The Lady Elmira was going to have to retire her bustier.

It was one of her favourite pieces – a birthday gift from her husband, back when they were younger and more vigorous. She hadn’t gotten much wear from it since, but she’d hoped it might get some new life in her ‘second career’.

But looking down, all she could see were the stretch marks that pitted her bare stomach. Three kids had taken their toll. And even if they hadn’t – she wasn’t sure she was comfortable showing this much skin.

The corset it was, then. As she changed pieces, she could see loose threads trailing from the lining. If she couldn’t fit it under the sewing machine, she was going to have to invest in a new wardrobe.

Her phone on the dresser buzzed again. She reasoned it would add to the mystique if she didn’t answer immediately – but if she waited too long she’d merely come across as late. True as that may be, it was not what her client was paying for.

She’d stowed her dumbbells (Well, Hector’s dumbbells, really) behind the dresser. Until she’d decided on a better place to keep them, it would have to do. The door leading upstairs was locked. She quickly applied her lipstick, cherry red. She hoped the client wouldn’t notice how she’d skimped on the rest of her makeup.

Of course, he’d be spending most of the next hour pointed at the floor anyway.

She snatched up the wriggling cell just before its momentum would have carried it over the edge. She double-checked the number, just to be sure.

“Enter,” said Lady Elmira.

The door creaked open. He stood on her “Live, Laugh, Love” mat, taking in the scenery. She couldn’t help the dim light or the low ceiling, but she’d done her best to make the room look lived-in. If any of her friends came to visit, she could pass it off as Hector’s study and none of them would be the wiser.

He was older than his pictures had made him look, maybe ten years her junior, no more than fifteen. Lightly bearded, a bit heavy in the middle. He had a nervous energy about himself, not unusual in this situation, but she’d have to watch that.

A chill blew past her. “Bertram, shut the door. You’re letting the cold air in.”

The Lady had done a little social media sleuthing since he’d first reached out to her – impolite, maybe, but she’d heard horror stories that had taught her the importance of vetting her clientele. He was a café manager and lived with his partner in the city, though it was unclear if they were married. Not that it mattered; she’d let go of that judgment many years ago.

She took a seat in her armless wing-backed chair and crossed her legs, her leather pants squeaking. She adjusted her glasses, a meaningless gesture for her, but one that seemed to leave her clients delightfully on edge.

“So, Bertram, what brings you to me today… and why do you need to be punished?”

He threw up his hands. “I’m just here to talk. This is about my girlfriend.”

So he wasn’t married, she noted, but his protest didn’t make a lot of sense. He’d retained Lady Elmira for her services. If this was a couples scene, this was the first she was hearing about it.

“Keep talking,” she growled, not entirely in character.

“I asked about a consultation, remember? My girlfriend and I, we’re in a relationship where…” he gulped, “…spankings are a regular part. Now she says she can’t do it anymore, and she won’t tell me why. I reached out for your professional feedback.”

Lady Elmira charged her services as ‘consultations’ for tax purposes. Somewhere along the line, this young man had gotten the wrong idea.

On the other hand, his e-transfer had cleared.

“That’s not really what I do,” she tried, aiming for a middle ground. “If you like, I know the number for a kink-aware therapist—“

“Kelsey Ransom? They referred me to you, actually.”

Kelsey Ransom could lose her number if this was the kind of client she could expect from them.

Her dissatisfaction must have been visible, as Bertram hurriedly continued, “I was hoping for a fresh pair of eyes on the situation, you know? An outsider perspective.”

He was presumptuous, pretentious even, but his anxiousness was sincere. This was somebody who had seen his partner change in front of him after years together, and he didn’t know how to handle it. It was a situation she understood all too well. And if he couldn’t talk to Kelsey, there likely wasn’t anyone else.

She sighed. If she’d known that the afternoon would go this way, she would have stayed in her sweatpants.

***

“So I understand… she had no previous issue with putting you over her knee? No quiet rumblings, no complaints that you might have written off?”

“Like what?”

“Off the top of my head – lack of energy or nausea. Maybe you’re over-reliant on a particular scenario or position. She could be having trouble supporting your weight if you do a lot of over-the-knee stuff.”

Bertram stroked his chin. “She didn’t like doing disciplinary scenes. Or using a belt.”

His pacing was getting on her nerves. The laminate flooring lent believability to her little setup, but it did nothing to muffle the noise from his footsteps.  Not for the first time, she considered tearing it up and using the cement floor as the base for a proper dungeon.

“Kneel,” she said abruptly.

He stared at her in confusion and pointed at his chest. “Neil? No, I’m Bertram.”

Lady Elmira closed her eyes and counted slowly to five.

“I mean, kneel on the floor. You’ve come here in supplication, I want you to show it.”

“Can I sit on a footstool or something?” he asked, “I have bad knees.”

She bit her tongue and nudged a nearby ottoman with her foot. He picked up the stool and took a seat in front of her.

“You just got back into spanking each other recently, right?” she continued. “While you were in couples therapy with Dr. Ransom. Why did you stop before that?”

Now it was Bertram’s turn to consider his words. “I was… contributing more than my share towards our relationship. I assumed that I was the dominant partner.”

The Lady could relate to that. Hector had been furloughed during the pandemic, and the mortgage had fallen on her, and her sixty-hour work weeks at the hospital. She’d been frustrated, exhausted and ignored at home by both her husband and her then-teenaged son.

No. This was about Bertie, not herself. “Do you think she resented you?”

“I know she did, but back then she just told me she was tired or stressed. Then a month or two would pass, and she’d still feel the same. I tried to bring it up to her, but she never felt like talking.”

The Lady nodded. Her family had been much the same. They understood that something was wrong but believed that they only needed to wait it out and everything would go back to normal. They hadn’t seen how much she was struggling, and in their defense she was too proud to let it show. Until, of course, it made the news.

A group of vaccine-phobic ‘protestors’ had stormed the hospital like it was the fucking Bastille, intent on… it didn’t matter what. She’d been on the front desk that day, the one and only line of defense, and she decided that she had had enough.

Her children had called it her ‘I’m not angry, just disappointed’ voice. A tone that while level, cut through to the soul of any miscreant it was directed against. She wielded that voice against the crowd, calling them out for their misguided actions, their ignorance, and their impotence. And she’d ended with a ‘now, fuck off!’ that while censored, had appeared in all of the broadcasts from the incident.

She couldn’t describe how she felt in the aftermath. Recharged, maybe? She’d gone home and made love with Hector like they were newlyweds.

Now she was blushing - she’d gotten distracted again. Bertram was still waiting for her insight. What had they been talking about again?

“Thinking about it now,” she said carefully, “does your current predicament sound familiar?”

“No,” he said with unexpected conviction, “It’s a different situation. Therapy helped, but so did finding her a job and making new friends. Our intimate life is back to normal. The instability is gone.”

And there it was. He wasn’t worried that their troubles couldn’t be overcome – he was terrified that his lover had changed in the meantime, that there was now just too much water under the bridge.

While the Lady had been suspended, she’d heard that the footage of her rant was starting to appear on porn sites. Curious, she investigated further and discovered that there was a demand for this kind of thing. Purely for a lark, she started making clips where she’d coldly berate a faceless audience, and when those became popular, she was asked to do custom videos. And when the money started rolling in from those… well, it was hard to imagine a return to nursing.

Convincing Hector had been the hard part. Her taking control in the bedroom was one thing, but he didn’t share her newfound passion, nor was he eager to share his wife with a bunch of perverted strangers.

“You might need to consider, Bertram… maybe she’s just not into spanking anymore.”

“I have. But if it’s true, it means I can’t do anything about it.”

Hector had come around eventually. She held off on seeing clients in person until after their son had moved out, but what really moved the needle was the realization that Lady Elmira needed this, maybe more than she needed her marriage. Compromises had to be made.

She saw Bertram, standing on that same precipice that she and Hector had only barely survived. He was luckier, in a way, with no house or kids to worry about. But could he make the hard call, if push came to shove? What needed was a therapist.

What he had, was the Lady Elmira.

She rose from her chair and instructed him to do the same. In the same motion, she unclasped her belt. The leather pants were skin-tight, the belt more for appearance than function.

“Have I done something wrong?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes, Bertram. You’ve engaged me under false circumstances and used up time I could have spent with a client who actually needed help. You want my feedback? Then take off your pants and bend over that chair.”

He stared in horror at the roll of leather in her hand. “Are you going to—“

“Ask a domme question, get a domme answer,” she said, a little pleased with herself. “Now strip.”

He complied, if not quickly. For someone as experienced with spanking as Bertram claimed to be, he still hadn’t gotten comfortable undressing in company. She ended up yanking his briefs down herself before taking to his side, her arm around his midsection.

“If your girlfriend won’t talk to you, it means one of two things. One—“ the belt lashed out, drawing a yowl from Bertram, “—it’s something you don’t want to hear. You need to approach with an open mind. Or two—“ she felt him jump as the leather struck home, “—she’s hiding something from you, and you might have to live with not knowing what it is. But you’ll never find out unless you talk… to… your… girlfriend!”

It was clear that Bertram was spending too much time alone with his thoughts, but Lady Elmira had found that a half-dozen licks with the belt tended to buy anybody’s full attention.

Bertram staggered into an upright position. No doubt he could feel those six angry welts across his ass with every move, but somehow he managed a grin. Maybe she’d underestimated his pain tolerance. Or he was still enjoying the pun. She was satisfied either way.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Good boy,” she replied.

He dressed in silence and slipped out the side door. She thought about replacing her belt, but decided she was more comfortable without it.

She wished the best for Bertram. He just needed a little courage to motivate him.

And if he and his girlfriend couldn’t make it work… The Lady Elmira would see him again.