TRIPLE LIFE 2 - extract

 

The beginning of the end.

 

"You just don't learn do you? You just don't get it, do you? Every time you do these terrible things to these poor girls, you 'have' to come back here, to me. It's the only way you can deal with it. It's the only way that you can live with yourself. The only way you can live with the lies. And, every time you escalate the things you do to those poor girls, then these sessions also escalate. It is what your life consists of now. An escalating process of suffering and guilt softening. Except the guilt doesn't soften does it? It just goes away until the next time. It just fades away so that the nasty you can come out all over again and so that you can do those awful thing to those girls. You really are a piece of work aren't you? You really are a NASTY piece of work."

The Head Girl was talking to the woman in the latex hood. Their normality had ensued. Naked except for the stockings, the ultra-high heels and then the form fitting, second skin like latex hood. A black hood with a shine so bright that the red light danced off it, casting shadows of its own. And then the plume of the pony tail erupting from the crown of the hood. That added an element, like an animalistic element that took away this woman's dignity to a point. In a way that hood was her last vestige of dignity. Like her anonymity in that hood was all she had left. Like that latex skin was something that she could hide behind. That she could peer out of it because she could peer out of it, but at the same time remain anonymous. For now.

Normal hostilities had resumed with the girl and this woman. The woman standing fumbling with her own hands. Like she didn't know what to do with them. Like she was an awkward and shy teenager herself. It was an odd reversal. Like a mirror image of scene that shouldn't have really been happening. This older woman in the latex hood like the teenager and the actual teenager, acting and behaving like the older more mature person here. Like a bizarre reversal of what the scene should been. Not that this scene should have been happening at all of course.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm so sorry. Please believe me, please believe I'm sorry." There it was again the miserable whining, sobbing pleading. "Yeah, yeah, yeah I've heard it all before and now you're sorry all over again right? You're sorry because you have to go through what you have to go through. You're sorry because you know you can't do anything else but come here once you've finished for the time being with the girl. You're sorry because you KNOW you have to suffer - so that you can feel better. Because what you do to the girl, to all the girls, makes you feel sick. Eventually what you do to them makes you feel sick and you have to come here to balance it all out again. But don't give me you're sorry because you are fucking NOT sorry. You're here because you're guilty." There had been a raise in the tone of the Head Girl's voice. That hood, the one with Head Girl slashed across the forehead made anyone who saw it shiver. More so because of the protruding red lips. And the slashes of mascara'd lashes from the eye holes. There was just something about it. Something that didn't sit right with the mind, or in the mind. The woman didn't say anything else. It was futile for her to say anything else and she knew that. So she just sobbed. Gently sobbed in front of the girl. The girl wasn't rushed. She was in no rush at all. She didn't want to, nor try to get this woman out of here quickly. Get the job done and over with. No such thing. She was in no rush. It was like she knew that she had to do a good job of doing what she was going to do to the woman. It was like there was another level that she had to get to with this woman.

"Turn around, on the spot. I need to see you. How you're healing from the last time. I need to pick which flesh to punish next." The uniformed girl's instruction was simple. It was easy enough. And it was to the point. The woman, magnificent as she was, was trembling but she knew what she had to do and she began to turn slowly on the spot. On the spot and on her high heels. It was like a labour for her to do that. Like it was something else that was being piled on top. She turned. "Slowly, I want you to turn slowly." She had needed that instruction because she was turning too quickly. The young girl might not have wanted to get it over and done with as soon as possible, but she did. She had that terrible feeling down the core of herself that this was going to be the worse session yet. That it was going to bring her into a new arena of masochism. She often questioned herself out of these sessions. Was she a masochist or wasn't she? She had to come here to this girl, to let her do things to her, to make her sorry for what she had done. But there was nothing sexual about it. There was nothing self-arousing or self-gratifying about it. It was a 'need' so she assumed that made her a masochist, of sorts.

The girl watched. She watched carefully as the woman turned on her heels. She wanted her to feel her eyes on her. And the thing was that this latex masked woman could feel every nuance of this girl's eyes on her. She could feel them on the length of her legs and she could feeling them on her bottom. The Head Girl studied the marks from the previous beating. They were still there. They still looked angry. But they had dried up and they had scabbed up. They were healing and yet this woman would have been aware of them constantly. The stretching of the scar tissue, the threat of the scabs to break and bleed. The tip of the girl's tongue slipped out across her red lips and tipped into the corner of her mouth and just hovered there a little bit. It was like she was liking what she was seeing. Like she was wallowing in what she was seeing. It was like there was some 'pleasure' there for her to see that damage she had done previously to this older woman. She liked what she was seeing. Yes she liked it a lot.