Chapter 6

I convinced myself that if I didn't introduce Sarah to soft drugs - or at least admit her to the possibility of taking something in my presence - then someone else soon would, and it would be better coming from me, because I was properly experienced in these matters, and I knew that Sarah was not a girl to say no to a new adventure, and why shouldn't I, her lover, be there to enjoy and advise her?

Over breakfast I ascertained that Sarah knew a bit already, she said she'd had a few puffs on joints at parties, but not enough, to know what being properly stoned was like. She had never taken any other drug but alcohol, and she'd only been really drunk three times, one of those with me, the night before. I suppose should have felt a bit ashamed, inciting a minor to illegal acts, but I had taken my first purple heart at sixteen, smoked marijuana Sarah's age, and I wasn't a junkie. I was just excited by the idea of us being stoned in bed together.

We did actually manage to leave the house for a couple of hours. We went to the greengrocers, and blushing furiously, chose cucumbers, courgettes and carrots, not for any other quality than their dimensions! I also bought some tobacco and cigarette papers. We went to the Boots, looking for baby oil, and found that they stocked Vaseline in tubes as well as in pots. We bought two of each ... After a quick lunch in the Golden Grill, we went home, catching each other's eyes and feeling hot flushes of anticipation. The whole afternoon and evening stretched in front of us like an erotic mist receding into the future. We sprawled on Sarah's bed, and I rolled several slightly tatty joints. Once I was stoned I knew I would hardly be capable of that specific dexterity, and I would need my fingers for other, stickier things.

"Here goes then!" said Sarah, as she struck a match to light the first one. She leaned close to the flame, sucked deeply, and immediately broke into tumultuous coughing. I had to laugh. So much for previous experience! I took the joint from her and let her hack her way through the spasm, beetroot faced and teary-eyed. I took a much more judicious toke, held it in, slowly let it out. "Like that, Sarah - you must learn to curb your enthusiasm occasionally." I showed her.

Once she'd recovered, she had another go, and managed much better. We steadily smoked our way down the joint, and I soon felt soft ripples of the hash soothing and stimulating my brain. I looked at Sarah, and giggled when I saw that she was staring at my breasts unblinking, and actually licking her lips! Whether she was just stoned or reacting to the magnificence of my bosom, I couldn't know for sure, but it made me break up in a fit of giggles.

"Golly wow..." she murmured, and her reddening eyes met mine.

I could see that she was as stoned and as sexy as it was possible for her to be. My heart began to pound as I stubbed out the joint and parted my legs.

"Darling ... it's time ... I want you to do it ... you know ... fuh ... fist me," I told her stumbling over the word in my stoned excitement.

"Mmmm ... goodie ... I can't tell you how much I want to ... crikey Jill ... I feel funny. Sort of ... not like being drunk ... but mmm ... better ... I like it ... oh I like it a lot ... And now ... wow ... you feel so incredible!"

I grinned at her lopsidedly, and lay back against the bed-head, thighs splaying. My sex felt hot, and so needy. Actually, I'd popped half a Mandrax an hour earlier, and was succumbing to the wooziness that was the beginning of its effect.

"I'm feeling great ... so great..." I murmured, grinning happily at my lover. Sarah kissed me long and deep and ran her hands over me with glorious knowledge of what I liked. She'd quickly learned how I like my nipples to be firmly tweaked and tugged, how I reacted to being smacked a bit on the bum, and tickled ... But I just had to ask...

"Sarah, would you ... tie me up ... please?" I heard the words emerge as if from a stranger's lips, and they thrilled me.

"Oh god yes, I'd love to!" was my cousin's surprising and instant reaction. "I thought you'd never ask!"

She gave my nipples a sharp parting tweak, and thumped next door to her dressing table. I heard her pull open a drawer, and a moment later she reappeared with a tangle of belts and scarves. She returned to the bed with a new, deliciously dangerous expression on her face.

I discovered to my increasing delight that there was another Sarah, a harder-edged, implacable young woman who could scare me, who could take me to a very different place. A cruel mistress, hard to appease, stern in her punishments, but ultimately the same Sarah as I loved for her gentleness and sensuality too, and soon loved all the more for the way she could tap into my newly discovered darker desires with total enthusiasm and complicity.

We were a very rare pairing. In the 1980s S&M dykes became an accepted part of the scene, and by the 1990s there were clubs openly dedicated to the things that we were pioneering in the '60s. When we became lovers, BDSM was right on the edge, deep underground where it had been for centuries or millenia, even for died-in-the-wool-lesbians. We were virtually unique, and flew entirely on instinct. How was I to know our instincts were so extreme? We had very little to measure ourselves against. Sarah's awakening with Edie and Margaret had started her down that road. The source of my hunger for sexual pain and the far horizon of my body's physical endurance has long been a mystery to me, though I've tried to analyse it often enough. After all, I was just a nice middle-class girl from a nice middle-class family, well brought up, from a normal background. What could have warped that corner of my mind into the shape of a willing S&M slut? It scared me for sure, but once uncovered, I was powerless to ignore or resist the pull.

I felt a new excitement as Sarah carefully bound my wrists with scarves, and secured them to the bedposts. Then she did my ankles, and reaching under the bed anchored them to the frame. My legs were parted wide and bent at the knees. I trembled and knew for the first time the true thrill of bondage, of utter helplessness to the whim of my young mistress; I gave in to her completely. I found it so arousing that even as the knots tightened, trickles from my sex were wetting the sheet beneath me. Sarah took her duties as dominatrix seriously, reacting no doubt to Margaret's mistreatment of her. She disappeared from the bedroom for a few minutes, leaving me panting with anticipation of the unknown. When she returned she was carrying several usually innocent household implements. My eyes widened fearfully. Sarah smiled playfully and waved her hand over the tray, teasing me as she made her selection. The clothes pegs were the first items to be applied. I arched and cried out as the steel spring made the first wooden peg close tightly on my left nipple, I had never felt a pain like it, sexually. I shuddered, began to sweat, and the dazzling heat of a sensual agony spread through my flesh like a creeping tide.

"You like that don't you," she said, which wasn't a question, but a statement. Amazingly, I did like it, very much. I whimpered my assent, and as a reward, my other nipple was also clamped in the jaws of a peg. It was excruciatingly, unbearably exquisite. I writhed, and groaned and struggled, utterly unable to change my circumstances, even if I had wanted to. After a few seconds the pain dulled to a sensual glow. It wasn't to last. With vicious little flicks at the pegs, Sarah sent me howling into a masochistic sexual stratosphere. Tears wet my cheeks, I was freaking out to a new, weird pleasure. The hot tide spread down to my groin, and I spilled more juice. Even as the tide spread, Sarah moved with it. She picked up a rubber bladed spatula, and my haunted eyes watched her in awe. She swished it lightly down between my legs, so that it landed with a light sharp slap on my inner thigh. It smarted, I yelped and she did it on the other side. Then she gave me searching look, smacked it lightly on my sex. I convulsed in my bonds, pain and elation entwining in my senses. The spatula descended again, making my clit feel like it was being attacked by a wicked-minded wasp. I looked at Sarah, my mistress. Seventeen, imperious, wonderful ... A few more light, judicious slaps, between which she caressed me soothingly and taunted me for my slutty behaviour, and I was close to coming. She drew back teasingly, leaving me panting, whimpering, and as aroused as I had ever been in my whole life. That she knew exactly what she was doing was, by now, no surprise. The words 'Margaret says' had punctuated her conversation since Saturday afternoon. The mysterious older woman clearly had a most assiduous student.