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lover, only to find someone trying to get me to change my phone line or my electricity provider or enquiring about the safety of my window locks.
    ‘Fuck off. I’m waiting for an important call.’ I put the phone down before they had time to reply. Misery begets misery; spreads much quicker and easier than happiness.
    Then he did phone.
    My heart thumped and my hand shook. I was almost too scared to answer the call when his number flashed up.
    ‘I’ve missed you so much,’ I whispered into the receiver before he could speak.
    ‘Are you a good slave?’ His voice was as deep and sensual as ever and my body responded.
    ‘I’ve missed you so much,’ I repeated, louder this time.
    ‘Are you a good slave?’ His spoke in exactly the same silky, rich, alluring tone as if it was the first time he’d asked that question.
    ‘Yes, sir. I am. You’ve always said that I am.’
    ‘Then why are you texting me through the night? When are you sleeping? You know how important it is for you to look after yourself.’
    ‘I’m confused. I don’t know what you want.’
    ‘That’s the point, it doesn’t matter what I want. This is your time. You need to be free of me. You’re so young and I need to know that you’ve discovered your own sexual identity rather than been pulled into my desires.’
    I took a deep breath. I wouldn’t start crying. If I was being dumped, this was a novel way of doing it. Just thinking that I might be being dumped sent yearning like electricity through my body. I couldn’t survive without him. I wouldn’t let him discard me.
    I took another deep breath and let my yearning control me. ‘I’m discovering my sexual identity right now. My fingers are between my legs. I’m so wet for you.’
    He didn’t say anything, but he was still there; I could hear his breathing. I flicked my thumb over my clit and moaned into the phone.
    ‘I’ll come and see you. I’ll wear that little pleated skirt you like, my knee-high boots, no underwear. I’ll wait on my knees on your doorstep. I’ll wait all night, all day, for the rest of my life until you let me in. My arse is yearning for the touch of your hand. I need to be spanked. I need so much to be spanked. All of me. I’m thinking of you teasing my pussy. I’m imagining your cock is rubbing against my clit, spanking my pussy. I’m tied to your bed, helpless, straining against my binds, bucking my hips up into you, begging you to fuck me. Please fuck me. Please fuck me.’ I closed my eyes and writhed alone on my bed. ‘Are you hard for me? Are you thinking about me?’
    ‘Yes.’ His voice sounded distant, but still the pleasure surged through me.
    ‘I’ll put that skirt on and come to you now.’
    ‘We’re on a break. It means we don’t see each other. We don’t contact each other. And either we come back together or we move on to different experiences. It is not an end, but it is a pause.’
    ‘How long does a break last for?’ I sounded like a sullen schoolgirl, far more so than when we played that fantasy out.
    ‘You’ll know. Switch off your panic button and think sensibly, then you’ll know when you’re ready.’
    ‘Why don’t you trust me to love you?’
    ‘Because I cannot withstand pain as well as you do.’ He hung up.
    I went back upstairs to lie on the bed, but instead, with a burst of energy, I changed the sheets and began a manic cleaning session that lasted all the way to Sunday evening. When I had scrubbed and dusted everything in sight, I tried to divert my emotions into anger. What gave him the right to decide I needed a break? That I was too young to make mature adult decisions? But my anger disappeared with a whimper. I liked being in his arms, feeling young. I liked the freedom from responsibility as he thwacked his whip across my breasts. I liked to dissolve into the pain, into him.
    And it had been my suggestion to go out and fuck other men. He started a conversation about marriage and I somehow came up with the