Waiting

My legs ache, the spreader bar holds them wide and they were never meant to be kept this far apart for so long. My jaw aches, the ball gag fills my mouth forcing it open whilst keeping me mute. My wrists ache, the cuffs around them cut into my flesh as they take the strain when my legs buckle. My nipples, so cruelly bruised by the clamps She used on me earlier, are still points of flame and every movement scrapes them across the bare brickwork of the wall to which I’m shackled. My buttocks have settled down to a dull roar; the fire of the riding crop still burns and my battered flesh still complains but the pain is bearable, just. My face is sticky with the tears and snot which flowed as I cried, as I sobbed, as I begged for Her to stop. My bladder is full to bursting and, try as I might, I can hold it back no longer. The sharp smell and the warm flow down my leg means that, from now on, I will be standing in a puddle of my own urine and the sense of relief is countered by an increased sense of shame. It’s dark, even with the blindfold on I can tell that it’s pitch black in the cellar where I wait, held spread-eagled against the wall;  waiting for my Goddess to return. There’s no sound, no light, no external stimuli as I hang suspended in space and time, my very being on hold, waiting, waiting for release, waiting for redemption, waiting for Her return.

So, why am I here? What sane person would allow herself to be treated this way? Because, don’t get me wrong, I’m not here against my will. When She ordered me to the cellar, to strip naked, to humiliate myself before Her, to position myself against the wall, I did do willingly, knowing full well what awaited me. I crave the bonds that hold me, not just the chains, nor the straps, nor the cuffs or even my precious collar, that symbol of what I am, but most of all I welcome the ties you cannot see, the ties that will hold me here forever.

The short answer is that it is love that holds me here. It is with love that I serve my Goddess in any way that pleases Her and my gift of my body is a gift of love. It is with joy that I prostrate myself before Her, that I submit myself to Her will so that She may use me for Her pleasure. She is my reason, my future, my guiding star and without Her I would be lost. My only concern is that I should be worthy of the love that She gives me.

But how can someone who loves me treat me so cruelly? I know it sounds strange but it’s because She cares for me, understands my needs, understands my desires, that She treats me this way. It is through Her chastisements, Her discipline, Her control, that I can fully realise my need to surrender myself to Her will. When a parent scolds a child does that parent love the child less? And when the punishment is done, is not the reconciliation sweeter? It is by serving Her, by subjecting myself to Her will, by losing myself in Her, that I have found greater peace, deeper joy, and higher bliss than I would ever known without Her.

So, why am I here? The long answer is, as the old hymn says, I once was lost but now I’m found. Let me explain.

My parents were strict, and I mean strict, fundamentalist Christians and my father had very firm ideas about what was a sin and what happened to those who transgressed. I grew up fearing both God and my father who, when he felt that I was naughty, saw it as his duty to beat the wickedness from me with his belt. Mum was never strong enough to stand up to him and would only wring her hands saying ‘it’s all for the best, dear' as she applied the witchhazel to my bruises. When, aged thirteen, I first began to realise that I didn’t fancy boys but was attracted to girls instead I prayed and prayed for God to change me. However, God didn’t seem to listen and two years later, when I was fifteen and Katy, my bestest friend, kissed me, I couldn’t resist, I didn’t want to resist, and I responded in kind. One kiss led to another and for eight glorious months we explored our growing  attraction, getting to know every inch of each others bodies, sharing a physical expression of our closeness. We were discrete, or at least we thought we were, and all went well until, one day, dad came home from work early and found us in bed with my face buried in Katy’s crotch, my tongue hard at work, and the screams of her orgasm echoing round the house.

To say that he went spare doesn’t even begin to cover his anger. It would seem that, in his eyes, I was the worst of the worst, Satan’s whore destined to burn in hell for all eternity unless he drove my ‘perversion’ from me. As Katy ran from the room he unbuckled his belt and came at me. I, on the other hand, had had just about enough of his ‘holier than thou’ preaching and was not going to be told by anyone that what we had been doing, which had felt so right, could be so wrong. He shouted, I shouted, and, after a brief struggle, he laid into me, thrashing at me wildly until, his passion spent, he threw me to the floor and left, locking my bedroom door behind him.

For hours I just lay there, sobbing gently. I could hear dad storming round the house and, when mum came home, he laid into her as well. The locked door muffled the words but I could still make out the import of what he was saying, that somehow it was her fault, that somehow all women were evil, that it was Eve who had betrayed Adam by eating the apple and now his wife and daughter were betraying him with their perverse lusts. There was a crash, I heard mum scream, and then there was silence.

I knew I had to leave, had to get out, had to go somewhere, anywhere that was away from him. Katy, sweet Katy, had shown me how to climb out of my bedroom window so I waited until dark, and, putting a few essentials together into my school-bag, along with a tiny sum which represented all my savings, I slipped from the house and, keeping to the shadows, went over to Katy’s house. I woke her by throwing stones at her bedroom window and she slipped out to see me. Along with a long, lingering kiss goodbye she gave me all the money she had in her savings. It wasn’t much in value, but it was everything in friendship. Then it was off to the bus station and away.

If you can’t guess what happened next you must be as naive as a sixteen year old girl arriving in the big city with nowhere to go and no one to go to. I don’t want to dwell on the next bit of my story, I’d rather forget it, so, suffice it to say, like so many others, it starts with ‘I met this guy, and he seemed really nice...’ We went back to his place and, although I fought hard to keep both, it wasn’t long before I’d lost both my purse and my virginity and was back out on the street again. For the rest of the day I wandered the streets, lost, scared, lonely and depressed. I couldn’t go home, I hadn’t the money for the bus fare, but with nowhere else to go I ended up back at the bus station. I went down into the toilets, locked myself in a stall and started to cry. And that’s where Jezz found me.

Jezz is… different. She could hear me crying and the locked door wasn’t going to stop her; she just went into the next stall climbed up on the toilet seat and peered in over the partition. Thirty minutes later I was back at her squat, sitting on her bed, drinking tea, and eating beans on toast, my first hot meal of the day. As I told her my story Jezz just laughed; she’d heard it all before and, whilst she sympathised, I wasn’t allowed to wallow in any self pity. I guess she must have been around twenty at the time but, from my sixteen years, she seemed so much older and wiser and I was more than willing to trust her. It turned out that, although her story wasn’t as extreme, she knew all about the problems of ‘coming out’; she too liked girls, not boys and, although her parents hadn’t reacted as violently as dad had done, it was when they had found out that she had left home.

After we had eaten she produced some grass and proceeded to roll some joints. At first I didn’t want to have anything to do with it, I’d never smoked a cigarette, let alone drugs,  but Jezz insisted and it seemed churlish to refuse; after all she had opened up her home to me and given me somewhere to stay when I was lost. After that the rest of the day disintegrated into a stoned blur, we talked a lot, we giggled a lot, and, exhausted by all the high emotion, it wasn’t long before I was falling asleep. When Jezz suggested I get undressed and into her bed it seemed like the natural thing to do; when she got in with me it was only being friendly, after all it was her bed, and when she reached out to me I snuggled into her arms and fell asleep at once.

The next day Jezz taught me her brand of survival. We went down to the West End and I soon discovered that what looked, at first, like a window shopping trip was actually picking pockets and shoplifting. I couldn’t, I wouldn’t, actually do the ‘dipping’ but Jezz explained that she needed someone who looked sweet and innocent to take the purse or whatever as soon as she had lifted it. We’d enter a shop separately, she’d find a mug, lift the purse, pass it to me and disappear. We’d then meet up later to split the proceeds. In one short afternoon we made over four hundred quid; more money than I’d ever seen before. Then we traipsed round to her dealer to pick up some hash and some pills. I was young, I was green, and I was so naïve but I was having my eyes opened and fast. When the hash pipe was passed round I once again tried to say no, but not very hard, and I was soon coughing away as the harsh smoke seared at my lungs. An hour later, my mind reeling, we were back on the street and heading for Jezz’s squat.

We’d hardly got back when Jezz took me to bed. This time there was no soporific snuggling, We both fired up by the excitement of the day there was an itch that needed scratching and it wouldn’t wait a moment longer. Whereas making love to Katy had been a soft, gentle exploration of each other’s bodies with Jezz it was definitely fucking. Fuelled by the hash and the pills we tore into each other, letting our passion run wild with no limits, no boundaries, no restrictions and no rules. Jezz ripped at my tee-shirt in her impatience to get to me, my bra was pushed roughly away and her lips clamped ontomy nipples. Equally fired up I clawed at her jeans, pushing them down, tearing away her flimsy panties and, when Jezz produced a strap on I was ready, oh so ready, for her to take me, plunder me, rape me, use me, consume me until, sated and exhausted, we collapsed panting into each other’s arms.

We didn’t lie there long, however. Jezz was determined to take me out clubbing and, after a bit of ‘whizz’ to put us in the mood we got dressed and headed for town. I had to borrow quite a bit from Jezz as most of what I’d got was too dowdy, in Jezz’s eyes, or had just been ripped to shreds. What I hadn’t expected was that Jezz was going to take me to a lesbian club, up until that point I hadn’t even known they existed. There was a pretty muscular butch on the door but she knew Jezz and we were waved through. As soon as we entered I found the sense of empowerment and liberation fantastic. Here I could be myself, I didn’t have to hide, I didn’t have to lie, well, except about my age, of course, and, if I wanted to kiss another woman, I could go ahead and just kiss her. Jezz was well known and we spent the evening going from group to group as she introduced me to her friends. Here I discovered that, as a young woman new to the scene, there were plenty who wanted me, and who were not shy in making  their intentions clear. Being the desirable centre of attention was a new one on me, and a drug as heady as any of the pills we'd just taken. However, the music was loud and the drugs had kicked in so we dropped another ‘E’ and headed for the dance floor.

The pounding music, the flashing lights, the euphoria from the drugs, came together to lift me and I danced and I danced and I danced. It was as if sixteen years of locked up oppression burst forth and I felt free, free from rules, free from restrictions, free to dance, free to love, free to be. At six in the morning, when Jezz finally dragged me out, I was still high as a kite, not just from the drugs, but high on life, high on freedom.

From then on I was like the child given the keys to the sweetshop; I’d discovered a world where every pleasure could be quickly and easily satisfied and, if I were short of money, all it took was another trip down to the West End. I didn’t stay long with Jezz, she’d been great, and had rescued me from God knows what, but we knew we weren’t soul mates or anything and we were both happy when I found a room in another nearby squat. We still went out ‘lifting’ together and we’d often do our drugs together but, in the end, we went our separate ways.

Mostly I went back to the bars and clubs. I wanted dancing and I wanted sex and I knew where to get them both. Fuelled by the endless drugs I was taking I’d dance the night away before looking for another conquest to screw. I played the innocent sixteen year old for all it was worth although I was fast losing any innocence I might have had left, and I went after them all, from the butches to the lipsticks. It wasn’t long before I met some of the more exotic appetites but that just added to the thrill, I was willing to try anything once, and once more to make sure; you want kinky, bring it on! It felt so grown-up to be this sophisticated, so in control of my own life, so free of the petty rules and regulations I’d grown up with. Of course, with a community as small and as enclosed as the gay scene it wasn’t long before I was getting quite a reputation. Slut? Me? I loved it, I was the wild one, up for anything, and, if you buy my drinks and my drugs, you can have me any way you want me, but you don’t own me, ‘cause nobody owns me, ever!

Of course it was too good to last. I was up town with Jezz when we got pulled; bundled into a black maria and down the nick in seconds. I was telling anyone who would listen that I didn’t know Jezz, had never met her before, and was a victim of mistaken identity but once you’re in the system you’ve got to go through the process. They pushed me around a bit, filled in a million and one forms, and eventually I was taken to an interview room. For maybe fifteen minutes they left me to sweat it out, just me and the WPC keeping watch. Then She entered…

Ok, so I’m not going to do the eyes across a crowded room thing; it wasn’t like that, well not completely, but as soon as I saw Her I knew that, although She wasn’t to be messed with, there was some sort of spark between us. For Her part She spent several minutes looking me over before dismissing the WPC and sitting down opposite. She opened up the file that She had brought with Her and read it for a while.

“How old are you?” She asked when She finally looked up.

“Nineteen.” I replied.

“Oh, yeah. And I’m the Queen of Sheeba.” The disbelief in Her face was obvious. She reached over and switched off the tape recorder.

“Listen, Nichole, if that’s your real name. I know you. I’ve seen you round the clubs. More than that, I know your sort. The lost little girl living it up in the big city, the booze, the drugs, every night a different bed. I’ve seen it all before, and I’ve seen where it ends up. Now, let’s try again. How old are you?”

“Eighteen.” I ventured.

“More lies, just lies, that’s all I’m going to get from you, isn’t it? Now, we haven’t got enough to hold you so I’m going to have to let you go but we’re holding Jessica, and, judging by her previous, it looks like she’s going down this time. She’s going to find out just what it’s like inside Holloway prison and, if she thinks she’s tough, she’s going to find otherwise. That’s where you’re heading, you know that? You may have got away with it this time but you won’t get away with it forever, I’ll see to that. Do you understand!”

“Yes, Miss.” I know She was trying to scare me, and to an extent She succeeded, but all I was hearing was the ‘I’m going to have to let you go’ part. I was free, I’d got away with it. As for Jezz, well, I couldn’t afford to go down with her and I’m sure she wouldn’t have wanted me to so I left her to her fate.

I went back to the squat more than a little shaken. Although I’d got to meet lots of people Jezz was the only one I really knew and, without her, I’d lost my only source of income. Sure I was getting good at scrounging off my nightly conquests and, truth be told, had even stolen from one or two of them, but my future seemed far from certain.

From then on it seemed that, every time I hit the clubs and pubs, I kept bumping into Her, my stalker, my nemesis. Just knowing She was a copper cramped my style and the way She looked at me, that long hard look that I’ve come to know so well, set my nerves on end and I would usually move on and find somewhere else to hang out. On the day that Jezz went down She even came over and spoke to me.

“I hear your little friend got six months. Why don’t you  go and visit her in Holloway, see how much fun she’s having?” And, without another word, She returned to Her group at the bar.

But it was the night of Sarah’s party when it all came to a head. Sarah had this big house down in Clapham and anyone who was anyone around the scene had to have an invite. I wangled my way in as a ‘plus one’ and headed straight for the improvised bar. A couple of vodka-cokes followed by a couple more put me in the mood and then it was off to the bathroom to snort a few lines, pop some pills and I was away. If the party was loud, I was louder; if the party was brash, I was brasher; if the party was fun then I was at the centre of that fun and, whenever I started to run out of steam, there was always another vodka-coke, or another line of Charlie. And then, suddenly, it got weird; I felt dizzy, the room spun, She was there, my head was thumping, I was having trouble staying upright, the lights hurt my eyes, She was there, the music was too loud, I stumbled and knocked over a potted plant, it wasn’t funny anymore, She was there, my stomach knotted, I started to fall, strong arms caught me, I vomited like I would never stop, my legs gave way but still I was held, She was there, She was there, and it all went dark.

…

Slowly, gradually, the mists parted and I woke up. My head throbbed with the worst hangover I’d ever had, my mouth tasted like a camel’s armpit, and I couldn’t move. Slowly, carefully, I opened my eyes. I was lying on my side on some kind of pvc covered mattress in what looked like a cellar with rough brick walls. A puddle of vomit in front of me testified to this being where I had spent the night. I tried to get up but found why I couldn’t move; my wrists were fastened together behind my back. My ankles were similarly restrained and, although I couldn’t see exactly how, they were both apparently fixed to something solid which was preventing me from moving. The icing on the cake was that I was completely naked and, now, very scared. What sort of pervert kidnaps young women and ties them up in the cellar, and what did they have planned for me?

“Help! Help! Somebody help me!” I screamed out but this only intensified the pounding headache. “Help, please help.” I almost whispered and the tears started to fall.

For what seemed like hours I just lay there. I was cold, I was cramped and my bladder was full to bursting. Eventually there seemed no point in trying to hold it back any longer and, with a sense of relief, I just let it flow. However, I hadn’t bargained on the fact that my weight was making a depression in the mattress, a depression that was now full of my rapidly cooling urine. Sick and stinking I lay there and awaited my fate.

The door to the cellar opened and She came down the stairs and across to stand in front of the mattress. She was holding a file which She flicked through.

“Well, Nichole, or perhaps I should call you Mary, Mary Baines, aged sixteen from Halifax in Yorkshire. I ought to arrest you, right now, take you down the station and throw you in the cells. We’ll start with theft. I’ve plenty of CCTV footage of you working the shops in the West End, footage that shows exactly what your relationship to Jessica Worthing was. Footage that would stand up in court. Did you go to see her in Holloway, by the way? How’s she settling in? Having fun, is she?

“After that we’ve got the drugs. Do you know what was in your handbag? Cocaine’s a class A, you can get sent down for possession alone, so is the ecstasy, looks like you  got some of that bad batch that came across from Holland last week. That might explain your upset stomach. And we can add to that amphetamines, moggies, and a little hash. Quite a junkie, aren’t you?

“And then we’ll throw in the underage drinking. Seems that if your not snorting coke you swigging  booze, aren’t you? You do know that eighteen is the minimum drinking age?

“And last, but not least, there’s vomiting all over my best Armani; let’s call that assaulting a police officer. I’m not sure if the courts would agree but it’s certainly the most serious offence in my book.”

She went back to reading the file, flicking the pages back and forth.

“Or maybe I should just take you home; do you know there’s a missing persons report out on you? Surely mummy and daddy must be wondering where their daughter’s got to. Jump in the car, a couple of hours up the M1 and we'd be there in no time. So, what do you think I should do?”

“Please, please don’t make me go home.” I croaked. My throat was dry and talking was an effort.

“Umm... Maybe not,” again She flicked through the file. “I guess that you ran from something bad. What was it? Incest maybe? Did daddy like to keep it in the family? Hmm? But that doesn’t answer the question; what should I do with you?”

“Please, please let me go. I’ll be good. I’ll pay for your Armani. I’ll do anything. Please.” I didn’t want to beg but I was cold, naked and lying in my own filth.

“Pay for my Armarni; do you think I would take your stolen money! Not good enough. You’re a thief, you’re a junkie, and above all, you’re a slut who can’t be trusted. I think I’ll leave you for a while to think it over. Maybe this will help you decide. It's time you took a long hard look at yourself, realised just what you've become” She went out of sight for a  moment, returned with a full length mirror on a stand, positioned it in front of me and, without a backwards glance, walked out of the cellar.

I lay there, Her words echoing in my head. Was that really me, a thief, a junkie and a slut? I’d been having fun but what had I become? Worse still there were the choices I had to make about my future. With Jezz inside I had no friends, no job, and nowhere but a damp room in a squalid squat to live. And there She was, holding this power over me, keeping me chained in Her cellar, lying in my filth. What did She want from me? What did She want me to do?

I took a long at myself in the mirror. My hair was matted and stuck with bits of vomit. My  face had a pale pallor and, quite frankly, I looked a mess. I’d really fucked up and was now just about at rock bottom. An overwhelming sense of shame washed over me; incidents came unbidden into my mind; how I'd lied, how I'd cheated, how I'd stolen. Suddenly I wasn't so proud of my reputation; I was a slut, and I was ashamed of it. And now there was Her, She had berated me, I definitely knew She wasn’t happy with me, but there was something there, something else. This wasn’t the incoherent rage I used to get from my father, it wasn’t anger that drove Her, it was disappointment, as if I’d let Her down. I felt small, I felt lost, I felt an aching need I couldn’t describe, but I didn’t feel afraid, not of Her.

I was still staring at myself in the mirror when She returned.

“Well…” She asked.

“Please, Miss, please help me.” I don’t know where the words came from but I felt like I was drowning and reaching out to Her outstretched hand.

“Are you sorry, really sorry?” She asked.

“Yes, Miss.” Somehow, now I’d started, this was easy.

There was a long pause. Her eyes bored into mine as if She was reading all my secrets.

“Maybe you are but, sorry or not, you’ve been a naughty girl and you still need to be punished, you know that, don’t you?” Her tone was soft and understanding.

“Yes, Miss.”

“Good girl.” She reached down and unfastened my wrists and ankles. Painfully, inch by inch, I forced my stiff limbs to move and managed to sit up. Meanwhile She went over to a sink in the corner and got me a glass of water. Never before has water ever tasted so sweet.

“Now let’s get you cleaned up.” She reached down and, pulling me to my feet, led me off upstairs to the bathroom. She ran the shower for me and I got inside. The warm water cascaded over me and my body began to return to normal. I found the shampoo and washed my hair, my stomach still turning at disgust as the lumps of vomit broke free and swilled down the drain. I could have stayed there forever, well, at least until the hot water ran out, but I knew She was waiting so I finished up and got out.

She was stood by the bathroom door, almost as if on guard duty, and, as I got out, She handed me a towel and told me I’d find a spare toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet. Her watchful eyes never left me as I towelled myself down and brushed my teeth.

“First off, you can clean up the mess you've left in the cellar. You’ll find all you need down there.” She said as I hung up the towel. I looked at Her face and then down at my still naked body.

“Oh, I think that working naked will help you keep in mind exactly what you’re doing and why.” She said,  answering my unasked question.

She took me back down to the cellar and left me there to tidy up. Now that I wasn’t chained to the bed I could have a good look around. It wasn’t as bare as it had seemed. Apart from the sink unit there were benches and a chest of draws and, tucked in a corner a leather padded horse. The chains that had bound me were still attached to a staple driven into the brickwork and, as I looked around, I could see plenty more set at varying heights around the room. I found a bucket, some cloths and some disinfectant in the cupboard under the sink and set to work.

Cleaning up was strangely therapeutic. It seemed ages since I’d been on my knees with a mop and bucket and it fitted perfectly with my contrite mood. The stinking, sodden mess that was the mattress where I had spent the night reminded me of just how far I'd fallen. I determined that I wasn’t just going to clean up, I would make the place sparkle, or at least as much as a rather grim cellar could. When it came time to put away the chains I had a chance to really look around under the pretence of finding out where they lived. The chest of draws was neatly organised with a collection, not just of chains, but of leather and steel cuffs, spreader bars, gags and blind folds, whips and paddles of all flavours, and a collection of dildoes, strapons and butt plugs for every occasion and orifice. I picked up a paddle and swished it through the air feeling strangely ambivalent. I knew that soon, very soon, this, or something like this, would be used on me and the memories of my father's belt were vivid, but, and it was a huge but, She was different, very different. Whereas with him it had been about his rage, his anger, his violent temper taken out on my body, with Her it would be a well deserved punishment, a path to forgiveness and redemption.

Once I’d finished cleaning the bed area I wasn’t sure what to do next but I’d noticed some leather polish in the chest of draws along with suitable brushes and cloths so I set to and polished the various whips and paddles. As I worked away I wondered again which one She would use. Surely, with a collection like this available, I would feel more than the palm of Her hand. I was still busy polishing away when She came to fetch me for supper.

We sat at the kitchen table, two women, one naked, one clothed, enjoying supper together. I still felt a little self-conscious about being naked but that was fine, it added to, it reinforced, my position as penitent. The meal was delicious and I was ravenous so it wasn’t long before my plate was clean. I helped Her load the dish-washer and tidy away the condiments and then She turned to me.

“Right, we have some unfinished business, don’t we?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“I think you should choose the instrument; it will say a lot about exactly how sorry you are.”

I went down to the cellar and once again opened up the chest of draws. What to choose? What to choose? I finally settled on a tawse that I had polished earlier. Something about it spoke to me, its air of the schoolroom, maybe. I took it upstairs and, without thinking knelt down before Her and held it out on my upturned palms.

“Very pretty, and quite an appropriate choice. The tawse was designed to be used to punish recalcitrant school girls. You know why you’re being punished, don’t you?”

“Yes Miss. I’ve been a naughty girl, Miss.”

“Yes, indeed. You’re a thief, a junkie and a slut. Any one of these is bad enough, but all three together… Now, what are you?”

“A thief, a junkie and a slut, Miss. Please punish me, Miss. Please make me better.” I’m not sure who was more surprised at that last bit, Her or me. All I knew was that something powerful inside me wanted, needed, demanded, Her absolution and my plea for punishment was a plea from the heart.

She fetched an upright chair and placed it in the middle of the room. Then She took the tawse from me and sat down.

“Here, girl, over my knee. Hurry up.” I went over and draped myself over Her. She took my wrist and, twisting my arm behind my back, held it firm, locking me tight. With Her other hand She arranged my legs, spreading them apart. There was no-one to see but I felt open, exposed, on view but this was only right for a slut like me, a slut that deserved, no needed to be punished.

And then She started. From the first stroke it hurt like crazy, but I was used to that. What I wasn’t used to, what I hadn’t bargained on, was the floodgate that opened inside me. She cared, She really cared, She cared for a wretch like me. I was a thief, I was a junkie, I was a slut but She still wanted me, still cared for me, still wanted to make me better. I cried, I sobbed, I kicked and I fought, but inside there was turmoil of a different sort. I was a lost little girl crying out for the mother she never had, the strong mother who could provided an anchor in the storms of life. I didn't want it to stop but I couldn’t wait for the punishment to be over, not because it hurt, but because I  wanted to go down on my knees and thank Her for saving me. And the need within me was not just an emotional need, it was a physical need, there was a burning, not just of my buttocks but of my loins.

Over at last, She released my wrist and I slid to the floor. Kneeling up I lay my head on Her lap and sobbed and sobbed. I was well beyond rational thought, overwhelmed by the intensity of the emotions that had washed through me, and were still washing through me. She, of course, understood and let me be, simply stroking my hair until the storms subsided. Then Her hand lifted my chin, pulling my face up, up towards Hers. She reached forward and kissed me.

How sweet the kiss of redemption; the price paid, the sinner forgiven. I reached up and put my arms round Her neck and, without for one second breaking the kiss, She pulled me up onto Her lap. Her strong arms held me close, keeping me safe, as She kissed away the tears and soothed away the hurts until, easing me from Her lap, She took me by the hand and led me off to bed.

And that was a little over five years ago. Five years of bliss. I never went back to the squat, there was nothing there I needed and with Her I wanted to rebuild my life from scratch. I even left my clothes there, the next day Goddess took me shopping and we bought me a whole new wardrobe to go with a whole new life. Every day we grow closer, sharing our lives, sharing our love. I'm still a naughty girl from time to time and my punishments have evolved over the years, neither of us wants to get stuck in a rut. She well understands my need for pain and humiliation and is ever inventive and quick to suggest new ways for us to share our passions but She always is, and always will be, my one, my only, my Goddess.

And now the wait is over. I hear Her coming back, I hear the click of the light switch, the sound of Her shoes on the wooden stairs, Her hands undo the cuffs around my ankles and wrists and She catches me as I fall away  from the wall. I am free, I have paid the price, I am purified, ready to join with my Goddess, to share the ecstasy, the bliss, the deep inner joy that only true lovers know.