The Teenage Dominatrix Ch 12

Stephen was awoken by a loud knocking at the door and, wearing just his pyjama shorts, opened it. Victoria strode past him, snapping at her submissive toy. "Took you long enough to answer."

"I was asleep. I didn't get to bed until midnight and it's six forty-five. What are you doing here so early?"

"My aunt had to travel to Gloucester for ten."

"What's going in Gloucester?"

"The West Country is a sizzling hotbed of sin and lust. Behind every quaint coffee shop is a bustling network of sodomy, vice and rampant debauchery. Dr Foster only went there to get thoroughly and rampantly spanked."

"Really?"

"No. Four of them have rented out a manor house until tomorrow evening, and are spending day and night fucking crossdressers in the arse, forcing them to blow each other and spanking them until they all have bottoms like baboons. There are twenty of the little perverts, and they've each paid over a monkey for the privilege. It's crazy."

"And she wouldn't take you?"

Victoria sniggered. "I'm not experienced enough or good enough to do that for that sort of money." She hesitated. "OK, I begged. And begged and begged. And still I got told no. Sounded so much fun."

Stephen smiled at her and flicked the switch on the kettle. "You are, you are fabulous when you wield your toys. And you looked so sexy in that Latex last night. I'd suck a dozen dicks to see you in that again!"

Victoria beamed. "I know. Because you are a pervert. However, as I have the house to myself, I am having a couple of friends over. We need a naked waiter to torment. Be at my place for seven."

"Do I get to leave with my clothes?" He asked, and she smiled at him.

"Maybe. Maybe not. See how I feel."

He sighed. "You could have sent that in a text."

Victoria bit her lip and sat down at Stephen's kitchen table. "Yeah. I know." She hesitated and looked at her fingers. "Anne-Marie spoke to me last night. She thinks I owe you an explanation, about my family. You weren't to know when you asked the other day and I feel comfortable telling you now. I've known no one that would have done what you did last night. I never thought I would be able to tell a guy like you my history and only a few people know."

She took a cup of tea from Stephen. "You don't have to tell me," he said. "I respect that there may be things in your life that are very personal to you."

"Sh!" She snapped. "Don't interrupt, numbnuts. My dad died when I was a baby. My mum remarried an utter arsehole, and that shit stole the money my dad had left for me. When I started secondary school, his brother, my step-uncle, tried to sexually assault me and I broke his fingers, broke his nose and fractured his arm. And I ended up not in Geography, but in the cells at the nick. And that piece of excrement who was supposed to be my stepdad lied. He chose to protect his brother. Those bastards in the Police believed I was a disturbed individual, and they gave me a caution. Never crossed their tiny fucking minds I might have told them the truth about a nonce."

"Oh shit," Stephen cried. He stroked Victoria's trembling hands as she delivered her story in a voice that crackled with emotion. Her tone wavered, and she took a few deep breaths as she punched out her sentences.

"I burnt his shed when he called me a slut. Said I put it about. I was fourteen when he called me that. And so he threw me out. The only person in my entire family who I liked was my aunt, my Dad's sister. I loved coming to stay here. She never did her kinky work when I stayed in her house, 'cause she didn't want me to see anything about her lifestyle. But at fourteen she took me in. She got the big house in the divorce, but she taught me how to channel my anger and energy. Karate and football at first. And then, well, you know. She couldn't hide her job anymore."

"So when did you...?"

"When did I start helping her?" Victoria asked. "When I was eighteen. But before that, I heard how men screamed for mercy when she worked. Sometimes. It was heavenly."

"Heavenly?"

She smiled. "Yeah. I imagined it was my fucking stepdad and his brother at first. Every cry, and wail I heard through the walls, I wanted to be in there punishing them. I fantasised I was behind the whips. But we soon found out that I was pretty good at being a dominatrix, and I learnt it's not about revenge or hating men. My stepdad used to say that 'I just brought misery and pain.' So now I really do. He also said that 'I don't deserve proper love.' Maybe I don't. I don't care. I'm happy and I'm settled and I don't want a relationship with anyone."

"You don't bring misery and pain," Stephen exclaimed. "And you will find someone to give you proper love. Your stepdad is just an abusive arsehole."

"Yes, he is. And my mother stood by and let him steal from me and defend someone who sexually assaulted me. So I have no love for her. Anne-Marie told me three months ago they had diagnosed her with cancer. I felt nothing. It might be terminal, it might not be. I really don't care. I won't go to visit her on her deathbed, and I certainly won't go to her funeral. I don't want to reach out, because ... well, I might end up wishing her dead. Because that's what I feel. I can't change that. Anne-Marie is the only family I have. And the only person I want right now."

Stephen listened to her, and she wiped her eyes. "Breakfast? How about bacon, eggs, toast, mushrooms, beans, everything?"

"Go on then," she purred. "Seeing you with your family. That's something I never had. I can't remember my dad, but if he was anything like my aunt, then I've missed out big-time. Your mother was really concerned about you. And your sisters wanted to know what you are doing and everything about you. That's ... alien to me."

"It's family. I bet Anne-Marie wants to know what you are up to. And she cares." Victoria blushed, and they talked as Stephen cooked a fry-up and then walked her back to her house on his way to work. The young domme admitted that only a few of her friends knew why she was living with her aunt, and she asked him to keep her confidence.

As they reached Victoria's home, she passed him an envelope. "That's your pay from last night. Anne-Marie forgot to give it to you. I told her I should pocket it, but she was insistent that you must have it and bank it." Her eyes met his, and she pecked him on the cheek. "See you later, numbnuts!"

Stephen's mind whirred as he worked; he kept imaging the torturous young life Victoria had had, and how broken it could have made her. It was just by chance that she matured into a confident, amazing young woman. On the way home, he bought a colourful bouquet, a large tub of chocolates, a bottle of vodka and a twenty-four bottle box of Victoria's favourite cider. He put these in a hessian bag and then stuffed a pair of shorts and T-shirt into a small camo-bag left over from a scout camp years ago.

After dinner, Stephen walked to Victoria's house, and at the entrance to her driveway, placed the green waterproof pouch, covered with camouflage markings, in the middle of an overgrown bush. It was an insurance policy.

He pressed the doorbell a few minutes earlier than the stated time, and Victoria welcomed him into the house. "You OK?" Stephen asked and passed her the bouquet and the hessian bag.

"Someone is asking for extra spanks," she cooed.

"Thanks for telling me that stuff. It's a genuine show of trust."

"You have allowed me to lock your cock up and hold the key. You trust me too. And yes, I'm fine. But before you enter our garden, get undressed. The girls are here and we will need our butler. Keep your shoes on, it rained yesterday. Oh, and I have a cock cage to reattach, don't I?"

Stephen smiled as she pointed to the dining room and her feet thundered on the stairs as she retrieved his plastic cage. He squealed as she returned to the room and pushed a bag of frozen peas into his groin. The sudden coldness numbed his cock and burnt his balls. Victoria's left hand held him against the dining room wall as he wailed and squirmed, before she fastened the plastic prison around his manhood.

"Did you have to do that?" Stephen moaned. Victoria sniggered and ignored his complaint as she washed her hands and sauntered into her large, expansive garden. Stephen peeked out of the patio, hearing female laughter, and froze when he saw the chubby outline of a brown-haired girl, wearing a blue denim skirt and a pale green top. He'd seen those garments before, on his bedroom floor.

His ex-girlfriend glanced over her shoulder and gasped in laughter. "Victoria, what is this?" She cried, gleeful smirking plastered onto her face. "Stephen? Really?"

"This is our butler for the evening. He's my pet, my toy," Victoria explained and picked an open bottle of cider from the table. "You can get your own back for any indiscretions the little toad did while he was your boyfriend," she promised and turned to face Stephen standing dumbfounded on the patio. "You know Niamh and Susie, you drank their piss a few days ago. And this is Charlotte. Her parents run the farm on the other side of town. She's very good at milking cows. Maybe I'll let her milk you!"

The tall, leggy blonde sniggered. There was a ruggedness about her, despite her thin frame. Her eyes were fierce and bore into the embarrassed teenager as he took in the young woman. She wiped her hands on her grubby, stained low-cut white top, and adjusted her short denim shorts. He guessed the muddy Navy Wellington Boots on the patio were hers.

All of Victoria's friends had controlling, dominant, confident looks about them. Stephen's nakedness only amplified his level of submissiveness. "That's one small cock cage," the farmer giggled. "I've seen bigger udders on the heifers than what's between his legs."

Victoria waited for the laughter and jeering to subside, before she opened her mouth. "Cook our tea from the fridge. Clean the kitchen. I'll have another cider, Charlotte wants another beer, Niamh and Susie, double vodka and diet coke. Ingrid?"

Ingrid muttered. "I've still got my wine."

"Then same again. Off you go!" She demanded and sat at the picnic table with her friends. Stephen had never known that Ingrid moved in the same friendship circles as his tormentor and strongly suspected that their sudden closeness was a ploy to further humiliate him.

Victoria certainly exploited the situation; as the oven warmed, he made the drinks and brought them out to the waiting women on a tray. "He never made me come with his tongue or his willy," Ingrid said to the host.

"Cock, please." Victoria interrupted. "Although Stephen's is rather undersized, so cock is generous."

"How small?" Charlotte asked.

"Like a cocktail sausage," Victoria replied, and watched Stephen's cheeks burn red with her misrepresentation. "I can see why he didn't make you come properly. Did you ever spank him?"

"No."

"Fuck his arse?"

"God, no!"

"Shame!" Victoria took her cider from the humiliated man and flashed a wicked smile. "He loves being fucked in the butt." The humiliation continued. Victoria got tipsy and explained all of Stephen's sexual preferences in immaculate detail, and Ingrid recounted their first night of passion when the young man had lost his virginity.

Ice cream and more party food followed the pizzas. And lots of alcoholic drinks. Victoria made eye contact with Stephen and called Ingrid's name. "Ingrid. You have had three glasses of wine, you must need the toilet?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't mind."

Victoria passed Stephen's ex a plastic beaker. "Fill this and give it to him. To drink. He's been on his feet for almost an hour and he'll be getting dehydrated."

Ingrid gasped and stared at Stephen. "I'm not into..."

"It's what the worthless maggot does. And everyone, take a beaker. But you first, Ingrid. Just fill it here."

"Yeah, OK," the chubby girl replied and took the blue beaker from their host. She swung her legs over the seat, pulled her shorts to her ankles, parted her knees and the familiar sound of piss forcibly filling the beaker echoed around the six teenagers in the suburban London garden.

Stephen gulped, frozen in fear. His eye met Victoria's gaze, who smirked at his mixed emotions. His hands shook as his ex-girlfriend put a warm beaker of piss on the table in front of him, and his tormentor widened her eyes at him.

Silence. Everyone watched him as his trembling hands took the pale yellow liquid and brought the beaker to his nose. The unmistakable aroma of fresh urine - piquant, acrid, harsh, and so intoxicating.

The gasps became sniggers as his lips touched the rim of the blue plastic container. "I can't believe he..." Ingrid muttered, as the pungent smell filled his nostrils. His eyes gazed into the warm fluid lapping against his lips and he focused on the drink, a lemon sherbert colour flowing into his mouth.

He gulped; Ingrid laughed, his cock bobbed, encased in the tiny prison. "How disgusting."

"That's nasty. Filthy."

"What a worm!"

Victoria focused on Stephen. "Go on, drink Ingrid's piss, like the disgusting little maggot that you are. Taste nice, doesn't it? You want more, right?"

The insults pelted him as he downed the drink and put the blue plastic beaker in front of his ex-girlfriend, now empty. Stephen made brief eye contact with her startled, disgusted expression, nodded at Victoria and then turned and strode back to the house.

He exhaled sharply as he reached the safety of the kitchen, listening to excited chatter from the women. His cheeks smoldered with embarassment, and his mouth burnt with the harsh-tasting urea. But his body sizzled with lust. Every gleeful insult the women said was a boost to his arousal. He needed more.

As the girls called him back to the table and passed him another beaker of steaming, lightly coloured piss, and laughed as he downed it in front of them, his horniness rose. Niamh and Susie had teased and tormented him before, but he barely knew them; they were strangers. Ingrid was his girlfriend for eleven months. She had met his family, and they had had sex a couple of dozen times. They had been a partnership of equals, and they had both thought they knew everything about each other.

But the love of his life for almost a year had seen him in a new light. In just ten days, Victoria had turned Ingrid's ex-boyfriend into a submissive. When he was with Ingrid, he yearned to see her naked, craved vanilla sex, and always wanted kisses and hugs. Now, caged, naked and humiliated, his desires and needs were not so tame.

The beautiful young farmer laughed heartily as the waiter downed her light yellow piss, and then Niamh flicked his balls as he drank from her beaker. He spluttered, coughed and spilt the pale waste over his hairless front.

Victoria glared at him, shook her head, and rose from her seated position, wordlessly. "I think we should show this maggot what happens when he makes a mess." She snorted and pointed to the edge of the table. "Hands, palm down. Legs apart."

"But Victoria," Stephen begged. "She..."

"She is the cat's mother. Niamh is Miss Adjei." Victoria interrupted, and picked up a long, leather paddle. Her stride tapped ominously as she walked behind her hesitant prey. "Do you want me to set up a little group chat with our year on Kik with all our friends for me to publish all the videos about your indiscretions? I'm sure quite a few people would love to see what their classmate gets up to. His sexual epiphany. Would cause a stir. Is that what you want?"

Stephen put his hands on the table and closed his eyes. He could feel Ingrid gazing directly at him, with dumbfounded and consternation leaking from her stare.

Victoria tapped the paddle against her palm. "This, girls, is how you control the silly little boys. They need discipline. They need putting in their place."

"Yeah, but men..." Ingrid replied, and Victoria interrupted her.

"All men need to be broken. Sure, it's really easy with boys like Stephen. But I have whipped Members of Parliament, Judges, Millionaires and Radio 1 DJ's. All men need taking in hand. Break them first. Control their cock, and you control them. I'm going to hurt him and he's going to take it, because that what he does."

She broke off to smash the leather paddle against Stephen's exposed pasty behind. He gasped in pain and exhaled sharply as Victoria snorted. "Let me show you. Ingrid, come here." Stephen's ex-girlfriend smiled as Victoria summoned her, and she stood behind her former lover. "You have some anger, right?"

"Yeah, a bit."

"The way how he never satisfied you in bed? The way how he dropped you the moment his family told him too? The way how teased you about your granny knickers?" Ingrid snorted. "Well, you need to put the anger to one side, and focus on discipline, and not revenge. If you are wound up with anger, then you will lose control and you could do real damage."

She passed the paddle to the buxom brunette and positioned the curvaceous girl. Victoria guided Ingrid's hand a few times and stepped back to watch Stephen's ex swing her arm into a flowing arc to smack the paddle against the exposed man's backside.

"Make sure you hit between here and here," Victoria told her, using her hands to highlight the top of his buttocks and the bottom of his thigh. "Go no higher or else you could hurt his kidneys. And again."

Time after time, Ingrid's flowing motion of short hits against his pasty skin had Stephen squealing and squirming. His mind couldn't defocus, and he could relax. He felt every hit from Ingrid as she leathered his bum with a series of whacks.

"Charlotte next," Victoria called. The lithe blonde farmer chuckled as she took the paddle, and struck the smooth, black implement against the reddened skin of their bare waiter.

He yelled; her wallop had been harder than any of Ingrid's smashes against his skin, and she had hit a tenderised spot. She didn't stop and blitzed his backside with a volley of hard swats that caused Stephen to cry out in pain and his hands to squeeze the hard wooden table.

He twisted and squirmed as the girls laughed; their cruel cachinnations increased his helplessness and humiliation. His cock adored the punishment and debasement.

It was every bit of his fantasy, and however overwhelming he found the repeated strikes against his exposed skin, the act of four women abusing him with such contempt was a tonic to his desire.

Once Charlotte had finished battering his blazing buttocks, Victoria sent him to retrieve more drinks, more nibbles and more food. She reached into her bag and fastened a five-inch suction cup dildo to a stool.

It etched fear in his eyes as Victoria clicked her fingers. "Show the girls how to give a blowjob." Almost relieved, his knees hit the soft grass, and he took the black tip of the rubber phallus in his lips and slowly massaged the cock with his mouth.

It tasted of chemicals. His actions coated the toy with spit as he slowly worked down the toy, taking three-quarters of the dildo in his mouth until it reached his gag reflex. "He's clearly not been practising," Victoria teased, and pushed on the back of his head. He spluttered, the girls cackled, his cheeks burnt and his lust rose.

The girls fed him more piss after they made him urinate in a bucket in front of them; Ingrid glared spellbound at her former boyfriend sinking her acrid waste down his throat and gleefully spanked him again and again. His ex-girlfriend's eyes twinkled when she pulled Stephen across her lap by his wrist, so she could administer an over-the-knee thrashing. Stephen writhed as the harsh smack of her open palm stung against both buns.

All the girls cheered at the show of dominance and ensured that all of his humiliation was recorded and photographed with their phones. Ingrid and Victoria scrawled degrading phrases across his body in marker pen as Charlotte held him still against the grass.