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Chapter 20: Slow recovery.
But even had I got physically comfortable that night, the mental turmoil I was going through would have ensured I'd have got no peace or rest.
By morning, I still had not even begun to calm down, I was still extremely agitated, anxious and my nerves were constantly on edge.
Work was out of the question and I knew I had to somehow make the effort to get out to visit my doctor.
I was lucky in that respect as he was both just a short walk away and also of Middle Eastern origin.
Pretty hopeless as a doctor, but I'd found him very useful in the past as he'd write medical certificates at the drop of a hat.
He was shocked of course at my condition, but seemed to accept my fabricated story that I'd owed a criminal gang thousands in gambling debts and this torture was a warning message when I told them I couldn't repay right away.
Telling me I should at least go to the police and hospital casualty, he nevertheless instantly wrote a medical certificate for a month and prescriptions for strong painkillers, sleeping pills, ointments and dressings.
It takes little imagination to understand what I went through that month as my flesh wounds slowly healed. The strong painkillers and sleeping pills were a godsend as the pain took a long time to subside.
I hardly bothered about eating in the first few days after and so my normal bowl movements were disrupted. But the first time I did manage to pass a motion, the pain in my backside felt like what it must be like to give birth.
For a long period, I was also mentally in denial. I'd keep getting visions of the dominatrix, but every time my thoughts began to drift beyond her and towards remembering the experience I'd had in that room, my brain would instantly reject them and shut down the subject.
Of course, that couldn't last for long and once the floodgates were open, I simply couldn't stop my mind going over again and again, what had happened to me.
The constant recollection of those hours naturally produced an incredible variety of complex, contradictory, bizarre and sometimes, almost deranged emotions.
I could just about function physically by the time I went back to work, careful to cover up all the wounds and lacerations, still not nearly healed and still very visible.
But I was still very much in mental turmoil and not really capable of concentrating on any task for long before my mind would start returning obsessively to thoughts of that afternoon.
I soon realized I wasn't capable at that time of working normally, and I left the company with mutual consent.
It was about three months later that I finally decided I simply had to visit that female again.
I suppose many males, suffering what I'd been through, would have gone around sooner and confronted her.
I'd thought about it at times, especially early on when I was still in some pain. But deep down, I knew I was kidding myself about confrontation.
I'm simply not the sort of person that gets confrontational, I wouldn't really know how to even start in such a situation.
I also knew I would be rather nervous at just the thought of trying to face up to that young lady in a confrontational manner.
I couldn't actually guarantee either, so soon after, that I wouldn't fall on my knees the moment she opened the door and what she might do to me if that happened.
I was still in the early stages of my recovery and the thought of adding further trauma to my damaged body was unthinkable.
My reasons after three months?
Far too complex to fully describe, and as I suspected at the time, that many of the reasons I used to justify a visit were false, like the absurd desire to reveal to her the 'real' me.
The rational part of my brain simply knew for certain that, with the marks and wounds of my first visit still barely healed, (and some are still visible now, years later) I couldn't possibly endure her version of torture again, physically or mentally and would have to make that clear to her at the start.
I knew that sensibly, I should also demand full control of the session.
But at the same time, I kept having to suppress an almost irresistible desire in the back of my head, for her, when I entered the room, to ignore my demands, immediately place me in bondage and do as she pleased with me once again.
Even if she didn't do that, another emotion I was trying to repress, was the painful suspicion that alone with her once again, any willpower I possessed would dissolve, despite fully appreciating all the potentially very alarming consequences that would entail when she realised she could indulge herself once more.
Male slaves really are 'over the cuckoo nest' at times.
So I felt incredibly nervous just dialling the number, but my mood changed instantly to one of unease and alarm as I got a disengaged signal.
Hurriedly dressing, I dashed to the Underground and took a train to her workplace.
When I finally reached it, I was totally devastated.
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