Dee's Story

She oozed into the drivers seat, "very good, little one, now hold still." The silk scarf was cool, another blindfold, oh well, here we go again, I felt it tighten as she tied it, "much better, now you're cumming home with me." The inflexion in her voice unmistakable. The seatbelt clicked.

The engine roared into life, I'm not a car freak, but this one felt like a fighter jet or a star-fighter, "Yes, Captain." I grinned and spread my knees a little wider.

"Captain?"

"Captain Janeaway, this is a star-fighter, right?" I'm not really into space movies, but I do like the writers sense of humour, 'ok, this character's a bit of a wanker, lets call him Hans Solo....'

"A Mercedes SLK, so close." I felt her fingers brushing my thigh, confidently easing up to my still soaking pussy. "If you drip on my leather seat, you'll lick it up, understood?"

"Yes Ma'am." Ok, so I'd be licking leather, her warning was about a litre late.

"Hold tight little one." The engine note changed, I felt myself pressed back into my seat, her fingers thrusting into my cunt.

"Oh yes..!! FU..." The word died on my lips, my breath stolen as she added two more fingers and thrust deeper. I gasped, trying to inhale. My seductress was good, very good, her long fingers and clipped nails filled me, owned my cunt, I just hung on to the seat and tried to ride her hand, later I'd lick the leather, right now I wanted to cum, and cum, and cum.

"Almost there, little one." Yeah, the bitch knew that, we both knew that, she meant nearly home, but we both knew I was nearly *there*, I had been nearly *there* since she drove four fingers deep into me. I didn't reply, I just whimpered.

Her fingers withdrew, leaving me feeling empty, hips jerking, seeking stimulation, the car slowed, manoeuvred, her door opened, closed, then mine opened. "OH...!!"

No warning. Her fingers thrust back inside me, hooking, her other hand pulling the scarf free, cupping the back of my neck, "swing your legs out," I obeyed, tried to stand, aided by her fingers in my cunt and her hand on my neck, different, it worked, I was standing, blinking in the harsh light of her garage. "Strip." Her voice less satin, more steel, the desire almost surfacing, my need taking over as I stripped off my clothes and folded them, a small pile on the tiled floor. "Now turn around, kneel down and get licking."

I licked, tasting myself, warm and slick, my tongue flicking out to get every drop, swallowing it all, feeling it go down, deeper, I could picture it flowing all the way down to my still dripping pussy, even as her hand roamed my ass and owned my cunt, my rosebud too, right there on my knees we both knew who was writing the script, for that one night I was hers, utterly. No question.

She kept me on hands and knees, her fingers in my hair, gripping tight, leading me by her side into the house, across more tiles, carpet, through doors, the last sounded heavy as it clicked shut. Her weight on my back, astride me, hands reaching for my wrists, ankles, the cuffs wide and tight. The sound of chain tinkling and rasping. "Up." I stood, her hand on the back of my neck, pushing me forward, stopping me. "Be still." I froze, my need burned.

My legs were spread wide, ankle cuffs chained to rings set into the floor, my arms lifted high, wrist cuffs fitted to the spreader bar that rose as she cranked the hand winch, lifting my arms high, stretching me up until my heels no longer touched the floor. "Now you are mine, now we can start."

"Yes Ma'am" My need spoke to her. "Yours, all yours."

Across the room the wall held the key to my need, whips, all kinds and colours, each one an answer to my need, the need. I felt like a spectator, somehow detached, aloof, watching them, woman and girl, miss and Ma'am, the one in control, dominating the room, the other hanging quietly, filled with a need that called out for the whip, the pain, the knowing.

All my life I have lost myself in my sketches, now I felt that warmth, the safety of watching, hidden away unnoticed, eyes catching every detail, pencil flying as I tried to hold on.

"You want this, don't you?" She brandished the whip, menacing, triumphant.

"Yes, Ma'am, I want it." I bit back the fear, let the need burn it away. "I need it, Ma'am, please?"

Two blows, left and right across my tits. I screamed.

"Yes..!! Scream for me, scream all you like, I want to hear you scream, bitch..!!"

I looked up then, looked into her eyes, the desire no longer hidden, the smoky lust gone, just cold cruel revenge.

"You and your Mistress stole my slave, now you pay. Payback is a bitch, and the Bitch is me...."

I tried to speak but the whip wrapped around my back and ripped away my breath, she moved behind me, arm still swinging, the whip cracking and slicing, no mercy, no words, just pain and more pain.

I watched myself screaming, watched the need dying inside me, watched as she whipped me, anger robbing her of accuracy, not that she seemed to care, she just carried on swinging, sobbing with each stroke, her words a mantra of revenge. "Bitch!" "Thief!" "Slut!" over and over until the blood trickled down around my toes, my body long ago limp, hanging empty, whilst I watched.

Nobody to stop her this time. No Chris to spoil it, to save me. Only the blackness that rose up, drowning me.

The screaming started again, the burning, the bitch was laughing as she shook the salt, watching it cascade down over my back, sticking to every open bloody wound. She laughed, laughed in my face, slapped me left and right, then left me hanging.

"I'll be back later, to do your front."

7.

I've done a lot of stupid things in my life. We were staying at the home of the lead singer, front man of band that Mom was 'with' at the time. The previous night's party had faded with the darkness, everyone was sleeping, Mom too, though I didn't know who with.

I liked the dawn, the peace, nobody around, not even security, not there at the house. The swimming pool was mirror smooth, the water warm as I sat on the diving board swinging my legs and watching the sun's reflection on the water. I had found a wristwatch, heavy and gold and had picked it up intending to take it inside, but as I toyed with it I dropped it. I remember watching horrified as it fell into the water, sending ripples out across the mirror like surface as it dropped down to the bottom of the pool.

Aghast at my clumsy stupidity I didn't stop to think, just slipped off my smock and jumped in after it. I remember the conscious effort to open my eyes underwater, as I struggled deeper. Only after managing to grab the watch did I think about what I was doing, back then I couldn't swim very well, had never tried to hold my breath underwater, not properly, clinging onto the watch I struggled up towards the surface, lungs hurting with the need to breathe, the surface so bright, so far away, the darkness closing in as I ran out of air.

The darkness faded and I burst into the light, gasping for air, fighting the pain, fighting to thrash my arms, to swim, to live. I screamed when my arms couldn't move, screamed and fought until the voice spoke, the voice close to me, arms around me, the guard pulling me from the pool. I opened my eyes, he was a girl, my arms were cuffed above my head and the pain, oh fuck the pain, I screamed, screamed into the hand that clamped across my mouth. For a moment the darkness returned, the need to breathe, then the voice, barely a whisper, "I'm sorry, so sorry, please don't scream, we need to get away, now, fast, please don't hate me, I can't be gentle." The darkness faded and the pain returned, so much pain, too much, I wanted it to stop, it had to stop, it was too... I closed my eyes and drifted, my mind and body separating as before, the oh so familiar sense of watching myself, my mind focused on the detail, intent on my subject, unaware of my hunger, my thirst, the loss of feeling in my leg folded beneath me as I sketched.

I don't know how I did it, maybe I didn't? Maybe the pain was just to much and it overloaded my senses? All I remember is feeling detached, watching the girl releasing me, her voice broken by her sobs as she pulled my arm over her shoulder, the other arm around my waist, dragging me, supporting me, saving me.

I watched us leave the room, followed us down the corridor and through a utility room to a back door, the white tiled floor smeared with red as we crossed to the door. I remember her face, the terror in her eyes, the words she repeated over and over, "I'm sorry. Fucking psycho bitch. I'm sorry. Fuc.." The patio was smooth and cold, the garden shed ahead. She pulled open the door, tools, a mower, a dog cage. She led me to the cage, reached inside and pulled out a blanket, laid it across the top of the cage, then gently lowered me forwards onto it, legs spread, body resting on the frame, just as well, I didn't think I could stand on my own, not right then. "I'll be back." The darkness rose up, drowning me.

I lay there in the darkness, trying to ignore the pain, the slow dripping that pooled at my feet and soaked into the blanket. Somehow I managed to keep detached, my mind ignoring my body, a nagging voice kept urging me to think, to act, to get myself away, but that meant loosing concentration on being detached, so I ignored the nagging and stayed detached, trusting that something would happen, and it did, the girl returned, agitated, frightened, but still willing to help me when she could have just run and saved herself.

"I grabbed these from the laundry, we need to get out of here, fast, and get you help." Her hand closed around my ankle, lifting, slipping a tennis shoe on my foot, lacing it up tight because it was several sizes to big. Then the other foot, her hands at my waist fitting a wrap-around skirt, then, "this is going to hurt, sorry, but you have to wear something." It felt funny, it was not until later I realised it was a black dustbin bag, holes ripped for my arms and head. Her quick thinking saved me a lot of later pain as the plastic didn't stick to the cuts when the doctors did their best to patch me up.

A lot of what happened is kind of blurry. In shutting out the pain and separating my mind and body I shut out what was happening as well. I only remember the parts that broke through, when the pain was to sharp, to unexpected, like when I had to bend my back to get in the car, and later to get out again at the hospital. I do know that the girl kept saying sorry to me and in between promised the driver she'd 'look after' him after he dropped me off...

The hospital I just don't want to remember. Not ever. Somehow I made it from the car to the doors, then it's sketchy. I know they wanted to know my name, to know what happened, the doctors, the nurses, the police. I never said a word, the doctors said it was shock, the police persisted for a while, the nurses took longer.

I don't remember the fire, I only knew about it because the policemen were discussing it, unaware of any connection, I'll never know if the girl started it for revenge, or the bitch used it to destroy the evidence, I do know it was started in the laundry room and that the bitch survived. Too bad.

Slowly my back healed, I could move, at first without flinching, then without thinking. One day I managed to look at myself in a mirror, happy I could twist enough to look as I studied the damage, the overlapping cicatrises, some freshly pink, a few still angry red.

Maybe it was because they'd grown used to me, perhaps it was because I never spoke, whatever the reason they discussed me without ever acknowledging my presence. When those discussions turned to more surgery, I chose to leave. That night I simply dressed in the few clothes I had, the Jean Jacket the girl had brought me from the laundry, a pair of jeans one of the nurses had found for me, a oversized T-shirt, the tennis shoes. I slipped past the nurses station and away into the darkness.

It took a while to walk home, back to the flat, to Chris. I had no key, no one was there, so I walked around the back to the yard behind the gallery. The cellar door had a key-code lock, inside it was dry, a little musty, I curled up on a pile of dust-sheets and slept, for the first time since that night I could relax, I was home, I was safe.

The urgent need to pee awoke me. I slipped out of the cellar, making sure the lock clicked shut, then hurried around the front of the building, it was dark, I must have slept the day away. I jammed my finger on the doorbell whilst hopping from one foot to another. Chris's voice on the intercom, "it's me," I almost screamed, the buzzer never had a chance, I was in the door and up the stairs like the proverbial ferret up the drainpipe, sidestepping Chris's welcome as I dashed to the bathroom, "I gotta pee......."

Chris followed me into the bathroom, her voice harsh, her eyes soft, "where the fuck have you been..?"

Maybe I should have blushed, maybe I should have just told her right then and there, but I was to busy enjoying blessed relief as squatted on the toilet, relief not just from my bladder but from being home, seeing Chris. It was then that I looked at her, properly looked at her, at the whip she held in her right hand.

Something clicked in my head and I knew, I just knew, as I wiped myself and stood to pull up my jeans I looked into her eyes, and she looked away...

Brushing past her I dashed to the bedroom. From the rings in the ceiling above the bed hung Emily, her back to me, her skin glistening with sweat and criss-crossed with feint red lines, fresh from Chris's whip, the whip that she could never bring herself to wield upon me, she had no problem using on Em.

"She moved in after the fire, nobody knew where you were, I..." Chris reached out to me, first with her arms, then with her heart, "I can, with her, I couldn't with you, I love you," she seemed to crumple, as if she guessed my reaction.

"I love you too, maybe I always will," as I spoke I slipped off my Jean Jacket and pulled up the over-sized T-shirt, exposing my back. I never meant to cause her pain, that was not my intent, she deserved to know and showing was easier than telling. I pulled my T-shirt back down and grabbed my fallen jacket, "I got what I needed, I just didn't know the twisted bitch was Em's Mistress..." Chris recoiled at my words, her face twisted, cheeks smeared with tears.

"No guilt, no blame, what we had was special, now I'm gone." I fled, out of the door, grabbing the gallery keys as I passed their hook by the door. Chris's voice calling out, pleading, but I didn't stop, couldn't stop, not then, maybe not ever, if I stayed it would be worse, the poison would spread and one day all that we had would be vile and rotten, better to go and keep the sweet memories.

From the gallery I took my satchel and a single print, the best of the 'impossibles'. I could have gone back for my things, even taken money from the safe, I took nothing but my satchel and the single photograph.

Running through the rain I wasn't even sure where I was going, right then my only conscious destination was 'away'. It was only after I'd hitched a ride that I realised my destination, the only place I could go, the only person I knew would understand.

I was heading south, to Cambridge, to the source, I was taking the photograph home.

* * *

Excerpt from "Degrees of Freedom"

* * *

I've never met anyone else quite like Dee. I have described her as running the gallery with a careless efficiency, smoothly transforming from introverted artist to effervescent sales girl quicker than... But that hardly scratches the surface. In her still short life she has experienced a great deal, a lot bad, some very bad and she is the only girl ever to get into my life, my studio, my bed and my heart in one day. That does not mean we are close, at least not in relationship terms, we've never lacked opportunity, just the desire. Dee is special.

The day we met it was pouring with rain, I had been alone in the gallery all day, no staff, no customers. At five minutes to five the door opened and 5'6" of drenched misery entered, closed the door, looked around slowly and spoke. "You need me... and I fucking need you... where's the kettle?" I would of thrown her out, but she smelt that bad I didn't want to get that close to her. By way of explanation she took a soggy wad of paper from her Jean Jacket pocket and unfolded it before passing it to me. The photo had been taken three months earlier, a private commission, there were only three prints in existence and one was framed in my studio. "That's your work." It was not a question. She unfolded a second soggy mass. "This is mine." It was a pencil sketch of the exact same photo, except the viewpoint was 180 degrees out. The detail incredible, really incredible.

The conversation that followed ended in Dee taking a shower whilst I put the kettle on. Anyone who hitch-hiked the length of England's second longest motorway without a penny in their pocket just because of a photo I'd taken deserved a shower and a coffee. I never actually offered her a job, I never got the chance, Dee simply told me I needed her to run the gallery and she was here to start work. No mention of money, in fact I wasn't sure she cared if I paid her. Showered and wearing clothes I'd fetched from the studio stock, Dee sat at the counter, one hand clutching a steaming mug of instant coffee, the other holding a pencil that seemingly had a mind of it's own as it flew over the paper. In less time than it took to drink her coffee she had sketched the gallery, not as it was, but as it ought to be. She was right, I did need her.

With no money and no place to go, I took Dee home with me, fed her, watched her decimate my stock of instant coffee then put her to bed in the spare room. Later in the night I awoke to find a slim figure standing by my bed, she spoke just one word. "Please...?" One word that spoke volumes, reaching out to her I drew her into my bed, held her tight as she spooned up against me and felt her shaking as we both tried to sleep.

It wasn't her scream that awoke me, it was her elbow striking my face. "BITCH...!!!" Her voice high pitched, distraught, the elbow again, but this time I rolled away, out of range, reaching out for the bedside light as Dee thrashed around in the grip of her nightmare. It took a while to wake her, longer for the nightmare's grasp to loosen, "I'm sorry, so sorry." Her tears running down her face, dripping onto the too-thin body, drawing attention to marks I'd not seen in the darkness. "I'll go, I'm sorry. I'll just go.." I reached out to her, at first with my heart, then with both arms, slowly Dee let herself be held, accepted my forgiveness, or so I thought. I awoke much later to find her curled up on the floor besides my bed, wrapped in two bath towels. Over morning coffee she admitted she had needed company, comfort, but was frightened of striking me again, thus the bath towels and the carpet plan. We never shared a bed again, we did share an understanding, gradually Dee opened up to me and I learnt her story, along the way she turned my struggling newly opened gallery into a thriving success and accumulated a staggering number of sketches, cartoons, caricatures and more than a few paintings. Few of which she let anyone else see, especially those she drew whilst perched quietly in a corner of the Dungeon.

* * *

The End and a new Beginning.