Chapter Three
The relationship with Graham carried on from there. I guess that evening was
"the hook" - the bait that dragged me in to the point where I couldn't fight my
own desires. I went to Graham's place a number of times after that. Each time
things got a little more severe. The positions became more stringent, the
clamps more frequent, and the paddling turned to a flogging which turned to a
whipping. But I couldn't help myself.
I learnt how to kneel beside him, how to mix his drink, and I even cooked
several meals for him. These things were to a large extent incidental to the
bondage, however. I put up with them because they were a forerunner to the main
event, the thought of which usually made me wet long before Graham started on
me. I think it was the expectation and the uncertainty, tempered with the
knowledge that whatever happened I would walk out at the end of the session,
even though I would be helpless to resist until that point.
There was no point in getting Ash to phone in every hour. This merely destroyed
my focus and interrupted the flow of the session. The sessions themselves,
while becoming harder for me, were no less in intensity than I had experienced
on the first evening. However Graham himself seemed to be becoming more distant
- and less forgiving. I felt that he had been easy on me the first time, but
his patience was markedly less now, and any deviation from his rules was
punished. And despite my whippings I still came back for more, and still
emerged exhausted but fulfilled in a way I would not have thought possible a
year previously.
Graham's attitude did not allow me to get closer to him. There was no sharing
of thoughts and emotions, nor the initial warmth that I had found in our first
meetings. My fondness for Graham waned, but I still couldn't wean myself from
the punishment he handed out to me - or the pleasure.
All this time I continued to email Ash, and he leant me moral support and
guidance, for which I was thankful. At the same time I was searching for a more
permanent job than the temporary positions I had filled since arriving in
Sydney. It was during the course of such job-hunting that I was interviewed by
a partner for a medical practice in Brisbane. The interview took place after a
seminar in Sydney where I had met him. I had never been to Brisbane, but the
offer that followed the interview was an attractive one, and they gave me two
days to think it over. That was the day before I had another appointment with
Graham, and I told him over the phone what I was thinking of doing. In
hindsight I recognise now that it might not have been a tactically astute thing
to do.
* * *
Graham did not mention the possibility of my moving to Brisbane - at least not
in our initial contact that night. But I could sense there was a change in him.
I knew better than to ask questions. He appeared moody and uncommunicative.
There were no pleasantries, just a brief greeting.
"Go to the garage, undress, and lock your gag and collar on."
Yes sir," I said meekly, going through my periodic routine of hating myself the
way I carried on sometimes.
I entered the garage, with it's by now familiar smells of leather, wood and sex.
My collar was on the floor, attached by a six-inch chain to an eyebolt set in an
exposed patch of the concrete floor in the corner. What was this all about, I
wondered? It was a departure from our usual routine. Beside the collar was a
red ball gag on a matching strap. Two padlocks lay on the concrete.
I slipped off my dress and sandals. I no longer wore underwear to these
sessions. I had decided it was superfluous, what with me getting excited enough
before I arrived, and then not having the strength to be bothered dressing
properly when I left.
I worked the ball into my mouth and behind my teeth, then pulled the strap
behind my head. This had become part of our routine, part of my training I
guess. The act of making me gag myself was perhaps designed to humiliate me
just that tad more. I at least had the luxury of making sure the thing sat
properly, but not of leaving it loose. I had done that once and had had a nasty
attack of the riding crops as a consequence. I had plaited my hair into a
single rope to keep it clear of the strap and make such buckling exercises a bit
easier. The pin of the buckle slipped easily into the customary hole and I
clicked the lock home through the next hole and the D-ring. It sent a shiver
down my spine every time I felt a padlock close. It excited me with the
finality and helplessness of what was about to happen and over which I had no
control.
Then I turned to the collar. I checked the room, but there were no other
collars lying about and I knew this was the one I had used in the past. The
difference was the fact that it was chained to the eyebolt in the corner. I
knew there was no mistake, and crawling on to my knees I managed to get the
collar buckled up and locked with the second padlock. In that position my nose
was almost touching the ground and my head could be rested against the two
adjoining brick walls. It was not a comfortable position, for the concrete
beneath the carpet was cold, and I felt immensely vulnerable with my bum either
resting on my calves or raised in the air.
Even though I was not blindfolded I could see very little from my position in
the corner. Graham did not appear within a few minutes and my first feelings of
unease began to reappear. Time is a very relative thing in bondage, I had
discovered. In sensory-deprived situations ten minutes can seem like an hour
without a reference point. Perhaps half an hour had passed and there was still
no Graham. Then I heard the front door close in the distance, and faint steps
culminating in a car door opening and closing beyond the front wall of the
garage. It was Graham getting into his Audi. The engine started and he drove
off.
Jesus, I thought, suddenly panicky. What was going on? All sorts of bizarre
ideas raced through my brain. He was on his way to the airport, leaving me here
for the night - or days... He was on his way to pick up some mates to come and
take advantage of me... He had set light to the house for insurance purposes...
Now I knew I was behaving stupidly. All my scientific training with its
analytical basis of observation and deduction suddenly seemed to go out the
window. I struggled with my bonds, tugging at the collar with all my might, but
it was immovable, and try as I might I could not dislodge the gag. I moaned
piteously and managed not to cry only through delving into my recesses of
self-control. I finally convinced myself that Graham was playing his mind games
again, letting my thoughts conjure up these very images that were so
disconcerting for me.
It was perhaps half an hour later that the car returned and I let the sense of
relief flood over me. I was starting to shiver from the cold of the concrete.
I had had to alternate the cramped kneeling position with lying down, which was
less restricted, but even colder. Then the door opened and Graham entered the
room.
"Still here?" her asked unnecessarily.
"Epph ur," I intoned as best I could around the ball in my mouth.
"Excellent. You've coped well." There came the faint footsteps on the carpet
and I knew he was behind me. I was kneeling again at this stage when he roughly
grabbed my wrists and pulled them together, crossed, behind my back.
"I think we need these out of the way before we go on," he told me. The removal
of my hands from where they had been helping support my weight up front put
extra stain on my back, and I shuffled my knees closer to my chin to spread the
load less unevenly. I felt the familiar sensation of the cotton ropes being
wrapped securely around my wrists, melding one to the other. I always found the
crossed-wrist position more hurtful if I dared to move, for they seemed to offer
less scope for arm movement. A couple of minutes later my wrists were secured
rigidly at right angles to each other. I knew there were a couple of tails, or
trailing ends, floating about, as they periodically brushed my buttocks. The
tails were there for a purpose, however, for no sooner had he tied my wrists
than the tails were obviously threaded through an eyebolt higher up the wall,
and my arms began to get hauled up behind me, rotating at the shoulder.
Predictably my head went down until it was pressed against the small patch of
exposed concrete next to the eyebolt in the floor.
I groaned and protested as he pulled on the rope and pain seemed to fill my arms
and back. I raised my rump in an effort to lessen the angle between arms and
back. That was when he stopped and tied off the rope at the eyebolt. His next
point of attention was my ankles, which he proceeded to work further apart
before tying them to some sort of short pole. My legs were nearly at right
angles, parallel with the two walls forming the corner. I was starting to get
really uncomfortable now - or so I thought.
Up until now Graham had always stayed away from my arse, other than to give me a
flogging on a fairly regular basis. Now, it seemed, he was preoccupied with
things more penetrative. It was a decided turn for the worse which I did not
like. I had never had anal sex - possibly the prospect had never appealed to
me, for they say it is something that really has to be experienced to be fully
appreciated. There was no doubt in my mind that this was not the time and place
as Graham inserted first a nozzle load of lubricant then his finger in my back
passage.
I moaned and tried to shake my head. I wasn't going to give him the
satisfaction of my safeword just yet, but hoped he would tire of this avenue.
Alas it didn't seem like it was going to happen, as two fingers then continued
their exploration. They withdrew only to be replaced by something rather more
artificial, and I realised I was about to be the recipient of a buttplug. No,
Graham, please - not this, I thought, as the first sharp pain came with the
penetration.
"Relax, Jan," came the voice. "Don't clench your muscles - it will only hurt
all the more. This is going to happen one way or the other. Your little
butthole is going to be reamed very thoroughly, you slut!"
This was a new tone in Graham's voice - sharp and abusive, and suddenly I was
afraid. Something was happening - something had made him angry, and then I knew
it was the remark I had made about maybe going to Brisbane.
There came another sharp pain from my anus as he thrust the plug in further,
then withdrew and pushed again. The pain was awful, but I willed myself to
relax my muscles as much as I could. It felt like my sphincter was going to
split, even though I knew from my work what a marvellously flexible muscle or
group of muscles it was. There was a sudden spasm of pain and then I knew it
was fully inside me, filling me in a strange sensation as the pain eased.
Things stopped at that point for a short while. I was conscious of Graham's
presence, and me with my arms and arse in the air, the latter no doubt sporting
the base of a plug for the world to see.
"So you're off to Brisbane, eh," came the voice. "Off to your other phone Dom."
I remembered I had told him about Ash in Brisbane. Was that what this was all
about, I wondered? Was it a jealousy thing? I tried to say that I hadn't even
made up my mind to accept the job, but other than a few nasal pleadings I didn't
get very far. That was when the first cane stroke fell.
I screamed into the rubber ball.
"Nnnnnn!"
I had experienced the paddles and floggers from Graham before, and didn't mind
them, in my own private fantasy world. But this pain was so far beyond anything
like that. It seared across my taut bare buttocks like a welding rod. He
struck me again, the smack of the cane preceded by a fearful swishing as he made
several air shots that made me cringe, as much as I could.
With the fall of the second blow I went wild, jerking frantically at my bonds
and making desperate 'mmmph!' noises around the rubber ball wedged behind my
teeth. I started on 'happy birthday' - humming for all I was worth.
The third blow fell, criss-crossing the previous two. My bottom was on fire and
I was absolutely helpless. There was a pause, as though he was lining me up,
and a fourth strike landed, not so hard, but vertically, straight down my crack
on to the base of the butt plug. I almost left the ground, forgetting my
rendition as happy birthday dissolved into incoherent pleadings for mercy.
Tears were streaming down my face as the fifth stroke cut into my flesh. I felt
the joints in my shoulders revolt as I tugged hard on the bonds holding my arms
up high. My neck hurt where I tugged in terror against my chain and collar.
What was this monster going to do to me?
The sixth stroke saw me almost pass out with the pain. I had visions of my
flesh raw and bloody, and knew I could not take much more. I was snivelling and
crying and grovelling in a jumbled nasal rendering of happy birthday again, when
he finally stopped.
"That was six of the best, my dear," Graham announced. "You don't expect to go
to Brisbane without some sort of souvenir, do you?" I could hear the cold sneer
in his voice. "A little something to remember your Master by? To remember your
submission?"
I was sobbing almost uncontrollably now - something that is very difficult to do
when your mouth is stuffed full. My nose was getting blocked and in desperation
I just blew, not caring the mess I looked.
He let me carry on for another ten minutes, as the searing agony died to a
slightly less fierce burning. Then he released my arms and collar from the
eyebolts, and untied the pole from my ankles.
"Come, my dear, on your feet." He helped me up with a consideration that was
not matched by the expression in his eyes as he wiped the mess of tears and
other outpourings from my face. "There, that's better," he said with a smile.
But it was a cold smile - one that sent a shiver down my spine.
I tried again, my 'happy birthday' interspersed with snuffles and whimpers.
"Oh no," he said, shaking his head with an expression of amused tolerance. "You
will be going nowhere, my dear. Not for quite a while, until I decide that you
have atoned for your presumption that you can walk away without so much as a 'by
your leave'. You forget your role in this relationship. You forget that there
are certain fundamental things that require consultation. You do not walk away
from me and expect me to accept it without some input into the decision. That
input I am about to provide you with, tonight."
I tried to struggle, not really knowing what I was doing, but he gripped me by
the shoulders and forced me over to a low vaulting horse. Again the tails on my
wrist bonds were pulled over a beam above, and I found myself bent over the
horse, helpless. With my body leaning on the black padded top, my ankles were
lifted and I was slid so that I lay face down on the horse, my wrists still in
the air above me. My ankles and knees were then bound tightly with more coils
of white cotton sashcord, after which the tails attached to my ankle ropes were
threaded through my wrist bonds. I found myself in a hogtie which suddenly
became more acute as he hoisted my wrists higher towards the ceiling.
I moaned as my back bent into a bow and my shoulders were again stressed with
the angle of my arms. My breasts lifted clear of the leather and I whined in a
futile plea for mercy.
"Is there something you wish to tell me, my dear?" Graham asked, in the tone a
priest might use in a confessional.
"Mmnnn..." I moaned, nodding my head in misery.
"Would you like that ball out of your mouth?"
I nodded again. Unbelieving, I felt his fingers undo the lock at the back of my
neck and then the strap come undone. With a none-too-gentle movement he popped
the ball out of my mouth.
"Oh God, Graham - let me go - please! Whatever I said, I didn't mean-"
That was as far as I got before he grabbed my plait and jerked my head back. I
gasped with the pain, my mouth opening just in time for his fingers to insert a
leather-bound metal ring between my jaws, which was strapped in place. My mouth
was held open, allowing me to make bizarre sounds of protest from my throat,
none of which made much sense, but at least I made myself heard.
Of course that didn't last long. Moments later a stopper of some sort was
screwed into the ring, effectively silencing me in the same way that the ball
had. This form of gag, however, with the rigid ring, was far more strained and
uncomfortable for my jaws. But not content with this, he then tied a short rope
to my plait which was in turn attached to my wrist bonds. I moaned in despair,
now unable to move any part of my body, so tautly was I strung out.
"How long do you think you can manage that position?" he asked, his face inches
from mine. "Perhaps you'll be repentant in the morning? Yes?"
"Nnnnn! Nnnnn!" I whined in despair.
"But we need something to focus your mind on your transgressions, n'est ce pas?
I think these nice little clamps on your nips will do the job."
I screwed my eyes shut as the jaws closed on my tender nipples. More nasal
sounds escaped me as the biting pain seared through my tender flesh. I
screamed, after a fashion, but it really didn't amount to much. The clamps were
joined by a short length of chain, the mid-point of which was hung over the end
of the horse. My eyes widened when I saw the lead weight the size of a golf
ball that he lowered towards the chain. I shook my head as much as I was able,
making plaintive mewing noises, which turned into stifled screams as the weight
came on to my nipples. Tears flowed again, coursing down my cheeks while I lay
there, trapped in a web of hopelessness as my tormentor turned and left the
room, turning out the light and closing the door with a brutal finality.
* * *
It was at that stage that I knew all hope had gone. My misery was complete,
plunged into black despair in the darkness. My body was bent like a bow, every
joint screaming for release - my neck, my back, shoulders, arms and legs. My
nipples were on fire and my backside still burned from the caning. I lost
myself in time and a morass of self-pity, subsiding into a distant world of
suffering. Was this the sub-space that Ash had talked about? I tried to focus
on things that would take me away from my pain. Sweat ran down my back and
between my breasts, in the closeness of the room, pooling on the leather of the
padded top to the horse. I lost track of time, not believing that I could be
here all night. I was utterly at Graham's mercy, unable to move or resist until
this other human being decided to end my torture. I could not believe how wrong
I had been about this man - how off-beam my character assessment had been.
There was now no doubt in my mind that I was in serious trouble and the fleeting
thought crossed my mind that I might not survive the night.
The idea sent shivers down my spine and left a horrid feeling in the pit of my
stomach. Desperately I fought off the rising panic and confined the terrible
thought to the dark depths of my mind where it belonged. No, Graham was not
capable of such a thing - not murder. Maybe only serious deformity or
mutilation, my mind came back.
I was lost in my world when the lights came on again. Disoriented, I looked up
at the figure now standing before me.
"Are we prepared to submit?"
"Urr," I mewed piteously.
"Good." He untied my plait from the rope. I groaned as my neck was released
from the tension. Next came the plug from the ring gag, leaving me gasping and
uttering throaty noises of relief.
"Don't get too used to that," he said. "I have something else for you,
instead." That was when I realised the whole set-up he had planned. The horse
was exactly the right height for it, I found, as he unzipped his trousers and
produced his dick in front of my face. I had no real chance to protest - not
that I could. Happy birthday was not top of the hot one hundred in this place.
He fitted snugly through the ring gag and forced himself deep into my mouth.
I was no stranger to oral sex with Graham, but I had always had the option in
the past - or at least I had maintained that illusion in my own mind, anyway.
Now, here I was hogtied on a bench and forced to give this man a blowjob. There
wasn't a choice in this case, and I resigned myself to the inevitable.
He kept me at it for maybe fifteen minutes, stopping and withdrawing every so
often. The movement placed more tension on my limbs and exacerbated the pain in
my nipples, but again, there was nothing I could do to resist. My eyes were
stinging with perspiration as a result of my concentrated efforts to please my
captor and to keep the agony in my body at bay. I could not understand what he
was doing when he finally pulled out without climaxing and let go of my plait
allowing my head to slump forward. I was coughing and gasping at this point,
not knowing what was coming next.
A blindfold was coming next. I should have guessed it was the one little
pleasure I had not experienced at that point. This one was a black silk scarf
that wound around my head three times before it was knotted tightly and I was in
darkness again.
The relief when he undid the tails of my wrists and ankles was palpable. I was
so exhausted from the hogtie I had endured that I could do nothing more than lie
quivering on the horse. But releasing me from the bow had the unfortunate side
effect of lowering my upper body squarely onto my breasts with those terrible
jaws on my nipples. I moaned and cried out - an act which only prompted the
insertion of the plug back in my ring gag. My jaw was really aching now - a
fact with which I was unable to acquaint my captor, who was in any case busy
untying my ankles.
For a moment - a very brief one - I almost thought my torment was at an end as
he hauled me to my feet and the weight came back on my nipples. I squealed with
a series of gasping noises through my nose at the terrible pain. Of course it
made no difference whatsoever, for Graham was wholly intent on what he was next
going to do to me. I felt myself positioned on a spot, although in relation to
what I could not tell. My legs were parted and I underwent the familiar
stretching that came with the spreader bar cuffed to my ankles.
Then it was my arms again, up in the air, with my head going down. Up and up
went my arms while my head was forced down. He paused momentarily to walk me
forward a couple of tiny steps, to feel my head bump into a post I knew to be in
the middle of the room. That's when I saw his plan as he pulled my wrists that
last distance and bound them to the post. My arms were now vertically against
the post, upwards, as were my shoulders and head, downwards. Another rope bound
my elbows together and to the post while I begged in muted tones to be set free,
promising I would never do anything he didn't approve of.
I was now absolutely immobile again, my legs spread wide and the rest of my body
held rigidly against the post, with my bottom about as vulnerable as it could
possibly get. I was still conscious of the butt plug in place and I was
petrified of what might be next on his list of tortures.
There was the sound of a riding crop or something like it, slashing through the
air. God, no, Graham! Please! I moaned desperately, but my words came out only
as a series of "Nnnnm!" s.
Thwack! A slash across the buttocks. I screamed into the gag, shaking my head
as much as I could and trying to hop from one foot to the other. Thwack again,
on the base of the buttplug. I went wild with a continuous "Nnnnnnnnmmmm!" My
eyes were streaming beneath the scarf and I was lost in a purgatory which
appeared to have no end. Then there were hands groping over my doubled up body
and fondling my breasts as the weights hung from them. My screaming had now
merged into a continuous series of nasal keenings.
He entered me at that point, driving between my legs and forcing me against the
post as he pumped hard and fast. Predictably, after what I had done to him from
my hogtie, it did not take too much to make him climax, though through the red
haze of pain I was conscious of him trying to hold back the inevitable. He was
clearly wanting to make me suffer just that little bit more.
His orgasm sent shudders through me, reinforced as it was by the thrusting of
his body against the buttplug and the pain from the tender flesh on my buttocks.
And then he was out. There was no suggestion of any climax on my part - I could
not even have contemplated such a thing. It was true that he had taught me that
a climax could be heightened with a little pain in the nipples or a mild
paddling beforehand, but this was a quantum leap from those times. I was left
there, trembling in the darkness, stretched more than I could bear, until I
heard the clink of chain. I wept further, dreading what he was no about to do
to me with chains.
I felt the chain wrapped around my waist and padlocked just below my navel. The
loose end was then pulled none too gently between my legs and padlocked in the
small of my back. A third padlock evidently somehow secured my buttplug to what
was an uncomfortable crotch chain. My arms were released at that point and I
was allowed to stand up. I felt my wrists undone. Was this the end?
"Stand still!" his voice hissed in my ear. "You will not move until you hear
the door shut. You will then hear it lock. You may then leave by the outside
door. If you dare to knock on the inner door or to do anything other than leave
directly, you will spend the rest of the night hanging inverted from the beam
overhead while I whip your breasts and pussy. Do I make myself absolutely
clear?"
I nodded, still sobbing uncontrollably.
"I am taking your dress as a souvenir. Come looking for it and as I said, you
will be hanging upside down from the roof with triple weights tied to your tits.
Don't go looking for the keys to the locks, either. They'll go in the rubbish
tomorrow. You can keep the locks, chain and plug as your own souvenir from me.
Now go home. I never want to see you again, you little slut!"
I was left alone, still standing, legs apart, gagged and blindfolded, quivering
like jelly as the emotional reaction set in. There came the sound of a slamming
door and the key turned in the lock. I raised my arms slowly and worked the
silk scarf off. My arms were stiff from the long period pulled behind me and my
shoulder joints ached. The room was in pitch darkness. Not a chink of light
came under either of the doors, and I worked entirely by feel.
I eased the nipple clips off very, very slowly, letting the blood gradually
return to my nips, but that didn't stop me crying with the pain. Tears were
running freely now, unhindered by the thought of what lay ahead, and prompted by
the fact that my torment was over. I undid the gag strap behind my head and
prised the terrible ring out from between my jaws, again sobbing with relief and
working my mouth to get some feeling of normality back into it. I had undone
the ankle cuffs and freed myself from the awful spreader bar before the
implications of my situation really dawned on me.
I was naked, with a crotch strap and buttplug chained in place. Jesus. I felt
my way along the outer wall to the side door and opened it. The night was warm
and the perspiration slowly began to dry on my body. I paused for a moment in
the doorway, letting the dim glow of the city night percolate into the dungeon.
Eventually my eyes became adjusted to the light and I could just make out the
outlines of some of the furniture. Leaving the door open I searched the room as
best I could and found my shoulder bag with the car keys inside it, and my
sandals. I looked around for anything I could use to cover my nudity, but there
was nothing. Graham had made very sure of that.
At that point I sat down in the doorway and wept again, so wretched did I feel.
I had been betrayed, beaten, raped and humiliated. Even now, his legacy was
still with me in the form of the buttplug chained in place. He had not screwed
me in the arse, deeming me unworthy of this. Rather, he had arranged for an
artificial device to do it instead, to leave me suffering and degraded. Life
had reached an absolute nadir for me, and I could not think straight.
I don't know how long I sat there in my self-pity and misery, before I finally
got it together sufficiently to consider the practicalities of my predicament.
I knew I had to get to my car and I had to get home. After I had done that I
could think about how to get the chain off. In the meantime I had to drive
across Sydney Harbour Bridge naked, such an act being part of the denouement in
the Degradation of Jan Sherwood.
It was, I guessed, nearly eleven o'clock. My car was parked outside Graham's
place near a streetlight. I skulked behind his Audi under the carport,
listening for signs of anybody walking their dog or doing a late night jog, but
the street was silent. The lights were out in Graham's house, but I wondered if
he was watching from a window. Maybe. Or maybe I was not considered worthy of
his time any more.
I pulled out my keys and scuttled across the grass verge to my car, fumbling
with the lock and then letting myself in. The interior light came on
automatically, and despite all the times I had blessed such an innovation, this
time I cursed it. Sitting down in the drivers seat drove the buttplug home most
uncomfortably, and there seemed nothing I could do to ease the unpleasant
feeling of fullness it gave me. I let my fingers briefly explore the connection
between chain and plug, establishing that there was a small eyebolt in the plug
through which a padlock connected to the chain.
The interior light went out. I reached into the back seat and found a small
hand towel which I had kept for previous, less traumatic episodes, where again I
had arrived hot and sweaty. I towelled myself down and draped the towel as best
I could under the seat belt and over my breasts. Then I started the engine and
drove away.
It was probably the longest drive of my life. My head was buzzing with a mad
confusion of thoughts, while my naked body continued to shake such that I had to
grip the steering wheel hard to keep my hands steady. The act of driving
focussed my mind sufficiently to push my experience into the background. I drove
through the back streets as much as I could, avoiding traffic lights and any
chance that I would have to stop beside a vehicle whose driver could look down
on my nakedness. Fortunately, no such incident occurred, and I arrived home
just on midnight by the clock in the car.
My street in Balmain was notorious for its lack of parking, and frequently I had
been obliged to walk a hundred metres or more from the nearest parking space.
It was also devoid of trees and any other sort of cover that a naked woman could
utilise. I knew the only choice I had was to double-park for long enough to get
inside and cover myself up.
I drove down the street slowly, passing my house and noting the lack of lights
in the neighbouring buildings. There appeared to be nobody about when I
returned and double-parked. Taking a deep breath, and again checking that
nobody was around, I slid out of the car, scampered across the footpath and up
the steps to the front door, forgetting the automatic external light that came
on and lit me up for the entire world to see. For several long moments I
panicked, scrabbling for my keys, dropping them, then finally getting the door
open. Once inside, with the door closed behind me, my breath rasping in my
ears, I struggled not to break down again. Sniffling and wiping my eyes I
pulled on a pair of jeans and a teeshirt and returned to park my car further
down the road.
On my return to the safety of my house I stripped and stood for a long time in
the shower, letting the hot water run over me. It was there that I finally
broke down and cried again, sitting in the corner of the shower with my head
against the tiles. Even here, in the security of my private refuge, my
humiliation was unfinished, with Graham's parting gift still chained immovably
inside me. The Degradation of Jan Sherwood was complete.
* * *
