Tables Turned

I woke up that morning feeling a sense of great relief and satisfaction. As I stretched under the sheets, I could sense Bobby's presence. I'd insisted he sleep under the bed that night, after our little session, our meeting of the minds, took place. I used his own belt, which made it all the more satisfying. Jesus, I really laid into him, both with the belt and the pure venom and fury in my voice.

By then, I had pretty much reached my breaking point. Once again, in the company of friends, he had made belittling remarks about me. Here is how it transpired.

We were out with Lacey and Craig, talking after dinner. Bobby was slightly drunk. He leaned close to me and whispered

"Hey, how about one of your sweet blowjobs when we get home?"

The others couldn't hear what was said, but still, I was embarrassed. I glared at him.

"You know," he went on, turning to the others "Gretchen here has taken up flower arranging. Got a book on it and everything."

"Sounds like fun, Gretch." Lacey said casting a sideways glance of reproach at Bobby.

"It really is." I enthused. "There's a lot to be considered. Color, shape, the size and color of the vase, where the arrangement will be placed. The book teaches Japanese arrangement - Ikebana, it's called."

Bobby, knocking back the remainder of his double cognac, had to weigh in, of course.

"She was practically breaking a sweat trying to get an iris to stand up straight. Didn't look like fun to me. And the goddam book - eighty flipping dollars!"

By that time, all of us, minus blabbing Bobby, were feeling uncomfortable.

Craig looked at his watch and I silently thanked him for it.

"Well, we gotta hit the road." He said, looking toward Lacey who gave a vigorous nod. "I've got papers to grade tomorrow morning before I head in."

Lacey gave him a playful elbow. "That's what you get for procrastinating."

"Bet you can't spell that." Craig shot back as he reached for his wallet.

We were silent on the drive home. I was furious and afraid of what I might say. I wasn't in the mood for a fight.

Bobby's eyes were drooping as he slumped in the passenger seat.

"What's the matter ice queen?" He said in a decidedly surly tone. That did it for me. There was going to be a fight, no question, and I was ready to stand my ground.

"We'll talk when we get home." I said.

"Talk, talk, talk. The same old whining about me not respecting you. You ought to lighten up a bit, you know."

But there wouldn't be any whining this time.

I walked up the pathway to the front door with a purpose. There were practically sparks coming off the heels of my shoes.

Bobby stood dumbfounded in the driveway. "What's the fucking hurry, darling? Geeze."

I went in and closed the door behind me. In a minute, Bobby ambled in.

I was in the kitchen making tea. He came up behind me and started humping me through my dress.

"C'mon, baby. Let's be friends." He said in his inimitable and laughable "seductive" voice.

I turned, looked him in the eye, and gave him a shove that sent him into the kitchen table.

"Jesus, Gretchen! Have you lost your mind?" He blurted as he set the chair back onto its feet.

"Actually, no." I said in an even tone, though inside my blood was boiling.

"Just the opposite, in fact." I said as I went back to preparing my tea.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"I'll tell you what it means. It means I'm not going to put up with your boorish and demeaning comments about me, what I do, any of it. That's pretty much it in a nutshell."

He was next to me again and started stroking my butt.

It was the first time I'd ever slapped anyone, and it took me by surprise. But, boy! It wouldn't have surprised me if the neighbors heard the sound of it. Crack! I took a step back and watched the look on Bobby's face. The imprint of my hand was beginning to blossom on his cheek.

"You stinking cunt!" Bobby began. I think he might have had more to say, but the next slap interrupted him.

"You use that name on me again, and I will make you very sorry, Bobby." I said, and could see bewilderment and shock in his blood-shot eyes.

I began to feel an energy in my veins and a determination in my mind. Bobby continued to stand there with a look that rendered perplexity and stupidity into a rare and, to me, more and more amusing form.

He brought his hand up to his face and muttered something. I, however, wasn't done with him.

"Do you understand what I just said?" I seethed. Impulsively I picked a pot up from the stove and hurled it against the wall. It clattered and rolled along on the floor.

"Pick that up." I ordered.

"Shit, Gretch..." Bobby began, but when I raised my hand again, he complied. As he leaned down to pick it up, I brought my foot up with force into his ass. I walked around him, my hips swaying as he groaned. Suddenly I was yelling.

"If you EVER say one single fucking derogatory thing about me in public, in private, anytime, anywhere, YOU, you piece of shit, are going to get an asswhipping you'll never forget!"

I was trembling all over, but inside everything felt so true.

I could see, too, that a veil was lifting from Bobby's eyes, and he could see the new me, transformed.

I've always known, somehow, that Bobby is a close-minded blowhard. But over the years, I'd just permitted myself to be subjugated to his reckless and overbearing ways. It astounded me, standing there shaking with fury, that that had happened!

So, just what was under his noisy facade, I mused. Well, I had my suspicions!

For one thing, I knew the power I held over him in the bedroom. Sure, I gave him really good blowjobs. I'd have him moaning like some rabid animal. And when I would place my knees on either side of his face and bring my pussy front and center, grazing my pubic hair against his nose, he became one large mass of putty, and I could see the fragile, dependent child in his eyes.

When we first met, I saw a good-looking guy who had a sort of charm. But over time, an egoistic, adolescent side of him emerged which at first, burnished by the aforementioned charm, went unnoticed; or at least tolerated.

All that to say that the culmination of his "asshole" side came to a head on the evening we're looking at here, big screen and full color. It was high time, I decided then, that the tide turned, and that Bobby paid close attention to my needs as a woman; a woman deserving of respect.

I suppose it was partly because he was liquored up at the time. Anyway, I could hear him sort of sniffling and blubbering softly on the other side of the kitchen. Yeah, partly because of the booze, but - and this both fascinated and appealed to me - it was also Bobby big mouth crumbling before my eyes. I could see that I liked this version of him.

I found myself spontaneously giggling as I listened to him. I had not the smallest impulse to rush to his side and console him. In fact, this impulse to laugh at himwacs the first, albeit modest, expression of a reservoir of frustration and rage that had been building up in me over the years. It was just the beginning.

I decided, what the fuck, and just burst out with a good belly laugh.

He turned to me, all sniffling and drippy.

"Well, fuck you, Gretchen." He said, sounding very indignant. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Really, now." I said. "And how would you like it if the sheriff's department came around tomorrow and threw your sorry ass out of here. We both know who's name appears on the lease, don't we?"

"I...I... Oh, god, Gretchen! I'm so sorry!" he whimpered, and I could see that I was in complete control of the situation.

Anyway, he started tearing up again.

About that last remark, now." I said, and approached him slowly.

"What?" He said, as if not remembering. What a clown.

"Oh. I mean that "fuck you, Gretchen" comment that took place about fifteen seconds ago," I said, and I was now face-to-face with him.

"I apologized, didn't I?" He said in a hurt voice.

"Actually, Bobby, that doesn't make everything "honky dory". Apologies. Who knows whether they're really meant. But changes in your behavior, that would be more telling. So, unless you want to be on the sidewalk with your box of measly possessions tomorrow, you"...and at this point I got a hold of his balls with my hand and gave them a good pull, "you will get your pathetic ass into the bedroom...no, into my fucking bedroom, and get naked. And I mean right now!"

I slowly released my hold, and with my eyes locked onto his said, "All right... get going." I went back to the stove. By now my tea had gotten cold.

I sat in the front room and looked out at the city lights for some time. The tea relaxed me, but in no way diminished my sense of female righteousness, and my anger. It was rather new to me to feel these things, and I sat in the darkened room becoming familiar with and befriending them. These new feelings, I had the sense, were, even then, ushering in a new way of seeing my life, my inner strength, my womanhood. I smiled and felt the soothing steam from the tea on my forehead as I sipped.

I watched the weather channel for a while, then decided I'd go off to bed. I brushed my teeth and took a pee. I couldn't wait to see sorry-ass Bobby in his new role. As I approached the door of the bedroom, I began to laugh again. Would little Bobby still be whimpering. I just didn't fucking care, on one level. But secretly, I hoped he would be!

I turned the knob and pushed the door open. I could barely believe what I saw. Him! In my bed propped up on pillows and looking so very sad.

"Gretch, let's talk this through. I..."

But I was already ripping the covers off of him. "Who gave you permission to be in this bed, asshole?!"

"Please, Gretchen! You did say go to the bedroom. I just assumed..."

I found myself suddenly flailing away at him, hitting him wherever.

"Assumed! As of right now that word is no longer in your vocabulary, you stupid shit!" I spewed, suddenly realizing that my hands hurt from all the blows I was landing. That wouldn't do. At the same time, I pleasured in the realization that Bobby was not resisting or hitting back.

He frantically rolled off the far side of the bed. He crashed to the floor and sat up and looked at me wide-eyed. I could see fear in his eyes.

"Put the sheets and blankets back and make it neat." I said, breathing deeply from my exertions.

Bobby pretty much hopped to it, and he, wisely, kept his mouth shut. It amused me to see him scurrying about the bed buck naked, his dick swinging. He did a good job of making the bed, but there was still the matter of getting this "assumed" notion out of his thick skull.

"Make the bed ready for me." I said, and he drew down the blankets and top sheet to make an entry for me.

"Now go over into the corner. That one." I said, pointing to the one by the closet. "Face the wall."

He followed my instructions immediately.

I kicked off my slippers and began to prepare for bed. I stripped down to my panties and bra and left it at that. Looking about the room, I espied the tangle of clothes on the floor where Bobby had dumped his things.

"Come here, Bobby." I ordered. He came to me with a hangdog expression, arms at his side.

"Straighten up this mess you made, jerk- off." I said, enjoying how I was expanding my nomenclature for describing this male piece of shit.

"Yes, Gretchen." Was his meek reply.

He went about folding his clothes, and doing a decent job of it, when I noticed that he was semi-erect. I let him finish.

"Come over here." I commanded, and he came to me, eyes downcast. He tried putting his hands over his genitals.

"Hold it. Put your hands at your sides." I reached forward and gave his cock a light slap. Well, I thought, that's a bit easier on my hands, at least.

"What's this all about?" I said, looking directly at his increasing erection. "What the fuck do you think this is about? You getting your jollies?!"

"I'm sorry, Gretchen!" Bobby stuttered, moving his hands to cover himself again.

"I said hands at your sides, didn't I?!" I said, and delivered a slap to his face that surprised even me by the force of it.

His hands went immediately back where they belonged. At the same time, Bobby burst into tears, sobbing, in fact.

I looked and saw that he now had a throbbing hardon.

"What were you doing over in the corner just now, asshead? Dreaming of some bimbo you could get over on with your easygoing charm? You dickhead."

"No! Gretchen." Bobby blurted out between sobs. "No. I don't know how it happened. I'm so sorry!"

I pointed to where he had neatly placed his clothing on a chair.

"Go over there and bring me your belt." I said. I would show him that this wasn't about sex or any other pleasure for him. It was about me, and how he could please me.

Bobby was drawing the belt from the waist of his pants when I stopped him.

"Bring it to me holding it in your mouth. Bring it on all fours." I said, deeply satisfied by this refinement in my instructions.

And then, here came Bobby. Big, bold, blustering Bobby. Crawling to me with tears in his eyes, holding his belt clamped between his teeth. Ha! I savored every moment that he approached.

I took hold of the belt and Bobby released his grip.

"Now, it's no doubt clear to you that you will be getting a whipping. Right?" I said, slowly winding the belt around my right hand.

"Yes." Bobby whispered.

"Good." I said.

I held the hand with the belt towards him.

"This is my whipping hand. Kiss it."

Bobby placed a soft kiss on the knuckles of my right hand.

"Do you know why you are getting a whipping?" I inquired, letting the belt dangle at my side.

Bobby began to cry again, something that gave me increasing pleasure.

"I just can't imagine losing you, Gretchen." He blubbered. "I'm so sorry for the way I've been."

"And what way is that, may I ask." I said matter-of-factly. "Tell me how you've been, and what you've been."

I came closer to him so that my pussy was only an inch or two from his nose.

"I...I've been a jerk, Gretchen. I can see that now."

I could see that the proximity of my mound to his nose was having an effect. Once again, his member was jerking to attention. I smiled.

"Not quite." I said. "I'm pretty sure you can find more descriptive, more colorful words to tell me what you were like. Go ahead. Rack your brain for me." As I said this, I let the belt slide over his shoulder and along his back. By now, his cock was as turgid as an overripe tomato.

"I was an asshole, Gretchen."

"Asshole. That's a good start. You certainly are an asshole. Go on. What else can you tell me about yourself?"

"I guess, I guess... Gretchen..."

"Stop guessing and tell me, you fool!"

"I guess I was a...a...pig! And an asshole! A great big stinking asshole and a pig. Oh, Gretchen! I'm so sorry!"

As you might guess, tears ensued after this confession.

"You can bet on that, my friend. You were that and then some." I told him flatly. I held my whip hand out to him, and he kissed it fervently. There was a lot of heat coming from his face from all his crying and slobbering, and it felt soothing to my fingers.

"How about...'shithead'?" I queried nonchalantly. "Does that shoe fit... shithead?"

"Yes it does, Gretchen! It does fit. A shithead. I'm a shithead. Yes." He said, seeming relieved to recognize that it was so.

"Shithead" he whispered, as though to himself.

"Well, since you seem so attuned to it, and all, why don't we just make that your official new name?" I said, feigning excited enthusiasm over the idea.

Bobby's head hung so that I couldn't see his eyes.

"Shithead it is, then." I declared. "By default. You did have a chance to vote, you know."

"Yes." Bobby said, as though in a trance. "Shithead."

"Then it's unanimous!" I crowed, and broke out into laughter once again.

It was then that I noted that the very belt wrapped around my hand - and ready for action, I should add - was one I'd bought him as a Christmas present the year before. What exquisite synchronicity!

"Are you ready for your whipping, Shithead?" I asked, feeling a distinct erotic pleasure at speaking these words.

Bobby... I mean Shithead, nodded wordlessly.

""Go over to the wall there, place your hands on the wall, spread your legs, and wait." I instructed.

Bobby the Shithead began crawling toward the wall I'd indicated. Frankly, I couldn't wait to swing that belt and see it bite into his flesh. On his ass, his legs, his back. I nearly orgasmed thinking about it! There he went, plodding across the room. I followed a few paces behind, watching his laborious progress.

Once at the wall I ordered him into the standing position I'd described to him. Shithead Bobby has a nice round and fleshy ass. It simply cries out for the crack of a leather strap to make it jiggle and shake! By now my panties were moist, and I was hot. I brought the belt to my face to smell the leather. Suddenly there was an outburst from Bobby Shithead.

"Whip me good, Gretchen! Whip my sorry ass! Oh, Jesus! Give it to me!"

He stood there, his legs quivering. His crying came full on and unabated.

You won't have to ask twice, I thought as I pivoted to swing. The first swing didn't hit squarely, and there wasn't the desired cracking sound, but I knew that there would be plenty of time, all the time in the world, really, to hone my form on this sorry ass. He was entirely mine, and I don't mean in the "boyfriend" way. I owned him.

I took a moment to correct my posture and swung again, this time with more control. The belt landed flat and hard on his buttocks. "Crack!" Such an exquisite sound.

Bobby, AKA, well, you know who, shimmied and crouched at the force of the blow. This was training time for me.

I walked a bit to the side to observe Shithead's penis. Sure enough, he was hard as alabaster. Who could ask for more, eh? I knew where his head, and dick, were at!

After, oh, a half hour or so, I was getting my form down. Bobby's ass now had stripes across it and was red as could be. I took a certain fascination in watching it take on these qualities. A welt or two was rising from it too, though the skin had not broken anyplace. I'd worked his legs, too. They proved to be unexpectedly sensitive. He cried quite a bit when I concentrated on them. Anyway, fuck how he feels about anything. His uncaring attitude toward me was fresh in my mind, and it would remain so for some time.

I left him there in the bedroom for awhile and I went for a cold drink. I told him to stay put! And I'm pretty sure that, at that point, he knew I meant business!

To be continued.