’m right, thought Robert, the little slut has been offering herself to a domme. What a dark horse she was.

“I’d never stand in your way,” he said. “If you find someone who’s better at spanking than me, go for it. I’m not jealous.”

Charlotte looked about her, as if seeking an escape. “I shouldn’t have come,” she said. “I don’t think we should meet any more.”

“Oh?” said Robert. “You’re giving me the brush off, just like that? After all the training I’ve given you?”

“I’m grateful for what you did,” Charlotte said. “I realise you taught me a lot about myself.”

“And you repay me by making a complaint about my conduct? Why didn’t you speak to me first?”

Charlotte put down her drink and got to her feet. “Goodbye,” she said, and rushed out of the door.

Robert sat finishing his wine. He was shocked that one of his submissives should have turned against him in this manner. He tried to review his behaviour. Was it so bad, what he had done? He remembered that at the end of the beating, Charlotte had resisted his usual kisses and cuddles, the after-care upon which he prided himself. She had dressed quickly and left with scarcely a word. He had supposed that the experience was more than usually profound, and that she had needed to absorb it in solitude. But what if she had been seriously distressed? Could he have known?

He couldn’t believe that she would go so far as the make a complaint against him on her own initiative. Lady Deborah must have some influence over her. If Charlotte was a bi-submissive, as it now appeared, liking to be dominated by women as well as men, then this was the most likely explanation of her behaviour, that Lady Deborah, perhaps seeing on her bottom the evidence of Robert’s thrashing, had, for reasons of her own, decided to take action.

And what could those reasons be, he wondered. Was she simply a man-hater, always looking for a chance to get back at men? He didn’t think that applied to all dommes. Not that he knew much about them, but he certainly didn’t consider himself a woman-hater just because he liked to tie girls up and spank them. On the contrary; if pressed, Robert would always answer that he only liked to do this to girls who really wanted it. It was his pleasure to give them what they needed, he would say, and he believed this to be true. So surely a domme could like men, even while being cruel to them sexually.

Despite his anxiety about the situation he had got himself into, and the fear of exposure, the dread that his secret pleasures would be made public, he had to admit that he was somewhat intrigued by the situation. He’d never allowed a woman to dominate him before; but that didn’t mean it hadn’t crossed his mind from time to time, imagining what it might be like to be in the power of a strong, sexually aggressive woman. It wasn’t so much that he craved pain at her hands; he thought he was rather a wimp in that respect. But the thought of being psychologically dominated was not without its attractions. Perhaps he might get something out of the experience Lady Deborah had threatened him with. And perhaps he might turn the tables on her. He had long cherished the belief that every woman had a submissive side; the trick was finding a way to it.

Later that week he received his summons. An email (how did she know where to send it? More information supplied by Charlotte, he supposed) told him to present himself at an address in Hampstead in two days, at six in the evening. Without fail, it added. The address proved to be a basement flat in a converted Victorian house. Robert pressed the bell. The door was opened by Lady Deborah herself. She was wearing a tight-fitting black woollen dress, black stockings and high heels. As before, her long blonde hair was pulled back, pinned securely against her head.

She didn’t say anything, merely closed the door after him and turned, expecting him to follow. They went down a short corridor and into a large room. The walls were bare and the window was shuttered. Lady Deborah closed the door behind them. It was heavy and shut with a thud; Robert suspected the room was sound-proofed. A shudder of fear went through him. What tortures had been conducted in this room?

Lady Deborah sat down in a large wooden chair. She snapped her fingers and pointed to a spot on the floor in front of her. “Stand there,” she said.

With a slight smile, as if to indicate that he did not take this ritual too seriously, Robert stood where she pointed.

“Take off your jacket,” she said.

He removed it and looked for somewhere to place it.

“Throw it to one side,” she said. He tossed it away.

“Now your shirt and tie.” He stood naked to the waist. She looked him up and down. “Shoes and socks.”

He bent, undid his shoes and put them to one side, adding his socks.

“Trousers,” she said.

He stepped out of them, tossed them on to the pile of his other things. He stood there in his black underpants.

“Come closer,” said Lady Deborah. She hooked her finger in the waistband of his underpants and pulled them halfway down to his knees. He looked down at his c**k; it seemed to have shrivelled to almost nothing. Was this nerves? She took hold of it between finger and thumb, inspecting it disdainfully as one might do with something picked up from under a rock.

“You don’t feel aroused at the prospect of what’s in store for you?” she asked.

“I might if I knew what it was,” he said.

“Oh, I think you know,” she replied. She began to manipulate his c**k. Slowly it started to grow. She let go, got up and walked over to a chest of drawers standing against the wall. She opened the top drawer and took out a small metal device.

“Come here,” she said.

He walked awkwardly across, his underwear still about his knees. She held up a pair of steel thumb-cuffs. “We need to restrain you,” she said. “Hands behind your back.”

He hesitated for a moment, suddenly afraid of being at her mercy. Without warning she slapped him hard across the face.

“When I say to do something, you do it at once or you will regret it,” she said.

She drew his hands together behind him and fastened the cuffs onto his thumbs. It was a very effective restraint. From the drawer she took a small leather strap which she put it round his c**k and balls and buckled on tight, then hooked a leather leash to the front and tugged on it hard, to make sure it was a good fit. Robert grunted as he felt the pull on his genitals. He was beginning to feel terribly vulnerable. Lady Deborah took two steel clamps from the drawer, linked by a thin steel chain. She fastened them onto Robert’s n*****s. They pinched him sharply and he groaned. “If you’re going to make a fuss,” she said, “we’ll have to gag you.”

From the drawer she took a gag, a red rubber ball held in the mouth by black leather straps. Robert tried to refuse it; he was afraid he might be suffocated. But Lady Deborah slapped his face again, even harder. He was defenceless now, and he realised he had better comply or things might turn nasty. She buckled the gag in place.

“That’s better,” she said. She took hold of the leash, pulled on it hard and set off round the room, yanking on the leash every few steps. Robert staggered after her. His underpants finally fell down to his ankles and he stepped out of them. Lady Deborah drew him towards her by the leash, and put her other hand on the chain that linked the n*****s. She pulled upwards sharply. Robert’s cry of pain was stifled by his gag. “I think we’re starting to get somewhere,” she said.

She let go the leash. Standing in front of him, she reached behind and unzipped her dress, then stepped out of it. Underneath she wore a black satin corset. She took hold of the leash again and told him to get to his knees. Holding the leash tight, she drew him to her, until his face was almost touching her. “Don’t move,” she said. “Don’t dare move an inch.”