There was something about this kid, the way he went out of his way and tried to please me and how unbelievable polite he was. It made a nice change from the normal teenage boys I dealt with. Usually I can spot a submissive a mile away but never in someone so young, and this boy was definitely at the other end of the alpha scale. He also had the cheekiest of smiles whenever he served me, I had the feeling that his deep green twinkling eyes hid a deep passion that he most undoubtedly had hidden away.
I met Graham in the local coffee shop, well that's not entirely true, he is in a class I am teaching but I hardly noticed him. He sits close to the rear and tries to go un-noticed which he has become quite adept at. He was working his way through school learning to be a barista in-between studies, I admired him for that.
Graham had enrolled in one of my sociology classes hoping to go on to emulate his mother. He told me that his mother is Dr Helen Harper, the world renowned psychologist. I had read most of her published papers but never had the good fortune to ever meet her.
He was a very quiet kid which is why he probably didn't hit my radar in class, but once he had, his smile and his desire to please was hard to ignore.
I tend to get a few free periods each day, sometimes as much as three to four hours in which I like to write. Hopefully one day I'll get my novel into print, I have spent what seems like years trying to write it. I have often been told that if you want to be successful, then write what you know. As psychology and sociology is not everyone's cup of tea and hardly likely to top the bestsellers list, the subject of my book would be my second job, the one that funds my lavish lifestyle.
I cater for what you might call the more discerning of sexual tastes, more deviant tastes. Things that are on the fringes of society and not considered the norm, but from the dawn of time they have been there hidden away from public view.
I have a very selective clientele of professional types, types that would not like their private lives splashed all over the tabloids. I am in that bracket myself and I would not like what I do to get into the public domain, so it is beneficial to all parties that things stay behind closed doors.
Many years ago I had happened to be staying with a relative whilst studying to get my degree in Manchester, England. I was a very naïve, wet behind the ears young girl of twenty in a strange city, so it was thought best by my parents to stay with mum's distant cousin Catherine.
I had met her years ago at a family wedding when we were both children, I remember playing on the swings in a park with her but that was my only memory of her. Catherine was a few years older than me and we hadn't met since.
She was a professional self-employed woman who had bought her own house by the age I was now. I was seriously impressed by the woman she had become when she met me at Manchester Piccadilly Station.
I had expected her to meet me in the main building upon my arrival but she was running late, my phone beeped with a text message saying to meet her outside. The main entrance. It was a very warm sunny day which I had been told was unusual in Manchester for this time of year and my first impressions were of a lovely vibrant town.
When I got outside the main building to the street she was nowhere to be seen. The sun was beating down as I sat on my suitcase on the pathway with a bottle of water, I had seen a recent picture of her and knew she was twenty-seven, small in stature with mousy hair and stunning looks.
I took out my phone and just as I was about to call her, 'beep, beep.' A brand new white open-topped Mercedes Benz coupe pulled up alongside.
"Hi, Abigale?" she called with a questioning voice.
I nodded,
"Chuck the bags in the back and jump in, quick because I'll get a ticket here." She said, laughing.
"Catherine?"
"Cath." She replied, only my mum and Aunt Dot call me Catherine. Her Aunt Dot was my gran, Catherine was the youngest child of my mums Uncle John.
I lifted my suitcase carefully over the side of her car and onto her backseat and sat beside her in the front.
"Hi, I am Abi." I said holding my hand out.
"Formalities later, let's get off these yellow lines before a warden comes around the corner." She said, slamming the accelerator and wheel-spinning away leaving a trail of black smoke as I was desperately trying to get my seatbelt on.
Her four bedroom detached house was on a beautiful leafy street on the outskirts of the city, the furnishings and décor were immaculate. Cath gave me the customary tour and showed me to my bedroom. She was in the midst of having work done in the basement so the door stayed locked for safety. This girl was only twenty-seven, just seven years older than myself. How on earth had she amassed a lifestyle like this?
I sorted my route to and from school but she wouldn't hear of it as she mostly worked nights and insisted on dropping me. She hardly ever cooked so had Chinese, Japanese and Italian delivered, I loved it here.
Because we were relatively close in age we had basically the same tastes in music, food and fashion. But she had a wardrobe that I would've gladly killed for, everything from Chanel to Cristian Dior and none of this was fake like the stuff I had. Her shoes, oh my god her shoes! At least ten pairs of Louboutin and Jimmy Choo's of various style and colours.
We were the same build and shoe size and to my eternal gratitude I was allowed to borrow whatever took my fancy. It was like I had met my soulmate, I was in heaven.
That was, until three days later.
I was supposed to be at a lecture on campus but it had been cancelled. I decided not to bother Cath and make my own way back as I could not keep abusing her friendship.
I got home just after mid-day and no-one was home, the house was empty. I was the kitchen making a cuppa and a sandwich when I heard a thud, it sounded as if it came from the basement, workmen? It did startle me though as I thought no-one was home. I cocked my head for some reason trying to improve on my hearing abilities. There was muffled a voice now too, and it was definitely coming from below my feet in the basement.
I crept toward the basement door like a cat stalking its prey to find it unlocked. Opening it slowly I heard a woman's voice, it sounded like Cath's voice and it settled me. It settled me that is until I heard her call someone a "fucking worthless slut!" followed by a loud crack which made me jump.
The lights down there shone brightly casting shadows of movement on the stone floor and walls, I stood on the top step of the old wooden staircase listening intently as I peered down.
Another crack, followed by another and another, the sound was accentuated by muted cries. Curiosity got the better of me and I crept down one step at a time making as little noise as possible, which was almost impossible to do as it was made of a hundred year old timber.
I was not in a million years ready for the scene that met my eyes.
It was Cath, she was dressed in a black leather corset with stockings and heels welding a riding crop. She brandished the crop above her head while standing next to a padded bench. Tied to the bench was what looked like an older man, he was stark naked and bound to it face down.
His poor ass-cheeks and lower back were bright red and covered with painful looking welts forming where she had been hitting him.
I gasped holding my hand to my mouth which made her look up at me. My heart skipped a beat but she didn't flinch, she looked unconcerned at all at my being there and it didn't faze her in the slightest. Her attention went back to the poor man tied to the bench as if I wasn't even there and she hissed into his ear,
"You nasty little fucker, you have been a bad, bad boy. You are my bitch, do you understand!"
