Heart Strings Ch. 02byMissLisaJones©
The grey light of morning filtered through the curtains as I woke up. Sandra was sleeping soundly so, not wanting to wake her, I slipped out of bed and went to the kitchen. I retrieved my clothes from the washing machine and put them in the tumble. I brewed myself a cuppa, went into the lounge and over to the window. Here on the thirteenth floor, there was no problem with my nudity. No one could possibly see me apart from a couple of seagulls and they didn't count. I gazed out over the city as it woke up and went about its business.
With Sandra asleep the link between was weaker and I could think more clearly. I replayed the previous day's events and was appalled at what I had done. It wasn't just the way I had obeyed every order, it was the way I had actively sought to degrade myself in front of her. She didn't need to pull this marionette's strings; I was pulling them for her. Take as an example, not just agreeing but actually asking to drink her pee. I nearly vomited at the recollection. There was no way on earth I would have done that normally. Whatever it was, whatever this hold she had over me, was making me humiliate myself further and further as my craving for her approval grew.
If I were to retain, or even regain, any dignity whatsoever, I should get away; I really had to get away. However all my clothes were in the tumble dryer and they hadn't been there for more than a few minutes. Which was worse: staying in Sandra's flat or going home in wet clothes? I was still dithering when I sensed that she was waking up. What on earth was I doing? I had no time to just stand and stare out of the window. I had to go to the kitchen and make her a cup of tea to get up with.
I took the tea through to her bedroom where she was still snuggled under the covers. I passed her the mug and she patted the side of the bed to show that I should sit beside her. She was looking at my breasts. It was a little chilly without any clothes on and that made my nipples were stand out. As I could feel that she thought that this looked sexy, I cupped the underside of my breasts with my hands and toyed with them. Better to be thought sexy than scrawny.
"You're a horny little cow," Sandra laughed and, again, I could feel her pleasure. I didn't know whether the link worked both ways, whether she could feel the tingling in my nipples or whether she just liked to watch me play with myself but, whichever it was, I was determined to give her a show. Feeling incredibly daring I moved my right hand from my breasts to my groin and reached for my pussy.
Immediately I sensed Sandra's frustration as, with me sat on the edge of the bed, she couldn't really see properly. I stopped what I was doing, got up, onto the bed, and knelt facing her. Now I could give her a proper show. Feeling like some sort of showgirl in an Amsterdam strip club, I threw my head back and, while my left hand played with my breasts, my right was working down below. It was a little difficult to get it exactly right. My normal approach is to cup my hand over my pussy and rub in circles but the feeling I was picking up from Sandra was that this was blocking her view and she wanted to see my fingers working inside me. After a little experimentation I found a way that suited us both and had two fingers pushed in as far as the second knuckle.
I ended up having to hold myself back. The hornier I got, the hotter the show I put on. The hotter the show, the more Sandra enjoyed it and, of course, the more she enjoyed it, the hornier I got. It was so exhilarating. Normally the orgasms I get from playing with myself are OK but nothing special. But this one, the one I could feel fast approaching, was going to be something way out of the ordinary. Moaning and gasping in a way that would have put any Amsterdam stripper to shame, I pushed myself higher and higher. I felt so alive, so energized, so goddamn sexy!
And then, quite clearly, I heard her voice in my head saying 'Come, Julie, come for me, now! I want to see you come! Now!' and that was enough, I couldn't hold back any more. I lost my balance, fell sideways and, with my fingers rammed inside me and my thighs clamped together, I came and I came and I came.
"Oh, Sandra, oh Sandra, oh Sandra, thank you, thank you, thank you." I repeated over and over and over as I let the waves wash through me. "I love you so much, I love you, I love you, I love you."
"And I love you too," Sandra said as I started to come round, "you look so pretty when you come."
She was so good to me. Firstly to let me come like that and then to call me pretty. I could not have been happier as I lay there, letting the post-orgasm glow subside. Still, it couldn't last forever and it was soon time for me to go and make breakfast. As I bustled around in the kitchen I found the time to check on my clothes, which were now dry. They were creased from the washer but there was no time to iron them so I put them on and continued with the cooking. Twenty minutes later I took a laden tray through to Sandra so that she could have breakfast in bed.
After breakfast I washed up and, while Sandra had her shower, I tidied her bedroom and changed the bedding. After she was finished she went through to the lounge to read 'OK' while I gave the bathroom a quick once over and then went on to tidy out the cupboard under the sink. I was hard at it when I heard a knock on the front door. Sandra went to answer it. When she returned, she was accompanied by Mrs Bates. Rather than go to the lounge, they came and sat at the kitchen table while I made a pot of tea for them both. I put their cups on the table and returned to my tasks.
"She stayed the night, then," Mrs Bates said, poking at my backside with her walking stick.
"Yes," Sandra replied meekly.
"Was she worth it? Was she worth the price?"
"Oh, yes, Mrs Bates. We had a lovely time."
"Well, don't forget, eleven o'clock, you're to come to my flat. That's the arrangement. Unless, of course...."
"No, no, I'll be there," Sandra said hurriedly. "Please, you can count on me to be there."
"See that you do."
As Sandra and Mrs Bates carried on talking I was down on my hands and knees with my head in the under-sink cupboard. I could hear what they were talking about. It didn't make much sense to me but then, why should it? I wasn't important enough for them to include me in their conversation. There was one thing though. The link between Sandra and myself was strong enough that I was always aware of her mood and I could tell she was quite frightened. What on earth could be scary about a lovely little old lady like Mrs Bates? Still, I was worried for her. I wished I could sort out her life the same way I was sorting out her cupboards.
Mrs Bates didn't stay long. She had just the one cuppa and then she returned her own flat. I could sense Sandra's growing anxiety but I wasn't sure how to broach the subject. After all, if she didn't want to discuss it with me then it really wasn't my business. I finished off the cupboard and, with Sandra going round to Mrs Bates' flat at eleven, it was time for me to go home. I offered to stay and continue tidying her flat while she was out but she wanted me to go. I was a little hurt by that but I understood.
So it was that, at ten forty five, I was waiting at the bus stop for the number seventy-three to take me home. As when she was asleep, the further I got from her flat, the clearer I was able to think. As the link between us weakened, it was almost like waking up. The bus arrived and I got on. By the time we were clear of the estate where she lived I was almost completely free of her influence and, with the bus wending its way through the city suburbs, I could start to analyse the hold Sandra had over me in an effort to find any weaknesses.
On the most basic, physical, level there was the way she could make me do anything she wanted. Using the marionette she had, quite literally, made me dance to her tune but, beyond that, when I was with her a simple request became an unbreakable order. She didn't need to manipulate the marionette to manipulate me, she merely had to own it.
The next level was the way I became a player in a romanticised version of her life. If she wanted the perfect dinner companion, or a girlfriend to accompany her around the shops, then that's what I became. At this level I wasn't 'doing' what she wanted, I was 'being' what she wanted and I would be forced so deep into the role that I wouldn't just be acting. I had actually become the sort of person who found Saturday shopping in Tescos with Sandra to be girly fun and not a hideous chore.
That was all driven by her. I was responding to her wants and desires. The next level was driven directly by me. Whenever I was near her I turned to mush, an infatuated schoolgirl with a helpless crush. I was pathetically needy and would do simply anything to earn her approval. I wouldn't just soak up the abuse, I would actively seek it out, finding evermore degrading ways to debase myself in desperate attempts to win her affection. She hadn't ordered me to tidy her kitchen cupboards, I had just done it in the hope of getting praise, and, as for drinking her pee... my stomach lurched at the memory.
And then, right at the heart of it all, there was the ever-growing link between us. It was more than simple telepathy, although that in itself would have been quite scary. It was as if I could feel what she was feeling because I was part of her. Whenever we were close, and especially when we were having sex, I became an extension of her. Her needs, her wants, her feelings and her emotions drowned mine out. Even my earlier orgasm had been for her pleasure; mine was secondary. My ego was subsumed by the power she had over me.
All this musing begged the simple question: what was I going to do about it? And, as soon as I thought about it, the simple answer came back: nothing. I hadn't found a single weakness. If I had learnt anything from the last twenty-four hours it was that I was powerless to stand up to her. Simple confrontation was a non-runner; she would simply stop me. Maybe I should go for help but, to whom? The Police? A priest? An exorcist? If I went to the police I would risk being locked up as a nutter. Who would believe a story such as mine? As for a priest, I hadn't crossed the threshold of a church since I had been christened twenty-seven years ago. I wouldn't know where to start. I very much doubt I could find a priest who would give me credence. Which left exorcist as the only option left but where on earth would I find one. It's not as if they are listed under 'E' in the yellow pages.
And there was one more thing. Even now, at a distance, with the enchantment at its weakest and my thoughts at their clearest, I wasn't sure that I wanted this to stop. As I had frigged myself on her bed this morning I had called out to Sandra that I loved her. Of course, this was the enchantment at work, but it held true enough, even now, to stop me wanting to harm her. I cared for her, really cared for her. Enchantment or the real thing? The answer was immaterial, I knew in my heart that I could never hurt her. At this point in my musing the bus arrived at my stop, I needed to alight and go home. My own washing and housework still needed doing and, unlike Sandra's it was going to be more of a chore than a pleasure.
Come Monday morning and I woke feeling surprisingly refreshed. As I got ready for work I found myself looking forward to seeing Sandra. I stopped by the florists on my way in and bought her a single rose in a vase, and, when I arrived, I took it over and put it on her desk. She hadn't arrived yet and I got a warm glow from the thought of her pleasure when she came in and found it there waiting for her.
"What's that all about?" Maureen asked from the desk next to mine where she sat. "That's twice you've brought Sandra flowers."
"It's just... well...," I had to think of some excuse, "she's been good to me."
"Sandra? Really? But what's with the flowers and all? That's more than a simple thank you. It's as if you fancy her or something, It's as if you.... No! I don't believe it! Don't tell me you're shagging her. Don't tell me you've got some bi-curious thing going with her! Come to think of it, it's been a while since you've had a boyfriend."
"It's not like that," I blustered but my blushes glowed red.
"If you say so," Maureen replied but I could hear the disbelief in her voice. Furthermore, ten minutes later, she was over at the water cooler talking to Joyce, Wendy and Emma and I could see them glancing in my direction. I was in the middle of dying of embarrassment when, suddenly, it was all worth it. On the dot of nine-thirty, the latest possible time allowed under our flexi-hours arrangement, Sandra arrived and I could feel the glow of pleasure that my flowers had given her. Did I imagine it or did I hear a 'thank you'? No matter, the joy I got from making Sandra happy made all the embarrassment worth while. Why should I care what the gossips thought when Sandra was so pleased?
All through the working day we hardly acknowledged each other but I was constantly aware of her presence. I felt her thirst at eleven, felt it satisfied by a nice cuppa and felt the ensuing need to pee shortly afterwards. As I saw her heading for the ladies I wanted to go too but I got a clear 'no' from her so I stayed at my desk.
As the afternoon wore on people started to leave. At three thirty the early birds, those who had been first to arrive, started to leave. Gradually the office emptied until, at five forty-five, Janice, the last person left in the office except Sandra and myself, finally got up from her desk.
"Well, I'll leave you two love birds alone, then, shall I?" she said gaily as she took her handbag out from her desk draw. My face flushed red and I bowed my head at the thought that our 'secret' was all around the office but, as I had brought in the rose, I couldn't complain. After all, there was more than a smidgen of truth in what she said. Indeed, no sooner had she left than I got up and went over to Sandra's desk.
"Can I get you anything?" I asked. "Some water, or a cup of tea, maybe?"
"Not at the moment, thank you," Sandra replied but she must have sensed my disappointment as she didn't dismiss me but rather she had me kneel down next to her. Although she went back to work I could tell she was affected. This close, the link was really strong and I could feel how having me kneeling beside her was turning her on. I just loved the way her knees poked out from under the hem of her skirt and, apparently, the link must work the other way as well as she stopped typing for a moment, looked down at me, gave me a smile, and hitched the hem of her skirt up a few inches.
God, she was sexy! Not in the clichéd ways. Sitting there in her plain, ordinary work clothes, she wasn't going to be asked to model for FHM any time soon. It was the hints of strong emotions running underneath that was the turn on. I mean, there she was, all prim and proper as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, and all the while she's getting hotter and hotter over having another woman fantasize about her knees. We both knew what we both wanted; me kneeling between her knees, my head between her thighs, my tongue doing its thing, as, between the two of us, we took her to another of those orgasms. The fact that she looked so pure and virginal was all part of the turn on. I never knew that white ankle socks with pretty pink lace trim could be so erotic.
She kept me there for maybe fifteen minutes. Twice she reached down and pulled her hem a little higher. Each time we both got off on the little rush it gave us. I knew that, when she finally allowed me to kiss her there, I would find her so ready for me. I could feel the heat between her thighs as a heat between my own. What was worse was that she didn't put the spell on me that stopped me moving. I knew that, physically, I was free but I also knew she wanted me to wait. I began to understand why drug addicts will do anything for their fix.
At last she logged off and turned to me. She looked me up and down and bit her lower lip. I knew, without a word being spoken, that she wanted to see me play with myself so I knelt up, unfastened the waistband of my trousers, pushed them and my panties down to just above my knees, and, opening my thighs as far as my clothing allowed, knelt back down again. As my fingers reached for my pussy I looked up and our eyes locked. This was incredibly daring, incredibly exciting, incredibly sexy. Together we rode my mounting tension and I was really getting off on it until I heard the door open and the cleaner, Mbeke, came in with her trolley. We were at the other end of the office and I was mostly obscured by Sandra's desk but I had never felt so exposed. She could see my head above the level of the desk so she must have wondered what I was doing down on the floor. Mbeke plugged in her vacuum cleaner and set to. It was only a matter of time before she got to us. I had to get dressed again.
Naturally I panicked. I was caught, quite literally, with my pants down but, as I tried to remove my hand from between my thighs, I found it was stuck. I wasn't quite immobile but I couldn't kneel up so as to pull my trousers back up again, Nor could I close my knees so I was open and exposed and, worst of all, I couldn't remove my fingers from inside me. As I frantically tried to do so it simply appeared as if I were frantically frigging myself. My lips were also sealed together so all I could do was make little mewing noises and plead to Sandra with my eyes. And here was the worst bit, the link was dead. I couldn't hear her and, from the look in her eyes, she couldn't hear me. However, using old-fashioned body language I could see that Sandra was panicking as well. At least she could move.
Slowly but surely Mbeke was getting closer. She was noticeably concentrating on the far end of the office but it was only a matter of time. She kept glancing over and I could see that she was unhappy with what was going on. Sandra turned back to her desk and pretended to be reading some papers. I had no such choice. She gave me a despairing glance and, in desperation, I once more, tried to extract my fingers. Of course, all this tugging just made it so that, when, finally, Mbeke turned the corner and the desk was no longer covering me, I appeared to be rubbing myself furiously.
"Oh my lord!" Mbeke's Nigerian accent rang out. I've no idea what she thought was going on but it certainly didn't look good. I was near sobbing with embarrassment, at least I would have been if I could just open my mouth. My face burned red and I tried to bow my head but I felt my eyes drawn upwards. I looked at Sandra and she was in tears as well. What on earth was going on?!
There was a slam of the door as Mbeke stormed out and, as she did so, I regained the ability to move and speak.
"Why? Why?" I sobbed.
"I... I can't tell you." Sandra replied.
And then, like flicking a switch, the link came back. I could sense Sandra's pain, her shame her embarrassment. The poor girl must have been so humiliated by my disgusting behaviour right there in front of Mbeke. I'd almost certainly got her into trouble just because I couldn't control myself.
She was shaken to the core and so was I. We both needed a drink. I stood up, pulled up my pants and went over to my desk to power down my terminal. Then I returned to Sandra's desk where she too was packing up for the night.
"Sandra, I'm so sorry," I started, "I don't know what came over me to embarrass you like that. Can I... can I buy you a drink? The Flying Horse, maybe?"
So it was that, five minutes later, we were making our way across the road to the Flying Horse. While Sandra found a place to sit I went to the bar and ordered a stiff vodka-coke for myself and a glass of apple juice for Sandra. I took them over to the corner table and we sipped them nervously, neither quite able to talk about what had happened. She reached out her hand across the table and I held it in mine.