Heart Strings

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.