Step By Step

Almost in a state of shock Helen wandered through the town until, without even realising how she'd got there, she ended up in the docklands. Nowadays there's little left of the working docks and it 's mostly been gentrified. She found a bit that had been grassed over and sat down on a bench, staring across the waters. The rain, never far off all day, started again in earnest but she didn't move, she just sat there watching the patterns that the raindrops made.

She felt devastated. Everything she had been brought up to believe had turned to dust. Now she could see the rock solid certainties from Sunday school classes as the hateful bigotry it had always been. The small minded values, the holier than thou, the endless 'thou shall not's now looked mean and joyless. They all talked of love but all they preached was hate, picking mercilessly on anyone who was different, anyone who didn't fit their mould.

And, talking of different, there was Sam, sweet, kind, Sam; how she ached for her, how she yearned for her, how she wanted her. She knew now she would never be complete without her.

Seeing Sam, even under those appalling conditions, even in the middle of all the screaming, had brought home how much she missed her, how much she wanted to be with her. She'd been such a fool, she'd ruined it all and now she was just left with this sick ache in her heart. Even when Rob had left it hadn't felt this bad. The worst of it was that she would now be forever associated with the hatred, Sam would never forgive her. Just as she had found love she had thrown it away, sacrificed it to a set of standards she no longer believed in. The tears streamed down, mixing with the rain.

Eventually, wet through and cold to the bone, she made her way home and went to bed.

The next morning, bleary eyed after a night of broken and fretful sleep, she struggled in to work. For most of the morning she just sat at her desk, staring into space, letting the work pile up in her in tray. At eleven thirty she had to go to the toilets and she set of down the corridor. However, when she got there she found Susan Woodman standing at the wash basins repairing her makeup.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the paedo patrol in person.” Susan sneered.

“Susan, please, it wasn’t like that.” Helen replied, shocked at the vehemence.

“Protect our children. That’s what the banner read, wasn’t it? You can’t get much plainer than that.” Susan said angrily.

“But I… But I… I didn’t mean it, I didn’t even want to be there. Please, you’ve got to believe me.” Helen’s tears, never far away all morning, flowed freely.

Susan stood and stared for a moment but it wasn’t long before her kind heart overtook her anger and, with a “Oh, come here.” She scooped up Helen and gave her a big hug. For what seemed like ages they just stood there, Helen’s head resting on Susan’s shoulder. At one point the door opened but Susan told whoever it was to ‘find another one’ as she gently stoked Helen’s hair, soothing her and calming her down.

“Maybe there is another side to this story.” Susan said at last. “Look, it’s only ten minutes to lunchtime. Why don't you join me in the pub across the road? OK?”

Helen just nodded.

“Right then, I’ve got to rush, if I don’t get back to my desk before I go for lunch there will be trouble. See you in ten minutes.” Susan said gently.

“Thank you, Susan, thank you.” Helen replied as the two women left the toilets and returned to their desks.

Helen was first in the pub so she bought a couple of cokes and found a table in a quiet corner. There wasn’t going to be much privacy but this was the best she could do and, simply talking to Susan, had already brightened her day. When Susan arrived Helen gave her a little wave and she came over and sat down next to her.

“Is that coke for me? Thanks.” Susan said as she sat down. “Now, tell me everything.”

“I’ve been so stupid, so weak, so pathetic.” Helen started. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, I really didn’t but I ended up hurting everyone. Well, you know how it started, how Sam and I had a row. Well, on Saturday my mum phoned...”

Step by step Helen explained about the lunch, how she’d been too weak to say no, to scared to take a stand against her parents and the pastor. “At first I didn’t know what I thought about it and then, when I did know, it all seemed too late. I thought that if I could just get through the day then I could sort it all out, get back to Sam, tell her I was wrong. The next thing I know I’m standing on a street corner holding that awful placard. If only I’d told him ‘no’, if only I’d told him where to stuff it. I’d do anything, anything at all if I could just rewind the clock, go back and do it properly. Now I’ve lost Sam, lost her forever.”

“You really miss her, don’t you?” Susan said. Helen couldn’t answer, she was too busy crying.

“Do you know, I think she misses you as well.” Susan continued. Helen jerked her head up.

“Do you mean…” Helen said, grasping at this straw of hope.

“Whoa! I’m not sure exactly what I do mean, not yet anyway.” Susan, taken by the strength of her friend’s feelings was busy trying to work out what to do next. “You’ve upset quite a few people. A full public apology might be a good place to start.”

“Of course, but how?” Helen asked eagerly.

“Tell me, seriously, how far are you prepared to go to get Sam back? How much does this really mean to you?”

“Susan, trust me, I’ll do whatever it takes. Please, give me a chance.” Helen said eagerly.

For a long while Susan just stared at Helen, weighing things up, thinking things over.

“You really do love Sam, don’t you?” she asked at last.

“Yes, yes, I do. I know that now.” Helen said fervently.

“OK, I've got an idea but first I need to make a few phone calls. Meet me after work; four thirty in the lobby. Can you do that?” Susan said.

“Whatever it takes. Give me a chance and I’ll be there.” Helen replied.

When Susan got down to the lobby at four thirty Helen was already there, impatiently pacing back and forth. Susan led her out to the car park and across to her battered Peugeot 106.

“Where are we going?” Helen asked as Susan nosed the car into the rush hour traffic.

“You’ll see.” Susan replied cryptically. “You know I said that a public apology might be a good start. Well, I think I know how that can be arranged.”

Susan parked the car at one of the town centre car parks and, taking Helen by the hand, led her down and onto the back streets and alleyways just off the High Street. As they ducked down an alley Helen recognised the door to the club where she and Sam had been just nine days ago. Susan went up to the door and rapped firmly. The shutter was drawn back briefly and the door was opened revealing Wanda, standing there dressed in jeans and a tee shirt.

“Hi there, Susan, what can I do for you? What’s with all these urgent phone calls and clandestine meetings?” Wanda asked.

“Thanks for meeting us. I need a favour, or rather Helen here, she needs a favour.” Susan replied.

“Her!” Wanda hadn’t really noticed Helen who had been tucked behind Susan, too nervous to push herself forward. “Why should I help her? We’ve all heard about what happened yesterday. I don’t know how she has the nerve to show her face around here.”

“Please, Wanda, let her have her say, for Sam’s sake if for nothing else.” Susan pleaded.

There was a long pause before, with a reluctant ‘Oh, what the hell, come on in.’ Wanda led them in, through the body of the club and back to her private office. Helen, despite her nerves, couldn’t help but notice how ‘normal’ Wanda looked; how different from the leather clad Domme she had met before. Once they got to the office Wanda put on a kettle and brewed up three cups of tea, even off duty she was forever the hostess. They settled down around her desk to talk.

“Well?” Wanda started. “You’ve hurt an old, dear friend of mine, not to mention insulted all the rest of us into the bargain. I'll give you five minutes to tell me why I should even give you the time of day.”

“Please, Wanda, I’m sorry, really, really sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone. I was confused and I got things all back to front.”

Helen went on to explain what had happened, just the way she had to Susan. Mostly Wanda let her talk but, from time to time she asked questions, questions in particular about which chapel Helen had attended and which pastor was involved. Five minutes came and went but Wanda was engrossed, eager to hear the story out even if not yet convinced that she should do anything about it.

“Yeah, Pastor Michaels.” Wanda commented at last. “That little shit. We’ve crossed swords a couple of times before. I might have known it was him behind yesterday’s little fiasco. If you’ve been listening to his poison all your life it’s no wonder you’re a little confused. But that begs the question – why are you here? Don’t get me wrong, we’ll always welcome new members to the sisterhood, but what’s changed? What’s different this time?”

“Sam.” Helen answered simply. “Sam’s the reason.”

“Go on.” Prompted Wanda.

“Look, I know I’ve been stupid.” Helen started. “I know how it all looks, but yesterday, when I saw her, I just knew. I love her, Wanda, really love her, I’d do anything to get her back, anything at all.”

“Anything at all? How about subbing for me for a night or so?” Wanda asked.

“Wanda! Please!” Helen replied, horrified. “I couldn’t; I’m Sam’s.”

“Don’t worry, I was only joking.” Wanda said with a smile. For a while she just stared of into the distance, evidently thinking things over. “OK, I'm in. I’m going to give you your chance. There’s no point in doing anything mid week, the place will be half empty so we’d best leave it to Friday. Give me your mobile number and I’ll be in touch.”

“What are you going to do?” Helen queried.

“You’ll find out when the time comes but what do you think happens to naughty little subs who go around upsetting everyone?” Wanda laughed. “Now, get out of here before I change my mind.”

Thanking Wanda profusely Helen was led away by Susan who drove her home.

For the rest of the week Helen existed in a sort of haze; her whole focus was on Friday, wondering exactly what Wanda had planned for her and, more importantly, how Sam would react. The words ‘what do you think happens to naughty little subs who go around upsetting everyone?’ echoed through her mind time and time again. She had trusted Sam, had given her free rein over her body to do as she wished but offering the same to Wanda: did she really dare? On the other hand she knew she had no option. She’d nearly bumped into Sam in the street outside their adjoining houses and the look that Sam had given her was pure daggers. She tried to catch up with her but Sam had disappeared into her house, the slam of the front door making it perfectly clear that she didn’t want to be followed.

And then, just before noon on Friday morning, she received the text:

Club front door six pm

W

Quickly Helen sent back a reply, saying she’d be there. Now all she had to do was wait. She rushed from the office as soon as she was able and hurried home. First she relaxed into a hot bath but, well aware of how little time she had, she couldn’t soak for too long before getting out and sorting out some clothes for herself, a loose dress and, just in case, her prettiest undies. By five fifteen, anxious lest she be late, she was at the bus stop and heading for town. Even through the evening traffic it doesn’t take that long and it was still well before six when she was just around the corner. Unable to wait any longer she went and knocked on the door of the club anyway.

It seemed to take forever before it was opened but, finally, a rather dishevelled Wanda appeared and led her in to the main body of the club.

“God, you’re early.” She commented.

“Sorry.” Helen said.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Wanda asked, a sudden edge of steel in her voice.

“Sorry… Mistress.” Helen said once the penny had dropped.

“That’s better. Now, get your clothes off, fold them up and put them on the table. Helen, overcomming a sudden rush of nerves, took off her jacket and started to unbutton her blouse. She was anxious enough anyway but Wanda stood over her watching every move making Helen's fingers felt like sausages and the buttons didn’t seem to want to work.

“Oh, get on with it!” Snapped Wanda. “I'd remind you that this is for your benefit, not mine.”

Wanda’s impatience hindered rather than helped but, eventually Helen was able to remove the blouse. Her skirt was easy, a simple zipper at the side and it was off, folded on the table on top of the blouse. She stepped out of her shoes and removed her tights but, suddenly, the nerves returned, overtaking her and, holding her arms across her chest she stood there, shivering.

“What’s this? A sudden attack of modesty? You should have thought of that before you came into my club. Knees! Now!” Wanda, secretly a lot more sympathetic than she let on, knew she had to take charge.

Shaken by the sudden outburst Helen dropped to her knees.

“Do you think that, just because I’m dressed in civvies, I deserve anything less than total obedience?” Wanda asked.

“No, Mistress, of course not, Mistress.” Helen replied.

“So why did you stop?” Wanda went on.

“Because… because I’m scared.” Helen’s voice was shaking.

“Scared.” Wanda repeated. “Well it’s not your place to be scared, it’s your place to do as you’re told, plain and simple. The more you remember that, the easier it will go for you. Now finish undressing; no, stay there, don’t get up.”

Still on her knees Helen removed her bra and, rather awkwardly, her panties. Reaching up she put them on the pile on the table. Wanda then told her to crawl across to the stage area. Ironically this firm treatment made it easier for Helen; she wasn't allowed to think about what she was doing, she had no option but to obey. On the right hand side of the stage was a stout pillar, maybe thirty centimetres in diameter with various hooks and loops set into it and Helen was ordered to stand up straight with her back against it. Wanda disappeared into the wings returning moments later with two sets of cuffs and linking chains. One was fastened between her wrists, pulling her arms back around the pillar. The other ran between her ankles, pulling her feet apart and back. With her feet tied effectively behind her the natural tendency was to fall forward but her locked wrists kept her upright.

The final piece of the jigsaw was a padded hood which, starting with a collar around the neck and continuing with lacing that ran up the back of the head, completely covered Helen’s face. As Wanda fitted it Helen found that, internally, it was fitted with a rubber bar which filled her mouth acting as a gag. The only holes were for her nostrils and, once the lacing had been finished, Helen couldn’t see anything, she could only make the most muffled of noises and her hearing was dramatically reduced. There must also have been an some sort of attachment on the top because she felt her head being pulled backwards and upwards as it was fixed to a hook on the pillar above her head.

“There, that’s perfect.” Wanda’s words were muffled by the hood. “Now you just wait there; don’t go away now.”

With that Wanda was gone, well, Helen had to assume she was, it had all gone quiet. There was nothing Helen could do but wait, wait as the minutes dragged by. Her arms ached from the unnatural position; she wanted so much just to sit down, to relieve the strain, but she was stuck. And, all the time, there was an undercurrent of fear, of uncertainty. She hardly knew Wanda and now she had put herself so much at her mercy and, even if that weren’t enough, she still had no idea what Wanda had planned for when the time came and, more importantly, what was Sam going to make of it all. She started to feel foolish, stupid; how could being strung up naked do any good at all. Surely Sam, and all the others, would be put of, repulsed by her flabby middle aged body hung out on display like this.

And then, slowly, the club began to fill. With the hood muffling the sounds it was hard to tell that much but she sensed rather than heard the gradual increase in numbers and, only now, did the full import of what she had done strike her. Whether she liked it or not she was now open and on display right out in front of everyone, and, what’s more she knew that they would all be staring at her; never before had she felt so exposed, so vulnerable, it was as if they could see her very soul. Instinctively she tried to close her legs but the chains were designed to hold against far stronger pulls than anything she could manage and she knew that any movement just drew even more attention to herself. The background noise intensified, the club must be nearly full, and she could sense that people were walking quite close to her, standing quite near. The touch, when it came, nearly made her jump out of her skin.

“Nice tits.” Helen could make out the muffled words as whomever spoke them was standing so close.

“Yeah, sensitive nipples too.” Helen's nipples had, indeed, responded to whomever was manipulating them. “Any idea who it is? I’ve had a quick look round and no one from the usual crew is missing.”

“No idea.” The first voice replied. “Wanda did say she had some sort of surprise for us.”

“Well I can’t place her and I thought I knew everybody in here; I've slept with most of them!” A third voice answered. The unseen hands moved to Helen’s groin, easing between her labia. “She’s a horny little sub though, she’s loving this, loving every minute of it.”

“I wonder what Wanda has in store for her.”

“I’ve no idea but I’d put money on it involving a sore backside somewhere along the line.” Laughing the women left Helen to her fate.

And those weren’t the only ones; it would appear that being tied to the pillar meant that she was open and available. Unseen hands groped her, playing with her breasts, and feeling between her thighs. From the muffled snatches of conversation Helen gathered that everyone was interested to find out who she was and why she was there.

Eventually there was a hush around the club and Helen, even in her muffled state, could sense the air of anticipation.

“Ladies.” Wanda must have picked up the microphone. Her voice was loud and clear. “I have something a bit special for you tonight. Maria, please.” Helen felt the lacing at the back of her hood being loosened. “I’m sure you’re all aware of the… fracas outside the drop in centre last Sunday; how everyone’s favourite local minister was stirring up his special brand of fear and loathing. Most of you also know that there was an incident directly affecting one of the sisterhood. How one of us found someone she thought she knew and trusted standing on the wrong side of the picket lines. Well…”

The hood was snatched away and Helen stood there in front of the club, blinking in the bright lights. There was a susurration of ‘that’s her’ and ‘she’s the one’ and the vibe from the club was, if not exactly hostile, definitely not friendly and somewhat intrigued as to what she was doing there. Frantically she tried to look for Sam but a number of spotlights had been focussed on her and, blinded by their glare, she could only make out vague shapes in the club beyond.

“slave helen, here, has requested the opportunity to make amends, to tell her side of the story.” There was a murmur of interest from the club but, mostly, a rapt fascination. Helen, who had practiced this moment over and over again during the last few days felt a wave of crippling shyness; she couldn’t do it. Her head dropped and she squirmed against the chains that held her, trying to hide, trying to escape.

“Well, slave?” Wanda’s voice was firm, imposing. “Or do we have to beat it out of you?”

“I’m sorry.” Helen whimpered, her voice barely above a whisper.

“What was that?” Wanda demanded. “Speak up, the whole club needs to hear.” She held the mic in front of Helen so that all could hear.

“I’m sorry.” Helen said, a little louder this time. “I’m so, so sorry. You all seem to know what I did, where I was, who I was with and what I was carrying. I was wrong; I know it now; I should never have been there, I should never have let myself be dragged into it, I should have been strong enough but I wasn’t, I was weak, I was foolish. Please, please believe me, I never wanted to hurt anyone and I never, ever meant those awful, awful things on the banner.”

“Please, you have to believe me when I say I want to make amends.” She went on. “I know I was wrong, I know I hurt you all, especially those who had started to know and trust me. I did wrong and my one wish is to make it right again. Please, please give me another chance.”

Helen took a deep breath.

“But there is one amongst you whose mercy I am least worthy of, the one I hurt the most, the one I treated the worst; it is her forgiveness I crave the most and deserve the least. I was so locked into the lies of my childhood that I completely missed the love she showed me. She was good and I called her evil, she gave compassion and I returned bitter prejudice, she showed me love and I showed her hatred. It is to her, above all others, that I bow my head in shame and remorse and say a simple, but oh, so heartfelt, I’m sorry, really, really sorry.”

By the time she had finished her tears were flowing freely. No one could doubt the sincerity of her words or the depth of her repentance. However Wanda wasn’t going to let her off that easily.

“Seeing as how you have insulted each and every one of us I feel it only right that you should be punished by all and any who wish to do so. Is that not right and just?”

There was a roar of approval from the body of the club; they were evidently enjoying the show and would have felt cheated if it had ended there. Helen nodded her agreement, remembering just in time to back it up with “Yes, Mistress Wanda.”

Wanda nodded to Maria, her sub, who was still standing just behind Helen. At this signal Helen’s wrist chains were freed, only to be refastened, still behind her back but now free of the pillar. With this support gone Helen dropped forward onto her knees. Helen’s ankle chains were similarly readjusted and Helen was nudged forward until she was kneeling in front of Wanda.

“Kiss my boots and put your butt in the air.” Wanda commanded.

As soon as Helen complied she felt a sharp slap across the top of her right buttock, quickly followed by two more. She had to bite back the squeak of pain that threatened to escape her lips.

“And what do you say now, slave?” Wanda asked.

“Thank you, Mistress, thank you for punishing me.” Helen replied.

“That's better, now, kneel up and open your mouth.” Wanda ordered. As soon as Helen had done so she felt the sharp taste of leather fill her mouth. “Now take the crop and offer it to each and every member. Crawl, don't walk.”

Guided by prods and kicks from Wanda Helen made her way across the floor of the club. It was barely five feet before she reached the first table. Two obvious Dommes, each with a sub, sat there waiting. Helen knelt up before them.

“Please, Mistresses, please punish me.” She asked but, with the crop in her mouth it came out as “ease, istressess, ease unish ee.”

The first Domme took the crop from her mouth. For the first time Helen got a good look at it. Whilst it was evidently based on a riding crop it had more in common with a fly swatter, ending in a flat ten-centimetre square of leather. A stern look from the Domme told Helen to stop staring at the crop and get into position. Once again she bent down and kissed the shoe, once again three firm swats from the crop landed on her buttocks. Then it was the turn of the second Domme but this time she was told to kneel up and she received two swats, one to each breast.

“Please, Mistress, please can I have a go.” One of the subs cut in.

“Yes, why not?” Her Domme agreed and Helen was nudged over to receive her next two blows.

And so on, round the club. With Wanda always in control Helen crawled from table to table, from booth to booth, taking, accepting, whatever was meted out to her. Sometimes it was her breasts but mostly it was her buttocks and, each time, she had to make some gesture of surrender, usually kissing the boots and shoes of the Dommes. Most of the subs followed the lead of the one from the first table and, more often than not, their request was granted. At first the blows seemed quite light, easy to bear, but the club was full and, as her breasts and buttocks got more and more tender and bruised, the pain increased until Helen was crying out at every stroke. Still she went on. Chained and driven she didn’t have much choice but she didn’t want one. This was her penance, her cross to bear and she couldn’t, wouldn’t give up.

And then, at last, she came to Sam. Wracked with sobs she lifted her weary head and placed the crop on Sam’s lap. Their eyes met and, for a long, long moment they just looked at each other.

Sam, above and beyond all the others, knew how hard this had been for Helen, knew how difficult it had been for her to put herself through this. For some of the subs, the little show-offs who craved the attention, this would have been like manna from heaven but for a shy little mouse like Helen it must have been purgatory. Sam’s heart had melted long before Helen had even been released from the pillar, she was proud and touched by the strength and courage Helen had shown and, in her heart, had been with her every step of the way around the club, feeling with her the pain and humiliation. Now her protective instinct was to wrap Helen in her arms and give her the love, give her the absolution that Helen craved so badly but she knew this needed closure, something to restore the balance, something to put right all that had been wrong. She looked down at the face of her love, at the tousled hair, all awry from her time in the hood, and at the face, covered in black streaks where her tears had made her mascara run.

“God, you look a mess.” Sam said at last.

“I’m sorry, Mistress.” Helen replied.

“You are, aren’t you; really sorry.” Sam said gently. Helen just nodded. “Do you know what you are? Has it finally sunk in?”

For a moment Helen didn’t know what Sam meant but then she remembered the words she had denied, the point where it had all gone wrong.

“I’m a lesbian, Mistress; a lesbian who likes to get her bottom smacked.”

“Yeah, that's right, but you’re my lesbian, and don't you ever forget it.” Sam responded. “Now get over my lap.”

It was a bit awkward with the chained wrists and ankles but, with Sam’s guidance, Helen lay down across Sam’s lap with her buttocks firmly uppermost. The chain between her ankles stopped her opening her legs as much as Sam was trying to get her to do but it didn’t matter, she was home, where she belonged. Nor did she care that she was naked in this semi public venue and that all eyes were undoubtedly upon her; this was her place, this was right.

Sam didn’t use the crop, indeed it had dropped unheeded to the floor when Helen was arranging herself, rather she used her bare hand in the time-honoured fashion. Even so Helen's buttocks were so tender that even the lightest smack would have stung and Sam was anything but light.

“Don’t (smack) you (smack) ever (smack) leave (smack) me (smack) again! (smack)” Sam punctuated her words with stinging blows which caused Helen to howl in pain and thrash her legs around. On and on they went as Sam vented all the pain and frustration she had felt over the past week or so, but, gradually, the tempo slowed until, finally exhausted, both physically and emotionally, she let go and Helen slipped to the floor.

For a couple of moments there was silence then Sam reached down and pulled Helen to her knees  so that she was kneeling in front of her.

“I love you.” Sam said simply.

“I love you too.” Helen replied. “I’m so sorry, so, so sorry…”

“Shhh…” Sam cupped Helen’s face with her hands and drew her upwards. “Just shhh…”

The two women kissed, the Mistress and her sub, together again, oblivious to the cheers and applause from the rest of the club.