I am standing there naked and trembling and broken and wretched. My buttocks are tender and torn and burning and beaten.
Facing me is her. Her tanned and toned arms on her hips. Black sleeveless top. Tight jeans. Slim. Cruel blue-green eyes. Blonde. Beautiful.
We are in her front room. Snow coloured deep-pile carpet. White walls. Brass fitted wall lamps. Black leather sofa. Heavy green patterned curtains. Lighting just right. Temperature just right. Television situated just right. Everything just so. Controlled. Perfect. Perfect for her.
She looks at me and smiles and then walks over to me. She places her hands each side of my cheeks and gently raises my head. Then she wipes a tear off that has almost reached my chin.
"I enjoyed that,
really
enjoyed that," she says, with a husky almost cockney accent. "You've never had two hundred strokes before. I wondered whether you would pass out at one point. But you did well.
Very
well."
I nod and sniffle. I need her approval. No, I
crave
her approval.
"I can't help the way I am you know. Nature made me that way. I am cruel one minute and kind the next. Jekyll and Hyde. Sweet and sour. I regret nothing in life. Feel no guilt. Every decision I make is for me, and I seldom get it wrong. I love myself. Love my body. Love my, so the hypocrites say, depraved and lustful desires. I get what I can out of life, and I intend to live my life to the full for as long as I can."
She takes her hands away and adds: "I couldn't resist the video to 'entertain' you whilst I caned you. Nice little touch, wasn't it? The thing is I knew you had fallen in love with me and had maybe entertained the notion of me being totally 'exclusive' to you. You probably thought that I would fall in love with you in return. But that ain't going to happen. Not now. Not ever. Not with
any
man..."