Cherish all your happy moments: they make a fine cushion for old age
Happy moments, well this was one of her favourites she decided as she stalked round the dungeon, the whip quivering in her hand.
She couldn't believe he hadn't recognised her, her voice at least, but they'd only met a few times and he was too far gone now, too deep into his own personal sexual fantasy.
She grabbed him by the hair, pulled until his head came up, his eyes staring and glazed.
'Have you been a very bad boy Reggie?' she demanded.
'Oh yes, yes, very bad, I deserved to be punished severely'' he drooled.
His head fell forward as she released his hair.
Bad boy indeed, the bastard had blamed one of his very junior colleagues for an almighty cock up he'd made, got him sacked, bad mouthed him throughout the industry. Six months later and the victim of this spite was depressed and stacking supermarket shelves as it was the only job he could get, all his qualifications made worthless by the arsehole who was now chained quivering and naked in her dungeon.
And no she hadn't kidnapped him! She could hardly believe her luck when Sir Reginald had phoned! He'd come to her willingly to fulfil his deepest desires.
It took all her control to use the whip on him carefully (she'd re-read the Spanner guidelines as soon as she'd realised who her newest client was).
After an hour she released him, he paid her double the fee agreed & he'd limped happily away with a smile on his face.
A smile that was soon to be wiped away, once the video was passed to the News of the World journalist.
Sitting in the bar with a glass of tonic, the journalist with a pint of bitter in hand, questioned her.
'All these years I've been trying to get you to give me a story about an MP or some other important person, you always refused and you have been offered a fortune, yet you've always refused.' 'Why now, why him?'
She smiled but said nothing
'I suppose it's too much to hope that this is the first of many?'
'When is the story about Pete Fairbrother being published?' she asked.
'Tomorrow' replied the journalist. 'Is that really all you want, a story about how some poor kid was blamed for one of Sir Reginald's cock ups?'
She smiled again and stood, ready to leave the bar.
'I don't even know your real name, I can't keep calling you Mistress Lash'
My name is Ruth' she replied ''Ruth Fairbrother and Pete is my baby brother!'