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.
