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 This is a story of pure fiction, involving a graphic description of sex
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   LONDON DAYS 4 - HEERA
   By
   ROMANY
   (M/F, Ir, oral, anal, light BDSM)
   I was living in London all through 1978; on a sabbatical following
graduation from College.  I had been here since January and had settled in
very well and made a lot of new friends.  I was living in a flat
(apartment) in Willesden Green in North West London, with two English
couples, Claire and Pete, and Kurt and Roslyn.  I was enjoying a good
social life with my flatmates and well pleased I had taken this time out to
live a little and see parts of Europe I had never been to.  I was aiming to
use London as my base and the intention was to set off to the European
Continent in July and travel until late August.  Hopefully I could pick up
at least two traveling companions to share the costs.  I had bought a VW
Kombi van and I set it up with a basic sleeping paltform, rear seat, and a
cupboard and bench top unit for preparing meals.  I had the van about two
months and at the time I bought it, I was working for a small removal
company as a second man to the driver.  In other words I was cheap labor to
lift and carry; loading and unloading the vans but not driving.  I had
previously been sharing a flat with another couple who had split up. 
Lisbeth who was living with James was Danish and she decided to return to
Denmark as their relationship was on a rocky road.  James and I stayed in
that house together for about another six weeks when he announced he was
moving closer to the West End; to flat with a group of work mates.  I was
unable to afford the place on my own and then my boss Clive, suggested I
might like to take a room upstairs in the house he owned where Claire,
Pete, Kurt and Roslyn were living.  Kurt and Pete both worked for him as
well.  They were more than happy for me to share kitchen and bathroom
facilities so I agreed and moved in upstairs.
   The room was large and I busied myself buying a mattress to sleep on and
small set of drawers to put my clothes in.  I had a standing clothes hanger
for my shirts, coats and pants.  In the corner of the room was a rather
large antique chest of drawers that my Clive's wife was apparently
stripping to restore the furniture.  It was considered to be quite valuable
and she wanted to return it to new.  But it was out of my way and she
always warned me if she planned to visit to work on it; being that she used
chemical stripper and wanted to make sure I wouldn't be around and be
bothered by fumes.  Because I was the new boy, I also had to clean the vans
when I wasn't helping the drivers.  The days I had no work, I would drive
the vans across to the house and wash them in the street.  I would run a
hose out from a downstairs tap, and wash and wipe them off with a chamois
cloth.  This way I guaranteed the small rental I was paying for the room
and shared use of facilities, as a deductible from my weekly wages.  I had
a room and Clive got clean vans as a bare minimum.  Of course I made a lot
more than just my rent through the hours I worked, and the tips we made. 
If I had no work and there were no vans to clean, I simply stayed home
until called if needed so this gave me the opportunity to sort out my van
for the planned summer trip to the continent.
   Kurt was a rather moody individual.  His mother was German and he was
German by birth; his father was a British soldier stationed in Hamburg at
the end of WWII, and they moved back to the UK when he left the army and
Kurt was brought up Glasgow.  He seemed to have a problem with his mixed
parentage from either side of the WWII conflict.  Roslyn was really nice.
She was Scots and totally at Kurt's beck and call and supportive of his
mood swings.  Generally they kept to themselves socially but they were fine
to me as flatmates.  Pete and Claire were far more gregarious and closer to
me in age than Kurt and Roslyn and so I used to go drinking with them a
lot. I was rather sweet on Claire but having had an affair with Lisbeth at
my previous flat, I chastised myself that I would again contemplate to
screw a flatmate when I saw the pitfalls it could cause earlier in my stay
here in London.  I admired her from a distance and behaved myself.  It was
one Sunday that we went to Hampstead Heath to meet her older sister Karen
for a drink.  We got thrown out after lunchtime when the pub closed after
the morning session, so we wandered about the markets nearby and had a nice
meal together.  Karen was a stuck up bitch and generally very haughty and
snobbish to us.  She was a registered nurse at a local hospital but thought
she was superior because she had `a real job' as she put it.  Pete didn't
like her and Karen didn't like Pete either.  Claire ran interference for
both and kept the peace.  Karen hardly acknowledged me and observing her
rather superior attitude I was pleased she did ignore me.
   Later that afternoon when the pubs opened again we went to a pub of
Karen's choosing in Maida Vale.  She had arranged to meet a few of her
friends and we tagged along.  It was here that I met Heera, who worked with
Karen.  Heera was ethnic Indian but born and brought up in Kenya.  Her
father was very well off and he had moved the family to the UK following
the death of President Kenyatta.  He feared the country would descend into
strife and turmoil once the benevolent dictator Kenyatta was gone.  He
proved to be right and fortunate to realise the inevitable power struggle
after Kenyatta's death, and moved his coffee business away from African
continent.  Heera was typical Indian to look at.  She had lovely olive
skin, long jet black hair and a pretty face.  She was petite with nice
boobs on a small frame and very western in her dress sense; rather than
culturally traditional as so many Indians living in the UK were.  We hit it
off really well.  She was older than me but this wasn't an issue and she
was very candid about her life.  She had lived with a guy who was a doctor
at the hospital where she worked as a radiographer.  They had split some
months back when he moved to a junior surgeon's role at a Hospital in
Edinburgh.  She was clearly well educated and though English was her second
language, her perfect English was tempered with traditional Indian voicing
of many English words and the effect was a gorgeous lilting speech pattern
which captivated me.  In short I got the hots for her.
   But as the evening passed towards closing time at the pub, I noted she
became quite drunk.  The more she drank, the more informative she became
about her life and my initial feeling of being captivated by her hot looks
and intelligent conversation began to fade as she slurred her words and
appeared embittered about her life; particularly with the breakup of her
relationship to her doctor lover, Ian.  She also told me her father had
arranged a marriage with a young Indian man in Canada but had allowed her
until she was twenty six, to live her own life.  She was twenty four.  I
thought this was scandalous but she passed it off as their culture and who
was anyone else to criticize.  She went along with even though it was
obvious it made her unhappy to contemplate it.  She had even spent some
time in Canada getting to know the guy who was four years her junior and
still at college.  Apparently he would graduate and move into his father's
business and at that point he and Heera would marry.  The effect of this
drunken revelation cooled my ardor somewhat and when it came to closing, I
realised Pete and Claire had already left.  I vaguely recall Pete saying
he'd had enough of Karen and they would catch the Tube home.  Karen was
talking with some older guy and seemed intent on ignoring us so it was left
to me to offer Heera a lift home.
   We arrived at Heera's flat which was an old Edwardian four story
building made of red brick.  It had been refurbished and looked very
stately from the street.  She had told me her ex-lover Ian still owned the
lease but he had moved out when they split up.  She serviced the lease and
she mentioned for the first time that Karen flatted with her.  This was
somewhat depressing news and I decided to cut and run as soon as she got
out the door of the van.  But she insisted I come up for a coffee and
reluctantly I agreed.  On arriving at her flat, we were both surprised to
find a nice Canadian girl there who was a friend of Heera's; just arrived
from Paris and leaving for Toronto on the next day.  It turned out she had
knocked on the door and rang the buzzer, and two gay guys who were friends
of Heera's and living next door, let her in.  They had a spare key that
Heera's ex had given them to receive a delivery many months ago; but they
had forgotten to return the key.  This was a good sign for me as I thought
I had the obvious excuse to leave.  But Heera wouldn't hear of it and I
sensed she was on the edge of a making a scene for me to stay I decided to
humor her even though it was getting late and I was working at nine on
Monday morning.
   Kate, the Canadian girl, was very nice and she quickly observed I had
only just met Heera, and that Heera was quite drunk.  She also realized
that I was trying to leave.  She tried valiantly to give me cues to
announce my regrets to leave but Heera missed them or deliberately ignored
them.  Heera made coffee and we sat and chatted.  Kate had traveled around
France and Spain but was running low on money so decided to return to
Canada.  We chatted amicably enough and realised after awhile that Heera
had not returned after apparently going to the bathroom.  Kate got up to
see where she had got to and was met at the living room door by Heera
fastening up the top of a bikini.  Both Kate and I were nonplussed at Heera
in a bikini.  I thought she had a fantastic body.  But she had slipped the
halter top on backwards so the thinner strap of the back was precariously
perched across her quite large and very firm breast.  One nipple was
obvious as the thin back strap missed covering it.  Heera had quickly
pushed passed Kate and was parading around the lounge and saying how hot
she had felt which is why she changed into `something cooler'.  I couldn't
work out what the hell was going on with her.  It wasn't hot; it was still
June in London which was hardly tropical.  I decided she was showing off
her body in an attempt to get me to stay.  I looked at Kate as Heera
twirled with her back to us and she shrugged and look just as bewildered as
I felt.  I decided to convince Kate I wasn't a leech who had picked up a
drunken prospect for an easy lay and turned and walked towards Heera.
   "You've got the top on back to front," I said as a slight admonishment.
   Heera stopped twirling and glanced down.  It took time to register,
given she was still quite boozed.  She picked up the thin strap and looked
down at her boobs again and started giggling at her mistake.  I got a full
view of the olive mounds, and dark brown aureole and nipples which stood
erect.  It wasn't warm at all.  Just a pleasant room temperature.  I
frowned and made a face of disapproval and grabbed the top and pulled it
off.  I saw Kate move quickly towards me and I guess she feared I was going
to somehow molest Heera's breasts.  But as she neared I placed the top over
Heera's head, right way round and coaxed her to put her arms through the
straps.  Heera obeyed my coaxing and soon she was dressed decently in the
bikini.  She did look very nice.  I looked at Kate who was looking at me
with a sign of approval at my actions.  I guess that proved to Kate that I
was OK.  I tried several more times to excuse myself but Heera was becoming
more and more possessive and insistent I stay.  I realised this meant she
wanted me to stay the night.  One part of me wanted to screw her but a
nagging doubt told me to flee.  I stayed.
   She arranged a bed on a rather plush settee in the lounge for Kate, and
at about one in the morning, bidding good night to Kate she took me by the
hand and led me down the hall to her bedroom.  I recalled Kate staring at
me as we closed the door to the living room from the hallway.  It was a
look of concern Kate gave, no doubt holding fears for Heera's virtue
although I knew she realised I had tried to get away that evening.  Once in
Heera's bedroom, she didn't stand on any sexual ceremony.  She turned and
started stripping my shirt and jeans away and I was soon standing naked. 
She dropped to her knees and started to suck and stroke me.  I came hard
immediately and all thoughts I had earlier of fleeing vanished as I gave in
to her warm mouth and steady rhythmic stroking.  I held her head lightly
and she occasionally looked up, flashing the whites of her eyes.  She was
an able cocksucker.  I lightly stroked her face and soon realised she was
getting me close.  I wanted to fuck her.  I had studied her slim lithe body
in the bikini for the latter part of this night since arriving and I had
noted the nice swell of her sex between her legs.  I had the chauvinistic
male fantasy of splitting a small Asian chick and I wanted to cum in her
cunt, not her mouth.  I eased her off me and she grinned as she realised
what I was on about.  She stood, slowly jacking me and I reached around her
and undid the clasp on the back of the bikini top.  I pulled the garment
forward as you would any bra and dropped it after she slipped each arm
through; exchanging her free hand on my cock as she pulled each arm through
the straps.  I reached for the waist band of the bikini bottom and slide it
passed her hips and as it descended down her thighs, she used the hand not
holding me, to ease it past her knees until it too was on the floor.  We
were both naked except for my sox.  I was too turned on to bother taking
them off.
   She edged towards the bed and slipped the covers back with her free
hand; still not letting me go.  I looked at her hand wrapped around it and
had a small flush of ego as I realised how small her hand looked.  I knew I
was large for her body size.  This was going to be great.  To my surprise
she moved me around and motioned me back and I realised she wanted me on my
back.  I quickly obliged and soon she was standing beside the bed crouched
over me and resumed sucking as she stood by me.  I was getting close and
wanted into her so I pressured her shoulder and she stopped sucking and
climbed up onto the bed.  Without hesitation she straddled me and lifting
her hips over my cock that she held in her hand, she guided it into her as
she lowered herself down, gradually.  She sat and looked self satisfied. 
The only light in the room was a single bedside lamp and this cast a shadow
on one side of her body.  She looked gorgeous and holding eye contact with
me, and with a soft smile on her lips, she fucked me as she slowly rose and
fell.  I studied her face and she was clearly enjoying what she was doing
and soon I noted her head droop and she began breathing in deep gasps and
occasional hisses as she rose and fell.  This is not a preferred position
for me as I like to control the pace.  But she knew exactly what she wanted
and I lay rock hard and let her ride me.  She was holding my sides and
occasionally she lifted her head from her chest and looked into my eyes and
smiled.  Her magnificent breasts jiggled slightly and I raised my palms and
gently massaged them as she fucked for us both.  She shifted her hand to my
upper arms and we stayed like this for a few minutes.  I noted her pubic
hair was neatly trimmed and jet black against her olive skin tone.  I could
see the labial lips turned slightly outwards as my thickness pushed her
open.  I could see my cock as she raised herself up, and then it would
disappear and I watched as her lips splayed against my pubis.  She started
to move quicker and soon she was moaning and groaning at the activity she
was generating as her arousal grew.
   She took me by surprise and she leaned back, dropping my arms and her
hands came to her breasts and she began coming.  I realised she was now
weeping and she called out I anguish, "he's still here" as she came.  She
rotated her crotch against me and sobbed and her head dropped onto her
chest and I thought she was going to fall sideways of me.  I took her upper
arms and did my best to remain in her as I turned her over and onto her
back.  This saw us more to one side of the bed than in the middle so
fearing we would both crash off the side, I was able to maneuver my legs
out and let my feet hit the floor as I held along the side of the bed.  She
had her eyes shut and her mouth open with her face wet from her tears.  I
eased her around so she was lying diagonally back towards the headboard
with her butt at the edge of the bed.  I splayed her open with my hands
under her knees holding her legs up and apart, and standing beside the bed
still embedded in her, I quickly fucked her and soon brought myself to
orgasm.  Her head flopped around like a rag doll and her boobs jiggled
uncontrollably and I realised she had passed out.  Probably from the
fatigue brought on by booze and the power of her orgasm.  I slammed her
hard and cried out as I came.  I was conscious that Kate was through the
wall, but to hell with it.  Heera had started this against my initial
wishes to stay so now I was getting my rocks off and enjoying it.  I
spurted deep in her and slowed until I was spent.  Easing myself out, I
stood back and brought her legs closed and twisted them in towards the
middle of the bed.  I crawled in beside her and turned the light off.  I
pinched myself.  Had this been a real day or just a dream?  Never had I had
such luck before.  I can recall one night stands before but almost always,
the sex was a part of the negotiation for the night.  This was totally
unexpected.  To think I had tried to get out earlier.  I smiled to myself
and fell asleep beside her.
   I woke at some point, busting for a piss.  I had a hard on to match the
desire to leak.  I felt my way around the hall and located the bathroom and
went in for a difficult piss given my erection.  I had to milk the piss out
of my full bladder.  I crept back to the bed and slid in.  She was lying on
her side facing away from me.  I looked at my watch and it was just gone
four thirty.  It would get light soon and I also had to get away to get
home and changed for the dirty work of carrying furniture down stairs in
old tenement buildings or such like.  I snuggled up behind her and as I was
now wide awake, I decide I wanted to use this neat hard on I had.  I
started to fondle her breasts and reached a hand between her legs and into
her slit with a degree of difficulty as she had her legs shut.  This wasn't
getting any response from her and I decided she was still asleep.  In fact
she never woke before I left.  I moved her upper leg up and bent at the
knee and straddled the leg lying against the sheet.  I eased myself into
her and fucked myself to a glorious second cum as she slept through it all.
Fucking her on her side was delicious as she was tight due to her legs
being closed at the thighs and this caused her to be closed rather than
open as she would be in the missionary position.  It was a nice slow
languid fuck and I emptied into her and fell off her.  I doubt she ever
knew I was in her.  I guiltily wondered if this is what necrophilia was
like.  Probably not.  A corpse would not be so warm.  But she might as well
have been dead.  She was certainly dead to my carnal thrusting in her body.
Probably having troubled dreams about the lamented departed Doctor Ian.  I
remembered what she cried out as she came.  `He's still here.' She was
clearly carrying a torch for the guy.  I figured she was fucking him in her
mind while using me for the physical presence.  I didn't feel at all bad
about using her while she slept.  It was much of a munchness to me.
   I slipped out about seven o'clock.  Kate looked up as she saw me;
staring somewhat accusingly at me.  I think she knew I had screwed her
friend and probably thought I had taken advantage of Heera, despite Heera's
willingness for me to stay.  I smiled and gave a weak wave.
   "Have a safe trip back to Canada," I whispered.
   She stared impassively at me.  What the fuck.  Who was she anyway?  I
left.
   I hardly thought about Heera beyond that day.  She was a one night stand
as far as I was concerned.  She had problems that I was not interested in
getting involved with.  But I was wrong about the one night stand.  The
following Wednesday, Claire came to me and gave me Heera's phone number.  I
was somewhat surprised and asked why?
   "She's been asking Karen why you haven't called around," she said giving
me a quizzical look.  "What went down between you?"
   "Ah, Bad story.  I think I got myself in deeper than I wanted to," I
said with a wry smile.
   "I bet you did you dirty boy," she said and pushed me lightly on the
chest as if admonishing me.  "Well she's seems to like you and is wondering
where you have been," she added witgh a knowing smirk.
   "And what does the fabulous Karen think about me wooing her flatmate?" I
asked grinning at her.
   "The fabulous Karen isn't worth worrying about," she grinned.  "Our
Heera has a few eccentricities.  You might be well advised to stay clear,"
she grinned enigmatically.
   "What sort of eccentricities?" I inquired.
   "Well there's the small matter of slashing her wrists after her longtime
boyfriend broke up with her.  And then the next attempt, she stood on the
balcony as a small crowd encouraged her to jump..." she tailed off.  "Still
interested?" she smirked as she saw the look on my face.
   "Christ.  I had a feeling she was a bit of a nutter," I said wryly.
   Claire laughed and gave me a look of hopelessness as if I was the
nutter. I stood and pondered her words as she wandered off calling "have
fun lover", after having slipped a piece of paper with Heera's number on
it, in my shirt pocket.
   I had some fun.  I was a little bothered about the supposed suicide
attempts as I had worked out she was a little unstable where Doctor Ian was
concerned.  But she was a real hot piece and I figured at least a few more
trips to her delicious well was worth thirsting for.  I didn't call her, I
went around Thursday evening.  If Sunday night was bizarre.  Thursday was
downright normal.  She gushed and clung to me and gave me a big sloppy kiss
when she opened the door.  We chatted and she clutched my hand as if I was
about to flee again.  I suggested a drink and there just happened to be a
nice local pub across the road.  We sat and I saw no signs of the erratic
behavior of the Sunday.  She sat close and held my arm around her neck and
giggled like a school girl and she told me in hushed tones how great the
sex had been.  I pondered asking her if she remembered calling out as she
came; or did she remember me rutting in her just before daybreak.  But I
left it at the simple `it was a very nice time' level she had pitched it
at. She told me Kate was a little cool that morning but didn't seem to link
her promiscuity with that fact.  Kate had left for Canada that evening and
Heera had gone to the airport to farewell her.  There was a little chiding
of my failure to wake her and arranging to meet her before I left but I
explained I had to go and a she had had a lot to drink the night before, so
I decided she needed as much sleep as possible.  I also lied that I did not
know Karen was her flatmate, so I did not realise Claire had her number. 
But hey, here I was tonight, so what's the problem?  She bought that line.
   We left before closing time and Karen had arrived home in our absence.
Karen virtually ignored me having glanced at me briefly as if I crawled out
from under a stone.  I did notice a certain perfunctory attitude between
them and I was a little surprised Heera hustled us both off to the bedroom.
I looked at her inquiringly as she closed the bedroom door behind us.
   "What's up?" I asked quietly.
   "Oh it's nothing.  She can be a bitch sometimes," she said acidly.  "I
ust didn't like the way she ignored you," she said pleasantly.
   I grinned and felt pleased she had noted Karen's virtual snubbing of me.
She looked around the room and then back at me and a wicked look came over
her face.  She sidled towards me and grabbed my belt and began to undo it.
She smiled at me sweetly and pushed a hand down into my shorts and took my
soft cock nestled there.  She looked up at me, her head cocked slightly to
one side.
   "I recall you were more than impressive down her," she began.  "So I
think I'd like to reacquaint myself..." she tailed off as she pushed my
jeans open and the waistband of my shorts down so my cock sprang over the
top.  "Mmmm yes, I remember now," she cooed, and sank to her knees and
engulfed my rapidly hardening erection in her warm wet mouth.
   We had good sex.  Not great sex.  Just good standard one-to-one banging.
She came relatively easy, and enjoyed it.  I loved spreading her and
powering into her small frame.  Or placing her on her hands and knees as I
dog fucked her.  She occasionally commented how I filled her and I know she
felt I was bigger than most of her past lovers.  But all the time I sensed
she was thinking of Doctor Ian even though I noted she avoided mentioning
him again.  I knew his memory still lurked below the surface.  Over the
next few weeks, Karen thawed out, as she realised Heera was serious about
me as a lover.  I also came to learn Karen's dark secret.  She was a lush;
a quiet bedroom drinker.  Heera told me of finding her drunk in the lounge
on a number of occasions and having to help her to bed.  Of how she barfed
in her bed or on the floor some nights after she had passed out after
drinking alone in her room.  Heera found empty Vodka bottles in the trash
or under the bed.  I queried Claire on these revelations and she suggested
Heera was exaggerating but did concede it was a possibility.  I suspect
there was more truth than fiction to Heera's story.
   I got to know Karen a bit more one night when I had turned up to spend
the night with Heera.  While I was there this portly geek called Wilson
arrived.  He was clearly pissed off to see me there and I could se he was
trying to put me in context with Karen and not Heera.  He gushed and fawned
over Heera and kept apologizing for not having written or called when he
`just got back from Paris dearie'.  He was a real fop.  At some point a
bottle of scotch appeared and we had a couple of shots.  I saw Heera's
sobriety deteriorate quite quickly with the hard liquor.  I remembered how
unimpressed I was with her that very first Sunday, when she had gotten
drunk.  My plan for a night of sex was rapidly unraveling as my ardor
cooled.  At some point Heera suggested we play cards.  I hate cards.  But
they set up the table and we four sat around to play whist or some game I
never knew.  I can play Texas Holdem badly and that was about it.  At some
point after I got the hang of what they were trying to do, I noted Heera
got herself somewhat confused.  We exchanged words on what was amiss and to
everyone's surprise she stood and cleared the table in a fit of pique,
flashing her eyes at me in anger.  I sat a little sheepishly but soon
decided `fuck this shit' and rose saying I wasn't a card player so they
could carry on without me.  Geek Wilson sarcastically said it was better
with four and I had ruined the whole game.  He followed after Heera who had
vanished into her bedroom, slamming the door.  Karen had a few shots of
scotch in her and she was almost human, softened by the fog of alcohol.
   "Petulant bitch," she muttered and took a drag of her cigarette.
   She smoked like a chimney.  I looked at her and smiled wryly.
   "Aren't you going after them?" she said looking a little surprised I
seemed unfazed by the scene.
   "Nah.  I think this ship has sailed its course," I said somewhat smugly.
   I'd had my fun.  This was getting silly.  She grinned at me in a sort of
admiration at my willpower not to go and drag the geek Wilson from the
bedroom.
   "You know he's been after her for months," she said.
   "He can have her.  I think there is a screw loose somewhere," I said.
   She made a face as if to suggest this was a surprise.  A surprise I was
not hung up on Heera's good looks and blind to her idiosyncratic behavior.
   "You're a different animal to all the rest," she volunteered.
   I took the comment of animal to be in a Darwinian sense rather than a
savage sense.
   "God don't tell me about the rest.  It's bad enough admitting to myself
that I've stayed this long, let alone get a list of all before," I
muttered.
   She laughed.
   "Actually it's not that bad.  A couple of them were nice guys I had set
her up with but she had this crusade for Ian and they finally dumped her.
The funny thing is that Ian was short, plump and balding, and by all
accounts, a bit lacking in the erectile tissue if you know what I mean,"
she said with a wicked grin.  "Where apparently you are not lacking," she
said looking at me steadily as she finished her cigarette and stubbed it
out.
   I grinned and looked away in false modesty.
   "So what did she see in him?" I asked.
   "Well she's a little social climber for a start and dating a doctor was
in.  More importantly her father also liked him and he and saw Ian as a non
Indian whom he might approve of for his daughter.  She saw a way to beat
the arranged marriage thing in Canada," Karen explained.
   Just as she finished this, the dreadful Wilson appeared in the doorway
and in a pointed way shouted, "We are going to bed.  Good night," and
retreated out of sight.  Karen was sitting with her back to the door and
grinned at me as Wilson made his statement and exited.  I clutched my heart
in mock pain.
   "Cut to the quick," I gasped.
   She laughed and picked up her glass and held it for a toast.  I raised
mine and we clinked glasses.  I looked at her inquiringly as to what we
were toasting.
   "Here's to smart judgment and better days and hot nights," she said and
winked.
   We knocked back our shots and she refilled the glasses with scotch.  And
for the next half hour or so, we chatted and I realised she wasn't such a
bad person after all.  I looked at my watch and it was gone ten thirty and
I decided it was time to go home.  Wilson was welcome to Heera and I had
enough scotch to know I wouldn't be fit to drive if I carried on much
longer.  Karen suggested a coffee when I made noises about going.  I agreed
to have a cup with her before leaving.  While she was in the kitchen I was
surprised to see Heera standing in the doorway wearing a tee shirt and
panties.  She looked totally surprised to see me still there and quickly
skipped across the room and latched onto me like a leech.
   "Make him go Sam, please make him go," she pleaded with me as she draped
herself over me.
   "You make him go," I said evenly.  "He's your friend."
   "I told him to leave but he won't.  He wants sex.  I can't have sex with
him.  He's repulsive," she whined.
   "He wasn't so repulsive when you let him into your bedroom," I said
acidly.
   "I was angry with you.  I tried to make you jealous," she confessed
sheepishly.  "Now he thinks I want him.  Please make him go Sam, please
make him go," she pleaded with me.
   Just as she was pleading her case, geek Wilson appears in the doorway in
a pair of blue and white striped boxer shorts hitched too high on a pot
stomach.  Heera was right he was repulsive.  He glared at me and started
striding towards me.  Oh Christ, the charge of the Light Brigade.  The
inalienable right for every upper class Englishman to think he's God's gift
and that he is invincible.
   "Now look here Wilson began..." and reached Heera and grabbed her arm to
pull her way.
   He actually achieved his goal easier than he thought and she spun past
him and fell against an easy chair and he stood surprised at his own
success.  He stood admiring his handiwork.  Although he outweighed all of
us, he was shorter than me by several inches.  I stand five eleven and the
hard work humping furniture up and down stairs had kept me in good aerobic
trim.  I wasn't a fighter.  I never had been.  I was always quick with my
lip and fast to get away from swinging fists.  Nevertheless it wasn't a
contest.  Wilson pissed me off once too often and with a surge of
testosterone, I stood and drove my right fist as far as I could into his
soft preppy stomach.  Wilson's reaction to my punch was a slow motion
realisation that a lot of pain was spreading over his stomach and after
several seconds he gave a loud groan and tumbled forward to the floor
gasping as he clutched his midriff, and wheezed and gasped and spluttered
as he lay there.  Heera staggered to her feet and flew to my side and
looked down at the prostrate Wilson lying o the floor.
   "Hit him again," she hissed at me.
   I glanced sideways at her.  Her eyes were all glazed and she was staring
at the unfortunate Wilson, just in front of her.  I focused on Heera's
expression.  Shit.  She was turned on by the outburst of violence!  I had
no intention to hit him again and shook my head and just motioned he was a
spent force.  To my horror she screamed `bastard' loudly and lashed out,
catching poor Wilson under the face with her instep.  His head snapped back
with the force of her kick and he moaned in pain and I suspect he was very
close to fainting in fright.  I grabbed Heera and pulled her back from
kicking the unfortunate Wilson again.  Karen quickly bent to se if he was
OK.
   "Is he alright," I asked, holding Heera firmly as she struggled to get
at Wilson again.
   "I think so but he's not very happy," she said as she rolled him onto
his back and pushed his lids back.  "He'll be OK.  He's just a bit
stunned."
   "Get him out of her," Heera screamed.
   Wilson was regaining his senses and he looked frightened.  Not at me but
at Heera who had resumed struggling and fighting with me.  Karen helped him
to his feet and even though he was wobbling noticeably, she got him out of
the room and took him to the bathroom where she splashed cold water on him.
I crouched over Heera and warned her with my finger not to continue
struggling.  She finally relaxed and sat slumped in the chair where I had
pushed her.  I perched on the arm of the chair holding her hands and
eventually Wilson appeared in the doorway, more dressed than undressed, and
holding his shoes and jacket.  Karen was trying to stifle a giggle as she
led the shell-shocked guy to the door and with a slight push to get him
out, slammed the door after him.  I heaved a sigh of relief.  I gave her a
quick explanation of the events leading up to Wilson hitting the floor
while she was in the kitchen, as I guided Heera passed her and back to her
bedroom.
   "Will you be wanting that coffee?" she called with a slight laugh in her
voice.
   "No thanks," I said.  "It'll keep me awake."
   I pushed Heera towards the bed and closed the door.  I started towards
her and opened my mouth to speak when she let fly and tried to kick me in
the groin.  I saw the kick coming, and even though she took me totally by
surprise, I twisted around so she caught me harmlessly on the upper thigh.
Given her childeshness of that evening and the fact I was more than ready
to dump her because of her antics, I saw red at the thought she would
actually try to kick me in the nads.
   "You crazy fucking bitch" I hissed through clenched teeth.
   She circled me and I could see she was setting herself up to kick me
again.  Concern of what her unstable behavior might lead to helped me
regain my composure as I realised she was capable of creating mayhem if she
felt like it.  I couldn't think of any weapons that might have been close
at hand but the crazed look on her face was a bit of a worry to me.  I
guessed right as she lashed out with her foot aimed at crotch once more.  I
got a hand out in front of me and grabbed her ankle and pulled.  She yelped
and hit the floor hard.  She was totally unprepared for me to turn the
tables so quickly and a look of concern came over her.  I crouched over her
to restrain her and she tried to lunge at me again.  More than pissed of
with her, I swung an open hand and caught her full on the side of the face.
She sat back on her butt and looked confused.  Realizing I had hit her, she
screeched `bastard' at me and she came back at me again, apparently unfazed
by my blow; so I hit her again.  And again.  The third time I hit her she
sprawled back onto her back and I lay looking at her as she writhed her
body and spread her legs and looked along her body at me, near her feet.
   I heard Karen banging at the door.
   "Are you alright in there?  Heera, Sam, what's going on?" she called
nervously through the door.
   "Nothing," I called back.  "It's OK.  Just a little bit of emotion
that's all," I yelled back, glaring at Heera.
   Karen spoke no more so I guess she was satisfied all was well.  I doubt
if she would have intervened anyway, such was her current opinion about her
beautiful flatmate.  I looked at Heera lying back on the floor.
   "Hurt me again," she whispered and I saw tears streaming from her eyes.
   I was stunned.
   "What?  What the hell are you talking about?" I said somewhat
incredulously.
   "Please hurt me," she sobbed and summoning her strength she propelled
herself towards me.
   I caught her as I was crouching on the floor, and I swung her to one
side and her face slapped hard onto the carpeted floor.  She lay half
facing the floor with her palms flat on the carpet and groaned.  Her ass
was raised before me and the skimpy white panties were all that she had
covering it.  The tee shirt had ridden up her back and I had the flash of
tanned skin and I could see her lower ribs, she was so slim.  I grabbed the
waistband of the panties and pulled them roughly down to her knees.  She
groaned at the sense of violence in my actions and I swung a hand slapped
her ass hard.  To my surprise she groaned and her fingers clawed at the
carpet; like a kitten claws its mother's fur while suckling the nipple.  I
swung a second time and she groaned again only this time I realised it was
a groan of enjoyment.  My God!  I had a closet masochist on my hands.  She
set this up by attacking me as soon as we got into the bedroom.  She was
baiting me to hit her, or treat her harshly.  From the moment I punched
Wilson, and she kicked him with her foot, she had been working herself up.
And now she was in a state of sexual excitement because I had hit her and I
was now spanking her.  I had no idea what to do.  This was uncharted
territory for me.  But one thing was sure.  She was aroused and liking what
I was doing.  I was no sadist but I realized she was up for pain.
   I leaned forward and pushed my hand roughly into her sex and grabbing
her hair at the nape of her neck I forced my weight down and pushed her
face into he floor.  She gave a low animal groan and I found she was
sopping wet inside her vagina.  I pushed as hard as I could and twisted my
wrist.  I figured this was painful but she just spread her legs and she was
now kneeling with her face hard against the floor, and she moved her hips
against the forced entry of my fingers inside of her.
   "I'll give you pain you crazy bitch," I hissed as I found myself wanting
to hurt her for being such a colossal jerk that evening.
   I shoved her hard with my hand.  In truth I had no idea what to do next
but she was now groaning and clearly very aroused.  I had never seen her
like this during our conventional sex.  I pulled my hand out and slapped
her a few times and then pushed my fingers deep in her sloppy wet cunt. 
She groaned and I felt the first contraction go through her and realized
she had orgasmed.  I shoved hard and twisted and I could see her anal
pucker so I slid one of my fingers in to her ass brutally.  She was dry
here and I pushed to the second knuckle quickly.  I detected the groan was
in real pain this time but after I sawed my finger around for a few minutes
she was cumming hard again.  I was as hard as hell and I let her hair go
and quickly opened my pants and fished my cock out.  She reared up and
attempted to turn back at me with the fingers on one had curled like a
claw. She was still trying to goad me by trying to attack me.  I went into
her in one swift movement; dog style and grabbing her arms I held them at
the wrists behind her back.
   "You fucking little cunt," I spat at her.  "Don't you dare try and get
me with those razor sharp fingernails you crazy fucking bitch."
   I wasn't talking dirty.  I was really pissed and wound up by the
excitement at realizing she liked pain and also pissed off at her as well.
I fucked her roughly and she started to groan and moan as I slammed her.  I
grabbed a hand full of hair with my free hand and pulled her head back as
far as it would go and she started gurgling and groaning as her neck
stretched far beyond normal; as her head came back.  I did this for a few
minutes as I fucked her faster, slamming into her.  I was starting to get
close and for a change I let her hair go and she gasped in relief as the
discomfort to her throat diminished, but I was now burrowing up under the
tee shirt and fastened onto one of her erect nipples.  It was very hard and
I twisted it viciously.  She groaned deeply and I recognized this as real
pain.  But she never once had cried out except when she had tried to attack
me on the floor.  I knew I had found a real point of her pain and I ravaged
the nipples in turn as I dug my thumb nail into each one.  She was sobbing
and groaning and I was also aware she was in the throes of near continuous
orgasm.  I was so turned on by dominating her that I could not last any
longer.  With one nipple crushed between my thumb and forefinger gripped as
hard as I could, she wailed and sob as I came hard and emptied myself into
her.
   I eventually let her go and pulled out of her.  I was still hard from
the excitement generated by the events leading up to the fight and the sex.
It was absolutely mind blowing sex as well.  She was lying on the floor and
I tucked my cock awkwardly back in place and fastened my jeans and bent
over her.  She was breathing deeply and I rolled her over.  Her eyes
fluttered briefly but she was out to it.  I saw a stain of blood on the
cotton tee shirt above one nipple.  I pulled the shirt down and saw I had
drawn blood on the nipple.  That had to hurt.  I lifted her up.  She was as
light as a feather.  I slid her under the blankets that were pulled back
from when she and Wilson had been in bed for the brief time, before she
rebelled against the wimp.  I went to the bathroom and found a cloth and
wetted it with warm water and returned and lightly sponged her nipple. 
This would hurt like hell when she woke.  I undressed and slid in beside
her and cuddled her to me once I had turned the light off.  I fell asleep
holding her in my arms.
   The next morning she woke first and tapped me on the shoulder.  I opened
my eyes and looked at her.  She smiled and reached for me.  I became hard
after a few strokes of her hand and she swiftly pulled the tee shirt off
her upper body and lay back, prepared to receive me.  I went into her and
we had a long slow fuck as she held me around my shoulders and we kissed.
She came first and lay with her mouth open as I grunted and heaved to catch
up and I came hard, pushing her back into the mattress with the force of my
orgasm.  She smiled at me and we lay for a short while.
   "How's your nipple?" I said and raised myself to look at it.
   The blood had dried and it was a red scab on one side where the nipple
started from the aureole.  She twisted her breast and craned her gaze down
to see the damage had inflicted.
   "It's very tender," she said softly, as she inspected it with a light
jab of her finger.  "But it will heal.  It always does," she said and
stared at me.
   "I had no idea," I said quietly.
   "I know.  It's not something I am proud of.  I can't just come out and
tell every man I meet that I like pain with sex," she said honestly.  "I
probably break up with good men because sex is not so interesting in the
normal way, she said with a tinge of sadness in her voice.
   "How, when did you know you needed pain?" I asked gently.
   "When Ian beat me," she said candidly.  "I infuriated him one evening
because I had acted like a bitch with dear friends of his when we were
dining out.  We argued about it when we came home and he hit me.  I
discovered it turned me on.  I attacked him and clawed his face with my
nails, and we had a violent fight which, well, it ended like it did with
you and me last night," she concluded.
   "And he gave you pain after that?" I asked.
   "No," she laughed.  "Not in the S&M sense.  No he tormented me
emotionally and somehow that seemed to do for awhile.  But it wasn't the
same.  I mean it was just make-up sex after he had been mean.  Not real
rough hurtful sex which is what I discovered I wanted.  So I kept goading
him and going at him like a crazy person over stupid things, just to make
him retaliate and hurt me," she said evenly.  "And he left me," she sobbed
and stared into space, her eyes filling with tears.
   She wiped her tears and continued;
   "And I tried to commit suicide by cutting my wrists," and she thrust one
arm in front of me.
   The scars were evident.
   "And he never came to see me when I knew he knew I had done it.  And
afterwards I had had to go through some psychiatric evaluation because the
hospital found out and they wanted to take my job from me.  So I settled
down for awhile.  But it all got too much and I tried to jump from the
balcony, out there," she said weeping as she spoke.
   She fell silent.
   "You didn't go through with it though," I said quietly.  "The part of
you that wants to hang on, is stronger than the part of you that wants to
let go," I said sounding wise.
   She turned at me and smiled at my words.
   "That's probably true.  You're smart," she said softly.
   "Thank Colonel Potter on M*A*S*H for those words of wisdom," I chuckled.
I could never come up with that but I think it's so true," I said admitting
they weren't my words.
   She laughed at my reference to the TV show.
   "It is true she said.  I never had the guts.  I just wanted the
attention.  I wanted Ian," she said wistfully.
   I looked at my watch.
   "Christ, look at the time.  We're going to be late," I said realizing it
was gone seven thirty.
   I dropped her at work and went straight to work myself.  I had had time
to sponge myself down and to remove the odor of sex but I was wearing
yesterday's tidy clothes and not the rough jeans and sweatshirt I often
wore when humping furniture.  Somewhat fortunately the job I was on got
postponed so I was asked to wash some vans as it was a quiet day with few
bookings.  I drove home to Willesden and had a bath before cleaning the
van. I used to do a lot of thinking while washing the vans and I pondered
Heera's masochistic bent.  She had said it just appeared, but I wondered
whether she had some inkling before the fights with Ian became more
violent. Surely she must have been hurt before, during the normal rough and
tumble of growing up.  Had she felt a bizarre pleasure then or was this
learned as she became older?  I knew little about S&M, apart from the porn
side of BDSM.  But that was more about bondage and leather pants and halter
tops and ropes or restraints and dressed for photographs or video.  I
certainly accepted BDSM was a relatively common sexual preoccupation and
supported by an abundance of literature, photographs and videos, costumes,
and even clubs supporting this fetish.  Then I remembered a conversation
Peter and Kurt had one night in the pub; about a book relating to S&M.  I
recall Pete saying he had a copy of this book but Clair made him throw it
out.  He had given it to Kurt who thought it was banal, and juvenile
pornography with little litary value.  Then he went to go on about the
literary value of the writings of The Marquis de Sade and dammned this
book's as cheap sensationalizing of a serious topic.  I knew little about
de Sade except that's where the term sadist came from.  And also I knew
masochism came Leopold Sacher-Masoch; another author dwelling on pain and
submission.  One perpetrated the dominance; the other the submissive. 
Together you got S&M.
   I finished the van I was washing and when I went in to turn the hose
off, on the way back along the hall, I sheepishly entered Kurt and Roslyn's
room.  I felt I was betraying their trust by going in when they were out. I
noted the bed was unmade; just as they had left it that morning.  I went to
a small bookcase under the window at the front of the house and knelt and
thumbed through the tattered books.  Kurt was a bit of an intellectual and
I grinned at the ubiquitous copy of `Future Shock' he had.  Alvin Toffler
made everyone's book list.  I even found a couple of Kerouac novels, Kurt
Vonnegut and one or two authors I didn't know.  I had almost given up
trying to recognise the book they had been talking about when I picked up
this thin paperback wedged between to larger books.  I recognized it
straight away as soon as I saw the title.  "Histoire d'O" by Pauline Reage.
`The Story of O'.  That was what they were talking about.  I took the book
and thumbed through it quickly.  I left the room and went upstairs to my
barren refuge and started to read The Story of O.
   It was quite a small book; only about 130 pages.  I speed-read it, only
slowing to re-read paragraphs that intrigued me.  Essentially the book
depicted a young woman's training in submission.  The spectrum of
submission went from simple control by her lover and her master, through to
flagellation while hanging or being restrained.  It appeared the heroine
had initial basic trust in her lover to obey his commands, prior to any
exposure to the bondage and flagellation.  So much was his control, she
submitted to having sex within minutes of meeting several strangers; one
who sodomized her.  While this clearly was emotionally distressing, she
allowed herself to be led into restraint and flagellation.  The upshot was
that by the end of book O had become a complete submissive.  She was given
back her social freedom, remaining loyal to her lover who took her
conventionally, and receptive to her master who claimed her anus as his
personal sexual territory; but the implication was that for the rest of her
life she would accept flagellation irrespective of whether sex followed or
not.  I pondered whether she was more submissive than masochist.  Certainly
her tolerance to pain was increased beyond what normal people would endure.
But I was unclear about whether she coveted and revelled in the beatings.
Certainly she expected it.  So was she a masochist or was she a trained
submissive?  Certainly her male partners were overtly dominant and probably
even sadists, with a deep love for her.  I wondered about this for awhile
and then realised the phone was ringing.  I answered it.  Shit.  It was the
boss, Clive, wondering where I was with the cleaned van.  I put the book
back in Kurt's bookcase and drove quickly back to base.
   I never went to Heera's that night.  I lay in bed and replayed the
previous night's events with respect to Heera's plea to be hurt.  I
wondered if the need to be hurt came from a desire for the physical pain
and the sexual gratification it afforded, or from an emotional need to
endorse her belief she was worthless.  She had attempted suicide twice and
she carried a torch for a man who treated her badly.  She was also resigned
to have to marry a young man she hardly knew, in a different country, in
just over eighteen month's time.  This was all against the fact that she
had a good job and this made her financially self sufficient.  She was
vivacious and beautiful, and outwardly independent so she should be looking
forward to a rewarding life.  But instead she had this series of serious
emotional failures and the prospects of little control in her life as she
grew older.  I decided her plea for pain was her simplistic way of summing
up her life; with a low level of self esteem.  I thought about the Story of
O.  Despite the S&M theme of the book, I masturbated to the recollection of
a segment in the book where O and a female friend masturbated for each
other perched in easy chairs.  This was more titillating than any of the
flagellation.
   The next day I was out on a job with Graham, one of the English drivers.
Graham was considered a bit of a letch and supposedly bisexual.  He lived
with a woman called Tamsyn but allegedly there were male partners from time
to time.  I had heard stories about some of the interesting parties they
had.  I chatted to Graham about the S&M set and I was taken with his
knowledge on the topic.  His view was mainly submissive men and he related
lurid details of some guy he had seen tied and beaten and `loving it' as he
said.  He believed all ex-private school types loved a bit of BDSM.  I
ventured to suggest that women could equally be involved with being tied up
and used the same way but he tended to think most women were either the
dominatrix for submissive men,; or submissive women were made by sadistic
men and didn't really enjoy it anyway.  I never raised the Story of O.  he
seemed so set in his opinion I let it ride.  Just as we were heading back
to base after relocating a black couple from one flat to another, I saw a
small shop specializing in livery, tack, and equestrian products.  I had an
idea and asked Graham to pull over.  I went into the shop and I was
immediately hit with the smell of fresh tooled leather.  I wandered about
looking at the various pieces of tack and saddles and such like and came to
a round barrel with a selection of cheap riding crops grouped in it.  A
matronly woman with a severe face and wearing a hound's tooth jacket over a
moleskin polo sweater, and brown jodhpurs came out.  She looked the typical
horsey set type.  I bought a crop, and all the time she made the sale she
glared at me as if I was something stuck to her riding boot.  I think she
had a fair idea that I wasn't a rider.  When I got back to the van, Graham
made lurid comments about what I was going to do with the crop.  Well I had
not long finished philosophical discussion about S&M.  I wanly tried to
pass of the purchase as a gift for a woman who was rider, but I knew he
never bought that story.  Oh well.  Spur of the moment impulse; I guess I
should have come up with a better story.  I wondered if he would blab about
it and Kurt and Pete and they would cotton onto what I might want this for.
They knew full well I was seeing Heera.  Damn.  I should have been more
discrete.
   The crop was about sixteen inches long with a taper from round to a flat
end, and a loop fastened about six inches from the other end to put your
wrist through.  By gripping the patterned top end with the wrist through
the loop, you could flail the horse and the loop stopped you from dropping
the crop if you got bumped jumping fences and hedges while on the hunt.  I
studied it for flex and it was surprisingly supple for a rolled piece of
leather.  It smelled clean like new leather does.  I had a plan to see juts
how far Heera would go with the pain thing.  I had wrestled between feeling
empathetic towards her apparent emotional state and the possibility this
drove her desire; or the fact she simply liked pain with sex.  I'd never
traveled this road before so I decided to explore it and see where it took
me.  My gut feeling was I was likely to pull out before it got to messy, as
I really wasn't a sadist.  The urge to hurt her that previous night was
spurred on largely by being pissed off with her and her attempt to kick me
in the balls.  Her invitation to give her pain was the last straw.  But I
confess I was lost as to how and I had still some feeling of regret when I
saw the blood from her savaged nipple, which I had cut with my thumbnail.
Some tough guy I was.
   I arrived at Heera's flat that night feeling somewhat apprehensive.  I
wasn't sure if Karen would be home and once again remonstrated with myself
for not being more discrete.  There I was standing at the door with a
riding crop in my hand.  What conclusion would a casual observer jump to? I
hastily shoved the thing down the leg of my jeans and pushed it around as
far as I could so as not to be obvious from the front at least.  It wasn't
very successful but it would be a minute or two before she or Karen would
note something weird with my jeans.  She answered the bell and opening the
door, beamed when she saw me and before I could step inside, she reached
and hugged me, kissing me passionately in the doorway.  Once we broke the
kiss, I held her tenderly and playing with her hair, I looked down at her
beautiful face.
   "Is Karen here tonight?" I asked quietly.
   She grinned and lightly hit me on the chest.
   "Why?" she asked with a sly grin.  "What did you have in mind?"
   "Is she here?" I repeated looking passed her into the living room.
   "No.  She's not come home yet.  I think she's out at the pub with a
couple of the nurses from work," she said releasing me and stepping back
inside of the doorway to let me in.  "She'll roll home about midnight full
of gin if I know her," she said acerbically.
   She turned and wandered into the room which was warm and cozy.  Despite
it being May, it was still chilly at night and she had the gas fire
burning. I followed her with a pronounced goose step on the leg that I had
the crop concealed in my jeans.  As she wandered towards the couch I
hastily pulled the crop from my jeans and held it behind my back in one
hand so she couldn't see it.  I moved and sat beside her on the couch.  She
had no idea I was concealing anything and she sat looking at the TV as I
sat beside her.  I dropped the crop to the floor against the front of the
couch.  She would not see the thin object tucked against the front on the
floor.  I had successfully got it in to the flat.  Now I had to figure how
to broach the topic of the crop and the obvious intended use I had for it.
This was crunch time.  I put my arm around her and settled back.  She was
watching some English cop show.  I kissed her cheek and she brought a palm
up against my cheek and patted it tenderly.  She turned and looked at me
inquisitively.  I knew she was wondering why the romantic interest so soon,
unless I was angling to go straight to bed.  I was but that wasn't the key
part of my agenda.  She turned back to the TV.  We sat in silence.  I
figured I would wait for a commercial break then to my chagrin, realised
this was BBC and there were no commercials.  I waited for a lull in the
dialogue and decided to broach the topic of the previous visit and the
rough sex.
   "Heard from Wilson?  I said casually.
   She turned and looked at me quizzically.
   "No.  Why do you ask," she said gazing at me, trying to read my face.
   "I just wondered whether he was man enough to apologise," I said looking
at the TV.
   I knew she was studying my face; trying to read where I was going with
this.
   "Why would you care?  You punched him," she said.
   "You nearly took his head off," I reminded here, turning to look at her.
   She pulled a face of concern.
   "I did didn't I?" she agreed.  "I doubt he'll ever come back.  And
certainly not to apologize."
   She studied my face.
   "Did I make you jealous?" she asked almost wistfully.
   "Damn right you did," I lied.  "I just didn't want to show it."
   She smirked and then her face softened and she reached and kissed me
tenderly.
   "I'm so sorry for being such a bitch," she said; but I wasn't convinced
she was sincere.
   "You were a fiery little piece later on I said," looking at her for
recognition that I meant the sex, not the fight that led to it.
   She blushed.
   "I was wasn't I," she said matter of factly.  "I thought you might never
come back."
   She patted my leg.
   "But you did.  I'm glad," she said softly.
   "I'm sorry I hurt you," I said.  "But you seemed to like it.  But I
never meant to injure you," I added referring to the bloodied nipple.
   She clutched a hand to her chest as a reflex to what I was implying.  We
were both ignoring the TV.
   "But I sensed you liked it," I said carefully.
   She looked back at the TV, her hand still on my thigh.  I could see her
face was now drawn and she looked troubled.  Eventually she seemed to take
a breath and she turned and looked me in the eyes.
   "I wanted to say something before that time," she started haltingly. 
"But I just didn't think you would understand what I was wanting."
   She was working up the courage to explain.  I said nothing but gazed at
her expecting to go on.
   "But I told you how it was with Ian.  I got to like it.  Need it.  I
don't know why," she concluded almost sadly.
   We had talked about this before and she did say that Ian was more
occasional than repetitive about the pain.  But I had felt she had never
told me the full truth about the two of them or her enjoyment of pain and
how she had come to know she liked pain with sex.
   "Did he get more disciplined with it?" I asked tentatively.
   "Disciplined?  What do you mean BDSM or suchlike?" she asked her eyes
widening a little and her brow furrowing at my question.  "No.  I told you.
It wasn't like full S&M."
   "So as you said before, it always come out of friction or fighting like
we did," I said quickly.
   She recoiled a little at my words and sat considering what I said.
   "You mean did we go into the bedroom with the view to him hitting me
because it's what I liked?" she asked, rephrasing my question.
   "Exactly," I said.
   "I guess so.  On some level.  I mean we never openly planned a night
where he would hurt me deliberately but we both knew it was something that
was in the scheme of things.  Foreplay if you like," she answered candidly.
"I told you this," she said searching my face for meaning to my questions.
   "But he never just simply overpowered you and took you roughly?" I asked
hesitantly.
   "A bit of both actually.  Sometimes I wound him up and it was natural
extension of his frustrations.  Other times we started out normally and I
invited more from him," she said somewhat understating the `more' she
referred to.  "Why are you asking me this?  I told you how it was."
   I was conscious I seemed to be drilling into what she had already
basically confirmed.  I was worried she might get pissed off at the
inquisition; perhaps bring back the feelings for Ian.  She stared at me and
she smiled and took my face in her hands and kissed me tenderly.  She broke
and stared into my eyes.
   "There is so much you couldn't know and won't understand, my handsome
Sam," she said softly.  "And it won't matter if you did know because
nothing can change," she said quietly.  "Let's go to bed," she added gazing
into my eyes and made an attempt to stand.
   "I bought you a present," I blurted out nervously as she stood holding
my hand.
   Her face lit up at my words and she smiled expectantly.  I reached down
in front of the couch where I had dropped the crop and taking it in my hand
I stood slowly and presented the clean leather whip to her.  Her eyes
widened and she opened her mouth in surprise.  She stood transfixed,
staring at the crop, as if now really sure what it was.  I pushed it closer
to her face and I noted her reaction as she caught the odor of the new
leather.  My heart skipped a beat as her eyes fluttered half shut and she
leaned towards it and inhaled the leather smell.  Eureka!  She was not
repulsed by it but totally captivated by it.  I was emboldened by this and
slowly drew it across her face and under nose.  She closed her eyes and I
realised she was trembling slightly as I rubbed the end of the crop around
her face; lightly over lips and under chin.  She started to move her head
as I lightly pressured her face with it.  And after a few minutes of this,
when I drew it back across her lips she opened her mouth and drew the end
in.  It was so fucking erotic watching her trancelike response to the
leather.  Like a snake being charmed by the charmers flute.
   I slowly removed the object from her mouth and let my hand fall below
her waist.  Her eyes opened when she realised I wasn't stroking her face
with it again and she looked like she was about to compose herself.  I
feared her conscious mind might take over her natural instinct of enjoying
the stroking so I brought the end firmly up between her legs and pushed it
hard into her sex.  She almost fell such was the shock of the firm push on
her sex with the crop.  She reached forward and steadied herself on my arms
with her hands and I placed a hand around her shoulder and slowly worked
the crop around her sex while pulling it up into her crotch.  She had her
eyes tight shut and her mouth open partly and her breathing became ragged
and hoarse.  In that short time; less than a minute of rubbing her cunt
through her slacks, she gripped my arms tightly and she started groaning as
she stood with her head on my shoulder.  She would have fallen had I not
steadied her with the hand around her waist.  I had her!
   I guided her slowly to the bedroom, keeping the crop between her legs.
Her eyes were almost closed and she would have stumbled and possibly
fallen, if I had not steadied her.  I closed the bedroom door as we went
through and stooped at the end of the bed and facing it.  I stood behind
her and reached around and undid her slacks and slid them down.  I had to
lay the crop on the bed to do this and she reached for it with her hand and
stroked the leather whip; almost caressing it, lovingly.  She stepped out
of the pants without hesitation.  I then reached and undid her blouse and
removed it.  She was now standing in her matching white bra and skimpy
panties.  I unhooked the bra and removed it, dropping it with the blouse on
the floor.  She stood passively as I removed the blouse and bra.  Next I
took the waistband of her panties and slid them down and she stepped out of
the flimsy garment.  I gently pushed her forward and I was amazed as she
bent willingly and spread her arms out and grasped the bedspread at the
sides of the bed, as if she were a crucifix.  She was very docile.  I run
my hands over her butt and back and up under her sides and felt her ribs,
and I fondled her breasts as they were pressed out by her body weight.  I
was ready to press on; to flog her.  But something stopped me simply
whipping her butt.  I recalled the `Story of O' and the use of restraints.
I looked at the closet and quietly moved to it, so as not to rouse her from
her apparent reverie.  Inside I found a hook with a number of silk scarves
looped over it.  I took two scarves and returned to her prostrate body.
   I took her arms and bent them back behind her and quickly tied her hands
at the wrists.  For the first time she showed an concern at my actions by
raising her head and trying to look around at me.  I sensed she was
confused as to why I was tying her hands.  I believe she fully expected to
be whipped as she had been lying.  It occurred to me her initial submissive
position was not unknown to her, but I was deviating from that.  I
concluded this was not exactly the first time she had been whipped.  I had
heard that people being flagellated sometimes had a leather bit inserted as
a dual gag and pain release for biting on as the lash fell.  I picked up
her panties and lifting her head.  I started to push the bunched cloth
against her mouth.  At first she resisted so I pulled harder and gruffly
whispered to her to open her mouth.  She obeyed and I pushed the material
as far I as I could.  I took the second scarf and wrapped it around her
head and over her mouth as a gag, and knotted it behind.  She was now
breathing noisily through her nose; sniffing hard as she breathed.  I
reached between her legs and rubbed her.  She groaned and writhed against
the bed end and I was amazed at how wet she was there.
   I was a complete novice at flagellation.  I was making this up as I went
along; based on what went down in `The Story of O' and my own acquired
snippets of information on BDSM and whipping.  The crop was like a switch;
like a cane that English schoolmaster used to wield as corporal punishment.
I knew enough about how to start.  I would gauge her reaction to see how I
finished.  I quickly stripped naked behind her and I looked at my flaccid
cock.  No response to the action that I was about to start.  Did this mean
I was not a sadist?  At this rate, not even a fetishist.  She lay quietly
and occasionally raised her head to try to see what I was doing behind her.
I took the crop from beside her and she saw it disappear from her
peripheral view and she quickly turned her head to look where it had been,
lying parallel to her upper body.  I heard her sob into the gag.  Almost as
an exclamation point to what she must have been thinking that she was about
to be beaten with it.  Standing behind her, I slowly run the tip over her
bare buttocks and upper thighs.  She began groaning and I moved it between
her legs and up against the sex lips; plump and full between her legs which
were nearly closed together.  She moved a foot slightly and parted her legs
a little.  The sex was protruded and obvious between the luscious inner
curves of her upper thigh.  Proud and prominent with the dark rust of her
anal pucker just above it.  I slid the crop over her anus and back to her
sex, sliding it between the lips.  She groaned loudly and as if to admonish
her noisey impertinence, I brought the tip back and gave it a small flick
with just wrist action.  It hit her butt on one cheek and she jumped but
did not cry out at the sharp whiplash.  A small red mark appeared.
   I adjusted my position to behind her and to her left side; facing at
right angles to her body.  Just off her left hip.  I am right handed so I
would swing it from right to left.  The dresser with its large mirror was
directly behind her against the wall.  I turned my head and saw the
reflection of her naked bare ass with the sex, full and inviting between
her legs.  Her hands were tied in the small of her back and I noted the
fingers were constantly feeling around; almost agitated though there was no
apparent attempt to try to slip the bonds or untie them.  I saw this as a
sign of nervous expectation.  I pulled my arm back and swiped her full
across both butt cheeks with the crop.  She jumped but held her position.
She yelped into the gag.  I hit her in a quick series of five lashes and
she yelped each time the crop fell.  Her buttocks quickly showed thin red
stripes where the leather crop fell.  I stood and looked at her for any
attempt to try to flee.  But she had placed her forehead against the bed as
if to anchor herself there; whereas previously she had lain with her head
to the right and her left cheek on the bed.
   I flailed her.  It doesn't take much to learn what to do.  I cut up on
the first swing striking her just above the back of the thighs where it
morphs into the butt; just above the juicy crease where the butt overhangs
the thigh at the back.  The junction that makes women's butts soe
delectable.  Then I cut down on the top of her butt and finished in the
middle with a horizontal swing.  I stood in such a way that the crop
connected both buttocks and the stripes were interrupted by the crack of
her ass.  I was watching to see if it looked like I would break the skin. I
did not want to injure her this way.  As I flailed away she was now
groaning and sobbing into the gag, irrespective of when the crop fell.  I
realised she was now in a controlled hysterical fervor to what was
happening and she ground her hips into the end of the bed.  I pause briefly
and slid a hand between her sex lips.  She was soaking wet and she groaned
sexually, clearly in a high state of arousal.  I slid my fingers roughly
under her to her clitoris and pinched the hood and the erect nubbin.  She
went into a small controlled spasm and I knew she was cumming as she
convulsed against the bed end.  She lifted her head off the bed and threw
it back as the pleasure rushed through her body.  I allowed her to calm
down and run my wet fingertips over the welts now full formed on her
backside.  She gasped and I heard a little wincing cry.  She was clearly
feeling pain as my fingers stroked the welts.  There were a couple in the
middle that looked particularly red; no doubt multiple swings had landed on
the same bare fleshy spot.
   I started to swing the crop once more but this time I gave her more
upward and downward swings; leaving the more reddened centre of her buttock
alone so as to avoid breaking the skin and drawing blood.  She started
groaning again and I increased the force and slowed the tempo so I hit her
harder but less often.  She now changed her vocal tune to a series of
guttural groans and sobs as the crop fell, and these sobs subsided while
she waited for it to hit her again.  I was now starting to get into my
work; but no sense of pleasure came.  I was totally objective about what I
was doing and my cock was still not erect, although it had stirred
somewhat, following my masturbating her to the orgasm.  It was only half
hard, and waving about with my exertions.  I paused with the crop and lay
it on the dressing table.  I moved behind her and taking my cock, I rubbed
it up and along her slit.  She groaned in a more sexual way a she realised
what it was and finally I hardened myself with a few encouraging strokes
with my hand.  I pushed into her hard and she once again threw her head
back as I took her hips and fucked her like a crazy person; slapping hard
against her butt, and penetrating deep into her.  Being as she was of
petite build, I had always filled her and she had always felt tight to me.
Even with the new looseness of her intense arousal, she was still
deliciously firm around my cock.  She wailed into the gag as I clearly
punched against her cervix as well as aggravating the stinging welts of
flesh with my rough slaps, as I slammed hard and deep.  I had never been so
hard and deep inside of her and she was now groaning and crying in pleasure
and I realised she went through another shuddering orgasm.  I couldn't help
it.  For the first time, the whole carnal eroticism of the situation
overcame me, and slamming and crying out loudly in pleasure, I emptied
myself deep into her.
   I lay over her for a few minutes as she breathed noisily through her
nose.  Her face lay against the bed.  I stroked her hair and her uppermost
cheek and kissed her back.  There was a light sheen of perspiration on her
skin and I tasted the slightly salty dew.  I rubbed her down over her
buttocks and she groaned at the pain of my touch.  I slid out of her and
stood looking at the sight she presented to my eyes.  The tip of her hair
was wet from the perspiration it picked up off of her skin.  Her entire
butt area was now scarlet from the lash of the crop and hot to my touch. 
Fortunately I had not broken the skin.  Her sex gaped and already I could
see my cum starting to run out and down the inside of one thigh.  I'd never
seen this before.  I stood fascinated at the rather large strand of semen
that was now dripping from her labia and onto the inner part of her upper
thigh.  I was still hard and still very carnal in my intent.  I leaned
forward to get a better view of her sex.  The inner lips contrasting pink
against the natural ethnic tan of her body.  I could see the sparse black
pubic hair between the crease of her labia and her inner groin to her
thigh. And the taught crinkle of her anal pucker nestling as a brown smudge
between her butt cheeks with the opening dilated slightly due to her legs
being apart.  I run a fingertip over her anus and she gave a sudden jerk
and groaned softly.  I scooped up some of my semen now dribbling down her
inner leg and brought a gob of it to the pucker and pushed it in with my
finger.
   I thought of the anal sex I had enjoyed with Pieetr the Dutch boy I had
met, not long after my arrival.  Not just how much I had enjoyed it but the
realisation I was treating him as a girl and not bothering that he had a
cock.  Here was a female lying prostrate before me with her anus presenting
itself to my lurid gaze.  I decided I would sodomize her.  She would get
all the pain in once session.  I knew she had some cold cream in the
bathroom cabinet so I quickly left the bedroom and found the bottle, and
returned to stand behind her.  As I greased her asshole she groaned, and
for the first time, I realized this was the closest she had come to
complaining at what I was doing.  She clearly knew what was coming and I
sensed she wasn't happy about it.  But she made no move to flee her exposed
position and after about ten minutes of fingering and stretching her anus,
she was dilated much further than before; and she was now very greasy and
her pucker glistened.  I greased my cock with the cold cream, flinching at
the cool against my sensitive head but relaxing as I warmed the emulsion
with my handiwork.  I made myself very greasy and when I was ready I
stepped forward and presented the tip to her opening.
   The initial penetration went rather more easily than I was expecting
though she groaned in complaint at the intrusion, as I pushed forward.  She
was breathed hard through her nose.  I caught a little hint of her trying
to speak into the gag but pressed forward.  She flattened against the bed
as to get away fronm the invading cock, as I pushed deep.  It was curious
to me that given the pain of the crop, she was complaining more about the
entrance of the cock opening her anus up despite it being greased by the
lube and stretched in preparation by my fingers.  I wondered if it was the
thought of being buggered, rather than the actual physical pain she felt,
that she was objecting to.  The thought was fleeting and I pushed into her
several times before bottoming out, balls deep.  She was now groaning as I
slowly fucked her ass.  Having cum not that long ago, I knew the second
orgasm would take some time.  I enjoyed fucking her ass for at least ten
minutes or more and she groaned as I pushed deep into her.  I bottomed out
regularly and she winced and cried.  I pulled back and run my hands over
the reddened welts left by the crop.  I slid a hand into her sex as I
pulled back and she seemed appreciate this as her groans of complaint
turned to moans of approval at the caressing of her sex.  I set a rhythm of
pushing deep and then fondling her with my hand when I pulled back with
just the tip of my cock inside her sphincter.  She soon became tuned in and
I realised she was once more very aroused.  I fucked her this way for
another five minutes or so.
   I could feel the heat of her flesh flayed by the crop, and the heat of
her anal cavity tight on my cock.  I increased my speed and soon I was
crying out as she joined my orgasm by cumming against my my hand; and I
filled her bowels with my second cum since prostrating her here.  She threw
her head back and wailed into the gag.  This had the effect of pushing
herself back onto my prick which was pumping the last few spurts into her.
I reached up and taking her neck in my hands I squeezed tight, pressing my
fingers forward against her windpipe and thumbs into the back of her neck
and she gurgled and gasped.  I suddenly felt a warm wetness against my
thighs and I became aware she was pissing herself.  I can't say if it was
because of the intense pleasure she felt, or because she feared I was going
to strangle her.  My actions were almost a carnal reflex rather than any
desire to hurt her further.  The warm splash of piss against me sobered me
a little and I pulled my cock from her tight butt.  She now groaned in
protest at being left empty so suddenly.  I had won her approval of having
a cock in her ass.
   I leaned over her and untied the scarf around her headand turned her
head in my hands; and taking a small protruding piece of her panties
materialI pulled them from her mouth.  She absent-mindedly worked her jaw
but her eyes were tight shut as if she was asleep.  I untied her hands. 
This knot was a lot tighter as she had worked her wrists against the bonds
and it had pulled the scarf tight around her.  Eventually I got the scarf
unknotted.  I looked between her legs and saw the wetness of piss on her
inner thighs; and the wet bedspread between her legs, and the wet patch on
the carpet at the foot of the bed.  This wasn't a dribble.  She had let her
bladder go fully.  I padded to the bathroom and found a wash cloth and
dampened it with warm soapy water.  Taking a towel off the rail I returned
to the bedroom.  She was lying just as I had left her.  I sponged her inner
thighs.  Her open sex and asshole with the smeared cold cream and my oozing
semen just inches from my face.  I delicately swabbed her asshole and inner
butt crack.  Each time I accidentally hit a welt she groaned somewhere deep
in her chest.  I eased her to her feet and supported her as she wavered on
unsteady legs.  She was almost unconscious.  Slowly I guided her along the
side of the bed, and pulling back the sheets I eased her into the bed.  She
winced in pain as her buttocks scraped across the linen sheets.  She rolled
on to her stomach to avoid the pain of lying on her buttocks, and I pulled
the blankets over her.  Returning to the foot of the bed I dropped the
towel on the piss spot on the carpet and stood on it to soak up the urine.
The towel sucked the urine in like a wick and I took it to the laundry and
dropped it in the basket.  The bedspread would need sponged ater.  It had a
sheen to it and the piss had grazed it rather than soaking in like it had
in the carpet.  Going back to the living room I turned the lights out.  It
was only nine thirty.  The entire episode had lasted less than an hour. 
After a short detour past the bathroom, where I washed my groin and thighs
clean of her piss, I went back to the bedroom and climbed into bed beside
her.  We both slept the sleep of the dead.
   The next morning just after day break I became aware she was moving
beside me.  I turned to look at her and her face was clearly pained at the
discomfort she felt as she had inadvertently turned onto her back and sat
up to get out of bed.  I slipped out of bed and walked around to her.  She
looked a little hostile at first but as I helped her up she softened and
came into my arms, tears streaming down her face.
   "Are you OK?" I asked softly.
   She pulled a face as if to say `what a fucking stupid question that
was'.
   "No I am so sore," she complained and held me as she got used to the
skin on her ass being stretched and sore due to the welts.
   "You can't possibly go to work," I said.
   "I have to.  I have some cream.  That will help," she said
optimistically.
   She tried to move but had to stand and get used to the pain.
   "What about a cool bath to take some of the heat out," I suggested.
   She nodded.
   "That should help.  We can treat this just like a bad case of sunburn,"
I said.
   "I've never had sunburn," she said sullenly as if it was a stupid
comparison.
   "Believe me it's not nice," I assured her.
   I ran her a bath as she gingerly sat on the toilet to pee.  She sat with
her hands on the seat beside her buttocks and supported herself just off
the seat.  I could tell she was in considerable discomfort.  She wiped
herself and flushed as I helped her stand and together we eventually got
her into a cool bath.  I had run a little hot to take the chill off the
water.  She trembled and she was all goosey as it was both cold on her body
but relieving to the inflamed area where I had beat her with the crop.
   At first she squatted in the bath but after five minutes or so she
actually rolled to lie on her stomach and I allowed the bath to fill over
here beautiful, very red butt.  Some of the welts had a purplish look about
them.  I took these as being welts where multiple blows had built up.  I
sat naked on the bath beside her.  At first she stared at the bath water,
never looking at me but finally she turned and looked at me sheepishly.
   "I don't ever want you to do that again," she said evenly.  "You are a
novice and yet it makes me tremble to recall how violent it was."
   "I was too violent," I agreed quietly.  "And I felt no excitement.  I'm
a bad dominant".
   She laughed softly.
   "No.  I meant I came so hard it was violent," she corrected me.
   She had a wry smile on her lips.
   "You have never done that before have you?" she said.
   I shook my head sheepishly.
   "You went too far," she said quietly.  "I have never had such a
succession of blows at one time.
   She looked back at a spot in the bathwater before her.  Almost dream
like.  Then after a minute or two of thinking she looked at me again.
   "I've never been tied before," she said.  "I was very scared as I knew
you were new to this.  It worried me you would really injure me and I
couldn't stop it."
   She thought for a few seconds.
   "But it was also very erotic.  I`ve never cum so hard before." And she
added ruefully: "I certainly have never peed myself."
   She was obviously thinking about what she had just admitted to.
   "For a while I thought you were going to strangle me.  I really did,"
she said and her face looked pained and she looked on the verge of tears.
   I stroked her shoulders and lifting the soaked wash cloth, I allowed the
water to spill over her shoulder blades.
   "I could never do anything like that.  It was a reflex and it was
brought on by my lust.  But I was always going to release you before I did
any harm.  I feel such a shit for making it so bad.  I am so sorry Heera,"
I said evenly.  I meant it.
   She smiled softly.
   "So you're not a real sadist then?" she asked.
   "Hell no.  But I thought it was what you wanted it.  From the other
night.  I just thought..." I trailed off.
   This apology sounded lame.  We fell silent again.  This was awkward.  I
had thought there might have been some middle ground rapport between us
over what happened.  It was clear we both regretted it.  She probably held
back being angry at me as she saw how I might get the idea she was strongly
masochistic; yet I was no sadist.  So between my over zealous behaviour;
born from lack of knowledge about the consequences, and her more
abbreviated tolerance level of pain to what I was administering, we had
miscued badly.
   "You just thought I liked serious pain," she answered for me.  "It's
true I like pain.  Some pain.  You saw my reaction to the crop when you
first showed it to me.  "It brought back memories.  I couldn't hide my
excitement..." she tapered off, clearly remembering the lead up to her
whipping with the crop.
   "What memories?" I ventured, not wanting to stifle her opening up to me.
   She looked at me and looked away again.  She was idly lifting her palm
from the water and watching the water cascade between her fingers.  A sort
of nervous tic, if you like.  She thought about the question and then
turned to me once more.
   "When we lived in Kenya and I was a little girl, I went to the Catholic
school run by the Dominican nuns.  We weren't catholic; we are Hindi even
though none of us were born in India.  But they taught the best English
there so my father wanted us to have the best tutors as he knew we would
eventually come to live in England.  It was odd though; the English was
taught by a Belgian nun.  She spoke beautiful English without any
identifiable English dialect," she said quietly.
   "When you were naughty, the nuns administered punishment with a cane. 
Like the English schools used to do.  It was meant to be on the hand but
one nun in particular, Sister Audree, she liked to hit us on the backside.
Aways with our knickers on of course," she continued.  "I realized about
the second time I had been given the cane, that I felt a strange sensation
in my lower abdomen and groin.  I liked it.  As I got a little older, I
realized I liked the feeling; and the pain of the cane did not hurt or
bother me so much.  Even though I often cried from the blows.  But there
was never more than six strokes allowed at once.  So I soon learned I could
get the feeling quickly, maybe two or three strokes into the punishment. 
Sometimes I felt wet just in anticipation," she concluded.
   She looked at me somewhat embarrassed.
   "So you misbehaved most for Sister Audree..." I ventured.
   She nodded sheepishly.
   "I hated being caned on my hand.  And when I was about ten or maybe
eleven, Sister Audree took me into her study and removed my knickers and
made me bend over her desk, and..." she tapered off.
   This explained her assuming the same position on the bed for me.
   "She caned your bare backside," I volunteered.
   Heera had a sheepish look about her.  I stared at her and she looked
away and then looked back and regarded me with a steady gaze.
   "She molested me first," she said quickly.  "She masturbated me for some
minutes and then she caned me for being a dirty girl for letting me touch
her," she said with a sigh.
   Like a huge weight was lifted.  She looked at me with sense of relief;
"I loved it," she said seriously.  "I really loved it Sam.  And so I did
not have to be naughty to be caned.  She would pick out some small or
stupid misdemeanor, to show the rest of the class why I had to stay behind
after lessons.  I couldn't wait for the lesson to end.  And she would do
it. And I loved it."
   "What happened," I asked, believing there was more to come.
   She gave a sigh of frustration and shook her head at some recollection
that was forming in her mind.
   "Well of course I wasn't the only girl she was doing this with.  There
were at least three or four of us by my reckoning.  But there was a much
older girl; a French girl called Laure.  It was discovered that she and
Sister Audree were lesbian lovers and Sister Audree was sent back to
Belgium after Laure's father, who was a diplomat, made a fearful stink
about it," she explained.
   "So it stopped for you?" I asked.
   She nodded.
   "No one ever knew about her passion for caning the rest of us.  No one
asked us about her and none of us told anyone." She said.  "Well not that I
ever knew about anyway," she added.
   "And did you ever let yourself be caned again?" I asked expectantly.
   Was I the next?  I thought.
   "Not caned as such.  But I had learned from Sister Audree that I had a
link between pain and pleasure.  So as I grew up and became sexually
active, I tried to work some form of pain into sex.  Not very effectively
as I was too scared to tell my lovers what I wanted.  Except until I met
Ian."
   She paused and then after a brief refelction, she continued.  "I have
already told you about Ian," she said glancing at me for acknowledgement.
   I nodded agreement.  She turned back to gaze at the bath water again, as
she continued her tale.
   "He was basically a cruel shit.  He was so chauvinistic and he would
often be very rough and hurt me.  And I loved him in spite of this, and I
also wanted to be with him because my father approved of him and because he
was going to be a surgeon.  I believe my father would have permitted me to
marry him even though he was not Indian, because of Ian's perceived social
standing in my father's eyes.  Ian offered me hope not to be given away in
marriage to someone I did not love."
   Her voice had started out strong and even, as she retold what I had
already learned from Karen and Claire.  But as she went on her voice began
to falter as she spoke of her ex-lover, Ian.
   "He worked out that I seemed to enjoy pain.  And of course I did.  But
it didn't last long because there was much emotional pain inflicted as
well. He had affairs; he sometimes spoke of me like I was worthless, or a
stupid Indian, in front of me and his friends; and he generally treated me
badly socially.  He toyed with my head and emotions to the point I tried
suicide and I became as I saw our relationship falteing and realised I
would have to marry a boy three years my junior who live in Canada..." she
tailed of and began weeping.
   I leaned down and tried to embrace her.  She brought one hand up onto my
shoulder to acknowledge my attempts to console her and eventually she
stopped weeping and looked at me.
   "What am I to do Sam?" she said quietly.
   "Do you want to marry the kid in Canada?" I asked directly.
   She shook her head.
   "But I must.  It is my father's wishes.  He is very traditional and it
would be good for our family," she explained.
   "I can't go that logic," I said bluntly.  "You are a beautiful,
vivacious educated young woman.  The world should be yours to do with what
you will," I added nobly.
   She smiled almost patronizingly at me.
   "Oh Sam.  You American's are so full of yourself." she began.  "That
sounded very nice but a little pompous," and she laughed lightly but she
was sad.
   I blushed at her opinion of my lofty wishes for her.  I meant it.  Why
was she so dismissive of my view?  She saw on my face the disappointment at
her rejection of my words.
   "Dear Sam.  You will be here for such a short time, and then return to
America to marry an American girl and settle down with 2.5 children, and
two cars, in a nice suburban house, and live happily ever after. 
Occasionally you will think of the hot Indian bitch you beat and indulged
in a little S&M with," she said quietly with a smile.
   I looked at her ruefully.  She wasn't a million miles from the truth. 
We had no future together and we both knew it.  And deep down, what did I
care what she became, who she married, or where she lived?  And she knew
that to.  She took my advice and phoned her work and said she was ill.  I
had a late start that morning so I stayed with her and helped her dress and
we had a light breakfast together.  She lay on the floor on her stomach and
I sat on the settee and we made small talk.  But we both knew we had run
our course together.  I had overdone the flagellation.  From what I learned
in the bathroom that morning, there clearly was a place for some milder
administering of the crop.  But ignorance and brute force had literally
beaten any will for future sessions out of her.  It took her well over a
week for the welts to finally disappear.  Despite us reaching an impasse
for any future plans, we stayed together for another five weeks, leading
into July.  I was planning my trip to Europe; intending on taking up all of
July and August.  Our sex was good and the crop stayed under the bed where
I had pushed it.  But the sex had improved to being more like lovemaking,
whereas before it was mechanical to be almost perfunctory.  I did ensure
some regular nipple twisting and other more mundane attempts to cause her
discomfort, borering on pain.  One night she even encouraged me to fuck her
ass again, which she admitted she had liked more than she thought she
would. It went very well and she came hard on my cock with a hand jammed
into her wet loose cunt.  It was sex that helped to fill in the time before
the inevitable.  And the night I came to say goodbye, before heading to
Dover to catch the Channel Ferry, she was surprisingly upbeat and very
bright and chatty.  Not really like someone about to break up with a lover.
Probably because the anticipation of the inevitable had come and there was
no further need to dwell on the consequences.  We parted good friends and I
promised her postcards and that I would be back to see her when I returned.
She grinned and bet I would forget her as soon as the first French or
Spanish girl showed me some leg.  We laughed and embraced in a warm
platonic hug and I left.
   I never saw her again.  When I did return, I inquired after her well
being from Claire.  I bumped into Claire who was on her own, in the Old
Black Lion in West Hampstead.  Claire told me John had split while I was in
Europe and she had a flat in the old building I had first stayed in when I
arrived in London.  John was living with his parents until he found a new
flat.
   Claire told me that Heera had made another attempt at suicide.  This
time she had stolen some barbiturates from the hospital she worked at. 
Karen found her and after she was released from hospital her father
persuaded her to take voluntary psychiatric counseling.  Of course she was
fired for stealing the pills.  This saddened me but it did not surprise me
she tried suicide again.  I felt guilty that I never did send her one
postcard.  I wondered if I ever figured in her thoughts as she tried to
take her life; although Claire said she was never in any real danger from
the overdose.  But rightfully her parents saw the final cry for help and
acted to give her the right support to help her.  After all, she was
important to them.  They had a match made in heaven and they needed her to
be fit and healthy.  I never did like ethnic groups that traded their women
like chattels.  I never will understand how mercenary a family can be to
use children as collateral.
   Heera was right about one thing in my life; with respect to my
reminiscences.  I often think about my time with her.  Mostly that night I
tied her hands and beat her.  It is something I carry with me as just one
of the learning moments in my life so far.  Not something I need to repeat.
But I will never forget it.
   The End
   (C) 2007 Romany.  Protected by copyright law.  Please do not copy, edit,
amend or post this on any website without the author's permission.
   
  
London days 4 _Heera