Another story that doesn't fit too exactly into the BDSM Library mould. However, I hope you enjoy it.

It was the most extraordinary feeling. I had a strange compulsion that I just had to raise my right arm up in the air. I sat there just like when I was back in school and wanted to ask the teacher a question. For a moment or two I held it there and then, as quick as it had started, I was free again. I looked around the office. It was late and the only person left, apart from me of course, was Sandra. She sits a few cubicles away but she had her head down and was busy working away so I hoped she hadn't seen my strange behaviour.

She and I were two out of maybe twenty employees, all of us women, who work in the same office processing insurance claims.  It's the usual sort of thing, one big room with 'pods' of desks, each desk with its computer terminal, its photo of the loved ones, a spider plant that needs TLC and a soft toy parading as a lucky mascot. At one end there's the tea point and the water cooler, right next to the supervisor’s desk so she can keep an eye on us. We work flexible hours, and Sandra and I were two who preferred to arrive late and finish late so, as was quite common, we were all alone.

I was just beginning to relax when I could feel it happening again. This time I tried to fight it but to no avail. It was as if my arm belonged to someone else.  I tried using all my willpower but I simply couldn't stop it. My arm went so far up in the air it was as if it wanted to lift me out of my seat. It stayed there for maybe thirty seconds before falling back down again. Once more I glanced anxiously at Sandra but, as with last time, she had her head down and was busy on her computer.

I'm not ashamed to admit that, at this point, I was pretty scared. I mean, it was as if a part of my body had developed a mind of its own, as if I no longer had complete control over my right arm. I needed a drink, preferably something strong, but, failing that, a glass of water would have to suffice. I got up out of my chair and went on over to the cooler and filled one of the plastic cups. I swallowed the lot in one gulp and was in the process of refilling when, once again, I got this strange sensation. This time, however, it wasn't physical, it was mental. It was a compulsion, there's no other word, I just had to fetch some water for Sandra. I took another cup from the dispenser, filled it up and went on over to her desk. She looked up and, with a shy smile, took it from me.

It's odd, you can work in the same office as someone for weeks and hardly notice them and then, suddenly, there I was standing beside her offering her a glass of water. At first glance there's nothing to notice, she's just so... ordinary but, now that I was really looking, I could see that she was quite pretty in a 'girl next door' sort of way. Her dress sense left a lot to be desired and, with her shoulder length hair half covering her face, it was hard to see her properly but now, for the first time, I was really noticing her.

"It looks like we're the only ones working late," I said in an attempt to cover my confusion over delivering her a glass of water without being asked.

"I like it this way," Sandra replied. "You don't get so many distractions."

She gave me an odd look, as if she were checking me out, looking me over. Added to the rest of my unease this was really freaking me out.

"I'd better go," I stuttered, "I've... I've still got lots to do."

"OK, maybe we'll chat later," Sandra replied, and I got this feeling of being dismissed.

And, for a day or two, that was it. My arm stopped going up in the air. I went back to being the life and soul of the office and Sandra went back to being the quiet little mouse that nobody noticed. There were only two things that bothered me. I started getting these dreams. In them I was a puppet, a marionette, forced to dance as someone else pulled my strings. The crisis of the dream was always the same thing, I would look up, up and up, following the strings into the darkness above me and there, staring down, was the face of Sandra. At this point I would wake us sweating, just as I would from any nightmare but, worse than that, and strangest of all, I would wake up aroused.

The second thing that bothered me was that I had this feeling that I was being watched, and watched by Sandra. I could never catch her at it; every time I looked she had her head down and was hard at work but I still couldn't shake the feeling. Without really knowing why I stopped working late; anything to make sure we weren't alone in the office again. I told myself I was being stupid but I couldn't help how I felt.

And then, one day, I was walking past her desk and I noticed the marionette. It was nothing special, just a cheap toy, maybe nine inches high. It looked a bit like one of those jointed figures artists use except that it was made out of blue plastic rather than wood. It hung by threads from the control bar, which was hooked over the top of her computer screen. Whilst the pear shaped head was completely devoid of features somehow it looked sad and forlorn. I couldn't help but stop and stare.

"Hello," Sandra looked up at me. "Can I help?"

"I was just..." I tailed off. How could I explain what I was looking at and why?

"Were you admiring my marionette?" she asked with a smile. "Silly little thing, isn't it? Still, I picked it up at the market and rather fell in love with it." She gave a light laugh and unhooked it from her screen holding it so that it lay across the palm of her hand. As she did so I felt a warm glow all down my back, as if it were me, not it, that was in her hand. She stroked the belly of the marionette with her forefinger and I nearly vomited, the sensations were so intense.

"I haven't seen you around for a while," she said. "You used to work late all the time and now...."

"I've been busy," I blustered.

"Why don't you work late tonight?" she asked, "or are you 'busy' again?"

Her finger moved lower, stroking the groin of the marionette and, as she did so, my own groin was reacting in a way that was completely inappropriate for the office. With the tip of her fingernail she stroked the plastic between the marionette's legs and the sweetest sensations coursed through me. I had to clamp my knees together and put my hand on her desk to steady myself.

"You will stay late, won't you?" Sandra asked sweetly.

"Yes, yes, of course," I said breathlessly. Right then I would have agreed to anything.

If she didn't stop stroking that damn marionette I was going to lose control and climax, right there in front of everybody. As it was I had to bite my lower lip.

"Well, I'll see you later then," she said and, as she did so, she replaced the marionette so it once again hung forlornly from the side of her screen.

It was like flicking a switch. One moment I'm struggling to control myself, struggling to stop myself from plunging my hand down my pants, frigging myself stupid and exploding in ecstasy, right there in front of everyone. The next, as soon as she stopped playing with the marionette, it was as if it had never happened. Oh, sure, I still felt breathless and confused but I wasn't turned on in the slightest. The tingles from down below were nothing but a vague memory.

That afternoon I sat at my desk, hardly able to concentrate on work. Sandra, innocent, shy little Sandra, had almost been mocking me, playing with me. There was some sort of connection, some link between that damn marionette and myself and she had found the key to unlock it. Ceding that level of control to another person was really scary, especially someone I knew so little about.

Come five o'clock and the office was fast emptying. One by one the rest of the girls powered down their terminals, packed up their things and left for the night. I kept glancing across at Sandra but she seemed to be ignoring me. The tension was really getting intense. I couldn't help but wonder what she had in store, what strings she was going to pull but, like the marionette hanging from her terminal, all I could do was wait until she decided it was time for play.

Come six o'clock Jessie, the only other one of us left, finally packed up her stuff and, with a cheery 'goodnight girls', she was off. Now it was just the two of us. The tension was unbearable. I knew that, at any minute, she would turn her attentions to me. The minutes ticked by, although maybe not as many as it seemed. Every time I glanced at my watch it hardly seemed to have moved at all. One thing was for certain, I wasn't doing any work. There was only one thing I could concentrate on and that wasn't the figures on my computer screen.

Eventually I could take it no longer. Although it took an extraordinary effort of will I shut down my computer and stood up from my desk. As soon as I did so the office seemed to expand, the walls disappearing into the distance. In a dreamlike state I fought the illusion and tried to head for the door. Far away or not, I had to get there, I had to, I had to....

"But you promised," Sandra called from her desk. "You promised you'd stay."

As if on a swivel I turned towards her. She had taken the marionette from her terminal and was, once again, holding it.  She held it so it knelt on her desk and, as she did so, I fell to my knees and, matching its movements, shuffled across the floor towards her. I wanted to cry out, to protest, but my lips felt as if they were glued together and I was unable to make anything more than mild mewing noises.

"That's better," Sandra said once I was next to her. "Now you wait there a moment, I'm almost finished."

She hooked the marionette back over the edge of her screen and went back to work. I wasn't freed. Unable to move, unable to speak, all I could so was kneel beside her and watch. At this point the weirdness was ratcheted up yet another level. Whilst most of me was screaming inside with impotent rage, there was another emotion steadily gaining ground. Part of me actually wanted to be there on my knees silently worshipping. It was as if, as well as the physical control she had over my limbs, she was also gaining control over my emotions. From where I knelt I could just see her knees poking out from under the hem of her skirt and I had an urgent desire to kiss them. The fact that I couldn't, as I was unable to move, just made it worse. The more she made me wait the more fixated I became and, to top it all, the hornier I became. Without having any control over it I was getting turned on by fantasising about kissing another woman's knees.

Now, I'm straight, straight as an arrow, always have been, always will be. Although I was 'between boyfriends' at the time I was definitely not bi-curious. If I was looking, I was looking for a man, a real man, a hunk, someone with a penis, preferably a nice big fat one. And yet, there I was finding Sandra's knees unbearably sexy. Worse still, I was beginning to hate her skirt for obscuring her thighs. I wanted to gaze on them as well, all of them, from her knees all the way to her waist. Given the chance I would only start by kissing her knees, after that I'd want to kiss everywhere else as well.

At last Sandra logged off from her terminal and packed up for the night. I was too fixated on her knees to see exactly what she was doing but I heard a faint murmur and then, suddenly, I was able to move again. However, all my rage, all my frustration, seemed to have vanished and, to my own amazement I looked up at her and said, "Please, Sandra, would you do me the honour of coming out to dine with me?"

"Why, Julie, how sweet of you," she gushed. "I just need to use the little girl's room and I'll be right back. Will you wait for me?"

"Of course," I said. Not that I had any choice. I might have been able to move from the knees up but my knees were still stuck to the carpet and I was going to be staying there until she freed me. I couldn't help but admire her backside as I watched her walk off toward the washrooms.

"All done," she said when she returned. "Now, where shall we go?"

I was now able to stand up but I was far from free. This time the control was more subtle. I felt as if I were an actor in a film of Sandra's devising and the plot was simple; Julie takes Sandra out for a date and woos her. I was firmly cast in the 'gentleman' role. I fetched her coat for her, I held doors open for her, I called the taxi and, together, we went to Jack's Bistro, one of my favourite haunts.

I was captivated. Well, of course I was, and in a very real sense, but, as well as that, to my continued amazement, I was actually having a good time. I guess that, this too, was part of the script. I have no idea what we talked about but I felt as if I were at my witty best and in the presence of the most charming of dinner companions. Being a true 'gentleman' I made sure that I was attentive and didn't dominate the conversation. I was even genuinely amused by her tales of the crazy antics of the cat she had had as a child. The voice at the back of my head that was screaming about how I was being used and controlled was increasingly being drowned out by the simple fact that I was enjoying myself so much.

We were there for hours, lingering over the coffee and brandies until, eventually, I just knew that it was time to go. I asked Manuel, the Maître D' at Jack’s, to call us a taxi and, fifteen minutes later, we were pulling up outside the block of flats where Sandra lives. We got out, I paid off the taxi, and, still the perfect gentleman, I escorted her all the way to her front door on the thirteenth floor. She was reaching for her key from her handbag when, under the spell of the evening, I swept her into my arms and kissed her.

Oh bliss! Never before had a kiss been so sweet, so right, so proper. I wanted it to go on forever. I wanted... I wanted... I wanted her and in a very animal way. The need to kiss her, and 'need' is the only way to describe it, was echoed by other powerful needs, not least the one from my groin. I pinned her against the door jamb and forced myself against her.

"Please, Julie!" Sandra pushed me away from her. "I'm not that sort of girl."

"Excuse me, I'm so ashamed, I don't know what came over me," I replied. Goddam the minx, she was putting me through hell, making me want her uncontrollably and then making me apologise for acting on it.

"Seeing as how you've been so good otherwise, I'll forgive you," she said sweetly and, before I knew it, she had pecked me on the cheek, unlocked her front door and disappeared inside.

Dazed and confused, I staggered back to the street and went to find a taxi to take me home. Now that we were apart normality had returned. Now that her control was gone I could assess what she had made me do, how out of character she had made me act. Let me say it again. I'm straight, straight as an arrow. I don't fancy other women. The very thought turns me off except... except all evening the thought uppermost in my mind had been that I wanted to explore the inside of Sandra's knickers. I wanted to get down and dirty in a ways I'd never done before. And that kiss! So electric, so wild! I had wanted it to go on forever. Now, with only a fleeting echo left, I felt hollow and alone.

It took a while to find a taxi but I was home before too long and I made myself a nightcap before heading for my bed. The answer-phone was flashing and, when I pressed play, I found I had a message from Ben, a guy I had been after for a while. I'd met him down at the gym and he had a six-pack to die for. I was hoping to find that the bulge in his shorts was equally impressive. Under other circumstances this would have been manna from heaven but the thought of trying to date Ben while Sandra was messing with my head, well, it wasn't really a runner. I would have to let him down.

That night I had the marionette dream again but this time, instead of just hanging from the strings, she had me on my knees. This time, using the strange logic of dreams, she was not only towering over me but sitting before me. She held out her foot in front of my face. I strained forward to kiss it but the strings held me back.

"You want to kiss it, don't you?" the dream Sandra laughed. "Well, you're going to have to try much harder than that."

And, with that, I woke up sweating.

The next morning, after a restless night, I was making my way to the office when, as with every other day, I passed the florist on the corner by the bus station. One of those tugs, one which I was now beginning to recognise all too well, pulled me inside and, before I knew it, I had purchased a dozen red roses. With a sense of trepidation I took them into the office and, inevitably, over to Sandra's desk.

"Oh, are those for me!" Sandra exclaimed. "You angel, you are good to me. Thank you."

Blushing red at the knowledge that the rest of the office must be staring at my strange behaviour, I made my way to my cubicle and sat down.

"What was that all about?" Maureen from the next cubicle asked.

"Don't ask, just don't ask," I replied, nearly in tears. I knew, I just knew, that I was going to be the main topic of conversation at the water cooler and I simply hadn't got an answer to Maureen's question, not one that would satisfy. So now there wasn't one bit of my life this curse hadn't now taken over. In my work life I had been embarrassed in front of the whole office, in my private life I had turned down the man I was most interested in and, even when alone, I could barely sleep, kept awake by the marionette dreams that haunted me.

Sandra, of course, had found a vase from somewhere and the roses were proudly displayed on her desk. From being the quiet mouse that everyone ignored, this had made her the centre of attention. Several of our co-workers had gone over to 'admire' them and I caught the occasional not so discreet glance in my direction.

And then the bitch just ignored me. Oh, sure, the marionette still hung from her terminal but she never paid it or me one iota of attention and I felt as if, I too, were just left hanging until she was ready to play again. I knew, I knew in my bones, I knew with a rock hard certainty that this game was far from over, that this was just another ploy, but there was nothing I could do about it.

As the week wore on she seemed to go out of her way to make sure we were never alone together. Night after night I would stay late but she always left early and, each evening, I was left with this empty feeling.

And then, on Friday night, I tried going out with the gang. We met up in Yates's as ever and I tried my hardest to join in. The drinks were flowing and the music was loud and I was finally starting to have a good time when I saw her watching me, over by the bar, except, when I looked again, it was someone completely different. Somehow Sandra had managed to infiltrate my evening out. I tried putting this down as a one-off but time after time this pattern repeated itself and each time I 'saw' her I was getting jumpier and jumpier. Finally I could take it no more and, pleading a sick headache, I made my way home.

Come Saturday morning and I knew I had to do something. My whole life was in turmoil and I was running out of options. If Sandra was going to ignore me then why did she have to invade my dreams and invade my life? I was convinced that seeing her endlessly in Yates's the night before had been another one of her tricks. I knew where she lived. I would have to go round there and plead for mercy and ask her to stop. And, if she wouldn't stop, then I would have to plead for something else.

I got up and went to the bathroom where I washed my hands and face and I was busy brushing my teeth when I saw her in the mirror. She was peering over my shoulder. I spun around but, of course, there was no one there. I turned back to the mirror and there she was again. I just had to close my eyes and get on with it. But if brushing my teeth had been hard then putting on my makeup was a nightmare. This time I couldn't close my eyes and was constantly aware of the gaze over my shoulder. In a state of near desperation I looked straight at her reflection, looking to plead for some respite and that's when I realised, it wasn't her.

Sure, it looked like her and, in each of my quick glances, I had become convinced it was her, but, now our eyes had met I could see that the eyes that stared back at me weren't her eyes.

And with that the apparition vanished.

I was shaking like a leaf and there was no way I could make an even passable job of my makeup, so I just wiped off what little I had applied and let it go at that. I got dressed in jeans and a tee shirt and made my way round to the block of flats where Sandra lived. It was one of those abominations they seemed to have built everywhere in the sixties. The lift smelled of urine but at least it worked. Funnily enough, it hadn't seemed that bad the last time I had been there but I suppose that was down to the enchantment that Sandra had laid on me. Whilst I was her escort nothing was going to ruin that night. I found her flat and knocked on the peeling paint of the front door.

At first there was no answer but I hadn't come half way across town to be turned away so I knocked again and this time, after a bit of a wait, the door was opened. A rather dishevelled Sandra appeared, dressed in a housecoat and slippers. She seemed surprised to see me. More than that, she seemed genuinely frightened.

"Go away! You mustn't.... you shouldn't....," she stuttered as she started to close the door. In the time honoured fashion I put my foot in the way to stop her.

"Sandra, please, I have to sort this out," I replied.

"But... but... but...."

And then a change seemed to come over her. It was as if she had become a different woman. She stood up straighter and the fear just slipped from her eyes.

"I'm so sorry. Where are my manners? Come on in," she said brightly. She opened the door wide and motioned me into the house.

"Go on through to the lounge," she said as she closed the door behind me. "What would you like, tea or coffee?"

I went on through and sat on the sofa while she went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. When she reappeared she was carrying two cups of tea, which she put down on the coffee table. She then sat in an armchair opposite me.

"Now then, what brings you all the way over town to see little me?" she asked.

"Please, Sandra, whatever you're doing, please, can you stop?"

"Whatever I'm doing?" she said as if genuinely surprised. "But I haven't done anything. I mean, apart from our delightful date the other evening and those beautiful roses you brought me, we've hardly spoken a word. Whatever do you mean?"

"Please, Sandra, don't be cruel. I don't know how you do it but that marionette, it's messing with my mind and I just can't take it any more."

"Marionette? Do you mean this one?" She scrabbled around in her handbag and fetched out the marionette, "Why, it's just a silly little toy. Mind you, it can be quite fun to play with."

While she was talking she had been untangling the strings and she now had it dangling freely from the control bar. She held it in her right hand in such a way that she could reach the strings with the tips of her fingers. Then she held it over the coffee table and lowered it down so that the feet were dragged backwards and it was kneeling. Just as it had been in the office I could only match its movements so I found myself dragged off the sofa and onto the floor until I too was on my knees. Any protest, any desire to cry out, was stifled by the way that, once again, my lips were glued together.

"Look, I can make it nod its head," Sandra said, tugging at the relevant string. My head nodded furiously as if it were attached to the same strings. "Would you like to dance, little marionette, would you?"

The marionette and I both nodded our head.

She jerked the marionette to its feet and, rocking the control bar back and forth, made it do a little dance. So far I was still kneeling but I knew what was coming.

"Would you like to dance, Julie?" she asked. The marionette nodded its head and so did I. I leapt to my feet and, with Sandra singing a merry 'la la la', the marionette and I leapt about frenetically. To call it dancing would be stretching a point, we certainly weren't going to win any prizes on 'Strictly' but it was energetic and vaguely in time to her singing. At last she had had enough and she let the me and the marionette flop. I would have been gasping for breath but, with my mouth sealed, all I could do was breathe heavily through my nose.

"But I don't think you came here just to dance for me," she continued. "Is this what you want?"

She sat back in her chair and put the marionette down on her stomach. Then she kicked off the slipper from her right foot and held it out in front of her. This was just like in the dream and, unable to do otherwise, I fell back to my knees and shuffled forward. However, the closer I got the harder it was to move. When my lips were all but an inch from her toes I could go no further. I was straining not just to reach but also to open my lips. I could feel the sweat beading on my brow and the tendons in my neck standing out.

"Just a little more," Sandra mocked, "just a little harder."

The two ways in which she controlled me fought against each other. My will, my desire, my need was driving me forward but, countering that, was the way I was physically held back. There were no actual strings attached to me but there might as well have been. My wrists were pulled back behind me and my head simply refused to move.

"Maybe if you asked," Sandra said and, with that, my lips were freed.

"Please, please, Sandra," I said, nearly in tears.

"Please, what? What is it that you want?"

"Please, let me kiss your toes."

"Why would I let you do that?"

"Please, Sandra, please, I beg you, please." I could hear how pathetic I sounded but I couldn't help myself. "I'll do anything you want."

"Anything I want, just for kissing my toes?" She wriggled her foot in front of my face.

I reached out with my tongue and, by putting every ounce of effort into it, I managed to tickle the tips of her toes. I have no idea what it did for her but it was as if every tickle of her toes was transferred directly to my clit. I shuddered and pushed myself forward with renewed vigour. All thoughts of why I had come here were gone, my sole focus was to lick her toes and lose myself in all the pleasures that brought. Teasingly she pulled her foot away. I forced myself forward and, at that moment, she released whatever was holding me back and I fell flat on my face.

I lay, face down on the carpet, sobbing endlessly, ”Please, Sandra, please”. I was broken, destroyed, I had no pride left. She could do whatever she wanted with me; I wouldn't fight it any more.

And then I felt her toes nuzzle against my lips. Gently I pushed the tip of my tongue out and, this time, she didn't pull away. Grateful, truly grateful to be allowed to worship I caressed her toes with my tongue and with my lips. While there wasn't quite the urgency of last time, this was still one of the most sexual acts I had ever done. The little bit of me, the bit that stays 'me' however much Sandra is in control, that bit was horrified. I was squirming on the floor, licking her feet and loving every second of it. My hand even delved into under the waistband of my jeans and into my panties. Shamelessly, I was frigging myself in front of Sandra.

I looked up at her, she smiled at me and I was grateful, grateful that she would allow me to debase myself like this. She glanced at her knees and I just knew what she wanted. I pulled my hand from my crotch, struggled up off the floor and started kissing her knees. This was a start but I wanted more. I put my hands on her thighs, pushing up the hem of her housecoat and gently eased her knees apart. Tenderly, lovingly, I caressed her thighs with my lips. Moving slowly but surely towards my goal, I could smell her warmth, her intoxicating warmth and I wanted to taste her sweetness. I pushed again at her housecoat, unbuttoning it where it fastened down the front. As it fell away I could see my destiny, as yet still covered by pink cotton panties with a little heart motif.

I kissed her mons through the cotton of the panties. The smell, her smell, was intoxicating. With my teeth I nipped at the waistband and tugged gently, more to show what I wanted rather than to actually pull them down. Again I glanced up at her, pleading with my eyes and mewing gently.

"Oh, Julie!" she exclaimed, "you can be so sweet when you want to be. Do you want me to take my panties off?"

Still holding the waistband of her panties in my teeth I nodded. She pushed me gently away, picked up the marionette, and stood up. She undid the rest of the buttons of her housecoat so that it hung open and then pushed down her panties and stepped out of them. She hadn't been wearing a bra and, as I gazed up from where I knelt on the floor, her open housecoat framed her naked body. To my eyes she looked gorgeous, a goddess, and it was a privilege to be allowed to worship.

She held this pose for a while before sitting back down again, lying back in the chair with her knees apart. She placed the marionette on her stomach, its head just below her breasts, its feel dangling just above her pubic bush.

"Come now, Julie," she said softly, "you know what to do."

Did I know what to do? I had never gone down on another woman before, indeed, up until that moment I could not have conceived of even wanting to go down on another woman but various boyfriends had gone down on me over the years so I understood the basics and, after all, her body wasn't that different from mine. I shuffled forward once again, rested my forearms on her thighs, leant forward, nuzzled into her pubic hair and reached with my tongue for her slit.

Oh, bliss! My whole body thrilled to the taste of her nectar. As my tongue teased apart her nether lips and explored her nooks and crannies my whole being knew that this was right, this was where I wanted to be, this was where I was meant to be. Slowly, gently, lovingly, so that we could both savour every moment, I ran my tongue along her inner lips up towards, but not quite reaching, her clitty. Ooh, yes, that was my ultimate goal but we both needed to savour every part of the journey, not just the final destination.

And I just knew I was doing it right. Her pleasure was like a warm glow, a glow that engulfed me. As her passions rose so did mine and, when the tip of my tongue brushed against the tip of her clitty, both our bodies felt the rush, both our bodies tingled with pleasure. I'd had great sex before but never had I felt so connected to my partner, never had I felt so strongly that my partner's pleasure was my pleasure, that we were one entity flowing together towards nirvana.

It was this link, this connection, that let me know when she needed me to go a little harder, a little firmer, when she needed me to concentrate more on the ever growing nub of her clit. And, as I was giving her exactly what she wanted so, she too, was giving me what I wanted. Together we crested a wave but I knew I wasn't to stop and, as we relaxed again afterwards, we both understood that this was only the first of many. We could go higher, we would go higher. As my tongue flick- flick- flicked across the core of her pleasure I could feel the growing tension inside her, I could feel her climbing, step by step towards the peak of Mount Ecstasy because, in a very real way, I could feel it too. I was right there beside her.

And then we reached the wave that wouldn't break. This was the one; we both knew this was the one. Higher and higher we strove together, nearly there, nearly there, oh so nearly....

Sandra threw back her head and gave a cry of pure animal pleasure. Her juices flooded from her and I lapped up every drop as if my life depended on it. Her body arched, lifting her off the chair and I followed every movement, teasing out every last trickle as we rode the wave all the way to its end.

Enough, she could take no more, I could take no more and, as she collapsed back into the chair, I collapsed too, still slumped over her, my head now resting in her lap. The whole world seemed to fill with the afterglow of her climax and I was bathed in a sea of well-being. Although I had not actually come, I too felt that deep contentment that can normally only be achieved from a first class orgasm. I started to drift away. For the first time since this madness had started I felt that all was well with the world. I could have knelt there forever, resting my head in Sandra's lap, waiting to find out how I could serve her next. The little voice, the 'real me' voice, was all but silenced and I could hardly hear her protests. It was similarly easy to ignore a vague sensation that somewhere someone was laughing at us.

After a few minutes Sandra shivered and pulled her housecoat back around herself. She tousled my hair and looked down at me, a big smile on her face. I so desired her approval that I felt the same sort of pleasure that a puppy must feel when rewarded for successfully retrieving a ball. If I had had a tail I certainly would have wagged it.

"Is that better?" she asked.

"Yes, Sandra, thank you, Sandra," I replied, although the little voice at the back of my head wondered quite why I was grateful for giving her an orgasm.

"And now we're friends again we must spend the day together. What fun we'll have!" she gushed. "We can't sit around here all morning, we have so many things to do. You tidy up in here while I take a shower."

And so it was that, while she went off for her shower I started in on her housework. She took her time and, in the meanwhile, I was going round with the vacuum cleaner and straightening the cushions.

"Oh, splendid! You have done a nice job. I must get you to do my bedroom later," she said when she reappeared.

"Your bedroom? I'd love to," I replied, and I meant it. Just as previously she had made me want to be her dinner companion, now she was making me want to be her domestic slave.

"But first we must go shopping. Oh, what fun we'll have! My coat, it's on a hook in the hallway. Be a darling, will you?"

I fetched her coat and helped her into it. Then we were off to Tesco’s, which was heaving, as ever, on a Saturday morning. She was all over me, very touchy- feely and I was loving it. As I pushed the trolley round she laid her hand on my arm and pointed out which items to pick from the shelves. She was right, we were having a good girly morning, doing things together, sharing our lives. It was nigh on noon by the time we returned, with me carrying all the bags, of course, and, when we got to the lift, there already waiting, was an elderly lady.

"Hello, young Sandra," she said. "Is this your new friend?"

"Hello, Mrs Bates," Sandra replied. "Yes, this is Julie. Julie say hello to Mrs Bates."

"Hello, Mrs Bates," I said as I found myself giving a curtsey.

"Where's your manners, Julie, why aren't you offering to carry her bags?" Sandra ordered.

Mrs Bates handed me her shopping bag and, as if were the most natural thing in the world, I took it from her. She took a step back and looked me up and down.

"Is this the one you've been telling me about, the one from that office of yours?" she asked Sandra.

"Yes, Mrs Bates," Sandra replied, "this is her. Isn't she pretty?"

It gave me a thrill to be described as 'pretty', especially by Sandra.

"Looks a bit scrawny to me." She reached out and pinched the flesh of my arm. "I like a bit more meat on 'em. Still, I never could understand girls that want other girls. What's up? Can't you get the boy you want?"

"It's not like that, Mrs Bates, really it's not."

"Well, as long as you know your own mind." Mrs Bates seemed to find this hilarious and,  to the sound of her cackling, we all got in the lift. We rode it up to the thirteenth floor and, together we walked along to a flat a few doors down from Sandra's. This turned out to be Mrs Bates' flat and, after she had let herself in, I took her shopping and put it on the kitchen table before returning outside to where Sandra was waiting.

"That's my neighbour," Sandra explained as we moved on to her front door. "She's a real sweetie."

"She seemed a darling," I replied and, whilst the voice at the back of my head screamed otherwise, I really meant it.

We went into Sandra's flat and, whilst I got on with the housework, Sandra watched TV. Now, I'm not normally the domesticated type. Sure, I like the place clean and tidy, who doesn't, but the whole 'cleanliness is next to godliness' bit passes me by. Having said that I scrubbed Sandra's kitchen from the top to the bottom and, when I'd finished and got the place sparkling, I felt proud that I had done so well. The washing and ironing got a similar treatment. In particular, Sandra has such a cute set of panties and they looked so lovely freshly washed and ironed.

At six o'clock I started on making our evening meal. I had splashed out at Tesco’s and purchased a steak for Sandra and a pack of frozen hamburgers for myself. I laid the kitchen table for two. It didn't really feel right, me eating at the same table, but there was nowhere else so I hoped Sandra wouldn't mind putting up with me. However, in the end, she wanted to watch 'X Factor' so she had it off a tray on her lap and I ate alone in the kitchen.

After the meal I washed up, wiped down the kitchen, cleaned out the grill and then, finished at last, went on through to the lounge. I was a bit ashamed that I had been so busy that I hadn't had any time to spend with Sandra and had spoilt the girly afternoon she had planned. I hoped she wouldn't mind too much.

"I've finished in the kitchen," I said as I approached. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Shhh! I'm watching the telly! Wait there," Sandra ordered.

I knelt down beside her and, while she watched a rom-com, I watched her. It was as if I had never fully realised how pretty she is. I was mesmerised and, as the TV did its noisy thing, I just watched and watched and watched.

"There," she said as the credits rolled at the end of the film, "that's over, let's see to you. Ooh, you're all sweaty and smelly!"

She was right. I was still in the clothes I had been working in all day and was, as she said, sweaty and smelly.

"I'm sorry, Sandra, I didn't bring anything to change into," I replied.

"I can't help that. Come along, we need to get those clothes off you and get you under the shower. No, don't get up. I quite like you on your hands and knees. Scamper along now."

And scamper I did. I loved it when she gave me this much attention and, if it pleased her to have me scampering along her hallway like a puppy dog then, well, that gave me pleasure too. When I got to the bathroom I stayed on the floor as I stripped off my clothes. Sandra told me to put them next to the washing basket as I would have to wait until tomorrow to wash them. They couldn't go inside the basket, of course, because that would have soiled her clothes. Once I was naked I got under the shower. Sandra said that she wasn't going to waste hot water on me so I had to have it cold but that was invigorating and, although I was shivering like a mad thing when I had finished, at least I was clean.

When she finally let me come out of the shower she had me stand, still dripping wet, whilst she looked me over for bits I had missed. One of my fingernails still had a bit of dirt under it. I couldn't see it until she pointed it out for me. As I hadn't cleaned myself properly she sent me back under the shower to finish off the job. When she finally let me out again she stood me in front of the mirror.

"Do you see," she said as the water dripped off me and I stood there shivering, "Mrs Bates was right. Do you see how scrawny you are?"

I looked in the mirror and I loathed my body. How could anyone love someone with a body like mine? So skinny, so scrawny, I looked like a drowned rat. She gave me a hand towel to dry myself off. It wasn't really big enough but the bath towels were hers and she didn't want me to get them all dirty. Still damp, still shivering, she led me back into the lounge where she had me lie down as a footrest. I was worried that my scrawny body would be uncomfortable for her, that I wouldn't be padded enough, but she was gracious enough not to mind and, that is how we were for the rest of the evening.

Sandra likes to go to retire early so it wasn't long before she stood up and announced that she was off to bed. As she made her way down the hallway I scampered along behind. She went to the bathroom and undressed, dropping her clothes on the floor. I scampered around after her, picking them up in my mouth and putting them in the washing basket. When it got to her panties, they tasted so good that I didn't want to let go but she told me not to be selfish. Once she was undressed she put on a pink flannelette nightie that looked lovely and warm. I knelt quietly while she washed her face and brushed her teeth. Then, when she hitched up her nightie and sat on the toilet, she looked at me and, suddenly, I had the strangest urge. She was about to pee and there was something I wanted, more than anything else. I knew I shouldn't interrupt her but this urge was too great.

"Please, Sandra," I asked from where I knelt.

"Yes, Julie, what is it that you want?"

"May I, please, may I... may I drink your pee?" There, I'd asked.

"If you have to," she replied with a sigh. "Come here."

I shuffled across to kneel in front of her and she held her nightie bunched above her waist as she stood up, straddling me with her legs. I had barely got my head in place when the golden stream burst from her. Try as I might I couldn't catch it all and the excess flowed down me, across my breasts, down my tummy and between my legs which was heavenly. It was such a turn on that cupped my hands over my pussy and rubbed it in.

"You're a mucky little puppy, aren't you?" she asked with a laugh.

"Yes, Sandra."

"But you love every minute of it, don't you?"

"Oh, yes, I do, I do!"

"Well, if you're good, I'll let you do it again. Now, you have fifteen minutes to clean up in here and take another shower. Don't you dare come anywhere near me smelling like that." And with that she was off to give her hands a quick rinse before retiring to her bedroom.

As quick as I could I mopped up my mess from the floor with my clothes, which I then threw in the washing machine. I had the quickest of showers, cold, of course, and rubbed myself down with the towel Sandra had allowed me to use. It was still a bit damp but I did my best. When I got to her bedroom she told me that I could find a blanket in the chest of drawers and, as long as I was quiet, I could sleep on the floor at the foot of her bed.

I settled down, wrapping the blanket around me as best I could and, while she read in bed, I lay there listening to the feint noises of the city, which filtered in through the window. Eventually she turned out the light and we were in almost complete darkness.

"Julie?" she called out, "are you awake?"

"Yes, Sandra."

"Did you... did you have a good day?"

"Oh, yes!" I replied enthusiastically. "I've had a lovely time."

"I suppose that's OK, then," she seemed uncertain although I couldn't think why.

"No, really, I have. I've enjoyed every moment," I reassured her.

"I'm sorry, so, so sorry," she seemed to be almost crying. I couldn't for the life of me think why. "Would you like to... would you... please, come and join me in bed. At least you'll be warm."

I still couldn't think what had come over her but, if she wanted me in bed then I was more than willing to join her. I got up off the floor and slipped in under the covers.

"You're freezing!" she exclaimed.

"I'm sorry, I should never have joined you." The last thing I wanted was to make her uncomfortably cold.

"No, no, come here. If we cuddle you'll soon warm up."

So we snuggled together. Because of the mental link between us I could sense her unease but I was in heaven. She cared! She really cared about scrawny little old me! Part of the tension, I could tell, was that she wanted to make love but there was something I couldn't sense which was holding her back. Feeling incredibly daring I nuzzled closer and kissed her gently. There, in the quiet and the dark, our lips rested together and in a moment of exquisite tenderness we just lay there.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Partially to show that she had nothing to be sorry about and partially to satisfy my ever growing need for the touch of her skin against mine I reached for the hem of her nighty and pulled it up. This seemed to help her push her doubts to one side and, working together and with a certain amount of wriggling, we got her out of the nighty. I wanted to kiss her all over, to savour every inch of her soft skin with my lips. Starting with her shoulders I worked my way south. As she relaxed so the link between us grew stronger and I could sense that what I was doing was turning her on. We both wanted to take things slowly, to savour, to enjoy every nuance and I didn't want to spoil things by rushing to her perfect little breasts or, heaven help us, down there, so I explored her tummy, her arms, her hips, her thighs and, to our mutual joy, we discovered just how much she enjoyed being kissed in the crook of her neck.

I could have spent all night exploring but an urgency in my nipples told me that her nipples were crying out for attention and, when I got there, it was no surprise to find they were nice and hard and ready for me. At first I just used my lips but something said 'teeth' so, ever so gently, I gave them a little nip. Ooh, that was so good, so, so good. I tried a little harder and, in unison, we both cried out. I repeated the experiment on the other nipple and, after a certain amount of to-and-fro, we discovered that her right breast was marginally more sensitive than her left. But play turned to passion and, as the tension built, she scrabbled with her legs and pulled my leg between her thighs so that her pussy was pressed directly against me. For the moment all worries about my being scrawny were gone. I knew just how good this felt because I was feeling it too. I broke from kissing her breasts and wrapped my arms around her, crushing us together, just as she wanted. I could feel that she was close, not to a firework display as we had shared that morning but to something more spiritual. I, she, we, needed intensity and, as I dug my nails in and slowly raked them down her back, that was enough to push us over the edge.

"Oh, Julie! Oh, Julie, Oh Julie!" she repeated over and over again. She was sobbing with emotion as the climax wrung every last drop from her. She kissed me, her lips locking on mine as if we were trying to swallow one another, trying desperately to hang on to this closeness, this oneness, this bonding, this love.

Of course it couldn't last forever and, in the end, we had to collapse, exhausted, lying side by side, enjoying the afterglow.

"I love you, Julie," Sandra said, simply. "I have since the first day we met, the day you joined the company. I want us to stay like this forever."

"So do I," I replied, and I meant it.

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.

Now that we were touching the link was at its strongest. I couldn't hear the words, the link wasn't quite that clear, but I could feel her mind. She was worried, really worried although I couldn't quite make out what she was worried about. OK, so we were both concerned about the possible repercussions from being discovered by Mbeke but it was more than that, something much more serious. Because I was concerned for her, concerned about how I might have hurt her by my thoughtlessness, I tried to find out what it was but every time I got close I was pushed away. 

But worry, although the dominant emotion in her head, wasn't the only one. I could tell that she wanted me, that she needed me and that it wasn't just sex that she wanted. She wanted me to cuddle her, to comfort her and, of course, I was delighted to oblige. However, she seemed scared to let me come back to her flat, as if, somehow, whatever it was that was bothering her, would be worse if we were there.

"You can spend the night with me, if you want," I said gently.

She didn't reply directly but I could feel the warmth of her response wash through me. She was really grateful that I wanted her to stay. This seemed crazy to me; I ought to be the grateful one, grateful that she wanted me.

"If you're staying the night we need to get you some stuff. You'll need a toothbrush and some clean undies at least. Why don't we stop by Tescos on the way and we'll pick up what you need?"

She agreed so, after a visit to the local hypermarket, we made our way to my flat. I wish I had known this would happen because the place was a bit of a mess but there was nothing I could do about it. Once we arrived I showed Sandra where the TV was and how to use the remote while I whipped round the flat picking up and went into the kitchen to sort us out something to eat. It wasn't going to be much, just a couple of grilled chops, but Sandra just wanted a quiet evening in with just the two of us.

All the while I was cooking I could feel her unease and, when I served it up, the poor girl was so uptight she couldn't eat more than a couple of mouthfuls. I knew what she wanted, I could feel what she wanted, but it would have to wait until I had cleared away and we had the evening to ourselves.

"Please, Sandra," I said when I finally sat down, "why don't you tell me what's wrong?"

"I... I can't."

"Are you worried about what I did in the office? Please, let me take the blame for that one. If Mbeke makes a complaint I'll say it was all me, that you were trying to stop me."

"It's a little more complicated than that," Sandra continued. "There's something I have to tell you, something about.... ugh... ugh..."

I could feel the constriction in her throat, as if someone were strangling her. Unable to breathe, she fell forward, off the sofa, and onto the floor. I dashed to hold her but I know nothing about first aid and hadn't got a clue what to do. She couldn't breathe, she was going dizzy, she was passing out when, with a great gasp, she could breathe again.

"Sandra! Sandra! Are you OK? What happened, what happened to you?"

"I can't tell you. Please, Julie, I really can't tell you."

This time I got the message. It wasn't just reluctance, she really couldn't tell me without risking another choking attack. She started to cry, real heartbroken sobbing and I could feel that the pain within her was unbearable. I cradled her in my arms as she calmed down and, as I did so, I felt this great protective wave wash over me. Never before had I felt so needed. I bent forward and gently kissed her forehead and she leaned her head back so that we could kiss lips to lips.

It was just the tenderest of touches, the mere brushing of lip against lip but that was all that we needed and, slowly but surely, it started to sooth away her fears. Here, cuddled together on my living room floor, it felt so right, so complete, so safe that whatever it was that was hurting Sandra was no longer a problem. Gently I kissed away the salty taste of her tears before drawing back and looking deep, deep into her hazel eyes.

'Keep me safe, just for tonight,' I heard her unspoken plea as clear as day.

'How could I do otherwise,' I thought back at her but somehow this seemed to upset her again. 'Come, come to bed, let me take care of you,' I added.

Touching each other as much as possible we got to our feet and made our way to my  bedroom. I eased her gently back onto the bed and lay down beside her. Slowly, with kisses like the fluttering of butterfly wings, I caressed her face with my lips. When I could go no further I pushed her cardigan aside until I could. Then, when that was not enough, I started to unbutton her blouse. She looked, she felt, so vulnerable that I just wanted to make her feel the love that was pouring out of me. I wanted to show with my body what I felt with my soul. I wished I could just magic away our clothes so every inch of me could touch every inch of her but had to compromise with being as gentle as possible, easing the clothes from her one by one.

'Your turn,' I thought at her once I had got her naked and, with trembling fingers, she reached for my blouse. Our eyes met and she gave me a little nervous smile. This was no longer the confident woman who had taken the lead in our previous trysts, but a delicate girl, reaching out for comfort. I helped her slip my blouse off, over my shoulders and felt her reach for the clasp of my bra.

'Your breasts, they're so beautiful,' she thought as my bra swung free.

'Not too scrawny?'

'No, perfect.' And, as if to prove her point, she reached up to kiss my nipples. Thousands of delicious tingles ran through my body but I wanted more. I eased her back down again and, by moving my body in a slow circular motion, brushed my nipples against hers. Now we could both feel the tingles and feeling the shared sensations of her tingles and mine was heavenly.

She reached for the waistband of my trousers and started to push them down. I was torn, I wanted to reach the freedom of total nudity but I didn't want to move away from her. In the end, with a certain amount of wriggling and a great deal of giggling, we worked together to push them down and off the bed and onto the floor. Then we entwined our legs and just enjoyed the feeling as body met body.

Wrapped in each others arms, wrapped in each others bodies, it felt safe and warm and, to an extent, we could just have stayed there forever. Sandra had her legs wrapped around my right thigh and, with the slow and steady rhythm of our breathing, her groin was pushing gently against my leg. Almost perversely we were holding back, savouring the slow build up, squeezing, both figuratively and literally, every morsel of sensation from the moment. Sandra had her head over my shoulder and the nearest thing to my mouth was her ear so I gave it a nibble and, feeling how good that was, gave it another. This made Sandra groan with pleasure, the first actual sound either of us had made for a while. I bit a little harder and, in response, Sandra pushed her groin harder against my thigh.

'Do you like that?' I asked with my thoughts.

'You know I do, I know you can feel it too,' came back the reply.

'How about this?' I gently raked my nails down her back. Simultaneous ribbons of electricity ran from our spines to our groins so I did it again, a little harder this time.

"Oh, yes," Sandra sighed as we both crested a mini wave, "it feels so good with you."

'It's good for me too,' I responded, 'better than it's ever been.'

And it was. Never, ever, in my life before had I understood so clearly why it's called 'making love'. Oh, I'd fucked plenty of times before. I'd been a sexually active woman for the thick end of a decade and thought I'd seen it all; slow fucks, quick fucks, good fucks and bad fucks but never, ever, had I felt this physical and emotional closeness where two truly did become one. The link, and all the control that went with it, may be a curse and a damnation from which I wished to be free but this closeness made everything worth while. The distinction between me and her was gone; together our bodies mingled and shared, each enhancing the other. Effortlessly we flowed together so that her pleasure, her joy, her ecstasy, were truly mine as well.

The climax, when it came, was Zen like. Every nerve, every fibre, of our conjoined bodies singing out in joyful harmony as, together, we seemed to float away on billowing clouds carrying us to heaven. I was vaguely aware of a muttering sound until I realised it was me saying 'I love you, I love you, I love you' over and over and over again like a mantra. I had never before felt so complete, so replete. And then, soft as falling feathers, it was ending. Together we spiralled down to become two exhausted but very happy women in bed.

"That was..." I started.

'Shhh! Don't talk, please, don't talk.'

So we didn't. Instead we just lay there, conjoined in every possible way.

The next morning, still feeling blissed and joyful, I got up and made us both breakfast. We were both a little concerned about Mbeke; would there be any fallout? As we ate our breakfast together, I could feel Sandra's other fears return. At least we had shared a wonderful night together. I could stand anything after that.

At least I thought I could.

We weren’t early birds, and we weren't exactly eager to get to work, so it was nigh on nine thirty by the time we arrived. As soon as we entered the office I could feel the undercurrents, the hidden glances, the whispering.  I knew the office was a hotbed of gossip but did everybody really know? Sandra and I were just about to go our separate ways when the supervisor came up and, in front of everybody, told us that we were required in Mr Ferguson's office. Mortified, Sandra and I followed the supervisor through the office and up to the second floor where he worked. Mr Ferguson's secretary asked us to wait while she announced us, and, again, I felt I could see a smirk on her face. After a moment or two, we were shown into the office. He was sitting at his desk, obviously not pleased.

"Ah, Sandra Phillips and Julie Snodgrass. It would seem we have a disciplinary issue. I came in this morning to find that one of the cleaners has laid a complaint against you, a very serious complaint. It would seem that you think that Amalgamated Holdings, rather than being an insurance firm, is some sort of bordello. Is that right?"

"I can explain...." I blurted out.

"Can you indeed?" Mr Ferguson looked straight at me and I could tell he was enjoying this. "I find it hard to understand how anybody could possibly explain this." He turned his computer screen so that we could see some CCTV footage, footage of the office.

"Perhaps you were unaware that we monitor the office using CCTV. It's been quite useful in a number of discipline cases. Especially ones where the guilty party tries to deny their actions. Shall we have a look?"

He clicked his mouse and the picture started to move. It was grey and it was blurry, and the picture jerked rather than flowed, but it was clear that it was our office and the time stamp on the bottom showed it was from last night. After a moment or two I saw myself get up and go over to Sandra's desk, talk for a moment and then kneel down. Mr Ferguson clicked his mouse again and the picture stopped.

"At this point," Mr Ferguson explained, "the security guard monitoring the system, who, for once, was not fast asleep, decided to have a closer look. He is, of course, able to control the cameras remotely for both zoom and direction. Shall we continue?"

And there it was. He restarted the video. The camera zoomed in and every detail of my exhibition was right there on the screen. Mr Ferguson clicked again and the picture went full screen so as to wring every last drop of humiliation from the footage. Sandra and I hung our heads in shame but we couldn't stop it. Mr Ferguson was going to run it all the way to the end.

"Well, Miss Snodgrass, do you still feel you have an acceptable explanation? I find it hard to see how that could be anything other than what it seems."

Of course I didn't. What could I say? I tried to cover for Sandra but Mr Ferguson was having none of it. He had seen her hitch up her skirt and, as far as he was concerned, she had egged me on and was equally guilty. Although he was taking a high moral line it was easy to see that he was loving every second and I could imagine him having a quick wank over the video as soon as we were gone. The long and short of it was that we were both sacked. He was not going to let us slink away quietly. He had a security guard accompany us back to the office and stand over us as we collected our personal belongings. As I tidied out my desk I could sense that every eye in the place was upon me.

"Is it true?" Maureen asked in a stage whisper. "They're saying you and Sandra were caught shagging in the office, that it was caught on CCTV. Is it true? I guess it must be if they're sacking you."

How had she known? I glanced about me and it was clear that the whole office knew. I wished the ground would just open up and swallow me. If Sandra had been a bloke I might, just, have got away with it but now I was branded as the office pervert. I didn't need telepathy to tell what was on their minds; as I was led towards the door I could hear the whispering behind me.

I couldn't talk to Sandra until we were out of the office. When, finally, we were on the street outside I turned to speak to her.

"I'm so sorry," I began.

"Go away!" Sandra shouted at me. "Go away and stay away! Don't come round, leave me alone, go away!"

"But last night...."

"Forget last night, forget everything, forget me!"

Sandra seemed terrified, terrified of me. Mentally as well as verbally she was pushing me away. I could understand why she would be cross with me but this was different, this was terror. I felt her command me to stand still and, whilst I was rooted to the spot, she was off, running away from me. As she left the link faded and I felt in my heart that I would never see her again.

A few minutes later I was free and able to return home. I was waiting at the bus stop when my mobile went. It was Fran, one of my closest friends, or so I thought.

"I've just had Maureen on the phone," she started. "Is it true? I've been hearing all sorts of rumours about you, flowers at work and all, but this one takes the biscuit. She says you were caught on CCTV having sex in the office and, what's more, it was with another woman."

"Well, sort of true," I replied.

"What do you mean, ‘sort of true’?"

"Well, yes, it's true but... Fran... Fran...." the phone was dead. I tried ringing her back but she wouldn't talk to me. I was still trying when my phone rang and, with awful inevitability, I saw the name 'mum' on the screen.

"Julie, darling," she said when I answered, "I've just had your friend, Maureen, on the phone with the most extraordinary story. She said you'd been sacked. Some completely dreadful nonsense about... about you and some other girl in the office. Please tell me it's not true."

"Oh, mum!" I sobbed, "I wish I could, I wish I could."

"Are you telling me...?"

"I'm so sorry, mum, really I am."

And then she really started in on me. All the usual ingredients were there. The 'I'm not a prude but...', the 'we didn't bring you up to behave like this', the 'I can't imagine what your father will say', her all time favourite, 'heaven help us if the neighbours get wind of this', with a side order of  'your father is up for Captain of the golf team; this could ruin his chances' and, the inevitable finale 'you never think of anyone but yourself, the shame you bring down on me, on all of us; you're a disgrace to the family'. And then, like Fran, she slammed the phone down.

For a while I just stood there. My life was in tatters. Nothing made sense any more. Alone, so very, very, alone, with neither friends nor family to turn to, I returned to my flat to weep.

Lost in my depression I spent most of the day watching daytime TV. The moronic brain pap was a noise in the background as I contemplated my ruin. Around five o'clock, feeling exhausted and dejected, I decided I needed a long, hot soak in the bath with plenty of candles just to escape for a moment or two. I stripped off my work clothes and put on a dressing gown, poured myself a large glass of wine and was just starting on the bath when I heard, as clear as a bell, Sandra telling me to come to her flat. What's more, I was to hurry, there was no time to lose and, in particular, I was to take a taxi rather than wait for the bus.

My heart leapt! Sandra! I stopped what I was doing and tried to listen out for more but all I was getting was silence. Still, if she needed me there was only one possible answer. I threw on an old pair of jeans and a tee shirt and phoned the local taxi company. As I waited for them to arrive, I checked my purse. Now that I was unemployed I was going to have to watch the pennies and the extravagance of a taxi ride right across town was more than I could really afford. Still, needs must when the devil drives.

Half an hour later and fifteen pounds poorer I arrived at her front door. In retrospect I should have noticed the continuing lack of any link between Sandra and myself. This close I definitely should have felt her presence. Instead I was feeling nothing and hadn't since I had heard the call. As it was I was so nervous that I wasn't in the mood to notice anything so just went up to the door and knocked. After a few moments the door swung open and...

"Maureen, what on earth are you doing here?" I exclaimed. "Where's Sandra? Is she OK? Oh, no..."

I felt myself being physically dragged into the flat. I bounced off the wall scattering the pictures that hung there, slammed into the door frame, jarring my shoulder, and fell clumsily into the lounge. I stumbled forward, barked my shin on the coffee table and crashed onto the floor. When I looked up I saw Sandra, huddled in a corner nursing her left arm, which hung awkwardly. There was a look of sheer abject horror in her eyes and I could sense that she was trying to tell me something but I couldn't hear what. She glanced up and right and, when I followed her gaze I saw Mrs Bates sat in an armchair, holding not one marionette but two.

"That's better, now we're all together, now we have both our dear little love birds," Mrs Bates laughed but there was no joy in her voice and, on hearing her speak, I felt sick with fear.

"What have you done to Sandra?" I asked, horrified. "Why is she lying like that? What have you done to her arm?"

"Poor little Sandra, poor little lovesick Sandra," Mrs Bates continued. "She was refusing to call you and needed a little persuasion. I'm afraid Maureen was a trifle rough with her. She hasn't quite mastered control, yet, have you?"

Maureen stood at the door but, when I looked at her, somehow she didn't seem right. Her eyes were wild. There was something of the cornered animal about them and, when she replied to Mrs Bates, her 'yes' was guttural.

"But why? What do you want with us? Why me? Why Sandra? What on earth is going on?"

"Why you? Because, my dear, you were handed to me on a plate. Young Maureen came to me at a psychic fair just after Christmas with just the tiniest piece of venom. It seems that you'd upset her and she was out for revenge. Such a tiny, insignificant spark but, with a little bit of nurturing, I grew that venom into something far nastier. I've taught her to hate you with all her soul, well, what's left of it. It seems that you stole her boyfriend. Isn't that right?"

"My Billy, I'd been after him for months, and then, at the Christmas party, you swan up to him and he's all over you like a rash. I might as well not have been there." Maureen was foaming at the mouth. I'd always thought that was one of those expressions but there were, quite literally, little flecks of foam at the corners of her lips.

Desperately I cast my mind back to the office Christmas party. It hadn't just been us girls from Insurance Sales but there were many from other departments. There had, indeed, been this guy that had made a clumsy drunken pass at me but to say that I had stolen him, that was twisting the truth.

"It wasn't like that," I protested.

"It was! It was, you bitch!" Maureen snarled. "Don't you lie to me!"

"Calm down, Maureen," Mrs Bates ordered. "You'll have your fun in a moment."

Maureen settled back but I could see that she was still seething.

"Oh, the details don't matter now," Mrs Bates turned back to me. "She was bitter and that's all that mattered. All I needed was that little spark and I could fan the flames into what you see now, something I could feed on."

"Feed on?" Now I really was confused.

"Yes, dear, feed on." And with that Mrs Bates shifted. It was like one of those pictures you can see two ways. One moment she was a little old lady, the next she was something very different and not at all human.

"Pain and suffering is meat and drink to me," she continued. "I need it to survive in this world of yours. I've been hungry for a while but tonight I'm preparing a feast, a feast at which you and your suffering are going to the main course. Why you? Because you were there, that's all. With a little guidance Maureen, or what's left of her, has turned into a monster that hates you so much she's going to torture you to death and I'm going to sup on every drop of your fear, your pain, your despair. But it's oh so much better than that. How much spicier the dish when you add in a dash of hopeless love as well. How wonderfully serendipitous that, right after Maureen comes to me wanting revenge, so Sandra comes to me wanting love. That's all she wanted, just a way to make you notice her but I was able to give her so much more, wasn't I?"

From her heap on the floor Sandra made the mewing noises I had come to associate with being muted, with having my lips glued together. Mrs Bates must have done the same to her. No wonder she had been so silent.

"Poor little Sandra, innocent little Sandra. Her despair as she watches you die, knowing that her love for you was the instrument that brought it about, that will be the icing on the cake. I shall surely dine well tonight. For without her you would have been a sorry feast. Sandra was gullible and easy and, by using her hunger for you, by giving it shape, by giving it form, by giving her needs she'd never even dreamed of, by controlling her I could control you. My two little puppets, the both of you." Mrs Bates held up the two marionettes. "What fun Maureen and I have had making you both dance to my tunes. All the time you thought it was Sandra who was controlling you it was me, messing with your head, making you debase yourself further and further until I had you grovelling on the floor before her, drinking her pee! My how you pathetic you were! Give her her due, Maureen was the one that thought that one up."

"I didn't, I didn't!" Maureen protested.

"Oh, yes, you did, my dear," Mrs Bates replied. "Look at me, Maureen, look at me."

Even I felt my eyes dragged towards Mrs Bates. Her gaze, her glare, was almost unbearable.

"I just wanted to get my own back," Maureen protested feebly.

"Of course you did, that's all you wanted and that is what you are going to get. You know I only give you what you want and now, because it's what I want, why don't you show me how you make our dear little Julie drink pee?"

"Drink pee! I want to kill her!" Maureen snarled.

"And so you shall. But first you must hurt and humiliate her. Come along, do as you're told."

She passed Maureen one of the marionettes and, after the briefest battle of wills, Maureen took it. With her manipulating the strings, I felt myself dragged to my hands and knees. Unable to stop myself I crawled across the floor and reached out to push the hem of Sandra's dress up, up from her knees, up to her waist, exposing her panties. As soon as my hands touched her legs, the link was opened and all her pain, both physical and emotional, came rushing through. I could feel every bruise in her body and now knew beyond doubt that her left arm was broken. It would appear she had taken quite some time to be persuaded to call me. And how she was suffering. As well as the physical pain I could also feel her shame, her guilt, her misery that she should be responsible for putting me through this.

No more able to control my actions than the marionette in Maureen's hands, I rolled her on to her back and felt the excruciating pain from her arm as I did so.

"One moment, Maureen, I want to hear her beg," Mrs Bates turned to me. "I could make you want this," for a moment I felt the same craving to drink that I had felt before and, if I hadn't been held back I would have been powerless to resist the urge. "But that doesn't truly satisfy. You've got to want to do it without any help, you've got to want it so bad you'll beg, beg to be allowed to drink from her."

"I'll never do that!" I cried out. Instantly I felt a wrenching pain in my leg but it was Sandra's leg that writhed beneath my hand. Mrs Bates was holding the marionette which controlled Sandra and was using it to cause her pain, knowing full well I could feel it too. Again she twisted the leg of the marionette and I felt as if Sandra's leg was being wrenched off at the hip. Her long scream of agony echoed in my mind.

"Shall we try that again?" Mrs Bates asked, "or do I need to play with Sandra some more before you change your mind?"

Immediately I heard, as clear as day, Sandra say in my head 'don't do it, don't surrender' but this was quickly followed by another twist of her leg and a scream of pain transmitted via the same channels. I just dithered.

"Oh, how priceless!" Mrs Bates exclaimed. "Sandra loves you so much she'll take all the pain I can give rather than see you humiliated. How sweet, how noble, how delicious! Let's see how strong her love really is, how much more she can take before she breaks."

Another mentally transmitted scream ripped through me. There was no doubt in my mind just how far Mrs Bates could push this.

"OK, OK, I'll do it!" I shouted out.

"I don't call that begging. Let's try again."

"Please, please, Mrs Bates, I'll do it, I'll drink her pee. Please don't hurt her any more." Tears were welling up in my eyes at the thought of what Sandra was going through. "Please, please, I'll do anything you want."

"That's not what I asked for," Mrs Bates insisted.

I quickly thought back over what she had demanded.

"Please, Mrs Bates, please may I be allowed to drink her pee? I want to, I need to, please, Mrs Bates, please let me," I begged.

"That's better, but first we need to get rid of those panties. Maureen, see if you can find a pair of scissors."

Maureen went into the kitchen and I could hear her rummaging in the drawers.

"I couldn't find scissors," Maureen said when she returned, "found this."

Maureen was holding Sandra's carving knife, twelve inches of high carbon steel. Mrs Bates nodded and she threw it on the floor between Sandra's legs. Then she returned to the marionette and I felt myself forced to pick up the knife and use it to shred Sandra's panties. I don't know whether Maureen was being deliberately clumsy or whether her control was poor but I ended up cutting not just the panties but Sandra as well. With the panties in shreds I dropped the knife on the floor beside us.

I felt my head being pushed forward but, maybe six inches from Sandra's naked groin, the pushing stopped.

"One moment, Maureen, let her do it, let her do it unaided," Mrs Bates ordered.

I could feel Sandra urging me not to but I knew that if I didn't then she, and I, were in for more pain and, effectively, I had no choice. So it was that I, unforced, lowered my face the last few inches. Now I had my mouth over her groin Sandra refused to pee, I could feel her resisting, feel her defiance but there was a sudden pressure on her lower tummy and, however much she fought it, in the end she had no choice.

As the urine fountained from her I tried my best, for both our sakes, but it was hopeless. My face was drenched, my hair was drenched, my tee shirt and bra beneath were drenched. I never knew that one person could have so much urine in her but maybe that was all part of Mrs Bates' doings. When the fountain turned to a trickle and finally died away completely I was sobbing in heartfelt humiliation and, although she never made a sound, I could hear Sandra sobbing too.

"What a dirty, dirty little girl!" Mrs Bates exclaimed. "What a mess you've made, Look at it, all over the floor. Mop it up at once. You know what to use, the same as last time."

I remembered mopping Sandra's bathroom floor with my discarded clothes. Of course, Mrs Bates knew all about it and, now, I was to do the same again. Maureen tweaked the strings of the marionette and I took off my tee shirt and started to mop. I was barely finished when I felt the same pressure on my lower tummy that Sandra had felt and, uncontrollably, I knelt there and peed myself, the dampness flowing from me until that my jeans were also sodden. Of course, this led to more puddling and, under Mrs Bates' direction, Maureen returned to the marionette strings and I took off my jeans and underwear and used them to mop as well.

Naked, reeking of urine with my clothes a sodden pile in front of me, I thought I had reached rock bottom.

"Do you see, Maureen, mere physical pain is good but how much more delicious is despair and humiliation. The pain in the soul is so much sweeter than the pain in the body. Now, what do you want to do next? Shall we have a little show, like the one she put on for little Sandra?"

Quite how much of what happened next was Maureen's idea and quite how much was Mrs Bates' I'll never know. What I do know is that I was forced the pick up the knife and, turning to face the two of them, I started to use the handle as a dildo. In an obscene parody of the show I had put on for Sandra, I sucked on the handle before pushing it inside me and working it back and forth.

"You can do better than that," Mrs Bates urged, "or shall I get Maureen to make you turn the knife around?"

Horrified at the thought of what she was suggesting, and knowing that it was no idle threat, I did my best to put on a show. With one hand I worked the handle of the knife, with the other I played with my breasts and, all the while, I tried to writhe and moan as if this were the greatest turn-on ever. However, this wasn't enough for Maureen and she flicked at the marionette so that I pulled the knife from my groin and stabbed wildly at my breasts. The cuts weren't deep, Mrs Bates didn't want me to die too quickly, but the blood was flowing freely by the time I pushed the handle of the knife back inside me. Again and again this pattern was repeated, sometimes with my breasts, sometimes my arms, sometimes my thighs, sometimes my belly, until I was a mess of cuts and abrasions.

But the worst, the very worst, was that, somehow, I was being forced to get off on this. Whilst I can conceive of nothing sexy or erotic about what I was doing some external force, I guess from Mrs Bates, was making me want it more and more until, plunging the handle of the knife deep within me one more time, I rolled onto my side and came and came and came. Sobbing with loathing and disgust at the way my body had betrayed me, I hated what I was, I hated what I had become. Part of me was praying for this to end. It wouldn't have taken much guidance for me to plunge the knife into my chest simply to end it all. Of course, Mrs Bates wasn't going to let me off that easily.

"Now, dear," Mrs Bates turned to Maureen, "she's broken now. Hurt her, hurt her bad!"

Immediately my body was flung sideways and I was rolled over onto my back. I was staring up at Maureen who stood over me holding the marionette. She took one of the legs and started to bend it. My left calf erupted in pain and I screamed out in agony only to have my lips sealed. Leaving my leg she moved on to flick at the stomach of the marionette and it felt like being kicked by a mule. Picking limbs at random she bent and twisted my body in ways it was never meant to go. I was no longer aware of anything except the endless excruciating pain and my soundless screams as I could do nothing to stop her. At one point she twisted my leg so far there was a pop from my hip and the pain became stratospheric.

Finally, with every part of my body bruised beyond recognition, and, at a guess, with my right hip dislocated, Maureen had had enough. I glanced across at Mrs Bates who was, quite literally, drooling. Her eyes glowed red and there was no more pretence that this was human, let alone some little old lady. This was evil, pure, unadulterated evil.

"And now she dies," Mrs Bates snarled. “Do it, Maureen, just like I showed you.”

My hands came up and linked around my throat. Slowly but surely they tightened. My fingers pressed in, closing my windpipe, blocking off my ability to breathe. I was strangling myself. Furiously I fought against it but my arms were no longer under my control and I could feel myself getting dizzy. Surely if I were to pass out my hands would relax, but, from Mrs Bates' certainty, it would seem that this would not be the case. I turned to look at her, I had no choice, and, as she returned my stare, I could see her drinking in every nuance of my fading life. A broad smile crossed her face. Her hand had reached under her skirts and she was playing with herself As I was dying she was coming!

'No!' the mental cry stopped everything dead. Mrs Bates and Maureen had been so preoccupied with me that they had forgotten all about Sandra. She had picked up the discarded knife and struggled to her feet and was now staggering towards Mrs Bates.

"What makes you think you can beat me?" Mrs Bates flicked her fingers at Sandra who fell back to her knees. "I forbid you to move, we'll deal with you later."

To everybody's amazement Sandra managed to climb back to her feet.

'I... will... not... let... you...!' Sandra's thoughts were as clear as the iron will of the determination behind them. 'I love her and I will not allow it.'

Despite my dizziness, despite the fact that I was close to passing out, I hung on as I watched Sandra overcome whatever unseen force it was that was holding her back. I could tell that it took all her strength and, more relevantly, all her will power to but something inside her shone like a beacon. She was magnificent. Step by step she forced her self towards Mrs Bates, her sinews standing out like steel hawsers as she fought against the power that held her. Suddenly, it was as if she wasn't held anymore. She fell forward, plunging the knife into Mrs Bates' breast. Again and again, like an avenging angel, she stabbed and stabbed. The room was filled with a high keening sound until...

Until it stopped. The force that had filled the room simply disappeared. Sandra, exhausted, collapsed to the ground and I, free of any constraints and control was able let go of my throat and breathe again. In the armchair  there was no blood. Mrs Bates' body just seemed to crumble, to shrink away, to collapse and with the faintest echo of a scream, all that was left was a pile of rags.

Maureen, her mouth wide open, backed away until she reached the wall where she slid to the floor and curled up in a little ball. She stuffed her fist in her mouth; her eyes were full of fear and the only sounds she made was a whimper. It would seem that, without Mrs Bates, there wasn't enough of Maureen left to function.

I looked at Sandra. There was no link, no connection. We were just two women, broken, battered, bleeding but alive!

"That was... that was..." I croaked but I couldn't find any words to say so I compromised with a heartfelt "Thank you."

"I couldn't let her kill you."

"Thank you," I repeated, "I don't know what else to say. Your arm, your poor arm. We need to get you to a hospital."

"I'm not the only one who needs treatment. All those cuts and your hip... I'll call an ambulance," and, practical as ever, Sandra went to the phone to do so.

The ambulance brought with them the police who brought with them a million questions, none of them easy. We had a brief respite while we were undergoing treatment, but the police weren't going to go away without getting some answers. While waiting for the ambulance to arrive Sandra had hidden Mrs Bates' clothes and we had agreed on a story that Maureen, a madwoman, had broken in and attacked the two of us. The police found this hard to believe until they broke into Maureen's flat where the discovered some sort of shrine; a room full of pictures of me each of which had been smeared with blood. Then it became easiest for everyone to write the whole thing off as the ravings of a madwoman whose dementia had given her strength to overpower the two of us before collapsing, both mentally and physically. To this day, the shell that once was Maureen is housed in a special unit and she has never since uttered a meaningful word. Sandra and I were advised that visiting would not be helpful, not that we want to.

After reseating my hip and sewing up the cuts that covered me, the hospital insisted on giving me a thorough once over. Apparently, apart from the hip, I had ended up with a cracked rib and quite extensive interior bruising but, with some bed rest, I would be fine. Sandra was far worse than me, starting with her broken arm, and they insisted on an overnight stay. It was gone midnight and visiting hours were far from over but I wasn't going to just leave her there and, against all the rules, I found the ward she was on. I waited until the ward nurse went for a cup of tea, snuck past her and knelt down beside Sandra's bed, keeping my head down so as not to be spotted when the ward nurse returned.

"Sandra, are you awake?" I whispered.

She rolled over and smiled at me. Even then I sensed something. I held out my hand and hers came out from under the covers and grasped it. Now there was no mistake.

'Do you feel it too?' I thought but didn't say.

'Yes, yes!' Sandra replied in the same way.

'I thought that when Mrs Bates died....'

'So did I. Oh, Julie, I'm so, so sorry.'

'Sorry?'

'If I hadn't... if I hadn't got you involved in all this... I'm so, so, sorry. You've lost your job, your reputation, your friends and all because of me. I never meant....'

I could feel her sorrow, her deep remorse and, above all, a regret that now, I would never want to know her.

'Sandra, you're wrong, it wasn't you that did this, it was Mrs Bates aided by that bitch Maureen and they're both gone. I owe you my life. She really was going to kill me. She nearly did. If you hadn't... if you hadn't...' I couldn't continue. The memory was too overwhelming. I had come so close to choking to death and even now my throat was sore. It was a good thing that we could 'talk' without speaking.

'Sandra,' I continued, 'what are we going to do?'

'What do you mean?'

'About this. About the way we can... talk to each other. Mrs Bates is dead, Maureen won't be bothering us again but we've still got this, whatever it is.'

And I knew, right then, what Sandra wanted. She couldn't put it into words, she was scared to even think it, let alone say it, but a love that could overcome Mrs Bates was never going to lie hidden.

'I'm straight, Sandra, really I am.'

'I know.'

But we both were thinking the same thing. Straight or not, I had never felt so close to a human being as I had done to Sandra. Whatever this bond was, it didn't seem to be going away and, after all, the sex was fantastic. Maybe it was because of the link but who cares, even now, battered and bruised, I wanted to kiss her.

'So why don't you?' Sandra asked.

'You're very bold, madam,' I laughed back at her.

But it didn't stop me. I leant over the bed and we kissed.

'Can you still control me?' I asked, our lips still locked together. I felt her urge my left arm to rise but it was a thought, not a command.

'I can live with this,' I thought, 'because I certainly can't live without it.'

'I love you,' Sandra's soul sang.

'Give me time, give me time.' But we both knew that my last shreds of reluctance were evaporating fast.

Of course, it wasn't all easy. We both had to find new jobs and live down the scandal from the office. My mother still hasn't completely forgiven me, especially after Dad, mysteriously, didn't make Captain at the golf club. It did become a little easier when some of the details came out and she could write it all of as the fault of 'that mad girl, Maureen' but Sandra still isn't welcome at her house. And yeah, I still hanker, now and then, after a man with a six-pack and a nice thick prick but, the one time I nearly did stray, as soon as I kissed him, I knew it would never be as good, there would never be the connection. And, when I went back to Sandra afterwards, she knew, of course, what I had done and all she said was 'welcome home, lover'.

And, ten years later, the spell still hasn't broken. In fact it's stronger than ever.