Seeing Paul approaching his front door through the frosted glass, Frankie thought again of the impossible thing she must do.  How could she tell him? What if he said no?  The idea that he might refuse hadn’t really occurred to her before, but now it was a real possibility.  How would she explain that to her owner?

  “Nice of  you to come down.  I don’t get many visitors these days, “ Paul said, as she followed him through to the tiny but extremely neat kitchen.  “Not since that bitch turned people against me with her lies,” he added.

He was referring to his soon-to-be-ex wife, Frankie knew, but she had no time to indulge him with a sympathy session today.

  “I’ve got something I have to ask you.  This is going to sound so weird and shocking, but just hear me out.  You know how I enjoy BDSM, and you always want to know more about it?”

Paul was busy spooning coffee into two cups.  He looked up briefly.  Frankie pressed on, the words tumbling out, not the way she had constantly rehearsed on the journey, but simply spilling out of her.  “I need you to watch me do some stuff, take photos of me with my phone as proof for my owner.  I’ve been ordered to do this as a punishment.”

Frankie shoved her phone back in her pocket, feeling pressure mounting on her.  It had to be said, there was no nice way of putting it.  Now she wished she’d texted Paul first and told him. If he’d reacted with horror, she could have pretended it was just a joke.  No chance of that now.  Rapidly, Frankie explained what she wanted Paul to do, stumbling over the words, feeling her face burn red with shame.  It was worse than she had imagined.  She stared at the spotless beige tiled floor, the shocked silence seeming to grow and take on a life of its own as she waited for his response.

  “You mean you’re naked under that coat?” Paul said eventually.

Frankie nodded, still not looking at him.

  “Fucking hell.  Your boyfriend wants you to get naked and for me to take pics of you, then wank over you?  He can’t think much of you, Frank, I’ll tell you that much.  What fucking planet is he on?”

  “You don’t understand.  It’s punishment.”

  “You must have committed one hell of a crime, then!”

  “Will you do it?”

Frankie just wanted him to say yes, not have a lengthy debate on the rights and wrongs.  Paul laughed, a harsh, cynical sound.

  “I haven’t got anything better planned for today.  Course I’ll do it.  I’ve wanted to get you out your clothes for a long time, you know that.  I think your boyfriend’s a bastard, though.  Get rid, he’s bad news.”

            Frankie risked a glance at him.  For all his outrage and lecturing, there was excitement in his eyes.  There was something unpleasant about Paul, really creepy.  She felt angry that he’d said yes.  Betrayed, almost.  You’re supposed to be my fucking friend, you bastard! She thought. If you were any kind of friend you’d have said no way.  You wouldn’t have let me degrade myself like this.  But it was typical of human nature.  Of all the guy friends Frankie had, she could only think of one who would have refused out of genuine respect for her, even though he’d have wanted to do it.

  “Come on then, strip off!” Paul said, closing the blinds.

  “Wait a minute.” Frankie got her phone.

Sunday 14:59 Dom –

Sunday 15:00 sub –

  “Could I have a bowl.  An old one you don’t want anymore,” she said.

While Paul started rummaging through a cupboard, Frankie unbuttoned her coat with stiff, fumbling fingers.  She shrugged it off, and stood naked except for her suspender belt, heels and stockings.  One of them had a ladder in, just above the knee.  She stood rigidly, head turned to one side, away from Paul.

  “What the fuck?!” he said.

Frankie knew he meant the courgettes.  Wordlessly, she took the old plastic jug out of his hands.  He was staring, mouth hanging slightly open, eyes jumping from her tits to her cunt and back again.  She reached down and slid the first one out of her, licking her own juices from the skin before dropping it in the jug.  She removed the second one from her arse, barely licked it once and it joined the other in the jug.  Paul said nothing, but he was breathing quickly. 

            Moving fast now, Frankie tipped the contents of the jug into the bin.  Fuck.  She hadn’t taken any pics yet.  Once again she got her phone out of her coat, her fingers shaking so much that she sent her owner a blank text by mistake.

Sunday 15:11 Dom –

Fuck punctuation, fuck spelling properly.  This was a situation where commas and capital letters just didn’t matter anymore.

Sunday 15:14 Dom –

  “We need to go to the bathroom for this bit,” Frankie said, surprised at how normal her voice sounded.  The pegs! Nearly forgot that bit.  She got them out of her coat pocket, and followed Paul down a narrow passage, her movements jerky and graceless.  The bathroom was, like the kitchen, neat and almost sterile.  Nothing out of place, no bottles of shampoo or a stray razor on the side of the gleaming bath, everything in soothing shades of pastel green.  The act she was about to commit would violate this orderly, tranquil place.

Sunday 15:17 Dom –

            Frankie stood in the shower cubicle.  She lifted the jug up underneath her cunt, willing herself to pee.  Nothing doing.  If only Paul would leave her alone for this bit!  She looked at him.  He was rubbing his cock through his jeans, his eyes never leaving her body.  She eventually managed to pee a little, hearing the sound of a belt being unbuckled.  She felt sick as she set the jug down carefully and picked the clothes pegs up.  The pain as they bit down on her nipples was huge, but she knew that it would be nothing to the pain she’d feel when she removed them.  She had the nasty feeling she was supposed to have put them on before peeing in the jug, but it was too late now.  She took a moment to compose herself before pegging her tongue.  Time to text.

Sunday 15:24 sub –

            Paul was leaning in the doorway.  Naked. Playing with his erection. Blocking her only escape route.  She wished her owner was here, felt a sudden anger that he wasn’t.  What if things went wrong?  What if Paul got too excited and didn’t stop when he was supposed to?  How could he put her in a potentially dangerous situation like this?  She used the anger to fuel her resolve to complete the task.  She’d count the emotional cost later.  The photos! Paul hadn’t taken any yet, and she wasn’t suffering through this for nothing.  She slid her phone across the carpet to him.

  “Get some good pics, please.”  The words came out with difficulty.  Talking with a peg on your tongue wasn’t easy.

            Paul put her phone down and stepped in the shower, but not before he’d rinsed away the piss on the floor of the cubicle.  Fastidious to the last.  Hopefully he’d be careful not to touch her in case he got any on him.  Frankie knelt with difficulty, pressed tightly into the corner.  She shut her eyes, until she remembered she had to keep them open.  She focused on the plughole in the bottom of the basin.  Anything other than look at Paul, who’s cock was uncomfortably near her face.  Is this how prostitutes feel? She wondered.  Probably.  Except they would demand a good deal of money to do the things she had today.  She was doing it for nothing other than the approval and affection of her owner – and her own stubbornness, her refusal to give in no matter what.

            Paul’s right hand was stroking the shaft of his cock, his breathing heavy.

  “Dirty little bitch,” he said, his hand moving faster.  “You’d just love to have this in you, wouldn’t you?”

Afraid, Frankie said nothing.  She jumped and recoiled when she felt a hand brush her left tit.  He touched me! He’s not supposed to!  She fought against the urge to push him away and run.  Something warm hit her neck, and began running down her tit.  She forced herself to remain still as the rest of his spunk splattered against her shoulder and neck.  It was over.

Sunday 15:43 sub –

            Frankie let herself in to her house.  It was freezing, but she couldn’t even summon the energy required to light the gas fire.  Instead she huddled up on the sofa for a while, waiting for the water to heat up enough for a bath.  In the end she couldn’t wait any longer to scrub the smell of piss from her body, to rid herself of  Paul’s cum.  She knew it was only her imagination, but it seemed to itch and burn her skin where it had landed, like some corrosive and deadly substance.  The water was lukewarm, and she shivered uncontrollably, but eventually she felt clean again.

            Downstairs, she re read her owner’s last text.  This she could deal with, and the idea of him inflicting such pain on her was thrilling and erotic.  The pain itself would be huge and monstrous, very hard to handle at the time, and it scared her as well as turned her on.  The marks she’d be left with would be beautiful – red stripes against her pale skin to start with, replaced by livid dark purple bruises that would gradually fade down to greeny blue and pale yellow.  Every time she looked at them, or caught her leg against something and felt a twinge of pain from them, she would think of her owner again, and how he’d left his mark on her.

Sunday 17:30 sub –

I know you will make me suffer.  I understand, and although I’m scared I’m determined to endure it for you.

Sunday 17:31 Dom –

That’s my girl Xxx

Sunday 17:46 Dom

Hope you are still viewing today as a positive step forward.  With your new status of slave you no longer have daily tasks, from now on, you will be tasked only when I really wish something.  Tasks will range from pleasure for you to total humiliation as today.  As a slave, refusal is not an option.  Refusal will bring dismissal.  Do you understand & agree? Xxx

            Refusal is not an option.  Refusal will bring dismissal.  Frankie could not get rid of these words from her head.  If she was to do this, then the only limit to what he might require her to do was his own imagination, and that was vast.  Even if she did all these things - jumped through his metaphorical flaming hoops, so to speak – no matter how well she did them, or what it cost her emotionally or psychologically, all of that would count for nothing with him if she faltered once and said she couldn’t do something.  What was the point?  She felt cheated.  Why had she just gone through that ordeal for him if at some stage he was planning on getting rid of her anyway?  She wished she’d known before, but it was too late now.  Maybe it had always been too late.  Real D/s wasn’t fun all the time.  Slavery wasn’t meant to be taken lightly.  The truth of it was pain, suffering and tears.  Lots of tears.  It was fucking, sucking, multiple orgasms, welts, agony, bruises that took weeks to heal, ecstasy, limbs cramped and screaming for release from their restraints, incredible highs and unimaginable lows.  It wasn’t the stylised, sanitised version of it – Sane, Safe and Consensual was the phrase bandied about a great deal – the acceptable, user friendly face of sadomasochism for the internet generation.  Yet for all that, the rewards were massive, the bonds stronger and more intense than even the most passionate vanilla pairing.  Each partner saw the other one’s shadow side, and embraced it.  Frankie was willing to risk all for this and become his willing slave.  Maybe this driving force deep within her was all consuming, and would lead to her eventual self destruction, but she never felt more alive and existing purely in the moment than when she gave him her suffering and it pleased him, when he demanded that she drop to her knees and suck his cock, when he inflicted terrible pain on her, or when he held her close and safe afterwards.  This was her reality, and she would live it while she could.

Sunday 18:07 sub –