Ever since the night of the row, the night that her husband Rob had walked out on her, everything in Helen’s life had been in turmoil. On a purely practical side he had hired a crooked lawyer who had helped him to declare himself bankrupt leaving her with nothing. Before he'd left he had re-mortgaged the house so that when they had had to sell it there had been nothing left and, with no capital, she was forced to move into rented accommodation and, as she pushed open the door of the terraced cottage she’d found, she felt as if she’d hit rock bottom. All her dreams, all her aspirations had come down to this, alone and broke in a run down terraced cottage in one of the cheaper parts of town.

But it wasn’t just the money; for years Rob had been calling her ‘stupid’ and ‘worthless’ and, when he had left her for a younger woman it had been the last straw, the final insult. Her self-esteem was in tatters, she was unwanted and unloved. She felt every minute of her thirty four years, an aged hag consigned to the scrap heap. She dumped her few possessions on the table and slumped in a chair. She had never felt so all alone; somehow, during their time together, Rob had scared off all her old friends and now that they had split she had no one. Would she ever, could she ever rebuild her life?

The days passed, each one fading into the next in a dull grey haze until, when the weekend rolled around, Helen found herself at the kitchen sink washing up the breakfast things and staring out of the window at the back garden. Even that was a mess; given the diminutive size of the cottage the garden was quite reasonable but the previous occupiers hadn’t given it the care it needed and it was hopelessly overgrown. Somehow the mess in the garden became a symbol of the mess in her life. She had to do something, anything, to break this ennui and a bit of gardening would do her some good. She went upstairs, put on a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt and headed out into the July sunshine.

At first she attacked the overgrown tangle of plants with all the pent up rage and frustration that had been boiling within her. She found a scythe in the shed and she used it mercilessly to slash away at the brambles, the overgrown buddleia, the knee high grass, the un-pruned roses and the tangle of bindweed until the tempest within her calmed and she looked up to see that, not only had she purged the anger within her but she had made considerable progress in tidying the garden as well. She started gathering up all the detritus to make a start on a compost heap when a voice distracted her.

“Wow! You have worked hard. It’s been ages since anyone’s touched that garden. Looks like you could do with a drink after all that effort.”

Helen looked across to see who was talking. There, leaning over the fence, was an woman, presumably her neighbour, with a welcoming smile on her face. She held out a bottle of white wine.

“I’ve got this bottle of Pinot Grigio that’s been waiting for a nice sunny day just like today.” The woman continued. “It’s no fun drinking alone; come on round and have a glass or two.”

“But… But…” spluttered Helen. “I couldn’t impose like that.”

“Impose! You won't be imposing.” Urged the woman. “Come on round; what are neighbours for? I’m Sam, by the way. It’s short for Samantha but no one’s called me that since I was in pigtails.”

“Hi, I’m Helen. Look, I need…” Helen was about to say that she needed a shower but she remembered that the cottage only had a basic bathroom and there was no shower, only a bath. The wine looked cool and refreshing and…  “Oh, hang it all; why not? I’ll be right over.”

Helen went through her house, out of the front door and through the ginnel that led to Sam’s back garden. There she found Sam setting up sun beds either side of a low table which held the bottle and two glasses. Now that there was no fence between them she got a better look at her neighbour. Helen guessed her age would probably be a few years less than hers, late twenties maybe; she was also several inches shorter, slim and fit, although there was something about her that said wiry rather than petit; some inner strength that dismissed any little girl image. Her hair was short and a jet black which hinted of hair dye rather than natural colour. She wore shorts and a bikini top which showed off her deep tan and athletic figure. In short she was a young, vivacious and attractive woman and Helen felt old and dowdy beside her. Still it was too late to back out now.

Sam finished arranging the sun beds to her satisfaction and sat back on one of them and started to pour the wine. Helen nervously approached the other and perched on the edge.

“How can you wear that sweatshirt in this weather?” Sam asked. “You’ll roast. Take it off; you’ll be far more comfy without it.”

“But I’ve only got a bra on underneath.” Helen started to object.

“So? You’ve nothing I’ve not seen before and this corner of the garden’s completely private. Anyway, I’m going topless; it seems a shame to waste such a beautiful day. Come along, don’t be shy.” Sam was obviously not the sort to take no for an answer.

Helen glanced around. Indeed, the layout of the hedges had made that corner of Sam’s garden into a little private sun trap totally hidden from anywhere but Sam’s cottage. She was still very apprehensive about stripping off in front of this strange woman but with Sam going topless it would seem churlish not to and, Sam was right, she was already sweating freely; it would be good to get some air on her body. She peeled off the top wishing that the bra she was wearing wasn’t so plain and hadn’t seen quite so many washes.

At first Helen was shy and reluctant to talk but behind her bubbly personality Sam was a superb listener and soon Helen was pouring out her life story. The wine was cool and refreshing and when the bottle was finished Sam went to the fridge and fetched another. Helen hadn’t felt this relaxed in ages. The wine had gone to her head, the hard work in the garden had had a cathartic effect and simply being able to talk to a sympathetic ear was wonderful. Not only was Sam a good listener, she was also kind and understanding, Helen had seldom if ever felt such an instant empathy with a new friend.

The conversation wandered far and wide, and whilst in many ways the two women were very different, in all the things that were important they seemed in total agreement and, as they chatted, Helen found she was entranced by Sam. Her initial resentment of Sam’s good looks and self confidence were being replaced by respect and affection. Sam was certainly a pretty girl and it was no wonder she was sunbathing topless, her breasts, whilst not particularly large, were perfectly formed, and beautifully firm. She wondered…

“You can touch them if you want.” Sam’s voice cut through Helen’s reveries.

“What!” Helen replied, taken aback by Sam’s bluntness.

“You’ve been staring at my breasts like they’re strawberry ice cream. If they fascinate you so much why don’t you try stroking them? I promise I won’t bite.”

“I was not staring at your breasts.” Helen retorted as the blood rushed to her face.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.” Taunted Sam in a sing-song voice. “You were staring and you know it. Your blushes give you away completely but that’s Ok, I like it when attractive women stare at my breasts. You can kiss them too if you want.”

“Please, Sam.” Helen was getting flustered. “Please, I’m not like that.”

“What, the idea of kissing my breast doesn’t turn you on?” Sam started to wiggle provocatively but stopped when she saw how uncomfortable Helen was getting.

“Look.” Sam continued, suddenly serious. “I am like that, I’m a lesbian and I don’t care who knows it. You’re an attractive single woman and I can’t help but make a pass at you. But it’s Ok, I’m not going to force you into wild lesbian orgies, however much I’d like to. If you’re ‘not like that’ then I can respect it and I won’t bother you again. However, before you completely close your mind to the subject you were staring at my breasts and my gaydar says you did want to kiss them, whether you knew it or not. So, subject closed, how about another glass of wine?”

That night, as Helen lay in bed, she couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened. She and Sam had spent the rest of the afternoon together, lazing about in the garden and, come supper time, Helen had borrowed Sam’s shower whilst Sam had put together a pasta marinara that was to die for and the two women had shared the meal sitting round her kitchen table; Helen in a borrowed dressing gown, Sam still wearing only her skimpy shorts. Somehow it seemed natural for Sam to be topless as she pottered about in the kitchen. Helen knew she could never be that relaxed, half naked in front of someone she’d only just met.

But it wasn’t just walking around half naked that Sam was relaxed about; she had freely admitted that she was a lesbian and had joked so easily about finding Helen ‘attractive’ and wanting ‘wild sexual orgies’. It had been a long time since anyone had called Helen attractive, far too long, and it made Helen smile to think of it but that led on to the second thought, the suggestion that she had been staring at Sam’s breasts and that she had wanted to kiss them. This was dangerous territory for Helen. she’d had a strict puritanical upbringing; what little sex education she had got had mostly been a list of ‘thou shall not’s, and she’d been taught that sex as anything other than between a married man and women in bed with the lights out was wrong, evil, perverted… Helen tossed and turned in her bed, her emotions in a state of turmoil. She knew what she should be thinking, she knew what she had been taught, what was right and what was wrong, but that didn’t stop her thoughts of Sam’s breasts, looking so fine with those perfect nipples and, try as she might, she couldn’t stop a sudden deep desire to know what it would be like to kiss them. The stern voices of her parents, of her preacher, were countered by Sam’s voice with its relaxed and open attitude. Even in the short time she’d got to know Sam she could tell that she wasn’t the devil, she wasn’t evil and perverted, she was just a really nice caring person who just happened to like kissing women; what was so wrong with that? With a sigh she pushed the confused jumble of thoughts to one side, rolled over, and went to sleep.

Every evening, as she walked down the street from the bus stop, Helen kept an eye open, hoping that she would meet up with Sam. She knew she was being silly but she seemed to get excited every time she thought about her new friend and she was still too shy to simply knock on Sam’s door without being asked round. What if Sam’s interest had waned seeing as how she had spurned her advances? Then, on Thursday, just as she got off the bus, there was Sam, walking down the other side of the street.

“Helen! I've been wondering when Id bump into you. Dinner, my place, tonight, seven-o-clock. Promise I won’t jump your bones!” Sam called out with no regard as to who might hear. Helen hurried across to join her before she said anything else embarrassing.

“Sam!” Helen replied, shocked that Sam would shout about ‘jumping her bones’ from across the street.  “Sam! Please! What if the neighbours heard?”

“Then they can come and join us. They’ll have to bring their own shepherds pie, though. I’ve only got enough for two. Oh, you mean about jumping your bones? Why should I care what they think? What, am I embarrassing you?” Sam laughed and swinging Helen into a clinch, kissed her. “Ooops, sorry, I promised I wouldn’t do that. Seriously, Helen, come and join me for tea. I really won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”

Helen, her ears burning with embarrassment, broke away but agreed to go round later. She was suddenly really excited about meeting her new friend again. She hurried home to bath and get ready; somehow it seemed important to look her best, even if it was just sharing a shepherds pie together.

At seven-o-clock Helen knocked on Sam’s front door carrying a bottle of red wine. Sam let her in and led her through to the kitchen. She handed Helen a corkscrew and left her to sort out the wine whilst she finished getting the pie together. It seemed almost natural for the two of them to work together and, within moments, any residue of Helen’s concerns about how Sam would feel were dismissed. The conversation flowed and they were soon eating together, enjoying the food. Once the pie and wine were finished and the dishes washed and put away they went through to the lounge to chat. Again Helen was struck by how easy it was to be around Sam, how relaxed she felt, but mostly how she could talk about everything and anything without getting put down for being stupid. And, if she could talk about anything…

“Sam?” Helen asked quietly. “Do you mind if I ask something really personal?”

“Of course not. Fire away.”

“What’s it like, in bed with a woman? What do you do? After all, you haven’t got a… a… a thingy.” As soon as she’d started Helen was beginning to wish she had never brought up this line of questioning; her curiosity and her embarrassment were fighting each other.

“A thingy!” Sam nearly fell out of her chair for laughing. “No, I haven’t got a ‘thingy’, nor had any of the people I have slept with. There’s a quite a bit more to sex than having a ‘thingy’. Look, if you’re really that interested why don’t you come to bed and I’ll show you.”

“Please, Sam, I can’t.” Helen replied.

“I see we’ve moved from ‘I’m not like that’ to ‘I can’t’. I’m intrigued. Why can’t you?”

“It’s not right… It's against God's law... It’s sinful…” Somehow, now that she was trying to explain her parent’s teachings to Sam it didn’t seem to make as much sense.

“Sinful!” Sam snorted, suddenly quite angry. “Sister, have you been listening to the wrong people. Are you tying to say that the way I live my life is sinful?”

“No…  But… Oh, I don’t know…” Helen mumbled.

“Look, Helen.” Sam continued in a much calmer tone. “Do you think I’m a bad person?”

“No, of course not!” Helen was vehement.

“But you think the way I live my life is sinful?” Sam persisted.

“No… Well… Oh, Sam, I get so confused.” Helen was close to tears.

“Confused, eh? Well, we’ve all been confused. I know it's not easy when your body says one thing and your mind says another but I do know how to sort it out; why don’t you come over and sit next to me on the sofa and we’ll try a kiss. If you don’t like it, if you find that it’s sinful, then we’ll stop” Sam said gently.

“Sam… I’m not sure…”

“Yes you are or you wouldn't have asked in the first place. Put that 'sinful' bullshit to one side for a moment and come over here and sit next to me.” Sam patted the seat of the sofa next to her. “One little kiss, that won’t hurt. Surely you won’t go to hell for one little kiss?”

Helen felt trapped. Why had she used a stupid word like sinful. Now she had upset her friend by implying she was immoral. If she stood by her principles she would look like a prude, a killjoy, and, worse than that, someone who disapproved of Sam. She felt trapped, she was about to destroy her new found friendship over something that was looking increasingly silly. There was only one way she could get out of this without hurting Sam. With a sudden burst of decisiveness she crossed the room, sat down next to Sam and pecked her on the cheek.

“Not like that, a proper kiss; tongues and everything. First of all you’ve got to relax.” Sam gently eased Helen back into the sofa and prized her hands out from between her tightly clamped knees. Then she put her arms around her and snuggled in close.

Helen’s heart raced, Sam was so close… She’d been told to relax but every nerve was a bow string, quivering under the tension. Sam’s hand gently brushed her hair back from her face and…

Helen had never been properly kissed before. Sure, Rob had always been up for a good snog, as he put it, but that had mostly been an excuse for a clumsy grope of her breasts and her groin. This, this was something else entirely. At first Sam was gentle, the lightest touch of sensitive lip against sensitive lip but from there it grew, and Helen would have to have been made of stone not to respond and, when tongue tip met tongue tip it was like an explosion, and explosion that rocked Helen’s body making every nerve dance with little pin points of pleasure. But more than this, the kiss awoke a urgent animal need deep, deep within Helen, a need she had never felt before. All her inhibitions were overridden; she wanted, no needed, to touch every inch of Sam’s skin with every inch of hers. She wanted to offer herself up, to be consumed, to be subsumed, to become one, to become Sam’s.

And, as the heat, as the urgency within her grew, Helen found herself moving against Sam’s body in a need for physical closeness that she was powerless to control. Months, no years of pent up frustration flowed forth demanding release, demanding satisfaction, demanding resolution.

And then, without any warning, Sam pulled away and sat up straight again.

“Why did you stop? What did I do?” Helen demanded breathlessly, still lost in the moment.

“Oh, you’ve had your kiss and that’s all your getting. Anything more would be, what was it now, oh, yes, sinful.”

“Please, Sam…”

“I said we’d try one kiss and that’s what you got.” Sam was firm, immovable. “Look, Helen, I really like you, I’d like to see a lot more of you in every sense of the word but, before we go any further, you need to sort out what you want. Your coy little virgin act is all very well but once you start throwing words like sinful around, well that’s another matter. You’ve had your kiss, now go away and think about how it felt, how you felt, and what it is you really want. Then you can come back and we’ll take it from there. Ok?”

“But, Sam…”

“No, Helen, I mean it. Look, it’s late and I need to get to bed anyway. Think it over, think about what you really want, think about whether it’s sinful or not and then, maybe, we’ll try again.”

As Sam showed Helen out she smiled to herself. Sure she felt more than a trifle cruel to treat her like this but she was sure that it would work out Ok. Helen hadn’t been the only one to feel the electricity in that kiss, to want more, to need more. But in the short term it would do Helen good to have a long hard think about things, to work out what’s important and what’s not, and to put all that religious bullshit far, far behind her.

For the next week or so nothing was mentioned between the two women about the kiss. It hung between them like a guilty secret as they continued to spend time together, getting to know each other and finding more and more that, outside of their sexuality, they had shared interests and values. Helen, having been fed by Sam not once but twice, felt she ought to return the favour and did so first with a fish pie, and again with a meal of cold meats and salad. Then, one Thursday, Sam suggested that they go out to the local pub and have a go at the quiz night. It was agreed that Helen would call round for Sam at seven thirty to give them plenty of time to get there and find a decent table.

As ever, when she was to be with Sam, Helen felt a flutter of excitement as she got ready, it wasn’t just the quiz night she was looking forward to; it was spending time with her new friend. She told herself to stop being so silly, Sam was just a friend, someone with whom she enjoyed their time together, not some sort of schoolgirl crush, but that didn’t stop it being special, something she did look forward to, that somehow the times she spent with Sam were the bright spots in her life. She glanced at the clock; she was still far too early but she wouldn’t wait, she couldn’t wait and, by seven-o-clock she was knocking on Sam’s front door. An upstairs window opened and Sam's tousled head popped out.

“Hi, Helen! You're very early and I'm nowhere near ready; I'll be ages yet.” Sam called down.

“Sorry, I'll call back later.” Helen felt foolish and embarrassed.

“Nonsense! Now you’re here come upstairs and chat. You can keep me company whilst I change. Let yourself in; the kitchen door's unlocked.” Sam, as ever, wasn't taking no for an answer.

Helen went through the ginnel, let herself in by the back door and stood in Sam's kitchen.

“Come on up, I'm in my bedroom.” Sam called down and Helen set of up the stairs. She still felt a little sheepish for arriving so early but, after all, Sam had invited her in. She knocked gently on the bedroom door and went on through to find Sam sat at her dressing table using the only chair in the room so Helen, at her friends bidding, perched on the edge of the bed. As they chatted Helen looked around at her surroundings. The room was a mirror image of her own bedroom and suffered from the same diminutive dimensions but there the similarities ended; there wasn't a trace of chintz, the overall design was functional rather than decorative and the only embellishments were a rather disturbing art print and, hanging on a hook below, a pair of heavy leather wrist cuffs complete with connecting chain. Helen was at first shocked, then surprised, and then intrigued to see the cuffs hanging so openly. She couldn’t help staring, wondering how much they were for decoration and how much they were actually used.

“Admiring my wrist cuffs?” Sam asked with a laugh.

“They're... They're very unusual.” Helen replied getting up and taking them off their hook.

“A present from an old flame. A memento of some fun times together. It almost broke my heart when she had to return home to the States.”

“Don't you mind them being on show like that; you don't mind what people might think?” Sam asked.

“Hey, I've never been shy about my sexuality and, anyway, you've got to be pretty close to me before you're invited into the inner sanctum so it’s only close friends like you who get to see them and they all know what I’m like. Look, amuse yourself for a while, will you. I've got to take a shower; I'm still all sweaty from the day. Won't be a moment or two.” and, without another word, Sam left the room and, moments later, Helen heard through the walls the sound of the shower running next door.

The cuffs felt heavy in Helen’s hands and she couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to wear them.  She turned them over, closely examining every detail; these were no toy but the real thing, the thick leather was well padded inside so that they would hold firmly but comfortably and, rather than buckles they had a system where a metal loop fitted through a slot in the leather held by a padlock which could be clicked shut, quite easily. Click! Almost without realising what she was doing she had fitted a cuff around her left wrist and, having done so, Helen felt compelled to go further. She looked around and noticed that the bed had an iron latticework headboard perfect for attaching the cuffs to. She knelt on the bed and wove the chain through the ironwork so that, when she fitted the other cuff to her right wrist the chain held her securely. She felt entranced, being chained like this was sending the strangest sensations through her, a mixture of fear and desire. The keys to the padlocks still hung from the hook on the wall and, with a thud, she realised just how helpless she was, how she would have to wait for Helen to release her. She pulled against the chain, testing how firmly she was held, how there was no way the wrought iron headboard was going to give and, try as she might, the cuffs fitted snugly around her wrists and would not release her. Her heart was pounding; her breathing was short and nervous. She...

“Well, well, well. What have we here?” Sam, wrapped in a towelling dressing gown, had returned from her shower.

“I just... I thought...” Helen’s blushes burnt in her cheeks.

“You just thought you’d try my cuffs out for size, see how they fitted? Well, how do they feel?”

“They’re… fine. Look, Sam, can you let me free now.” Helen was beginning to panic.

“No, I don't think I will. I've never been able to resist an attractive woman chained to my bedstead and I don't see why I should start now.” Sam's tone was light but there was a hint of steel underneath. “Now why don't we get you arranged properly?”

“Sam, don’t be silly. I was just mucking around, I just wondered what they felt like. Please, let me go, I’m serious.”

“You’re serious? Well so am I. You’ve been playing the little tease ever since I met you. You’re all ‘Oh, no Sam, I’m not like that’ but you know and I know you are like that; you’re just need a little persuading. I don't think for one moment that it's an accident that you're all chained up; I think you wanted to be caught like that; you wanted the excuse to give in to me. Well, now that I’ve got my chance I’m not going to give it up just because you’ve got cold feet.

“Please, Sam, I didn’t mean to…” Helen pleaded.

“You didn’t mean to…” Sam mocked. “I don’t care what you did or didn’t mean; you’re chained up to MY bed in MY house and that means you obey MY orders. If you don’t get into position NOW I will give you such a spanking you won’t sit down for a week.”

There was a long pause whilst the two women just stared at each other. Helen was deeply conflicted, her thoughts a jumble of confused snippets. She hadn’t meant to… She didn’t want to… Sam looked so stern… She’d been so naughty playing with the cuffs in the first instance… She pleaded to Sam with her eyes but Sam just stood there with her arms folded and shook her head. Sam’s words echoed in her head. Was she right, that this is what she wanted? Had she been a tease? Had she been leading Sam on? Did she deserve the spanking Sam was threatening?

“I’m sorry Sam.” She replied at last. “I don’t know what to do”

“Just lie down on your back. I’ll do the rest.” Sam’s voice was calm again. She guided Helen down onto the bed until she was lying full length, her wrists still chained to the headboard, her toes nearly overhanging the end. Then she got on the bed and lay down beside her, cuddling up to her.

“Look, Helen.” She said as she gently stoked Helen’s hair, calming her down. “I know you’re pretty confused about all this, you’re not sure what you want or whether it’s right to want it. I guess you feel a little scared as well. Tell me, do you trust me?”

“Yes, Sam, I think I do.” Helen replied after a pause.

Well, why don’t we try this? I’m going to have my wicked way with you and you can’t stop me, and if you can’t stop me it’s not your fault, you’re not to blame, you don’t have to worry about it. So you just lie back and let me have my fun; you never know, you might enjoy it too. OK?” Sam waited for Helen’s nod before she reached down and undid the button holding the waistband of Helen’s Jeans and slid her hand inside. Helen flinched as she felt Sam's fingers stroking her stomach, sliding under the elastic of her panties but never straying too far beneath. All the time Sam watched Helen’s face, watching her gradually relax, watching her gradually submitting.

Once she was satisfied that Helen had fully relaxed she stopped, sat up, got off the bed, and started to remove Helen’s clothes. Her shoes slipped off easily enough but the jeans were more of a struggle. As Sam tugged at the waistband part of Helen wanted to help, wanted to lift her buttocks off the bed to make it easier but she hung onto the idea that, if she didn’t help, if she didn’t acquiesce, then what ever happened wasn’t her fault. Eventually Sam got the jeans out from under Helen’s hips and  slid them down her legs, pulled them free, and neatly folded them away.

“What pretty little panties. How sweet.” Sam commented. “Sorry, but they’ve got to go as well.”

Again there was a bit of a struggle as the panties were slipped over Helen’s hips but it was nothing compared to the jeans and it didn’t take long before she was lying there naked from the waist down. There was no way Sam could remove Helen’s tee shirt so she simply pushed it up a bit, out of the way, so to speak.

“That’s better. Now then, spread your legs apart.” Again the edge of steel in Sam’s voice.

“Wha…” Helen had not been expecting that.

“Come along now, do as you’re told. I strongly advise you not to keep me waiting if you want to avoid a spanking.”

Again their eyes locked, again there was a brief struggle of wills but Helen could see that Sam was giving orders, not suggestions, and that the threat of a spanking was very real. Furthermore, the little girl within her was reacting to Sam’s dominance and her automatic reaction was to obey. Slowly, without once taking her eyes off Sam, she moved her legs apart, opening herself up.

“There’s a good little girl, that’s better.” Sam’s tone made Helen feel like she was back in school, up before the headmistress, in trouble for some unspecified offence. “Now you just lie there and think about how open and vulnerable you are whilst I get ready. Don’t go away now.”

Sam went back to her dressing table and reached for her hairdryer. She was secretly delighted. She had been a little concerned as to how far she was pushing Helen outside her comfort zone but a glistening dampness along Helen’s pussy lips spoke volumes about her true feelings, how, despite her initial protestations, her body was responding and her heart and mind would surely follow.

Meanwhile Helen was struggling to lie still. Every fibre of her body wanted to close her legs, to roll over, to hide herself away, to stop lying in this disgraceful pose, so open, so wanton, so offered up. It wouldn’t have been so bad if her legs were chained in the same way as her wrists but they weren’t, the only thing holding them apart was Helen’s compliance and the vague threat of a spanking. Indeed, the very thought of a spanking just added to the turmoil. She had no doubts that Sam meant it, that she could and would deliver a spanking that was swift and painful. More complex was her anticipation of that possible spanking; she feared the pain but somehow would welcome the punishment. Maybe a spanking would quell the feelings she was finding harder and harder to deny, the feeling that wanted to be here, the feeling that wanted more.

Back at her dressing table Sam was taking her time, taking meticulous care about getting ready. Helen was exasperated by this slowness, frustrated beyond belief by the waiting. A couple of times Sam got up and went to her wardrobe but each time she did so she ignored Helen, pottering about as if the room were empty.

In fact Sam was well aware of the turmoil with Helen. All the time she had been keeping an eye on her with discreet glances in the mirror. She knew only too well how the waiting was part of the game, how it would intensify the feelings within her victim. She watched as Helen’s hips quivered with the strain of keeping her legs apart. She’d known plenty of playmates who were such wanton sluts that they loved lying there with their legs wide open, begging to be used; how much more delicious to play with a shy one like Helen, to force her to act against her modesty. Eventually she could spin it out no longer, it was time to get down to business. She got up and sat down on the edge of the bed, reached over and gently stroked Helen’s calves.

“Are you a good girl?” Sam asked softly.

“Please, Sam…” Helen begun but Sam cut her short.

“I think it’s best if you call me Mistress when you’re being punished.” She said.

“Punished, Mistress?” Helen was confused.

“Yes, punished. You’ve been having naughty thoughts, haven’t you.” Sam’s voice was steady, even.

“Naughty thoughts, Mistress? I don’t know what you mean.” Helen’s perplexity was only half feigned.

“Oh, yes you do; don’t lie to me.” Sam’s hand had been steadily working it’s way up Helen’s leg and was now stroking her inner thigh, tantalisingly close. Helen was having to really struggle to stay still. “I think this dirty little girl has been thinking about all kind of naughty things and got herself all aroused and, if we have a look, we’ll see that her lust is quite obvious. Shall we see?” Sam’s finger tips eased inside Helens vaginal lips. “Oh yes, just as I thought, your pussy is all wet; this very naughty little girl has got herself all worked up with her dirty little thoughts. Now, what shall we do with her?”

Softly Sam ran her fingertips through the slick folds of skin, teasing her open, feeling the moistness that attested to her awakening excitement . As Sam had guessed calling Helen a ‘dirty little girl’ with ‘naughty thoughts’ had struck a chord deep within her and that, combined with Sam’s clever fingers were taking Helen to places she had never been before.

Sam moved so that she lying down beside Helen, their bodies next to each other, her hand now resting across Helen’s pubic mound, her fingers working in slow circles around the top of Helen’s slit.

“And does my naughty little girl like that? Does she like her Mistress playing with her? Does she need a good spanking for all the naughty thoughts she’s having.” Sam’s voice maintained its soft, almost hypnotic tone. “Well, child, answer me.”

Helen could barely think, let alone speak. Her few fumbled attempts at playing with herself had been so racked with guilt that they had been joyless and Rob’s clumsy groping had never been even vaguely erotic but this, this insistent rhythm, was overwhelming her, leaving her powerless to resist. The last shreds of her guilt knew she ought to fight it, knew she ought to say no but the little girl inside her knew she was naughty, knew she did have naughty thoughts and knew she had to submit to her mistresses will, to take her medicine, for good or for ill.

All the time Sam was increasing the intensity and Helen couldn’t help but respond, moving her hips, pushing back, riding Sam’s fingers as much as they were riding her.

“That’s it, that’s the way.” Sam urged. “Now we’re seeing what you’re really like, what a slut you are, what a dirty, nasty, perverted, filthy whore… You’re no better than filth, you need a damn good spanking just to…”

“OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!” The torrent of abuse was enough to push Helen over the edge and Sam never got to finish before Helen’s cry heralded her climax. Her body bucked and thrashed about, pulling against the chains that held her wrists as Sam fought to stay with her, riding the waves, taking her all the way to paradise  until she was spent, exhausted and emotional drained.

When the turmoil finally subsided Helen felt shattered, but completely, blissfully at peace. Oddly she was also trembling like a leaf and she couldn’t help but cry, deep wracking sobs that shook her body. Still straining against the wrist cuffs she rolled towards Sam who hugged her close and kissed away the tears until Helen responded and kissed her back and they lay together, sharing the moment, sharing each other.

It was Sam who broke away first, pulling back and looking lovingly on the still bound form of her friend.

“Are you OK?” She asked tenderly.

“Yes, just a bit overwhelmed. I’ve never… I didn’t know... Oh, Sam, that was fantastic” Helen replied still shaken. Then she glanced up at her wrists.

“Yeah, lets get you unlocked, it’s time we made a move or we won’t be there for the start of the quiz.” Sam got off the bed and reached for the keys to the cuffs.

“What about you?” Helen asked as Sam undid the locks. “I mean, it feels a bit one sided.”

“Don’t you worry about me.” Sam replied. “I’ll get my turn soon enough. Now hurry up and put your jeans on or we’ll be late.”

Helen was too relaxed to hurry but it didn’t take long to put on her panties, jeans and shoes and, ready at last, the two women set out for the pub. Sam had a spring in her step and a twinkle in her eye but Helen was more thoughtful. She  couldn’t shake the memory of all the things Sam had said to her. Sure, those magic fingers had been the centre of her pleasure but they would have been nothing without the words. What was it about being a ‘naughty girl’ that got to her so much, and the sheer intensity of her climax brought on by the torrent of abuse from Sam. And then there was the whole spanking thing, sure Sam hadn’t actually done it but she’d threatened often enough and that had been very much part of the turn on. Helen gave a little shiver as the memory washed through her and Sam, misunderstanding, put her arm around her as they hurried down the road.

At a little past eleven-o-clock the two women were making their way home from the pub. It had been a good evening; they’d done well in the quiz and had a good laugh. It turned out that Sam knew lots of the regulars and they had been in good company all night. As they made their way down the badly lit streets Helen realised they were holding hands. It had seemed so natural she hadn’t even realised it at the time and now, well it still felt right.

However, all was not well with Helen. The nearer she got to home the more her anxiety grew about where her relationship with Sam was going. She’d been foolishly indulgent, she’d let Sam sweet talk her into behaving appallingly, into letting her base desires get the better of her moral upbringing. Her curiosity had got control of her and she’d behaved abominably, rutting with Sam like some sort of animal. And then, in the heat of the moment, she’d agreed to more, agreed to return the favour. As they turned the corner into their street she began to panic; what if Sam wanted them to go to bed together now? What if she insisted? They drew up outside their adjoining front doors.

“Thanks, Helen; it’s been a lovely evening. I have enjoyed myself.” Sam turned to Helen and gave her a demure kiss on the cheek. It was as if their session in bed had never happened.

“I had fun too.” Helen replied slightly shaken at being let off the hook.

“Come round tomorrow night.” Sam went on. “Nothing fancy; I’ll cook something nice and we’ll get a DVD from Blockbusters.”

“Are you sure?” Helen asked. “I don’t want to take up all your time.”

“Don’t be silly, I want you to take up all my time. I like having you around, I wouldn’t have offered otherwise. Just bring yourself and a bottle of white wine. I’ll do the rest.”

“I’d love to. See you tomorrow then.” Helen reached for her front door key.

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.” Sam echoed and the two women went inside their respective houses.

Helen snuggled up in bed and thought about the evening. It wasn’t that going out with Sam had been that special, it was just a pub quiz after all, but any time spent with Sam seemed to make everything special. It had been fun meeting her friends, a very mixed bunch with varying sexual orientation but they seemed to have accepted her as one of their own without any questions. They’d had a good laugh along with the friendly rivalry of the quiz and she’d gained kudos when she had been the only one who’d known that Juliet was a Capulet, not a Montague.

That led on to the far more complex issue of what had happened earlier in Sam’s bedroom. Much as she’d like to, Helen couldn’t lay the blame on Sam; she, herself, had started it by trying on the cuffs in the first place. She also knew that, had she really objected, that Sam would never have gone so far without her consent, that, bound or not, it hadn’t been rape. But maybe rape was what she wanted. With a jolt of comprehension Helen realised that the thought of being raped, of being ravished, of being taken was deeply, darkly, disturbingly thrilling; it sent shivers though her body, shivers which centred in her groin. A kaleidoscope of images went through her mind, images of being bound, held, forced open, forced to perform unspeakable acts; and, far from horrifying her, these images were turning her on, making her hot, making her heart race. Look at her response to being chained; never before had she climaxed, never before had she felt the way she had as Sam had brought her to orgasm and she was perceptive enough to realise that it hadn’t just been Sam’s busy fingers, it had been the restraining cuffs and Sam’s verbal abuse as well. Whether she liked it or not, now that he had tasted it, she wanted, nay needed, to feel like that again.

And in the middle of all these thoughts was Sam, sweet Sam. She’d been brought up to think of women like Sam, and some of her friends from the pub, as perverts, as dirty, as unworthy, as unsafe to leave around children and, now that she was beginning to get to know them, Helen’s mind revolted at such thoughts, and, if neither Sam nor her friends were perverts then maybe… maybe this deep desire within her wasn’t so evil either… As long as it was with Sam… Sam would understand, she could trust Sam… Her eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep.

The next evening, on her way home from work, Helen got off the bus one stop early so as to pass by the off license. She picked out a Chilean Chardonnay which seemed to fit the bill and hurried back to put it in the fridge. Then she went upstairs to bathe and get changed. As she poured some bath oils into to foaming water she felt a bit silly getting all dressed up just to go round for dinner and she didn’t want to over do it but she did want to look her best. She had even nipped out in her lunch break and bought a new matching set of bra and panties, not that Sam would see them, would she?

Dressed at last, she looked at herself in the mirror, wondering how Sam could possibly describe her as ‘attractive’. Still, the light cotton dress she’d chosen was quite flattering and she didn’t look too bad. She went downstairs, grabbed the wine from the fridge and headed round to Sam’s. When she got there the front door was ajar and her knock was answered by a shout from the kitchen to come on through. There she found Sam busy with Salmon steaks in a white sauce, new potatoes and petit pois.  Helen put the wine in the fridge and asked how she could help.

There was an easy harmony as the two women worked together, laying the table, cooking the food, pouring the wine. Helen found she could relax and just be herself without having to watch out for the gaffes she sometimes made that Rob had been so quick to pounce on. It wasn't just that Sam didn't criticise, she also made it clear that she found Helen interesting, her views worth listening to, which made Helen feel valued and appreciated.

After the meal they went through to the lounge, Sam sorted out the DVD and they sat together, side by side on the sofa. It had been a long week and an exhausted Helen was glad that they were not going out on the town; it felt good to slip off her shoes and slide her feet onto the cushions next to her and, if that meant she was leaning up against Sam, well, that’s what friends do, isn’t it? The film was engrossing and Helen hardly noticed when Sam shifted slightly, slipping her arm around Helen’s shoulders; there was something about the physical contact that felt safe, reassuring, and, when Sam started stroking Helen’s hair, that was good as well.

The film finished and Sam, without moving more than was necessary reached for the remotes, turned the TV off and put on some soft music. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she reached down and kissed Helen gently on the lips.  Without even thinking about it Helen responded, turning her head to meet Sam’s, parting her lips, surrendering. The film, the wine, and now the music had all added together to relax Helen into a semi hypnotic state where any qualms about what she was doing were simply meaningless. Furthermore the kiss was electric; Helen felt as if every nerve in her body was alive. The soft, tender touch of lip upon lip was somehow magnified, the room swam and she felt a little giddy. With no rush, no hurry and definitely not breaking the kiss, Sam slid down until they were laying together, side by side, along the sofa.

With the change in position came a change in approach. Sam  now moved on to kissing Helen’s neck, throat and shoulders, teasing at the skin, each touch awakening an ever growing need within Helen. The dress was, like everything else in Helen’s wardrobe, somewhat demure and its limited neckline was restricting the areas Sam could get at. As Sam reached for her collar to gently pull the material aside her arm brushed against Helen’s breasts, adding their message to the tumult within.

Helen’s head leant back, offering herself to Sam’s roving kisses, wanting more, wanting something to satisfy the growing frustration inside. Sam, sweet Sam, was being kind, being gentle, when what she wanted was to be taken, ravaged. The soft tender kisses had set her on fire, a fire that could only be quenched by passion. Again and again the material was pushed to one side but, even stretched to the limit, it still restricted Sam’s kisses. Eventually Helen couldn’t stand the frustration any more.

“Please, please, Sam…” Helen’s voice pleaded.

“What’s up?” Sam asked as she lifted herself up by her arms, looking down on Helen who reached up and grasped the neckline of her dress with both hands.

“Please, Sam…” Helen repeated as, with a sharp tug, she ripped the neck of her dress open, tearing the flimsy material.

“Is this what you want?” Sam asked as she reached down and finished the job, tearing the dress right down to the waistline.

“Yes. Yes, please, Mistress.” Helen whispered in response.

Sam took Helen’s wrists and held them above her head. Then, her passion now unrestrained, returned to kissing Helen’s body. Any remnants of the dress were torn away and the flimsy bra was pushed up exposing Helen’s breasts. Sam teased at the nipples with her lips and then with her teeth, gradually increasing the pressure causing Helen to cry out. The sharp stabbing pain was sending lightning bolts through her, lightning bolts which ran straight to her groin. Although Sam was no longer actually holding her wrists Helen could no more move her arms than if they were held there by steel bars, she was so deep in the moment. Then, just as the pain reached a crescendo, Sam stopped and knelt up, her knees straddling her victim.

“And now it’s my turn.” She said as she stripped off her tee shirt and bra. “Show me how much you want to kiss my breasts.”

Sam leant forward, grasping Helen’s wrists, once again holding them above her head. This very movement had done half the work, her breasts were already poised over Sam’s head and it was a simple movement to lower herself so that her right breast was offered to Helen’s waiting mouth.

The last time Helen had had her lips around a nipple it had been as a baby at her mother’s breast. Now she was feeding a very different need. Unsure of exactly what she was supposed to do she tried to imagine what she would want if the roles were reversed, tenderly teasing out the nipple with her lips, feeling it harden and lengthen. Softly she grasped it with her teeth, trying to gauge just how hard to grasp, and she was rewarded with a whispered ‘that’s right – like that’ from Sam who was increasingly working her groin against Helen, her physical response a more certain indicator than her words could ever be. It wasn’t long, however, before Sam pulled away and with and imperious ‘Bed! Now!’ stood up, and, taking Helen by the hand, almost dragged her upstairs to the bedroom.

As soon as they got there Sam grabbed Helen passionately tearing off the remnants of her dress, removing her bra and sliding down her panties. Then she almost threw Helen onto the bed before sliding down her own jeans and panties and climbing onto the bed to straddle her. For a moment or two their eyes locked and there seemed to be an understanding that somewhere within the role play there were two people who cared very much for each other, that wanted to share something special.

Slowly Helen raised her arms above her head and glanced across at the cuffs hanging from the hook. Sam bent down and kissed her.

“Not tonight.” She whispered. “Let’s see what it’s like without the cuffs.”

Again Sam started kissing Helen, starting with her lips and moving south. Helen had never felt anything like this before, the symphony of kisses ranging from the lightest touch of a butterfly’s wing to the violent edge of passion, but, more than that it was where she was being kissed. Her neck, her shoulders, her torso, her belly, her arms, her legs; in fact anywhere except for her breasts and groin were covered and Helen was discovering whole new areas which seemed to be directly connected to her groin by networks of tiny golden wires, each one singing its own tune of pleasure.

And then Sam started to concentrate on the tops of her thighs, the bottom of her belly, moving ever closer to her centre. It was obvious where this was leading and Helen was getting increasingly apprehensive. Oral sex had always been firmly one of the ‘thou shall not’s, a degrading act performed by perverts. Rob had tried to get her to do it and she’d always refused. Surely thought Helen she can’t be going to kiss me there? It’s not clean, it’s where I pee from, it’s disgust…

With a shock Helen felt her labia eased apart and, except for her submissive role, she would have objected. However, those objections were soon pushed away as wave upon wave of exquisite sensation flowed through her body. Yesterday Sam’s fingers had been bliss, today her tongue was on a different level altogether. Nothing could have prepared her for just how wonderful this felt. Unbidden her arms dropped from above her head and she caressed her rib cage, her sides her breasts. She could hardly believe the intensity, the power the feeling of being overwhelmed that was centred around her groin. Sam’s tongue had settled down to a steady rhythm and each beat of that drum was pushing her higher, higher until it became almost unbearable, a tension that had to give, a pressure that couldn’t be resisted, she was losing control, and then…

“Oh My God! Oh, Sam! Oh, Yes! Oh, Yes! Oh  YESSSS!!” The wave broke, Helen arched her back as years and years of suppressed emotion welled from her. For a moment or two all she was aware of was an ecstatic state of paradise, never, ever, had she felt like this before… until, unable to hold it any longer she sank back down onto the bed.

Slowly she recovered full consciousness to find Sam lying beside her, holding her, stroking her hair.

“Wow, that was… that was…” Helen was still overcome by emotions.

“Shhh…” Sam replied. “I think the whole street knows just how good that one was.”

“Oh my God! Was I loud?” Helen replied, horrified.

“Just a bit, but don’t worry about it. Anyway, get your breath back and then it’s my turn.”

Helen was overtaken by a another rash of nerves. Lying there whilst Sam had kissed her ‘down there’ had been one thing, she could, at least, pretend that it was being forced on her but now it was going to be the other way around. She could see that this was only fair, that to refuse would be not only churlish but selfish as well, but kissing someone where they peed, surely that would be disgusting.

“Sam, I don’t think I can?” She said hesitantly.

“Oh? Why not?” Sam asked.

“It’s just… It’s just… I don’t know how.” There, she’d found the perfect excuse.

“Well I’m just going to have to teach you then.” Sam countered.

“Look, Sam, I know you’ve just done it but it feels wrong, it will be all yucky, kissing where you pee. I don’t think I can.” Helen felt as if she was being forced into a corner.

“You don’t know what it tastes like, do you?” Sam was obviously not going to let this one go.

“No, of course not.” Helen replied.

“Then why don’t you find out? Look, let’s make this easy, have a taste first. Put your finger inside me and then see what it's like.” Sam’s voice was firm, she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

“But…” Helen prevaricated, trying to put off the inevitable.

“Look, you’re new, you’re nervous, so I’m being easy on you but if you don’t do as your told right now I’ll put you over my knee and spank you till you scream and you’ll still have to do it. Is that understood?” This time the edge of steel was all too apparent.

“Yes, Mistress.” Helen replied meekly.

Sam rolled onto her back and took Helen’s hand, sliding it down her tummy moving towards her groin. Tentatively Helen continued, pushing past Sam’s pubic hairs, feeling for her labia and, having found them, slipping her forefinger between the fleshy folds. It took an effort of will to continue; she had never touched another woman like this before, after all she had hardly touched herself like this beyond the requirements of hygiene, and she was surprised to find out how slippery it all was.

“Go on, further than that.” Sam urged. Helen complied, feeling with her finger the entrance to Sam’s vagina and slipping in as far as her first knuckle. It felt pleasantly strange, warm and smooth; she even probed around a bit, pushing her finger just a little further in.

“There, that wasn’t too hard was it. Ok, now it's time to have a taste. See how ‘yucky’ it really is.” Helen removed her hand and brought it up to her face. Her eyes met Sam’s and she reached out with her tongue and licked the very tip of her finger.

“More than that. Go on, really have a taste.” Sam was relentless.

Helen took the plunge and licked her finger properly. There was a certain animal quality but it wasn’t as bad as she had expected and certainly didn’t taste of pee.

“Well, does it taste ‘yucky’?” Sam inquired.

“No. Sorry, Sam, it’s not yucky at all.” Helen replied.

Sam just gestured with her eyes and Helen slid down the bed until her head was over Sam’s groin. Here the earthy animal smell was stronger but she couldn’t back out now, she was too much under the thrall of Sam’s threat. Furthermore, the more she progressed, the more it seemed to be right; she had slid right off the end of the bed and was on her knees, on her knees in front of her captor and about to perform ‘unspeakable’ acts under duress. She bent her head forward and set to work.

At first Helen just kissed the outer lips, keeping her own lips closed, nervous about taking the plunge but she felt a deep sense of being ‘in role’, a role she had never really known before but one she now felt she was born to play. Here, knelt before her cruel captor, she had no option but to obey and her role as supplicant was to worship or pay the price. Cautiously she eased apart the outer lips with her tongue. Here the taste was far stronger than on her finger but it was curiously intoxicating; each time she failed to be revolted made the next taste that bit easier and she found herself searching out the nooks and crannies, wanting more.

Remembering what Sam had done for her, what had felt good, what had worked, she searched out Sam’s clitoris, licking it gently with the tip of her tongue. An ‘Ooh, yes, that’s good, like that but a bit harder’ from Sam told her she was on the right tracks and she increased the pressure as Sam had demanded. The more she worked the more swollen the nub of Sam’s clitoris got and the easier it was to do. Occasionally Sam would urge her to go harder but there were far easier signs that she was doing the right thing; Sam was far from still, her muscles tensed and relaxed as the waves within her rose and fell and, from time to time, she would give a groan of ‘Oh, Yes!’ or little cries of pleasure. Helen could feel that Sam was getting close, that there was a tension inside her which was demanding release and when Sam reached down and grasped her head she realised she was close and she increased the intensity until she was rewarded with a massive groan of pleasure as Sam climaxed.

Neither woman moved for a while, Sam laid full length on the bed catching her breath, Helen still on her knees at the foot of the bed. Then Sam rolled over, saw Helen, and demanded she get back on the bed for a hug. She pulled aside the duvet allowing the two women to snuggle down beneath it; they didn’t need the warmth but it added to the intimacy.

“So, how do you like licking pussy?” Sam teased after they had kissed for a while. “You’re not bad for a beginner.”

Now that the heat of the moment was over Helen was feeling shy again and she couldn’t look Sam in the eye. Once again she’d allowed Sam to take advantage of her, no, that wasn’t right, she had been a more than willing victim from the start. She’d even ripped her own dress apart; how could she have done that? Now, here she was, naked and in bed, cuddling under the covers. Sam drew back a bit and, putting her fingers under Helen's chin, lifted her head so that their eyes met.

“What’s up, Helen? Second thoughts?” She asked softly.

“I don’t know, Sam.” Helen replied. “It all seemed to happen so quickly.”

“Do you know your problem?” Sam continued. “You’re scared of what you like. You’ve so much nonsense in your head that it gets in the way of what your body’s saying. And what about earlier, ripping your own dress open, almost begging me to cuff you. You weren’t so unsure then, were you?”

“No, I wasn’t, but I got carried away, I wasn’t thinking.” Helen replied.

“No, you weren’t thinking, you were feeling; that's the point. And you loved every minute of it, didn’t you? Be honest.” Sam was more insistent.

“I… I… Yes, Sam, I did.” Helen went to drop her head again in shame but Sam held it steady.

“Well, I can see what you like, what it is you want, what it is that turns you on and I’ve just set myself a target and that’s to be your teacher, to show you, whether you like it or not, what it is that makes you tick. I’m the teacher, you’re the pupil and, if you don’t do as I say I might have to punish you, but that’s part of what you like, isn’t it?”

“I… I don’t know.” Helen was getting quite scared. Had Sam seen through her quite so clearly.

“Oh yes you do. Now, repeat after me – ‘You’re the teacher, I’m the pupil and I must do as you say’.” The edge of steel had returned to Sam’s voice.

“You’re the teacher; I’m the pupil and I must do as you say.” Helen said eventually.

“Quite right, and lesson one is to come here and give me a another kiss. We’ve a whole lot more love making to do before it’s time for sleep.” Sam gathered Helen into her arms and they kissed, deep and passionately.

The curtains, too thin to be fully effective, gave the room a warm yellow light as the early morning sunlight made them glow. It took Helen a moment or two to remember where she was but, there, right next to her, was Sam, still sleeping soundly. She cast her mind back to the previous night when, time and time again, she and Sam had explored each others bodies, finding new ways to touch, new ways to feel, new ways to share. She felt an overwhelming desire just to fling the curtains and windows wide and shout, to tell the whole world just how good it had been.

This joy, however, was brought up short by the thought of what would happen were she to actually do that. She knew only too well how some people felt, even in these modern liberated times; how she would never be able to face her parents or her preacher  were she to admit what she had just done. And with that thought back came all the doubts, all the uncertainties, but, if this was wrong then Sam was wrong, Sam who had shown nothing but care and concern, sympathy and understanding. All her old beliefs had been shaken to the core, the rights and wrongs turned upside down. She could hear the preacher’s words in her head and they sounded like a diatribe of a hateful old man whereas Sam, sweet Sam, was just the opposite. She snuggled back down under the covers and lay still, watching her new found lover sleep.

Helen must have drifted off again because the next thing she knew was being woken by a kiss from Sam.

“Good morning, sleepyhead. Did you sleep well?” Sam asked.

“Like a log.” Helen replied contentedly cuddling up to Sam and returning the kiss.

“Good because it’s time to start his morning’s lesson. I’ll have breakfast in bed, tea and toast. You can make some for yourself as well if you want. Off you go.”

“Ok.” Helen slipped out of bed, grabbed Sam’s dressing gown from behind the door and went down to the kitchen. It didn’t take long before she had a tray all laden with teapot, cups, milk, toast and butter and was returning upstairs to the bedroom. She pushed the door open went in and put the tray down on the dressing table. Sam, who was now sitting up in bed, smiled sweetly at her.

“My, oh, my. We have got a lot to learn, haven’t we?” Sam said sweetly. “Let’s see if we can work out all the things you got wrong.”

“Wrong?” Helen echoed.

“Oh, yes.” Sam continued. “I seem to recall that last night we agreed that you needed training, that I’m the teacher, and you’re the pupil. Do you remember?”

“Yes, I remember.” Helen replied anxiously.

“Yes, what?” Sam demanded.

“Yes…err… Miss.” Helen returned after some thought.

“That’s better, but you've failed to address me properly several times already this morning and that alone deserves a good spanking. And you can add to that wearing my dressing gown without my express permission and failing to curtsey. All in all I reckon twelve smacks ought to do the trick.” Sam seemed amused by the prospect.

“Twelve smacks, Miss?” Helen wasn’t at all sure about this.

“Yes, and it will be more if you don’t get that dressing gown off right now.” Sam snapped.

Helen quickly took off the dressing gown and hung it up on its hook on the back of the door. Then she turned back towards the bed and gave a nervous bob in an attempt at a curtsey.

“That’s better. Now, pass me my tea and toast before it gets cold and come over here and stand next to the bed.”

Helen handed Sam her breakfast, adding another attempt at a curtsey for good measure. Sam told Helen to stay standing beside the bed; idly she brushed her fingers through Helen’s pubic hair commenting on how bushy it was, how it needed a good trim. She chided Helen for slouching, telling her to stand up straight with her arms clasped behind her back and her feet slightly apart. Being stood like this, with the semi-formal pose, the enforced silence whilst being critically examined and found wanting was horribly reminiscent of her school days, of being called before the headmistress and this was reinforced by the knowledge that she was awaiting chastisement. Was it this, or Sam’s busy fingers that was turning her on, making her hot and bothered?

Whilst Sam was drinking her tea and eating her toast with one hand her other still played idly at Helen’s groin, gently teasing open her labia and probing within. For Helen this casual intimacy, having someone touching her in the most intimate way possible with no control, no way of stopping them, was striking a chord deep within her. The very way she was stood, stark naked, the position of her arms thrusting out her breasts, her open legs emphasising the availability of her sex, ran counter to every shred of modesty within her and she had to fight an overwhelming desire to cover herself but, as she was under orders, she was forced to stand like this and the threat of further spanking were she to refuse was somehow adding to the thrill,  It wasn’t just the fact that Sam was undoubtedly skilled with her fingers that was turning her on, it was as much about the fact her fingers were there in the first place. Whichever, not being made of stone, she couldn’t help but respond and, somewhat against her better judgement, she found herself pushing her his forward.

“It looks like someone’s getting turned on.” Sam commented lightly. “Do you like this? Do you like me playing with you?”

“Yes, Miss.” Helen replied.

“Do you want me to continue?” Sam asked.

“Yes, please, Miss.”

“In which case I think you ought to play with your nipples. I shouldn’t have to do all the work.” Sam’s forefinger, sliding smoothly through the increasingly lubricated folds of Helen’s vagina was concentrating more and more on the area around the clitoris, making smooth circular motions.

Helen reluctantly brought her hands up in front of her and cupped her breasts. This was far more difficult; it’s one thing to submit to the ministrations of a captor, it’s another to actively participate. This went hard against everything that she had been taught as a girl; touching yourself for sexual gratification was so wrong…

“Come along.” Sam reproached. “Do it properly and stop hiding your breasts. I want to watch.”

Their eyes locked and, as if mesmerised by Sam, Helen moved her hands so that her nipples were grasped between the tips of her thumbs and index fingers. The tension within her, the stark contrast between the shame at acting so brazenly and the delicious feelings it was engendering, was pushing Helen rapidly towards a climax; she could feel her legs shaking, her heart pounding; she was getting short of breath…

“Ok, that’s enough. Stop now.” Sam said briskly.

“Please… I…” Helen stuttered.

“Get those hands off your tits and behind your back – now!” Sam barked. Helen hurried to obey.

“Right, I think it’s about time we got on with your spanking.” Sam slipped out of bed, went over to her dressing table and sat down on the chair in front of it. “Come along now, over my knee.”

It was a bit awkward in the crowded bedroom but Helen wasn’t going to back out now and, guided by Sam, she lay down across her lap. As Sam arranged her to her own satisfaction, taking her wrist and clamping it in the small of her back, Helen was finding that the line between reality and fantasy was getting blurred. Part of her, most of her, knew she was a grown woman, that this was some sort of sex game that Sam had initiated. However a growing part of her had reverted to childhood; she was that naughty little girl powerless at the hands of her teacher. She could feel Sam’s hand rearranging her, getting her settled and, in her mind, it was as if her skirt was being lifted, her panties pulled down. Her face burned with embarrassment, the embarrassment of being exposed, of being in the undignified position due to the penitent. All this added to the confusion of emotions that roiled within her, she was both scared and excited, she wanted to stop, this had gone too far, but, for all her fears, she knew she wanted, no needed, to feel the punishment; she’d been a naughty girl and only a well smacked bottom could provide redemption.

She felt Sam lean forward, taking something off the dressing table and then, without any warning, the firm thwapp as the first blow of the hairbrush landed across her buttocks. Sam wasn’t pulling her punches and the shock of the pain made Helen jerk and only the firm grip of Sam’s hand around her wrist stopped her from falling. However she had hardly registered this before the second blow fell, and the third, and the fourth.

As Helen bucked and writhed across Sam’s lap she was so deep into her role that she never once thought of protesting. The pain was sharp, intense, not unbearable but enough to make her tears fell freely as she begged for forgiveness and promised she'd be good in future. But these were the tears of a child, a little girl across her teacher’s lap and she never expected her entreaties to be heard, let alone acted upon.

At last it was over and, for a moment or two, neither woman moved, Helen was still crying and trying to get her breath back and Sam just held her, allowing her to recover. Then Sam, released Helen’s wrist, reached forward again and Helen felt a soothing coolness as Sam eased some sort of cream across Helen’s battered flesh.

“And is my little girl sorry?” Sam enquired. “Has she learnt her lesson?”

“Yes, Miss. Thank you, Miss.” Helen replied. The cool cream felt so soothing against the fire that was her buttocks and Sam was applying it liberally, spreading the it far beyond the directly affected area. Helen felt Sam’s hand easing between her thighs and, without thinking about it opened herself up further, making herself more available. She could feel Sam’s fingers getting closer and closer, she hadn’t realised just how aroused she was, it was as if one touch would push her over the edge. She flexed her body, offering herself up, hoping, praying that Sam’s fingers would go just that little bit further, surely she understood how much she needed it. She could feel the soft touch along the line of her labia, opening her up. Just one touch, that’s all she needed, just one touch on her throbbing clitoris…

“Right then.” Sam was suddenly all businesslike. “I think it’s time we both took a shower.”

Helen was flabbergasted. How could Sam leave her like this, right on the edge, so close to her release? She let out a groan and wiggled her buttocks as if to offer herself.

“Come along now, punishment’s over, what do you say?” Sam gently eased Helen off her lap so that she was kneeling on the floor in front of her.

“Thank you, thank you, Miss.” Helen said laying her head on Sam’s lap. She could smell the sweet smell of Sam’s arousal; she wasn’t the only one to be close to the edge. She kissed Sam’s thigh, maybe she could persuade her…

“No time for that.” Sam was blunt, matter of fact. “Come along now. We both need a shower; the hot water tank isn’t big enough for two we’ll have to share.”

Sam stood up and headed for the door. Exasperated, Helen cold only follow, wondering if Sam’s hot water tank really was that small or whether it was just an excuse for more contact. Whichever, she was still the pupil in this relationship and she had to follow.

When they got to the bathroom Sam looked in the medicine cabinet and produced an electric razor with a selection hair trimming attachments. Helen had little choice but to stand there as Sam selected the shortest clipping length and, in no time, had Helen’s pubic bush trimmed to a light fuzz. She then handed the razor to Helen

“Here, you tidy up a bit, trim round the edges; I’ll sort out the shower.” Whilst Sam fiddled with the taps, getting the right temperature, Helen put one foot on the edge of the bath and used the razor to get to the bits Sam had either missed or couldn’t reach easily. She had to hurry as, in no time, Sam had sorted out the right temperature and was urging her into the shower. Inside the cubical it was rather cramped and it was only practical that the two women should wash each other. Here the Mistress/pupil role was gone; it was simply two women sharing the pleasure as the hot water cascaded over them. When Sam got to washing Helen’s newly shaven pubic mound the touch of the soap on the fuzz that was left was a delicious tingle and Helen felt her arousal, never far suppressed, building up once again. To her dismay she couldn’t stop herself, opening up, pushing her groin forward, putting her arm around Sam's shoulders and pulling them together, riding Sam’s hand, acting like the worst sort of brazen hussy.

“You like that, do you, you little slut?” Sam teased.

“Ooh, yes please, Miss.” Helen replied breathlessly.

“Well, there isn’t time now, you’ll have to wait. Come along, my back needs washing.”

Their shower over, they returned to the bedroom and Helen realised that she hadn’t any clothes to wear. Her underwear was OK, if a bit manky, but her dress… She picked it up off the floor and looked at the tattered remnants. How could she have been so carried away, the tear was right across the bodice, it was only fit for rags now.

“Sam,” she said tentatively. “I need to nip next door, to fetch something to wear. I can’t wear this and I need some clean undies.”

“Oh, no you don’t. I’ve got plans for you.” Sam replied with a laugh. “We’re going shopping, we're going to get you a new dress, something a bit sexier than those dowdy things you normally wear and, as for undies; I don’t think you need bother today. Here,” She rummaged about in a draw and produced a tracksuit. “You can wear this until we get you sorted.”

“But, Sam…” Helen protested.

“But nothing.” Sam replied curtly. “You’ll do as you’re told or you’ll get another spanking, is that understood.”

“Yes, Miss.” Helen replied meekly as she took the tracksuit and started to put it on. It was somehow deeply disturbing to be without a bra or panties. Sure, in purely practical terms they made little difference; she didn't need panties under the tracksuit and she was realistic enough about the size of her breasts to acknowledge that she didn’t really need a bra either but, it wasn’t the practicalities which disturbed her; there was something much deeper, something that made it feel as if she were going out naked, that anyone who saw her would know. She knew this was ridiculous but she couldn’t shake the feeling. She grabbed a quick bite of toast and a lukewarm cup of tea before reaching for the hairdryer to sort out her still damp hair. Meanwhile Sam had got dressed in jeans and a tee shirt and they were nearly ready to go when she reached for her mobile and pressed a speed dial number.

“Hi, Bernard.” She said once the connection was made. “Do you remember that favour you owe me, well, I’m calling it in. I need a haircut, this morning, yeah, I know it’s a Saturday but, come on, you really owe me.”

Helen could hear Bernard’s protests but, once Sam was on a roll, she was unstoppable and they ended up with an appointment for eleven thirty. Once this was sorted they headed out for the town centre.

Helen couldn’t help but be concerned. She had a few pounds left in her purse but, truth be told, she was struggling a bit that month. Some unexpected bills had come in including an outstanding debt that Rob had accrued but which had been in joint names. It was part of the ongoing injustice that she was finding she was liable for all sorts of things which she had never dreamed of coming back to haunt her. The nett result was that shopping was not high on her agenda. Sam, however, was as unstoppable as ever and, hand in hand, they headed for the market.

When they got there Helen was aghast at what Sam was looking at. Helen’s tastes were conservative, it didn’t do to dress up like a floozy, nice girls didn’t dress provocatively, all the maxims from her childhood had steered her towards the more conventional end of the range. She certainly had never considered buying clothes from the market. However, that was exactly where Sam was taking her and, before she knew it, Sam was holding up dress after dress, measuring them against her. She finally plumped on a halter neck sun dress. The market stall had an area cordoned off with tarpaulins to act as a changing room and Sam hustled Helen inside to try it on. Helen was horrified; she had to take off her tracksuit to try on the dress and she had nothing on underneath. However her protests were brushed aside by Sam; Helen was fast learning that when Sam set her mind to something then nothing was going to stop her. Once she had got the dress on things weren’t much better; the day was plenty warm enough but, even with panties on, she would never have dreamt of going out in public dressed like this; round the pool or in the privacy of her back garden, maybe, but out on the street, never! However, before she could say or do anything Sam had bundled up the tracksuit and left the changing area. Helen could hear her through the tarpaulin paying for the dress and asking for a bag for the track suit. Once again she looked in the full length mirror in the makeshift dressing room. Maybe it wasn’t too bad; the hemline was mid thigh so, as long as she didn’t bend over it shouldn’t be too risque and the dress was meant to be worn without a bra after all, and, well, she didn’t have any choice did she?

Once she was back outside she couldn’t stop thinking about her lack of panties. There was a slight breeze and she could feel the dress moving as she walked. She felt as if the slightest misstep would have the dress around her waist, that the whole world, or at least all those visiting the market on this busy Saturday, would see just how she was dressed, just what a trollop she was. She crossed her arms in front of her, subconsciously trying to cover her breasts but Sam insisted that she carry the shopping bag and took her other hand so she could do nothing to protect her modesty.

When they got to the hair salon Helen spotted Bernard immediately. He was dressed in a bright floral shirt and tight leather pants and he wore an ornate necklace which sparkled in the sunlight which filtered through the shop window. She had seldom, if ever, seen such an openly ‘out’ gay man. He minced across the salon and greeted Sam with a kiss on each cheek.

“Sam, sweetie, what’s so urgent that I have to do it on a busy Saturday.” He asked.

Sam grabbed Helen by the arm and pulled her forward.

“This, this is urgent. She needs bringing into the twenty first century. Something a lot shorter, not too lezzy but… Well, you know what I mean.”

Bernard went over to Helen and played around with her hair.

“Yeah, I can fix this.” He said after a while. “Why don’t you go next door to the café, leave girlfriend and I to sort it out.”

“No way, I want to stay and watch.” Sam insisted.

“An artist cannot work whilst critics are watching. If you stay then there’s no haircut.” Bernard was suddenly her equal.

For a moment the two protagonists just stared at each other before, reluctantly, Sam left and Helen and Bernard went over to the chairs.

“Look, Helen” Bernard said once she was settled. “Are you sure you want this. I know what Sam is like; I know it can be difficult to say no to her. Is this what you want or what Sam wants.”

Helen sighed with relief. Sam had pushed her from pillar to post, never giving her the chance to say ‘no’ and now Bernard was offering her a way out. Now she understood why Bernard had insisted that Sam go next door, so that they could have this chat; he obviously did know Sam well. But that left the question, did she want the cut or not?

“I don’t know, Bernard, I really don’t. What do you think? Will shorter hair suit me?”

“Girlfriend, if short is what you want then when I’ve finished with you you’ll look fabulous. You’ve got great hair and it really does need more styling than this. I promise I won’t let you down. Now, do you trust me?”

“Yes, yes I do trust you, and yes, I do want a new style. Bernard, I’m in your hands.” With a sense of having crossed a Rubicon Helen lay back and let Bernard get to work.

“So, are you and Sam an item then?” Bernard asked as his scissors clipped away.

“Err… I guess so.” Helen replied.

“You guess so? You don’t sound very sure.”

“It’s just, I’m a bit new to all this, I’ve never been…” Helen said uncertainly.

“You’ve never been in a lesbian relationship before? Hey, I can relate to that, we all can. Have you told anyone yet?”

“No, you’re the first to know. Well, we met some friends down at the pub the other night and they might have guessed but, we hadn’t exactly… Well, you’re the first to know officially, as it were.”

“Ooh, I’m honoured. Tell me all, how did you meet?”

As they chatted away Helen found that Bernard was really nice, really understanding and, behind a friendly and open demeanour, fiercely protective of his friends. Just a short while back Helen would have run a mile from anyone so openly gay and some of the preconceptions she had had previously now made her cringe with embarrassment. She was really glad to get to know Bernard and hoped that he would become part of their social circle. She was so deep in conversation that she hardly noticed as clump after clump of hair fell to the floor around her. Eventually Bernard declared himself satisfied and Helen looked at herself in the mirror.

A complete stranger stared back, this strange woman looked younger, more confident, stronger. The style was very short but still very feminine, she looked like something out of a magazine. Surely a simple haircut couldn’t make that much difference but…

“Wow! Bernard! You’re fantastic!” Helen exclaimed. “I never knew I could look like this.”

“I gather you like it then.” Bernard replied.

“Oh, yes. Thank you, thank you so much.” Helen jumped up out of the chair and kissed Bernard on the cheek.

“You’re more than welcome. Now, remember what I said about Sam. She thinks she’s a tough cookie, she looks like a tough cookie, but there’s a little girl in there that needs love. Make her happy, she deserves it, and you’ll never find a better friend.” Bernard ruffled his fingers through the her hair. “Now, run along, she’s waiting for you in the café next door.”

Helen thanked Bernard profusely promising that she’d be back as soon as she needed anything doing to her hair and then went next door to the café. Sam was sitting over a cup of tea looking bored and dejected but, as soon as she saw Helen she brightened up.

“Wow! Look at you!” Sam exclaimed. “I knew Bernard wouldn’t let us down.”

“Yeah, it’s… different.” Helen replied.

“Different? You look great. Now sit down and we’ll have some lunch.”  The waitress came over and they both chose salads off the lunch menu. As they ate Sam couldn’t stop reaching up and running her fingers through Helen’s hair, fascinated by how it felt now that it was so much shorter. They laughed and joked over the meal and Helen relaxed sufficiently that was almost able to forget just how she was dressed; this was turning out to be just another Saturday out shopping with her friend. When the time came to pay Sam got out her purse and riffled through it.

“Please, Sam, I’ll pay for lunch. It’s the least I can do.” Helen urged.

“Will you, thanks, I appreciate that but it’s not what I’m checking for.” Sam replied. “I was looking to see if I have enough cash for… Oh fuck it; I’ll put it on the plastic; why have credit cards if you don’t use them.”

“Sam!” Helen retorted, shocked by her friends language. “Anyway, we’ll put what on the plastic?”

“You’ll see. We haven’t finished shopping yet. Now settle up if you’re paying and we’ll get going.”

After Helen had paid the bill and the two women headed back out onto the High Street. Sam, as ever, took the lead with Helen carrying the bags. As she followed along the crowded pavements she noticed Sam must have been shopping whilst she was getting her hair cut as the bag with the track suit in it was considerably bulkier but she didn’t have time to look inside and see what she had purchased. When they got to the bottom of the High St and Helen was horrified to see that they were heading for Ann Winters, the local branch of a national chain of shops selling ‘marital aids’ as they so coyly put it. Helen was blushing just to be seen standing outside it; she had never, ever, considered going inside. The window displays were of lingerie sets that she considered the ultimate in tacky; who could possibly want fur lined split crotch panties, none but the cheapest of whores would be seen dead in anything like that. To her dismay Sam grabbed her hand and dragged her inside.

“Sam, Sam, what are we doing in here?” Helen hissed, trying to keep her voice down. A rather bored shop assistant looked up but said nothing. Helen blushed beetroot.

Sam ignored her and went over to the displays, picked up a vibrator and playfully pointed it at her friend. Helen was far from an expert but surely no man could ever be that large, the very thought of putting something like that inside her made her shudder, though whether with disgust or maybe a tinge of something else was anybody’s guess.

“What’s up?” Sam joshed. “Too big for you, I thought that you had been married.”

“Sam, please.” Helen did not see the joke and was getting increasingly uncomfortable.

“OK, this isn’t what we’re here for anyway. Come on, it’s round the back.”

The shop was arranged in such a way that the various display screens cordoned off various parts of the shop. Near the entrance were reasonably inoffensive items, things like fantasy outfits, lingerie and vibrators but, as they made their way to the back of the shop it got more risqué and they found the display of leatherwear. Helen, still acutely embarrassed at being in a sex shop, felt a little more comfortable now that she was out of view of the shop assistants but the blinking red light on a security CCTV camera reminded her that there were other ways of being watched.

“Right then, we need a paddle, something a bit better than the hairbrush. As it’s your bottom that’s going to feel it I think it only appropriate that you should choose. Let’s see what they’ve got” Sam wandered over to the selection and picked up what looked like a leather table tennis bat. “Something like this perhaps?”

“Sam!” Helen hissed, aware that the shop assistants were just the other side of the display screens. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can, and you will.” Sam replied firmly. “I’d get on with it if I were you, if I have to choose it will be the worse for your bottom.”

Seeing the resolve in her face Helen reluctantly joined Sam over to the display. There was the inevitable school cane, bendy and whippy. She was no stranger to those; a teacher at the church school she had attended had been all too fond of using one. However, remembering how the hairbrush had felt, she was more intrigued by the leather paddles. There was one about three inches wide and maybe five inches long which somehow spoke to her; whilst it wasn’t too brutal it was certainly enough to do its job, to punish naughty little girls. She picked it up and swished it back and forth wondering what it would feel like.

“This one, I think.” She said, handing it to Sam.

“What was that?” Sam asked.

Helen suddenly realised where she had gone wrong.

“Please, Miss, please may we have this one.” She said, holding the paddle out and giving a curtsey.

“That’s better.” Sam took the paddle from Helen and appeared to be examining it. Suddenly she reached down, flipped up the rear hem of Helen’s dress and slapped the paddle across her buttocks.

“Ow! Sam!” Helen turned to remonstrate but saw the look on Sam’s face. “Thank you, Miss.” She said, hanging her head.

Secretly Sam was delighted. Firstly the paddle, whilst not the cheapest in the store, wasn’t that expensive; it wouldn’t make too big a dent when the credit card bill came in at the end of the month. Secondly it was roughly what she would have chosen. It showed that they were both thinking along the same lines. The paddle would certainly sting, and Helen was in for a lot of bright red bottoms, but it wasn’t so harsh as to risk injury nor was it so feeble so as to be purely symbolic. Smiling to herself she went to the desk to pay. As the assistant wrapped the paddle she saw some bits and pieces on the display stand and added them to the purchase.

Helen stood apart. She was sure that the assistants would have heard her cry out; how could they not in the confines of the shop and her right buttock was still stinging from the slap Sam had given her. Had they watched? Of course they had, that was what the CCTV was there for. They were being very matter of fact about everything but seemed to be taking forever to settle the bill, Sam had even added something else but Helen’s view was blocked and she couldn’t see what. But finally, with everything suitably wrapped in a plain paper bag, they were off, back out onto the street. Once there Helen found herself shaking.

“Helen, are you OK?”  Sam was instantly concerned for the welfare of her friend.

“Yeah, I guess so; I’m sorry, I feel a bit foolish but I’ve never been in one of those shops before.” Helen admitted.

“Really? Where did you buy your vibrator?” Sam asked.

“I haven’t got one. I’ve never… Look, I can’t talk about this in public.”

“OK, but… Hey, look, there’s our bus. Quick, we can just catch it.” Sam took Helen’s hand and they rushed across the road just in time to catch the number fourteen which would take them home. Once they had settled down Sam leaned over to Helen.

“So, Miss Innocent, are you telling me you’ve never owned a vibrator?” She asked.

“Of course not. Playing with yourself is disgusting.” Helen begun before she realised what she was saying. “Look, Sam, it’s the way I was brought up, OK? I was taught that touching myself ‘down there’ was wicked, that I’d burn in hell. Please, Sam, don’t laugh.”

“I’m not laughing, well, maybe just a bit.” Sam put her arm round Helen. “Look, if you’ll end up burning in hell at least I’ll be there with you.” Sam gently kissed Helen on the cheek. Mollified Helen snuggled up to Sam as the bus made its way through the crowded streets. Somehow hell didn’t sound so bad with Sam there to share it.

Home at last Helen Sam slumped in an armchair and demanded that Helen go make the tea. Helen, realising that they were back in role, back plying the game, gave a curtsey and went to the kitchen to put on the kettle. On the way her reflection in the hall mirror was a reminder of just how much had changed, the short dress and the radical haircut had transformed her into someone she had never been before, the woman in the mirror was strong, independent and lived life her own way, not the meek little mouse she had always been. However, this strong, independent woman was still under orders so she hurried off to the kitchen.

When she returned with the tea she placed the tray on the coffee table and, at Sam’s bidding, sat down cross legged in front of her. Sam kicked off her shoes, rested her feet on Helen’s lap and demanded a foot massage. Was it coincidence that her heel was resting against Helen’s pubic mound?

“So, you’ve never owned a vibrator?” Sam asked.

“Please, Sam, don’t tease, you know how I used to be.” Helen returned.

“And what about now? Will you be buying one?” Sam seemed highly amused.

“I don’t know; I haven’t thought about it.” Helen replied nervously, wondering where this conversation was going.

“Good job I bought you this, then.” Sam reached into one of the shopping bags and produced a vibrator. It was eight or nine inches long and shaped like a bullet rather than a penis. The last two inches were shiny, as if they were chrome or silver. She reached back in to the bag and found some batteries and, within moments the vibrator was buzzing away. Helen watched like a rabbit caught in the headlights; she really didn’t know how to react. Sam reached down with her foot and flicked up the hem of Helen’s dress as she handed over the still buzzing object.

“Come along now, you know better than to keep me waiting.” Sam urged. Helen reached for the vibrator. It seemed huge in her hands and there was no way it would fit inside her without some lubrication or foreplay. Her nerves threatened to overcome her; she was being asked, no told, to do something that was alien to her nature, that had been forbidden all her life and to do it not in the secret confines of her bed but sat cross legged on the sitting room floor. She nearly refused but the look on Sam’s face was unrelenting so she reached down, opened herself up and prodded the tip between her labia.

“You really don’t know, do you?” Sam said. “Here, let me show you.”

Sam got up out of the armchair and went round to kneel behind Helen. She wrapped her arms around Helen and taking her by the wrists guided her hands so that the vibrator was resting, point downwards on Helen’s pubic mound, the tip just above her labia. Gently she eased it back and forth, up and down, letting Helen do most of the work.

“Is that any better?” She whispered in her ear. “Every woman has to find her own way; just do what feels good.”

As soon as Sam had repositioned the vibrator Helen had felt the magic tingle and, as she explored the various positions the intensity ebbed and flowed. There, not enough; there, too intense but there, oh yes! The tingle from the vibrator, the warmth of Sam’s arms around her, the fact that she had been sexually aware, if not actually aroused, all day, all combined with a wicked feeling that she was brazenly doing something bad, and loving every minute of it, made a heady mix, a mix she was fast becoming addicted to. She hardly noticed as Sam let her take control, that it was now entirely down to her where the vibrator was positioned and how hard it was pressed against her.

“You like that, don’t you.” Sam whispered.

“Yes, yes, I do.” Helen replied breathlessly

“If you want a little more…” Sam reached down and turned the knurled bottom of the vibrator upping the speed to a higher intensity.

Helen now had both hands clamped against her groin, holding the vibrator lengthways against her slit. Sam’s arms around her made her feel safe and the feel of Sam’s body against her back made this a shared experience. Her whole body started to tense and relax in waves as the sensations from her groin flooded her with a warm golden glow. She tilted her head back, her breathing fast and shallow, her whole body was shaking, she could feel herself nearing…

“And that’s quite enough of that.” Sam said in a ‘matter of fact’ manner as she reached down and snatched the vibrator away. “I seem to remember that you were giving me a foot massage.”

Sam switched off the vibrator and put it on the tea tray where it contrasted oddly with the cups and saucers. She then returned to the armchair and resumed her pose with her feet resting in Helen’s lap.

At first Helen was too flabbergasted to speak; she’d been so close, it had felt so good and then, to stop short like that, her body simply couldn’t change gear fast enough. Absentmindedly she went back to massaging Sam’s feet but she couldn’t concentrate. Helen’s heel was once again lying in her lap and she tried to move so that it rested against her; she couldn’t help herself, she had to get some sort of contact, something to stop the wonderful feelings inside her subsiding. Sam couldn’t help but notice and she wiggled her foot in response.

“What’s up?” She mocked. “Is someone feeling a little bit turned on? Lift up your dress.”

Sam removed her foot long enough for Helen to lift the hem of her dress before returning it to rest deep in Helen’s groin.  Almost in desperation Helen moved so as to rub herself against it but the angle was wrong and she couldn’t quite…

“Well, well, well. You are a randy little cow, aren’t you?” Sam continued her mocking tone. “And you used to be such a good little girl, look at you now, rutting away like a dirty little slut. How badly do you need to come?”

“Please, Miss, very badly, Miss.” And Helen meant it. Being called a slut, a randy little cow, had just added fuel to the fire within. The shame of acting like this, openly rubbing herself against her friend’s foot, just intensified the thrill. She was being bad, so very bad, so wicked and, despite herself, loving every second. She just wished she could get Sam’s foot just a little lower, pressed just a little harder.

“Well, you’re going to have to wait, but I’ve got another treat for you.” Sam reached into the bag and returned with a curious object which looked, at first glance, like something you used to entertain a dog. “These are Smart Balls. Can you guess where they go?”

Sam handed the Smart Balls to Helen and removed her foot. As Helen held them she could feel them move strangely in her hand, there was some kind of weight inside which accentuated every movement and made them wobble. She glanced up at Sam who looked back with that mixture of concern and sternness that typified her role; Helen knew that she would have to obey. Before today she had never inserted anything other than tampons inside her vagina, now, shortly after her first use of a vibrator she was being told to use this thing. She nearly rebelled, nearly called a halt, she knew that Sam would understand but, having gone this far, it seemed a shame to let her squeamishness hold her back now. She reached down with her left hand and opened herself up. With her right she eased the two balls inside her so that only the string was left dangling; it said a great deal about her that the balls slipped in easily and her hands were now sticky with her juices.

“There, that’s better. Now go and wash your hands and don’t let them fall out.”

Helen got up and headed for the bathroom. The Smart Balls gave the strangest sensation; they didn’t exactly stimulate but she would never forget that they were there as every movement was magnified and echoed within her. She also needed to concentrate a bit whilst she walked, clenching her muscles to hold them in. She had no illusions as to what would happen were she to let them fall out; there was still at least one purchase from Ann Winters still unused and she didn’t want to feel the paddle’s sting just yet.

When she’d finished in the bathroom Sam was in the bedroom changing the bedding. Suddenly, it would seem, they had gone from playing games to doing the weekly chores. Helen went in and helped.

The rest of the afternoon had a surreal quality. Sam behaved as if nothing were out of the ordinary; it was Saturday and there were jobs to be done. They agreed that it made sense for Helen to fetch her washing from next door so that they could combine the loads and they worked together, vacuuming and dusting both the houses. However, even without the Smart balls, Helen was constantly aware of her condition. Sam had brought her to the brink time after time and her body, or more specifically her groin, would not let her forget her need. She just couldn’t stop thinking about it. On top of that the short skirt, the lack of panties and the damn Smart balls wobbling away inside her and it felt as if her whole world was focussed on her clitoris. It didn’t help that there was nothing actually holding the Smart balls inside her and, from time to time, Helen had to clench her muscles to ensure they didn’t slip out.

Sam made it all too clear that she was all too aware of Helen’s condition. On the surface they were just two friends sharing the weekend tasks, working together to lighten the load but Helen noticed that she was never alone and that Sam was always watching her, always keeping an eye on what she was doing. Then, from time to time, she would choose a moment when Helen had her hands full to tease and tantalise, to add fuel to the fire. By six-o-clock they were making their meal and Helen was busy slicing mushrooms when Sam came up behind her and wrapped her arms around her clasping her hands across her lower belly.

“How are you doing? Not too hot and bothered?” Sam teased as she inched her hands lower.

“Please, Sam, I need…” Even now Helen had problems saying the words.

“What do you need?” Sam asked the tips of her fingers no just millimetres away from Helen’s labia.

“Please, I need… I need…” Sam’s fingers weren’t making it any easier for Helen.

“Is this what you need?” Sam pulled up the front of Helen’s dress and her hands now rested directly over Helen’s sex, her fingers moving in slow sensuous circles.

“Oh, yes!” Helen replied breathlessly. “Please, Sam… Please, Miss, please don’t tease me any more. I need it so badly.

“What do you need? Say it, say it out loud or I’ll stop.”

“I need to come Miss.” There, she’d said it, she’d admitted her need.

“But good girls don’t get all hot and bothered, do they? Only bad girls need to come.” Sam was calm, reasonable, like a teacher explaining something quite simple to a child. “Have you been a bad girl?”

Helen’s head was reeling, she could hardly think beyond the fantastic sensations that came from Sam’s fingers on her groin. Had she been a bad girl? Her whole upbringing told her so, told her that only immoral sluts abandoned themselves to their animal lusts like this, were so loose that they lost control, becoming slaves to their base desires.

“Yes, Miss, I’ve been a bad girl.” She admitted.

“And does this bad girl deserve to be punished?” Sam continued.

“I… I… Yes, Miss, I do, Miss.” Helen was lost in a tumbling whirl of powerful emotions. On a purely physical side the craving that came from her groin demanded release; she was sure she couldn’t take another let down. On the other hand she was deep, deep into role, a naughty, naughty girl caught in the depths of depravity who needed to feel the sting of the paddle, who needed to absolution that can only come from a well tanned backside.

Sam took her by the hand and led her through to the lounge where she retrieved the paddle they had purchased from the bag which still lay on the coffee table. She sat down on the sofa and unceremoniously flipped Helen across her lap. With her free hand she flipped up the hem of Helen’s dress pulling it up as far as it would go. Then she grabbed Helen’s wrist, locking it behind her back and holding her tight before setting to with the paddle, alternating, first on buttock, then the other.

For Helen the sheer intensity was overwhelming, each sensation piled on top of the last was taking her higher, taking her further. Her bottom was on fire and her tears fell freely but she was more aware of the ever building tension within her groin. She wanted, no needed more; she arched her back, lifting her buttocks, opening her thighs. Surely Sam could see how close she was, how the craving within her was screaming for satisfaction and still the pounding on her rear continued until…

Sam tossed the paddle to the floor and reached between Helen’s thighs, balling her hand into a fist and pushing it hard against Helen's vagina. Helen responded, urgently rubbing herself against the knuckle of Sam’s thumb, desperately humping away until, finally, the dam burst. Helen lost all control, the fire from her buttocks had engulfed her, pushing her over the edge, triggering wave upon wave of sensation as the orgasm crashed within her. She clamped her thighs together and kicked and thrashed as the sheer intensity of the climax overwhelmed her until she could take no more and she flopped like a rag doll, collapsing across Sam’s lap.

For a few moments Sam just let her friend lie there, allowing the shaking and the sobbing to subside. She no longer grasped Helen’s wrist but just held her so as to stop her falling to the floor, stroking her gently. Eventually it was Helen who made the first move, sliding gently until she was on her knees on the floor. She threw her arms around Sam and they hugged and hugged, their emotional closeness matched with a physical one.

“That was… That was…” Helen started.

“Shh. I know, that was pretty intense, wasn’t it?” Sam replied.

“Thank you, thank you.” Helen murmured.

“You’re welcome. We’ll work out just how you can pay me back later, OK?”

“Of course. Look, I need to go to the bathroom.” Helen started to get to her feet. Sam helped her up and they stood, still hugging.

“Off you go then.” Sam said eventually. “You can take the Smart balls out now.”

Smiling to herself Sam watched Helen disappear off upstairs. She was well satisfied with the day’s work and it was far from over yet. Sure, she had spent far too much down at the market but it was worth it. It wasn’t just that she was enjoying the power games; it was far more that she was enjoying watching Helen discover herself, watching her break out of the shell she’d live in for so many years. She went back to the kitchen and got on with the meal.

Rather sheepishly Helen returned to the kitchen to find Sam stirring a tomato sauce for the pasta. She came up behind her friend and wrapped her arms about her.

“Thank you, Sam, that was very special.” She said.

Sam didn’t answer but she switched off the gas under the sauce and turned round and kissed Helen full on the lips. Helen responded without any thoughts of “I’m kissing a woman” or “This is unnatural”; it was simply a kiss between lovers and it was as natural as breathing. For maybe five minutes they stood there, locked together, until Sam broke away.

“I’d love just to stay here and kiss you all night.” She purred. “But if we don’t get on with dinner then we’re never going to get out.”

“Out?” Helen queried. “Where are we going?”

“There’s this club I know, girls only place, and there’s a crowd I hang out with who tend to meet up there on Saturdays. I thought we’d go down and I’d show you off to my friends.”

“Show me off? I’m not at all sure about that.” Helen replied with an air of uncertainty in her voice.

“What’s up?” Sam asked. “Scared of going to a club full of lezzies?

“It’s just…. Look, Sam, I’m not sure I’m ready.” Helen replied nervously.

“Hey, I understand, but we’re just going to a club, I’m not asking you to come out to your parents or anything like that. Please, come along and meet the gang, they’re really nice people.” Sam gave Helen a little hug. “Go on, give it a try. Anyway, I bought a new dress for you to wear.”

“Another new dress!” Helen exclaimed. “I thought you were broke.”

“Yeah, I am, but whilst Bernard was cutting your hair I had to do something so I went back to the market and picked you up a little number. Nothing much but it’s just the thing for going out clubbing.”

“I’m not sure if that makes me more nervous or less.” Helen replied laughing. “But, seeing as you’ve bought the dress it looks like I’ll have to go to the club with you.”

“That’s better; now let’s get on with the meal.” Sam gave Helen one last kiss and turned back to the stove.

As the two women worked together Helen mulled over what Sam had said. I’m not asking you to come out to your parents. That was a pretty scary thought; they had been disapproving enough when she had broken up with Rob, implying that it had been her fault for not being a ‘good’ wife; what on earth would they say when she turned up with Sam? Still, maybe they wouldn’t need to find out, not for a while anyway. But that raised the whole question of what to do about family parties, about Christmas, about any event when she was expected to put in an appearance; was her whole life from now on going to be a lie? She certainly hadn’t the courage to face her family just yet and she doubted she ever would.

Sam was not so insensitive as to not notice the turmoil within her friend but, guessing at its origin, she let it run. She was no stranger to the coming out process and knew that Helen, like so many before her, had to work it out for herself. By the time the food was on the table the cloud had passed and they chatted freely as they ate.

They finished their meal and washed up the dishes before going upstairs to get changed ready to go out. Sam produced the bag from the market and brought out a classic ‘little black number’, short sleeved, plenty of cleavage and short enough to be daring whilst long enough to be decent.

“I can’t wear this!” Helen exclaimed. “It’s far too young for me; I’ll look like mutton dressed as lamb.”

“You can and will!” Retorted Sam sharply. “And I’ve had far too much backchat; you can consider that an order.”

“Well… If you say so.” Helen conceded. “Do I at least get to wear panties?”

“No, I don’t think so; it’s pretty figure hugging and we don’t want any VPL; what is more, with that cleavage, you won’t be wearing a bra either.”

Helen, despite her reluctance, was tingling inside from the thought of being 'ordered' to wear this daring dress so she took it from Sam and headed for the bathroom to get changed. She hadn't reached the door before Sam called her back and told her such modesty was not allowed so she put the dress on the bed and shrugged of the one they had bought earlier. Sam was watching all the while and, although it made Helen self conscious, she was fast getting used to being naked, or near naked in front of her friend. She slipped the new dress over her head and wriggled inside it. Calling the dress ‘figure hugging’ had been an understatement; if the Lycra fabric had not been so stretchy there would have been no way she could have got it on at all. In fact Sam had to help pull it down but, eventually, between them they got it sorted out and Helen looked at herself in the mirror. She had to admit that Sam had been right to ban underwear, the fabric was so tight that anything other than a thong would have been visible, and, as for her breasts, well, the deep cleavage precluded wearing any bra, but the tight material gave her all the support she needed even if it did leave little to the imagination; were her nipples really that obvious? However, once she got over how revealing the dress was, Helen had to admit that it didn’t look that bad; the tight fabric was holding in her tummy and accentuating what curves she had. Combined with her new haircut this was a whole new look for her; she really felt like a different woman. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to sort out the mess that had resulted from pulling on the dress but as soon as she lifted her arm the hem line of the dress rose dramatically. Oh my God! She thought to herself making a mental note to keep her arms down once they were out.

“God, you look sexy.” Sam had come up behind her and, putting her arms around Helen’s waist, looked over her shoulder to admire the effect. “You look good enough to eat.” Sam continued and, as if to illustrate the point, she took a little nibble on Helen’s shoulder.

“Do you really think so?” Helen asked, still uncertain.

“Absolutely. Now, if you sit at the dressing table and do your make-up then I can get on with changing. You’re not the only one dressing up tonight.”

It was a bit awkward for the two of them in Sam’s crowded bedroom but Helen did as she was told and let Sam get on with changing her clothes. As Sam stripped Helen watched out of the corner of her eye. Sam had none of Helen’s nervousness about being naked, indeed she seemed to revel in it, taking off her jeans and tee shirt and throwing them in the dirty washing basket before searching in her wardrobe. Helen was struck, first by how sexy Sam looked, but secondly by the very fact that she was finding another woman sexy. Was this purely because Sam had been responsible for introducing her to a whole new range of sexual pleasures or was she developing a whole new appreciation for the female form? Whichever, the hairbrush lay unused on the dressing table as she stared at her lover, mesmerised.

“Come on, slowcoach!” Sam joshed as she turned and noticed her friend’s inactivity. “You can’t sit there all night.”

Helen turned back to the mirror and got on with her hair. The new cut was certainly easier to deal with and she quickly had it under control. Meanwhile Sam had fetched out a white blouse and a dark blue trouser suit; Helen had never seen her looking so stylish and, even if the outfit were a shade masculine, she was still definitely a woman.

As the two women sorted out their make-up there was an inevitable bit of push and shove around the dressing table which quickly turned to good natured banter; Helen couldn’t help but contrast this with the foul moods that Rob used to get into before any social gathering and how much easier it was with Sam, despite the crowded conditions in her bedroom. In fact she was having fun, something that had been missing from her life for far too long. Eventually they got themselves sorted out and, still giggling together, set off out to walk to the club.

As they made their way down the streets in the evening sunlight Helen was all too aware of just how short her skirt was. She kept having to tug it down as it seemed to have a mind of its own and was constantly riding up threatening to expose her. Still, as they passed another party heading into town she realised that many of the girls were wearing equally short skirts; she wasn’t the only one and that the various clubs and discos would be full of girls in risqué outfits; it was just a shock for her to be out like this, for her to be the girl in the short dress, for her not to be Miss Prim and Proper.

However, as they neared the town centre and were waiting to cross the road at some traffic lights, a mini-bus full of lads, evidently on a stag night, pulled up waiting to turn right. The windows were wide open as the occupants enjoyed the warm weather.

“Hey guys! Check out the knockers on that!” One of the lads shouted.

“Oi! Darlin!” Another called out. “Yeah, you in the black dress; show us yer knickers.”

“Come on, don’t be shy. There’s plenty of room in the van. Come inside and sit on my face!” Yet another shouted. The side door started to open but, to Helen’s relief, the lights changed and the mini-bus drove off.

“That was… That was scary.” Helen said, turning to Sam.

“Nah, just lads mucking about.” Sam replied. “You should take it as a compliment. Surely you’ve had cat calls before.”

“Not like that.” Helen returned.

“Maybe you’ve never looked this sexy before. Come on, the lights have changed.” Sam took Helen by the hand and set off across the road.

The club, when they reached it, turned out to be down an alleyway just of the High Street. Helen would never have spotted it had she not been led there. When they got to the door a shutter was drawn aside briefly before the door was opened, letting them through into a hallway. Helen was astonished to find that the doorkeeper was a young woman wearing a collar, wrist cuffs and an arrangement made of strapping which left nothing to the imagination.

“Good evening, Mistress.” The woman said. “We haven’t seen you for quite a while.”

“Hi, Julie. How’s tricks?” Sam replied. “Pass me the visitor’s book and I’ll sign my friend in.”

Julie reached under the counter and fetched out a leather bound visitors book. Helen tried to keep her eyes averted but she couldn’t help herself from taking sideways glances. The woman appeared totally unselfconscious about sitting there practically naked and was acting as if this were a normal, day to day, occurrence. Perhaps it was, that would explain the security on the door, but if so, what sort of club had Sam brought her to and what was going to be expected of her?

The formalities completed Sam started to lead Helen down a passageway into the body of the club but Helen was not going to go that easily.

“Sam!” She hissed, grabbing her friend by the sleeve. “What sort of place is this? What have you got me into?”

“Just a club where the girls get together, girls who share our tastes in the bedroom, a place where we can be what we want to be without attracting too much attention.” Sam replied airily.

“And you expect me to dress up like that?” Sam said, pointing at Julie. “I’d rather die.”

Sam looked at her friend and realised she might have overstepped the mark. However, she wasn’t going to back out now.

“No, of course I don’t expect you to dress up like that, well, not unless you choose to. Please, Helen, give it a try, will you?” she pleaded “No one’s going to ask you to do anything you don’t want to. I promise you’ll be safe and I promise I’ll look after you. Come and have one drink and, if you still don’t like it, we’ll leave and go somewhere else. Please, just one drink.”

At that point the door to the main body of the club and a woman came out and gave Sam a friendly wave before heading for the toilets. Whilst her outfit was mostly black leather and had many BDSM overtones it was neither as outrageous nor as revealing as Julie’s. Helen hovered on the edge of indecisiveness. She was well outside her comfort zone, and felt that she had been tricked into coming but she didn’t want to be prudish and she didn’t want to end the day on a sour note so, in the end, somewhat reluctantly she gave in.

Sam led her into the body of the club; quite a small room, discretely lit, with booths round the edges and a bar and small stage at one end. It was about half full and Helen could see at once that everyone was dressed, to some extent, following a BDSM theme. Having said that the outfits varied widely so that some could even have been worn on the street and her, and Sam’s, rather vanilla outfits weren’t out of place. At the other end of the scale was an obvious dominatrix in a black leather catsuit who sat at one end of the bar and the bar staff were similarly dressed, or should that be undressed, as the doorkeeper. Sam led Helen over to the bar and the dominatrix who sat there.

“Hi, Sam.” The woman said as they approached. “We haven’t seen you here in a while. Who’s your friend?”

“Hi, Wanda. This is Helen. She’s new to all this so I thought I’d bring her down to meet the crowd.”

“Helen, what a pretty little thing you are; if you weren’t Sam’s I’d be tempted, very tempted. How would you like to join my harem; learn how to serve a real Mistress?” Wanda looked Helen up and down lasciviously and somehow Helen felt more naked than she had ever been before. Sam put her arm around Helen as if to protect her.

“Don’t worry; I’m only playing with you.” Wanda laughed. “Anyway, Sam, you know the rules, it’s all look and no touch; not without permission, anyway. Now, can I get you a drink?” Wanda clicked her fingers and immediately the barmaid was there. “Now, as it’s your subbie's first time here your first drink is on me.”

Sam ordered a white wine but Helen, wanting to keep a clear head, stuck to coke. Whilst their drinks were being poured Wanda, seeing another member enter the club, gave Sam and Helen a little smile and went off to meet the newcomers. Sam was looking around when she was spotted by some friends who waved her over so, taking Helen once more by the hand, they went and joined the group.

Again the costumes were mixed; possibly the most daring was a black leather basque but others were in quite plain clothes. Helen noticed that all the subs, as she was learning to call them, wore collars. Whilst the group was friendly there was a constant air of sexual tension; some of the Dommes had appraised Helen in a way that made her more than a trifle uncomfortable and one had gone as far as to comment to Sam how sexy she looked. However it quickly became apparent that, as with Wanda, the rule was look but don’t touch. Still feeling a bit out of place Helen sat down with Sam and joined the group.

Most of the conversation was about people and places that she didn’t know but they were all very friendly and did their best to help Helen join in. When the woman in the basque, who had been introduced as Mistress Alex, suggested another round of drinks Sam looked over at Helen who, surprised that the first one had gone so quickly, agreed to a second. A younger woman in a white dress got up to fetch the drinks and, when she returned, she sat back down next to Helen.

“Hello.” She said. “You’re Helen Wilson, aren’t you, from accounts, down at the council. I almost didn’t recognise you with your new haircut. You’ve kept this side of yourself well hidden at the office.”

“Yes, yes I am, and you’re… in personnel…” Helen struggled to get the name.

“That’s right, Susan Woodman, or perhaps I should say, slave susan at your service. I didn’t know you were a member here.”

“I’m not. I came with Sam.” Helen replied. “This is all a bit new to me.”

“So I can see, and you without a collar. You'd better watch yourself, an uncollared sub as pretty as you will be fighting the Dommes off but, if came with Sam, aren’t you her slave?”

“I’m not sure. I’m not sure what I am; it’s all a bit confusing.” Helen confessed.

“Yeah, it can be at first, let me tell you about my first time here…”

Suddenly it was as if a cloud had lifted for Helen. Instead of being some strange weirdo this was Susan from personnel, instead of being expected to take everything in her stride here was someone who understood her doubts and uncertainties and, almost immediately, they were deep in conversation, ignoring the rest of the group as they found more and more that they shared a common loathing of the office politics at the council buildings and a certain appreciation of having a well spanked bottom. At some point their drinks were refreshed but they hardly noticed. Susan explained about the dress code, how some sort of fetish gear was expected but not compulsory, especially around ‘that time of the month’.

“You’ve picked a good night to come.” Susan continued. “Rose is being collared tonight.”

“Collared? What does that mean?” Helen asked.

“You really are new to all this, aren’t you?” Susan said. “It’s a special occasion, a bit like a marriage in a way, when a slave formally submits to her Domme.”

“And no one uses a collar without this ceremony?” Helen asked in surprise.

“Well, it’s a bit more complex than that.” Susan explained. “Every sub ought to wear a collar, I’m surprised you haven’t got one, but there’s a world of difference between putting on a collar for a bit of play and a formal collaring. It’s more like a marriage… Well, you’ll see when the time comes.”

It wasn’t long after this that the lights in the club were lowered even further and the lights on the stage came on. As an expectant hush fell over the club Alex called Susan back to sit on her lap and Sam moved back to sit beside Helen.

“I see you found a friend.” Sam whispered.

“Yeah, that’s Susan from the office. She’s….” Helen replied.

“Shh now.” Sam countered. “Watch the stage.”

Wanda made her way across the club and up on to the stage where she fetched a microphone out from the wings.

“Ladies.” She announced. “Tonight is a joyous occasion, an occasion when two friends, two people we all know, have chosen to share with us their commitment, their commitment to their roles, their commitment to each other. Ladies, let’s have a big hand for Mistress Angela and slave rose.”

To the sound of cheers and cat-calls a woman dressed from head to toe in an outfit made of burgundy leather stood up and made her way to the stage. It was only when she got there that Helen was able to see that she was not alone. Following on her hands and knees was another woman dressed in a cloak that matched her Mistress’s outfit. As she mounted the stage Wanda reached down and removed the cloak to reveal that she was completely naked beneath it. Helen, along with many others at the back of the club, stood up to get a better look.

“slave rose,” Wanda was back on the microphone. “accepting the collar is not a step to be undertaken lightly. The collar, once accepted, cannot be removed. Do you give yourself willingly, and free of any conditions, to serve your Mistress from this day forth?”

“I do.”

“Then pledge your vows so that all can hear.”

“Mistress,” slave rose continued, “your slave kneels here before you, naked to symbolise that she is nothing, that she has nothing. It is your slave’s one devout wish to serve you from this day forth, to be an extension of your will, your humble servant. And so, on my knees, I meekly offer you my body, my soul, my heart; from this day forth your slave has no will but it’s your will, no wish but it’s your wish, no wants but they are your wants. Your slave begs you to accept this gift, to take her, to own her, to keep her forever.”

Slave rose knelt forward and kissed the tips of Mistress Angela’s boots.

“Mistress Angela,” Wanda continued. “Accepting a slave is not a step to be undertaken lightly. With ownership come responsibilities. Do you take her willingly, to be yours from this day forth?”

“I do.”

“Then pledge your vows so that all can hear.”

“slave rose,” Mistress Angela’s voice was clear and commanding. “your gift is all I desire, I delight in your servitude. It is with great joy that I accept your offer, that you are hence forth mine and I vow that I shall do all in my power to care for and protect my property, to hold her close against the storms of life. Let all around hear that slave rose is mine and mine alone to hold and care for; my precious child, my slave.”

Mistress Angela leant forward and kissed slave rose on the top of her head.

Wanda reached into the wings of the stage and brought out a collar resting on a velvet cushion which she passed to Mistress Angela who took it and fastened it around slave rose’s neck.

“The collar is the symbol of belonging.” Wanda intoned. “Let all that see know that hence forth slave rose is the exclusive property of Mistress Angela.”

Then Wanda reached again into the wings this time returning with a padlock. Again this was passed to Mistress Angela who used it to lock the collar around slave rose’s neck.

“The lock is the symbol of permanence, a symbol that these vows are forever. Let all who see know that slave rose is the property of Mistress Angela from this day forth.”

A third time Wanda reached into the wings and this time it was a leash, its burgundy leather matching Mistress Angela’s outfit.

“The leash is the symbol of leadership. Let all who see know that slave rose follows the lead of Mistress Angela and none other.” Wanda then turned to the club. “With these three symbols we here have witnessed here the joining of Mistress Angela and slave rose as one entity, a bonding as holy as any matrimony. Let us all rejoice in their union; Ladies, the Mistress and slave!”

A massive cheer erupted from the body of the club with lots of calls of ‘hear hear!’. Mistress Angela leant down and, lifting slave rose’s face, kissed her full on the lips. Then, taking the leash, she led her newly bonded slave back to their seats.

Helen had sat entranced by the whole thing. This was a whole new world of which she knew nothing but, instead of the dark perversions she had been brought up to expect here was a ceremony full of love and devotion. She had seen the look in the face of slave rose, a look of total adoration matched only by the look of loving care from Mistress Angela. Her hand clasped Sam’s all the while; would they, could they ever go through anything like that? Was this what she wanted? Was this what was in store for her?

With the ceremony over Susan came back to sit next to her friend.

“Looks like our Rosy is in for a well smacked bottom tonight!” She joked.

“A what…” Helen was jerked back from the sublime to the everyday.

“A well smacked bottom, and, if I know Rosy, she’ll love every minute of it. You’ll like her; she’s real fun to be with. She’s a bit busy at the moment or I’d introduce you.”

Helen looked over at the collaring party. There were plenty gathering round and there were even presents being exchanged. Again the comparisons with a wedding were plain to see and she felt a little jealous. However, her own group weren’t going to ignore her and she was pulled back into the general conversation.

It was well-gone two in the morning when Sam suggested that it was time to return home. Helen was amazed; the evening had flown by and she hadn’t had so much fun in ages. Once she had got past the unusual clothing and the odd occasion when a sub would be noticeably subservient it was just normal people having a fun time together. The collaring ceremony had been an added bonus.

“Sam?” Helen asked as they tottered, slightly tipsily down the street. “Have you ever been in a collaring ceremony?”

“Me?” Sam laughed. “I’ve never met the right person, well, not yet, anyway. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” Helen lied, “No reason.”

For the second morning in a row Helen rolled over to find herself in Sam’s bed, woken by the light filtering through the thin curtains. For a while she just lay there, watching her lover sleep, feeling a deep inner contentment that had been missing for so long from her life. She thought over the events of last night; she was still somewhat surprised by how she had found that this group of women, who’s morality and sexuality she would have found so shocking just a few days ago, had turned out to be quite normal. Indeed, normal was a word that was being rapidly redefined for her. It wasn’t that long ago that simply being touched by another woman in a sexual way would have churned her stomach; now, now she just wanted to feel Sam’s hands, Sam’s lips all over her. She thought about waking Sam but she slept so soundly that it seemed cruel to do other than to let her sleep on.

Softly, so as not to wake her partner, she slipped out of bed, grabbed Sam’s dressing gown from the hook behind the door, and went downstairs to the kitchen. She made herself some tea and toast and was sitting at the kitchen table flicking through a magazine when the door opened and Sam’s tousled head appeared.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” She asked.

“Having breakfast.” Helen replied innocently.

“And you don’t see anything wrong with this?” Sam enquired, coming over to stand next to Helen with her hands on her hips. “You don’t see any problem with, for example, which one of us is wearing my dressing gown or which one of us is happily drinking tea whilst the other is waiting?”

The penny dropped and with a quick ‘Sorry, Mistress’ Helen got up from her chair, shrugged off the dressing gown, handed it to Sam and fell to her knees.

That’s better.” Sam said, putting on the dressing gown. “Ooh, lovely and warm. Maybe I should get you to warm up my dressing gown every morning. Now, if I don’t get some tea soon there’s going to be trouble, or should that be, more trouble.”

Helen stood up and went over to the counter to put the kettle on and, whilst she was at it, slip another couple of slices of bread under the grill. She brewed a fresh cup of tea and, having placed that in front of Sam, returned to the grill just in time to stop the toast from burning. She quickly buttered the it and spread it with marmalade before putting it on a plate and handing it to Sam.

“Crusts! You left the crusts on the toast! Can you get nothing right this morning?” Sam said in mock anger.

“I’m sorry, Mistress.” Helen replied, well aware that crusts had never been an issue before. “I’ll do better next time.”

“If you carry on like this there may not be a next time.” Helen replied sternly. “Now, stand in the corner whilst I finish off.”

There was something deliciously ‘naughty schoolgirl’ about being sent to stand naked in the corner and something inside Helen rather enjoyed being there. To this was added the anticipation of what Sam had in mind for her. She had obviously been naughty and would no doubt be punished. Was she due another spanking? Remembering the combination of a sore backside and an earth shattering orgasm from last time this was a very mixed prospect.

“Right then, I think you need some time to think things over, time to think about who gets breakfast first in this house.” Sam said at last as she got up from the table. “Come with me.”

Sam led Helen upstairs and took her to the bathroom where she was ordered to take a pee. Again it ran counter to everything that Helen felt was ‘proper’ to be doing so in front of someone else and Sam’s controlling stare made it hard to start but this all added to the growing sense of humiliation, the sense that she was unworthy of ‘normal’ decencies. Then Sam took her to the bedroom and told her to lie down full length. Helen didn’t need to be told about the wrist cuffs; she held her arms above her head ready and, as anticipated, they were soon attached to the headboard.

Sam then went to her chest of draws and fetched out a couple or silken scarves. Whilst, knowing Sam’s restricted budget, these were almost certainly made of something other than real silk they were still soft and gentle when tied around her ankles and, as the free ends were pulled behind the tailboard and tied together, they were certainly strong enough to ensure that Helen’s legs were forced apart, right to the limit of what she could endure. What Helen wasn’t expecting was what came next. Sam went back to her chest of drawers and fetched out a black velvet bag. From this she took out a blindfold of the sort supplied by airlines which, once fitted, left Helen in complete darkness. Then she was told to 'open wide' and she felt her mouth being filled by the rubbery taste of a gag, its ball forcing her jaws apart and reducing any attempts at speech to an incoherent gurgle. Next there was a tinkling sound and something was placed in Helen’s hands. Sam explained that it was a bell which, when rung, would act like a safe word and Sam would return and unlock her instantly. The final touch was foam earplugs. Whilst these were not one hundred per cent effective they did muffle things considerably and added to the sense of disconnection.

Helen assumed that Sam had finished with the bondage and that the busy fingers she could feel playing with her nipples were all part of the tease but, once her nipples had become aroused, the fingers stopped and suddenly Helen felt her teats being pinched, gripped by something hard, something definitely not a finger, something that squeezed firmly enough to hurt without quite being unbearable. Then she felt Sam's fingers working on her vagina, pushing her lips apart, massaging the inner folds.  She had just put two and two together when she felt the another clip being fastened to her clitoris, another sudden spear of pain to join the two that came from her nipples. Then Sam kissed her gently on the forehead and left; Helen felt rather than heard the door close, she was all alone.

And then nothing, no light, no sound, Helen’s whole world centred on the three points of fire that were her nipples and clitoris. With no light or sound to distract her time lost all meaning and she started to drift. In her mind her focus on the throbbing pain from her nipples and her clit started to grow; she became purely a sexual being, a being with wild desires and fantasies. She wanted to hide away, to cover her nakedness but she was being held, forced open, exposed, uncovered, showing her all to any who would look. Along with this came dreams, visions of torture, of being forced against her will to do the most degrading acts, acts which both sickened her and inflamed her desires.

Without warning she felt hands touching her, stroking her. The hands reached for her breasts and the rush of blood to her nipples as the clips were removed was far worse than the clips themselves had ever been. She knew that even more was to come when the other clip was removed from her clitoris but that didn’t reduce the shock, didn’t reduce the agony. She arched her back and cried out, her scream of pain muffled by the gag, anything, anything at all to ease the pain that screamed from her centre. She felt Sam’s body holding her down, Sam’s lips kissing her inflamed nipples, Sam’s fingers probing between her legs. Sam wasn’t being gentle but then Helen didn’t want her to be. She was still lost in the fantasy, she was the slut, the whore, the harlot who needed to be violated, needed to be taken, needed to be raped. Almost immediately she felt her climax starting, she felt herself losing control. As hard as Sam’s hand pumped inside her she pumped back, pushing her hips as much as she could, riding the storm, feeling the waves crash inside her until she could take no more and, completely exhausted, she collapsed back onto the bed and lay still, panting heavily around the constriction of the gag.

Immediately Sam went from brutal ravisher to gentle lover, holding her softly whilst removing the gag, the blindfold, the earplugs and ties and the cuffs. Once freed she took Helen and wrapped her in her arms, comforting her, kissing away the tears that fell like rain.

“Shhh… Shhh...” She comforted. “Seriously, Helen, are you OK?”

“That was… that was… so, so intense.” Helen gasped. “I’ve never felt anything like that.”

“Intense good or intense bad?” Helen queried.

“Intense fantastic.” Helen assured her friend. “But please, Sam, enough for now. I don’t think my nipples can take any more and, as for my front bottom…”

“Front bottom!” Sam laughed. “You are a one, but, yes, I’ll leave your ‘front bottom’ alone, for a while at least.”

“Thank you, Sam, thank you.” Helen responded. “I seem to be saying that a lot recently, don’t I?”

“You’re very welcome.” Sam replied. “Now, you’ve lain here long enough; we're wasting a beautiful day. Let’s go out and feed the ducks in the park. You can wear your new dress.”

“I suppose nipping next door for a pair of panties is out of the question.” Helen said ruefully.

“You suppose correctly. Now come along, we’ll share a shower.”

Sam’s idea of a trip to the park included a picnic lunch so, what with one thing and another, it was well gone eleven before they had got everything together. Helen wore the sundress she had bought the day before, Sam put on shorts and a tee shirt and the two of them set off for the park. They weren’t the only ones enjoying the sun and it was hard to find a quiet corner but they managed in the end, finding a spot in a dip in the ground which gave some privacy and, spreading out a blanket on the grass, they settled down to their lunch.

Maybe it was the bottle of wine they shared, maybe it was the warmth of the sunshine, but, after they had finished eating the conversation petered out and they both just lay there, lying on their sides, watching each other.

“God, you look gorgeous.” Sam said eventually. Helen just smiled self-consciously.

“I mean it.” Sam continued. “I could eat you up, right now. I’d start with your neck, just a little nibble, just there.” Sam reached out and touched Helen just above her collarbone. “Shall I show you?”

“Sam, no, someone might see!” Helen replied.

“And if they do?” Sam returned. “Where’s the problem.”

“I’m just not comfortable.”

“Tough! I’m in charge here and don’t you forget it.” Sam leant forward and kissed Helen’s neck just where she had indicated. Helen was torn; she had never been comfortable about kissing in public and, here, in the park, with another woman was just about the worst she could imagine but, and it was a big but, every touch from Sam nowadays seemed to have a sexual side and this kiss seemed to have found a nerve that was connected straight to her groin; somehow, she hadn’t the heart to push her away.

“There, that wasn’t so bad.” Sam said when she came up for air. “Now, where shall I kiss next?”

“How about not kissing me anywhere, it’s making me really nervous?” Helen replied anxiously.

“No, I don’t think that’s an option. I think we’ll do the shoulders this time.” Again the light flutter of Sam’s lips against Helen's flesh sent little electric sparks thrilling through her body and, not being made of stone, she couldn’t help but respond.

Sam was no fool, she kept the kisses chaste and discrete allowing Helen to respond in her own time and respond she did. Their growing passion drove away Helen’s shyness and it wasn’t long before they were kissing properly, lip-to-lip, tongue-to-tongue, and, lost in the clinch, Helen completely forgot that she was in a public place. When Sam pushed the shoulder strap of her dress to one side she did nothing to stop it, indeed, she even encouraged it; her nipples, still highly sensitive from their earlier abuse, craved attention. Indeed, she was so involved, so lost in the embrace, that she was totally unaware of the approaching dog until the ball fell between them followed by an overexcited and yapping Pekinese.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” The strident tones of the British upper middle class, middle-aged woman rang out. “Wuffles, come here Wuffles.”

Helen and Sam sat up so as to disentangle themselves from the dog but as they did so the approaching matron saw both that they were two women and also Helen’s dishevelled state. Her jaw dropped.

“Good God! What do you think you're doing? Out here in a public place! Have you no shame, no sense of decency? What if children saw you? You disgusting perverts!” She said, aghast. “I’ve a good mind to report you.”

“Fuck off bitch!” Sam countered. “Fuck off and take your stupid dog with you.”

“Don’t you swear at me, young lady.” The woman countered.

“Oh, just leave us alone.” Sam returned.

There were a few moments of stand off before, with muttered phrases such as ‘You’ve not heard the last of this.’ and ‘Revolting, right out in the open.’ the woman strode off with Wuffles following, yapping around her heels. Sam could barely control her laughter but Helen was far from at ease with the situation.

“What if she does report us?” Helen asked, full of worry.

“For what? To whom?” Sam replied derisively. “This is the twenty-first century and if two girls want to make out in the park then no stupid old bat is going to stop them. Now, lets get back to what we were doing. Where were we?”

But, for all Sam’s bravado Helen had been shaken to the core. Sure, Sam was right, they had broken no law, there was no one the woman could report them to but it wasn’t the law that disturbed her. The incident had brought back home to her how much there were still certain sections of society who did disapprove and, worse still, how close to her some of those who disapproved were.  She had been brought up to believe in ‘God’s Law’, the strict tenets of the Old Testament and there was no doubting how the enforcers of those laws would feel. Just minutes before she had felt free, liberated, enjoying the closeness of another human being but that sense of freedom had been a fragile house of cards and now, as her selfconscious shyness returned full blast, she felt dirty, perverted and her pantyless state was something shameful, not something joyful. She wanted, no needed, to get home, to hide herself away.

“I’m sorry, Sam, I can’t.” Helen said, pushing Sam off her.

“What? You’re going to let an uptight old bat like that upset you? Oh, come on.” Sam said, losing patience.

“It’s not that.” Helen replied. “It’s just that… It’s just that I don’t think it’s right, out here, out here in public.”

“And what’s not right about it?” Sam’s hackles were rising. She’d fought enough battles over the years too let this one slip by.

“It just doesn’t feel right. Please, Sam, I can’t explain but, really, I can’t relax, I feel like everyone’s watching me.”

“Can’t relax? Won’t relax, more likely.” Sam said.

“Please, Sam, don’t go on about it. It just doesn’t feel right.” Helen was nearly in tears.

“Oh, come along then, let’s tidy up and feed the crumbs to the ducks.” Sam said with a sigh, realising that the trip to the park really was over, that there would be no more kissing that afternoon.

They packed up the picnic and walked back via the ducks to Sam's house. All the time a heavy silence hung between them, the fun was gone leaving that difficult gap that neither knew how to fill. When they returned to the house it was no better, their easy companionship had turned into awkwardness, they each seemed to be in each other’s way all the time and the smallest detail, like putting the picnic things away, became a burdensome task. With a heavy sigh Sam went to the living room, flopped down on the sofa and turned on the TV. Even then the paucity of Sunday afternoon viewing added to her despondency and, as she flicked from one channel to another, her mood got worse and worse.

“Sam, I think I’d best go home.” Helen had come to a decision and she approached Sam. “I think I need an evening on my own, time to think things over.”

“Think what over?” Sam snapped back, her frustration from the park had woken some evil demon inside her bringing with it a vicious anger. “Go on, tell me, what is there to ‘think over’?”

“I don’t know how I feel about…” Helen’s nerves were shaken by Sam’s anger.

“Feel about what? Go on, tell me.”

“It’s just… It’s just… Sam, please, you know I like you, you know I care, but I’m not sure I can…”

“You can what?” Sam’s anger was real now. Inside, deep, deep inside, Sam knew she was being a bitch, she knew she was hurting her friend but watching Helen retreat back to her entrenched prejudices was hurting. Hadn’t she spent the whole weekend pandering to her friend, helping her, encouraging her? She’d spent her last pennies on clothes for Helen and now it seemed that it was all being thrown back in her face.

“Do you know your problem?” Sam continued, her anger now in full flow. “You’re scared of what you like. I know you’re a lesbian who likes to have her bottom smacked; you know you’re a lesbian who likes to have her bottom smacked; the difference between us is that you’re scared to admit it, scared to admit what you really are. Go on say it, say ‘I’m a lesbian.’”

“Sam!” Helen was shaken to the core. “Sam, I can’t, I really can’t. You know how I feel about that.”

“Why, why can’t you say it?” Sam was nearly shouting.

“Because it’s wrong!” Helen shouted back. “I’m not like you; I’m not, I’m not!”

The words hung in the air, the room suddenly silent. I was Sam who spoke first.

“If that’s how you feel you really had best go. Go on, get out, get out and don’t come back Get out and take your sick little prejudices with you. Get out, get out!”

Helen bustled from the room and, with tears streaming down her face, ran to the door, grabbing her handbag on the way. Still shaking she fumbled for her keys, stumbled through the door to her house and flung herself on the sofa, sobbing as if her heart would break. Why, why had Sam been so harsh? Why couldn’t she understand? Why had she let herself get into this situation? Suddenly she could see that it was all Sam’s fault; Sam had led her astray, persuaded her into doing things she would never have countenanced on her own. She’d been weak and now she was paying the price.

On the other side of the dividing wall Sam fumed. How dare she? Didn’t she know how hard the sisterhood had fought for acceptance and now she was throwing all that religious bullshit in her face again; surely they’d got past all that? Wrong! Wrong! How could she say that? How? How?

That night the two women slept in their separate beds, divided by nine inches of bricks and mortar and a whole mountain range of misunderstandings.

Slowly, hesitantly, Helen made her way between the rows of desks and up to the front of the class. Like all the girls she was dressed in the school uniform of a white blouse and a knee length pleated tartan skirt. Her palms were sweaty and her heart was thumping. There was complete silence from the rest of the pupils but a buzz of expectation filled the room. She went and stood before the teacher with her head bowed and her hands clasped behind her back feeling small and defenceless.

“Do you know why you're here?” The teacher demanded.

“No, Miss.” Helen replied in barely more than a whisper.

“What was that? Speak up. I want the whole class to hear you.” The teacher continued.

“I'm sorry, Miss. I said I don't know, Miss.” Helen said, a bit clearer this time.

“I don't know, Miss.” The teacher mocked. “Well, I do. You were seen, yesterday, in the changing rooms. Perhaps that will remind you; now, tell the class what you were doing.”

“I wasn't doing anything, Miss.” Helen knew where this was going but was too scared to admit anything.

“Not doing anything? Oh yes you were, and well you know it. Don't you dare lie to me; you're in enough trouble as it is. Now tell the truth. What were you doing? In particular I want you to tell the class exactly what were you doing with the handle of your tennis racket?”

“I was... I was... I was... Please, Miss, I can't say it, I can't say what I was doing.”

“You can say and you will say. I'm going to start counting and for every count you get an extra stroke with the cane. One... Two... Three... Four... Five...”

Please, Miss, I was playing with myself, Miss.” There, she'd said it and, as expected, there was a gasp from the class; a gasp of horror mixed with delighted anticipation. She knew just how much the class loved a caning, it was a welcome break from lessons as long as it wasn't happening to them; everyone likes a bit of theatre and this teacher loved building up the drama.

“Yes, indeed, playing with yourself. I'm sure you remember what Pastor Michaels said on just this subject; how dirty, disgusting, perverted little monsters like you who wallow in lust will end up burning in hell. Playing with yourself is a sin, a mortal, deadly sin. It's lust but, worse than that, it's perverted lust. You're going to get twelve strokes of the cane, plus the five for keeping me waiting, that makes seventeen. Maybe that will teach you to treat your body with God's respect. Now, you know what to do.”

Helen did indeed know what to do; she seen others in this situation often enough but her fear was so disabling she had to force herself to move. She went to stand at the centre, in front of the class and with her back to them. Then, as she'd watched her classmates do so many times before, she leant forward and down and grasped her ankles. Meanwhile the teacher had fetched the cane from the cupboard where it was stored and was flexing it back and forth, making it swish in the air. Idly she tapped the cane against Helen’s calves, ordering her to spread them wider until the gap between her feet was maybe eighty centimetres.

“You're a disgusting little pervert. What are you?” The teacher continued.

“I'm a disgusting little pervert, Miss.” Helen knew how this game was played and what was the only allowable response but it still hurt to say the words.

“A disgusting little pervert.” The teacher echoed. “And do you deserve to be caned.”

“Yes, Miss, thank you, Miss.” This too was part of the catechism.

“And do disgusting little perverts like you deserve any modesty?” The teacher asked.

“No, Miss.” Here it comes, thought Helen.

The teacher reached down with the cane and flicked up the back of Helen's skirt, its pleats flaring so as to allow it to be flipped up exposing her backside. This time the gasp from the class was a roar.

“Look, Miss, look! She's got no knickers on!” Billy, the class wag, cried out. “I can see her bum hole! I can see her...”

Helen couldn't suppress a sob; she felt so open, so exposed and, to add to her fear and shame, she felt a warm trickle of urine running down her leg as she lost control of her bladder. She could almost feel the intense stare of every boy in the class and a good few of the girls for that matter. She wasn't sure which was worse: wetting herself or being so exposed; either way she knew exactly what was going to be the main talking point of the playground for the rest of her time in school. From now on she would forever be known as the girl with no knickers, the girl who wet herself.

“Quiet, Billy.” Ordered the teacher. “Well, well, well. Now we all know exactly what sort of filthy harlot we're dealing with; what a dirty, dirty little girl she is. Look children, look and see exactly where sin and lewdness lead to. It's quite apparent that this little slut's disgusting behaviour in the changing rooms is far from the full extent of her depravity. Maybe two dozen strokes will cure her but I doubt it, she's no decency, her sort was born to burn in hell, consumed by the fire of  their own evil lusts.”

Helen just wished she could die. The shame, the abject shame, was more than she could bear. Her cheeks, her face, her whole body burned with embarrassment. Please, please, please start the caning, anything, anything at all to punish this body, this wretched body with its perverse desires. She needed, wanted, craved, the sting of the cane, the burning fire to purge her sins, to quench the other fire, the fire that burned between her thighs. She needed this; she hated this; she needed this; she hated this; she needed.......

With a start Helen woke up, out of breath, her whole body shaking from the dream. It had been so vivid, so real and so, so disturbing. It was a complex brew of emotions, the fear of the cane, the shame and embarrassment of being so exposed before the class, though only the logic of dreams could explain her knickerless state, or, indeed, the crime of self abuse in the changing rooms; in real life the schoolgirl that Helen had been would never have had the nerve to do either. But far more disturbing than that was the state the dream left her in, the burning need coming from her loins. This was the third time she’d had this dream, or one very like it, since that awful Sunday, three times in four days, or should that be nights. It didn't help that the 'teacher' was, in some curious way, both Sam and not Sam. Sure, that didn't make sense but then dreams seldom do.

With a start she realised her hand, unbidden and unguided, had ended up inside her pyjamas deep between her thighs. Mentally she scolded herself but, despite the guilt and the shame, she couldn’t stop herself and, minutes later, she’d rubbed herself to a crashing orgasm.

Meanwhile, just a few feet away in the house next door, Sam lay in bed, tossing and turning, running the same argument through her mind one more time.

“Stupid, stupid little cow.” She muttered to herself as she rolled over, yet again. “Her head's so full of that religious bullshit I'm glad I'm rid of her; she was more trouble than she was worth. Ungrateful bitch, after all the things I did for her, all the allowances I made and she just flings it back in my face; the hurtful, spiteful, mean spirited...”

Sam vowed she wasn't going to cry again, she wasn't the crying sort, especially over someone as unworthy as... as... But she couldn't even say the name as she tugged roughly at the duvet, pulling it once more over her head in a desperate attempt to block out her thoughts.

For Helen the dreams weren't the only way in which her life had been disturbed since last Sunday. When she had arrived at work on Monday morning everyone had commented on her new hair cut and, somehow, they seemed to believe that it marked a new, more self-confidant, Helen, so different from the emotional mess that she felt inside. She's tried to slip into the background, to be quiet and unobserved as usual, but, suddenly, she seemed to be constantly in demand.

And, whether at work or not, she couldn't stop thinking about Sam. Her conviction that Sam was this immoral harlot who had led her astray kept coming up against very different memories; memories of a softer, gentler, more sympathetic person, one who had understood her, who had made her feel wanted and made her feel whole again. A couple of times she caught herself thinking about what she would say, what she would do when she met up with Sam later on in the day, only to be brought back down to earth when she realised that would never be, their easygoing chats were now a thing of the past. And then, especially after one of the dreams, there was the physical memory, the warmth, the delicacy, the tenderness of the shared embrace. She knew it was evil, knew it was wrong, but, if it were wrong, why had God made her body want it so much? And it wasn't just the gentle embrace she missed, but also the sting of the paddle across her backside, the feeling of being taken, plundered; sure she knew she was wicked for wanting it but it was a wickedness she couldn't control, however hard she tried.

And then, on the Friday, she bumped into Susan in the corridor at work and, when Susan suggested meeting up for lunch in pub across the road Helen hadn't the strength to say no but acquiesced and agreed to be there for twelve thirty.

“Hi, Helen.” Susan called out as she saw Helen entering the pub. She pointed to an empty seat next to her and Helen went and sat down. Susan asked what Helen was drinking and went and fetched a coke from the bar.

At first they just chatted about work, about the office politics, the inordinate length of time it was taking to sort out this year's pay deal and whether the new contract was going to mean new jobs. Helen had forgotten just how easy Susan was to talk to, what a really nice person she was.

“So, then, what's all this about you and Sam?” Susan asked when a suitable lull in the conversation arose.

“Sam and I... We're not together any more. Anyway, what's all what about Sam and me? What's she been saying?” Helen was suddenly on the defensive.

“What's she been saying? Ha! What's she not been saying, more like it? She was down the club last night with a face like thunder, drinking whisky like it's going out of style and, whilst she was obviously hurting, she did not want to talk about it. I've not seen her this down in ages; that's why I thought I'd come and ask you. Get your side of the story.”

At first Helen, like Sam, didn't want to talk about it either but Susan had just the right blend of insistence and concern that, in the end, Helen did want to talk, did want to tell someone about the heartache and the reasons behind it. Once she'd started it all came pouring out and Susan, apart from the occasional prompting, just listened. Unlike Sam she knew more about what it's like to have a religious upbringing and, whilst it made her wince inside to hear her chosen lifestyle described as 'wicked' and 'wrong' at least she understood why Helen felt that way.

“So, that's it then. Irreconcilable, no way back?.” Susan asked when Helen had finished.

“I can't... I can't go against my conscience.” Helen replied bitterly. “It's what I was brought up to believe which is part of who I am. Sam wanted me to change, to be someone else and I can't be that person.”

“But do you really believe that Sam is wicked? Do you really believe that Sam's a bad person?” Susan countered.

“Of course not!” Helen was quite affronted that she should be accused of thinking this.

“That’s what I don’t understand. Being a lesbian and a Domme, that's part of what Sam is, a very big part, a part that’s pretty important to her. If you believe that being a lesbian Domme is wicked then you have to believe that Sam is wicked, don't you? And if, as you say, Sam's not wicked then surely what she is and what she does can't be wicked, can it? I'm not sure I follow you on that one.” Susan glanced up at the clock over the bar. “Good heavens, is that the time. We'd best be getting back or our bosses will be wondering where we've got to. Hey, this has been great; we must do it again sometime, that's if you'll allow yourself to be with a pervert like me!” Susan laughed.

“Susan! I don't think you're a pervert!” Helen replied, horrified, but, of course, as the thought settled in she realised she must do. Somehow equating this warm, friendly person with moral depravity didn't equate, didn't work out at all.

The two women gathered their things together and rushed back to the office, returning just in time to be within the flexi time agreement. As they crossed the parking lot Helen was glad that she hadn't had to answer Susan's last implied question and, in her distracted state, she pushed it to one side. Sometimes right and wrong weren't that simple, weren't that easy to describe to someone else.

On Saturday Helen was pottering around the house, lost and at a loose end, when her mobile rang. She looked at the display; it was her mother. She nearly let it be but that was only delaying the inevitable so she pressed 'answer' and held it to her ear.

“Helen, I'm glad I've caught you. Why don't you come to chapel tomorrow and then come back home afterwards for lunch. It's been far too long since we saw you at chapel. We've got the pastor coming for lunch as well so it will be quite a party. How does that sound? Will I see you there?”

“Hi, mum, yes, yes...” Helen had stopped going to chapel for a reason but it wasn't a reason she could tell her mum and she knew from long experience that she'd cave in the end, however hard she tried to get out of it so saying 'yes' was the path of least resistance. They chatted on for a few brief moments but it seemed to Helen that they lived in different worlds and had very little left in common.

The rest of Saturday seemed to drag on forever. She had nothing to do and, worse than that, no one to do it with. Sunday morning, when it arrived, was grey and damp. The recent fine weather had broken and Helen huddled under her umbrella as she made her way across town to the chapel. Once she got there it was just as she had remembered it, the same old faces, perhaps a little older, going through the same old routine. They sang the same old hymns, all the ones about 'fighting the good fight' but there was no joy in it. Finally the pastor got up for his sermon.

It would seem that a new Gay and Lesbian Resource Centre had just opened in the neighbourhood and the pastor, as ever, had plenty to say on the matter. He described at some length the 'gay plague' that was sweeping the country, how the destruction of good old fashioned family values was degrading the very fabric of society, allowing this filth, as he described it, to become acceptable. 'This will never be acceptable in the face of the Lord.' He thundered. Then he railed against how the centre had been placed near to a school, hinting but never quite saying, that homosexuals and lesbians are all paedophiles and not safe with children. He went on at length about how 'they' worm their way in to positions of responsibility, promoting their evil gay agenda. He ended by saying that he was staring a protest march and he expected the entire congregation to join in. They would be meeting back at the chapel at three in the afternoon.

Helen sat aghast as she listened. The pastor, never a particularly mild man, was practically foaming at the mouth as this torrent of hatred spewed forth from him. She hadn't got to know that many gay or lesbian friends in her short time with Sam but she knew in her bones that they were not the evil monsters that the pastor was describing. In her mind she replayed the row with Sam; she hadn't used the same words, she hadn't had the same vehemence, but, at the end of the day, hadn't she said the same thing? She was horrified at what she had implied, Even though what she had said might be relatively mild she'd called Sam 'wrong' and Sam had known enough to join the dots. At the end of the day she might as well have accused her of the same filth that she was hearing now.

The Sunday meal, back at her mum's house was purgatory. The pastor, evidently still fired up from his sermon, kept on, very much on the same theme and he was encouraged by the support and agreement he was getting from Helen's parents. Now that they were in private it was as if the gloves were off and all the smears, all the usual accusations, were coming out. As well as the 'not safe with children' line there was the 'AIDS is a gay plague, they've only themselves to blame' and 'gay marriage is tearing apart the very fabric of society'. Helen kept her head down but she was feeling increasingly nauseous and it wasn't down to mum's lumpy gravy.

“So, Helen, I'm counting on your support this afternoon.” The pastor said across the dinner table. “We need all the people we can get.”

“I don't think I can make it.” Helen replied.

“Nonsense, dear. Of course you can. We're depending on you, aren't we, Pastor?” Her mother interceded.

“But I have things to do, my washing, for example.” Helen tried desperately.

“Nothing is more important than the Lord's work.” The pastor said pompously. “A clean soul is more important than clean laundry.”

“Indeed,” said her mother. “Now, come along, don't be stupid. It's about time you got out and about instead of hiding yourself away in that pathetic little house of yours. If only you'd treated Rob properly you wouldn't be in this mess and I wouldn't have to be feeding you.”

“That's right, do as your mother says, dear.” Helen's father agreed in one of his rare interruptions.

Helen knew she should fight, knew she should at least make some sort of protest but, against the combined forces of her parents and the pastor she had no chance and, whatever her inner feelings, she wasn't ready to make a scene.

By three fifteen they were all piling out of the minibus, sorting themselves out in front of the community centre. All in all there were only eight of them and, in the damp weather, they made a rather pathetic group, huddled together on the pavement. Helen couldn't help feeling that one of the church members, one of the newer ones that she didn't know, looked awfully familiar. The pastor gave what he obviously thought of as a rousing speech about maintaining moral integrity in a sea of filth after which they all stood in a circle and sang the same old hymns. This alone would have been completely embarrassing for Helen but she had also been handed a placard which read. “Protect our children – close the centre”.

They had maybe been there half an hour or so before the inevitable counter demonstration arrived. It was immediately obvious that they were heavily outnumbered but the pastor rallied them to the cause and, in no time the two crowds were face to face trading insults. Helen kept her head down, hoping to stay unnoticed but, suddenly…

“You! What on earth! How can you!” Sam's voice cut through the melee. Helen looked up and, sure enough, there was Sam, along with Bernard and some friends from the club. Her heart sunk.

“Sam, Sam, I can explain.” She tried.

“It doesn't look like there's much to explain here. Protect our children” Sam quoted from Helen's placard. “Is that what you think of us? Is that what you think of me?”

“Sam, it's not like that.” Helen pleaded.

“It sure looks like it; you’re the one holding the placard.” Sam sneered.

“Excuse me, Helen, do you know this woman.” Helen's mum cut in. “She certainly seems to know you.”

“Well I know who she is.” Another voice cut across. It was the same woman that Helen had thought she recognised. “I saw her last weekend in the park kissing another woman and who knows what else besides. She was very rude to me, using all sorts of language.”

‘Oh No!’  Helen thought; now realised just who the woman was.

“Disgusting, that's what it was.” The woman continued. “Two women, quite shameless out in the open like that. One of them had her dress pulled right up to her waist, showing her everything. Poor Wuffles was quite upset. It made him sick to see such filthy behaviour right out there in public. Come to think of it she looked a lot like you.” The woman pointed at Helen. “Was it you? Whichever it was disgusting, it shouldn’t be allowed...”

Apparently words had failed the woman and, red in the face from her anger, she just stood and spluttered. Helen didn't know where to look. On the one hand she had all but been outed as just the thing the pastor had been ranting about. She could try and deny it, deny that the other woman was indeed her but that would be throwing further insults at Sam. On the other hand, not denying it just implicated her and the look on her mother's face said that she was never going to live this one down. There she was still stood there holding a placard which effectively accused her gay friends of paedophilia. Rather than address the woman she turned back to Sam.

“Please, Sam.” She pleaded. “I really didn't...”

“Just fuck off, fuck off back to those small minded bigots you so obviously want to be with. I never, ever, ever want to see you again.” Sam shouted before storming off. When Helen tried to follow Bernard reached out and held her back.

“No, leave her be. Don't you think you've done enough damage?”  He said.

“Bernard...” She began.

“Not interested. As Sam just said; fuck off. I don't want to know either. None of us do, not whilst you're with this crowd.” Bernard turned his back on her. Helen's mum grabbed her by the arm and dragged her away from the crowd.

“Who was that woman?” She demanded.

“Just a friend.” Helen prevaricated.

“It looked like more than that. And is she... one of them?” The inquisition continued.

“Yes, she's 'one of them'. “ Helen replied, exasperated.

“So why do you know her? Why do you have anything to do with her? And what did Mrs Wright mean when she said the woman she was in the park with looked a lot like you?” Helen's mum went on, increasingly suspicious.

“Because... Because...” Helen's emotions were in turmoil. She was busy trying to deal with the pain of Sam's rejection and now her mother was pinning her into a corner. Her heart was breaking but she didn't dare show it. And then it hit her. Her heart was breaking, she really did miss Sam, she wanted her, she needed her, she... she loved her. Suddenly denial was no longer an option. Damn her mother and all the small minded bigots she went to church with.

“Because it was me and I am one of them!” There, she'd said it. There was a horrified gasp from her mum but Helen didn't care. For once she had to be true to what she was, not what others wanted her to be.

“I don't know how you could do this to me. Showing me up in front of everyone.” Helen's mum said, tears streaming down her face. “The divorce was bad enough but now this. You're no daughter of mine. Go, just go!”

“You heard your mother.” Helen's dad had followed them and now it was time for his two penny worth. “Now leave her be. You've upset enough people today. I don't know how you could let us both down like this. I never brought you up to be a pervert. And don't think your welcome at Auntie Jose's birthday party next weekend; we're decent people, unlike some.”

Helen dropped the placard and fled.

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.