The Dominafuhrer - THE GODMOTHER

Episode 61 - Helping Sir Hartley

London, October 1937

The lash blazed another bloody trail across Sir Hartley Southcote’s thin shoulders and he screamed in agony before urging Miss Spiteful to strike him again. She did so, again and again as the naked and silver haired Baronet twisted and jerked in his restraints. Miss Spiteful paused every half a dozen strokes to wiggle the butt plug in her victim’s rectum and then slowly masturbate his erect penis. These actions caused Sir Hartley to gasp with pain and pleasure and call to be whipped again but suddenly, his gasps turned to coughs, his pale thin face turned purple and his eyes bulged. His coughs became deep whooping rasps and his chest heaved as his damaged lungs fought to draw in air.

Miss Spiteful swiftly released the straps securing his ankles and wrists, caught and gently lowered his body onto a padded bench and then, collecting a small oxygen cylinder from a corner of her dungeon, fitted the mask over Sir Hartley’s face and let the life giving element flow into his nostrils and mouth.

Half an hour later, they sat opposite each in Miss Spiteful’s lounge, wearing dressing gowns and sipping at glasses of a very fine whisky. Sir Hartley, whose claim to have recovered was belied by the dark hollows around his red rimmed eyes, held his glass out towards Miss Spiteful.

“Thank you again Mistress, you certainly saved my life there.”

Miss Spiteful smiled in acknowledgement. “You are not the first to collapse on me. The terrible war left lots of legacies and I like to be prepared; dead clients are bad for business.”

Sir Hartley grimaced, “I caught a bad dose of Boche gas in the trenches, my fault entirely; I had done something very silly.” He suddenly remembered what he said and apologised for using the insulting name Boche but Miss Spiteful waved her hand dismissively.

“Nevertheless,” Sir Hartley continued, “you are the only Mistress I know who has thought of having oxygen on hand. In fact, very few are prepared even to call for help in such circumstances. One lady I used to call on; she and her maid carried me out of her apartment and left me naked in the gutter in George Street. I was just lucky that a Surgeon was driving past who was in the RAMC in the war, recognised my condition and took me straight to the Middlesex Hospital without waiting for an Ambulance. Cost me a pretty penny to keep that out of the Sunday Newspapers.”

“There are many things that I have to thank you for;” Miss Spiteful replied. “You’ve been as good a friend as a client since we first met in Berlin.”

“Yes, I was in two minds whether to visit you when Hjalmar Schacht gave me your card as thanks for arranging the refinancing of Germany’s loans. I thought it might be the same trap that the Russians tried on me in Moscow where the girl was obviously a prostitute with no idea of domination and I got out quick before they could get anything to blackmail me with. When I saw you and your dungeon, I thought I had arrived in paradise.”

“That’s the first time that my dungeon has been called that,” Miss Spiteful laughed. “But seriously, when I had to get out of Paris quickly, you found this apartment for me and you’ve been a big help in getting a client list together.”

Sir Hartley shrugged. “My honour and my pleasure to be of assistance to you, Mistress. One of my clients had bought this place and just converted it into separate flats; there are not many families left in Bayswater, or London for that matter, who can afford to keep a big house like this. As for the clients, I merely recommended you to those of my friends who share my hobby; the rest is down to your own hard work and your reputation. That, by the way, is getting more notorious. The tale of what you did to Von Ribbentrop gets more embellished every time I hear it.”

“There’s not much to tell”, Miss Spiteful pulled a face. “I had no sooner arrived in London than he invited me to dinner in his private apartments and told me that it was my duty to be a spy for Germany. When he dropped his trousers to be caned, I stuffed the neck of a champagne bottle up his rectum. I told Heydrich that I would not be his spy before I left Berlin but I still had the Deuxieme Bureaux sniffing around me in Paris and the same thing is happening here. I had another bogus customer last week; asking me questions about my clients and what they tell me. When I double my price and order them to strip, they cannot get out of the door fast enough. If you know any one in your Foreign Office or Home Office or who ever runs your counter intelligence; tell them to come and talk to me. It’s making me really angry!”

Sir Hartley laughed and then looked serious. “I’ll see what I can do but, as I said, you are being talked about. In Paris you had our last King and a German Communist for clients and crucified an Argentinean and now, in London, your client list reads like extracts from Who’s Who and Burke’s Peerage. No wonder the authorities are taking an interest.”

It was Miss Spiteful’s turn to laugh, “Where do you think that I got all the titles, names and addresses from? Two thousand printed but hand addressed and signed letters soon paid off my investment in time, the stationery, printing and postage.”

“I still do not think that you should have sent the letters to the Bishops”, Sir Hartley chuckled. “One of them was going to complain in the House of Lords about you.”

“Ja, until he heard that some of his colleagues had already made appointments with me. You would not believe what some of them wear under their suits and what they want me to do them.”

“Oh yes I would, “Sir Hartley retorted. “I went to a Public School too and I am also a member of the Athenaeum. But again, seriously, do try and keep a lower profile if you want to stay in this country and get your visa for the United States. The staff at the American Embassy here picks up on all the gossip too. I’m feeling a lot better now; can I take you to dinner as a thank you?”

Miss Spiteful sighed and gave Sir Hartley a sad smile.

“I would have loved to but I am dining at a cabaret club in the West End with Sir Douglas Bradshaw.”

“Well, no wonder you have the spy catchers on your tail!” Sir Hartley shook his head in exasperation. “If any one is a suspect character then he is. If we ever go to war with Germany, and I firmly believe we will have to, Hitler will not need to invade us to take this country over; Bradshaw will have bought it all up for him. He is not as noisy, obnoxious or violent as Mosley but I think that he is a lot more dangerous.”

“I first met him in Berlin as I did with you,” Miss Spiteful shrugged. “Although he was mixing with the top Nazis, I thought he was just another businessman on the make. He contacted me again as soon as I arrived here and as much as I dislike him, he pays me a lot of money to go his house in Belgravia and create the strict fantasy childhood that he wished that he had had. Every now and then he insists that we dine out with his rich and titled friends so that he can show off his German Mistress. Everyone thinks that we are lovers which he doesn’t deny because he enjoys me punishing him for it. I don’t know if and I don’t care if he is a spy; he certainly has not asked me to get any information from my clients for him.”   

“Well I detest the man,” Sir Hartley said vehemently. ”He has bought a lot of land near my estate in Norfolk, either directly or through one of his sham companies and had the cheek to turn up at Southcote to make me an offer for my place. I sent him away with a flea in his ear but plenty of others have taken his money. So you be careful. Incidentally, has my boy Geoffrey been round again?”         

“No,” Miss Spiteful laughed. “Mein Gott! I had to put up with a young peeping Tom in Dusseldorf but that was the first time a schoolboy has walked in and asked to see what I did to his Father. He then asked how much I would charge him and could he bring some of his school friends to watch”

“Precocious little bugger,” Sir Hartley muttered. “There was no point in punishing him physically because he would have enjoyed it. I stopped his Financial Times for a week but he probably bought himself a copy on the way to school each day. Westminster School has been on to me again about Geoffrey’s unhealthy interest in the naked bodies of his schoolfellows but he has got enough sense not to touch, or at least be discreet, and his academic prospects are so bright that they do not want to lose him. Damn it, that boy will be even richer than me some day if his does not kill himself first with a dissolute lifestyle. That’s the trouble with the male Southcotes; we all have fantastic brains but are cursed with peculiar sexual tastes. You know that I like sex and torture with women but Geoffrey will probably prefer his with men. He will not be the first Southcote to do so, my Father had an eye for good looking farm boys and the family fortune was built on providing male or female bedmates for the Royal Family. Queen Victoria might not have needed our services but the Prince of Wales tupped a couple of my Great Aunts and attended some of my Grandfather’s orgies here in London and up in Norfolk. Actually, the Southcotes daughters do not seem to be as cursed as the sons. There have been a few nymphomaniacs and lesbians but, unless they have been called upon to do their duty for the family, most of them end up leading normal lives. Geoffrey’s elder sister Caroline, for instance; she’s fifteen and very astute. She has already worked out that when I’m in my box and Geoffrey has married a beautiful and healthy woman long enough to father an heir and then paid his wife to go away, just as I and most of our forefathers have, then it will be down to her to bring up the next Southcote generation. She has already picked out a bright young city lawyer for her future husband and she has presented Geoffrey and me with her demands for two houses, one in town and one in the country, a society wedding, and a generous allowance for her future services to the family and to prevent our wives getting their hands on the children’s money. Of course we have both agreed and signed a legal agreement to that effect.”

“What a family,” Miss Spiteful chuckled. “It sounds just like a romantic novel.”

“Indeed”, Sir Hartley agreed. “I wish that you could come up to Norfolk some time so that I can show the House and estate and some of my family history. In fact....” His voice tailed off and he gave Miss Spiteful a sad, wistful and longing look.

An awkward silence ensued as, despite herself, Miss Spiteful felt her heart flutter and the tingle of arousal in her sexual organs but it was Sir Hartley who broke the moment by standing up.

“Well I had better dress and get off home. Thank you once again for coming to my rescue. I will be for ever in your debt which even my consideration cannot repay.” He nodded at the thick unsealed envelope that he had left on the mantelpiece with his generous payment for the session.

“I will speak to some people that I know on your behalf but I cannot guarantee that anything will come of it.” His eye fell on another envelope on the little table beside Miss Spiteful’s chair which was addressed in a scrawling hand and carried a German Airmail Postage Stamp. “A letter from home, Mistress?” he asked.

Miss Spiteful picked the envelope up and looked at it. “Ja, from a friend in Berlin who remembers to write every six months to tell me the gossip and all about her sad lesbian love life. I will read it before I have my bath and dress”

“Ah, that sounds like Miss Sapphire”, Sir Hartley exclaimed. “I have visited her a couple of times, I will not forget sucking on her breasts in a hurry and she gives very vigorous hand job and smacking but I only availed myself of her other, rather messy services, once.”

They both laughed as Sir Hartley reached the door and paused. “Do you have any wooden spoons, Mistress?” he asked.

“I’ve no idea. Why do you ask?” A puzzled Miss Spiteful replied.

“You will need one with a long handle for later,” Sir Hartley said with mock severity. “For tonight you will sup with the Devil. Enjoy yourself but please be careful!”



To continue this story, click From Sapphire With Love

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