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She sent me so deep I couldn't escape from my own willingness to let her trap me. It shocked me that I could feel like that. I hadn't expected it and until it happened I didn't think it was possible. I can't remember how we started it now. If I really wanted to I could look back through a thousand notes and messages but it doesn't matter who thought of it, we ended up playing dice.

At first the scores took simple meanings. We rolled each day and agreed a 6 meant whoever scored it would accept a challenge from the other. Two more rolls would dictate the degree of pain possible and the degree or risk, of public humiliation of course. The fact that it would hurt in public satisfied our need to frighten each other because this was the nature of the wicked little kink we hoped to explore.

As the days passed we talked about our fantasies, our experiences and the aspects of each other's writing we appreciated. Her luck failed first and on a wet and windy night somewhere in Northern Europe she inflicted the appropriate agony on herself according to my instructions in her own back garden. Immediately afterwards her next message described how she felt doing it. Of course I couldn't be absolutely sure she'd really done it, not at the time that is. Now we know each other so much better, I'm sure she did. I'm sure because my luck let me down next and I was more than willing to suffer the consequences. I scored 666 and my desire to be obedient filled me with dread.

It was going to be a big one and I'd need lots of time and space to set aside for it. She revelled in taunting me, telling me she would hurt me, she would impose awful discomfort on me for the whole six days I told her I'd be available and I would be sent out to cope with it in public. Of course she was trying to frighten me, that was the idea, but apart from the few clues I had from the things we'd talked about I didn't know what to expect. She was a deliciously scary playmate.

For three weeks she asked questions about my particular quirks and interests and each answer I gave her made me worry about whether or not it would come back to bite me. I was asked to buy a dog collar. Those of us who play these games know how addictive the thrill of that worry is. As my deadline approached, thrilling sexy fear had a such a grip on me I thought I was ready for anything.

"Tense" is too small a word to describe how I felt on the morning of my first day's dice demanded submission. I sent the "OK, I'm ready." message anything but ready with a lump in my throat and shaking so hard I could hardly type it. Her first instructions stunned me.

You never know. Whatever you expect or envisage is always the result of a unilateral process. No matter how much thinking you've done, it's always all useless because you simply can't know what your opponent has in mind. It never occurred to me I might get banned from my own bedroom but that's exactly what happened. I was given five minutes to collect everything I thought I might need for six days, shut the bedroom door behind me then report back.

I threw an armful of clothes and the duvet on the sofa, told her I'd done that with twenty seconds to spare then she stripped me naked except for the dog collar and put me on all fours for an hour! That initial shock and thinking "Bloody hell, where's this going?" will be one of my life's milestones.

Not that she knew of course but our house is Victorian, it's drafty and damp and in December it's fuckin' cold! I complained that I'd freeze to death if she didn't let me have at least something to wear. I told her I wanted my knickers back. For me that's a comfort thing. Luckily my keyboard wire is long enough to let me type on the floor, so I did. One hour later she told me I could have socks and my fleece but I'd have to pay for them. The subsequent deal got me three hours of fleece time for the whole day which I'd need to save for the times I got really cold. The last few minutes of that became precious as I ran out of time later that afternoon. Having to make a deal for something as fundamental as warmth made me feel beautifully precarious.

The price I paid was having to tie myself to my desk with my legs spread and having to ask for permission to go anywhere. Despite some seriously pathetic pleading she refused to let me have my pants back, telling me the reason I was tied spread was to expose my pink bits to temptation. "DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH!" she wrote. You can't know how much I wanted to!

"I love bullying you." she told me and that's exactly what she did. She let me go outside after the sun set to get some firewood so I could light the fire downstairs but wanted to tie me in the kitchen. Having asked before hand she knew that there was a clear view through the dining room window from the street outside, through the house and the kitchen door. I couldn't find anything suitable to tie myself to and asked if the point really was to expose me to passers by outside. It was, "Tell me what I need to know?" she asked.

After pumping hormones all day I felt so wicked I told her that if she tied me to the dining room table legs I would have to stand up with my feet apart side on to the window, visible from the footpath beyond our open plan front garden. Tied to the table top however, I'd have to sit on it with it forcing my knees apart, my ankles having been tied each side to the top of the table legs. I'd have to face the window like that. She knew it was what I wanted and she played the persecutor perfectly.

In the dark the streetlights lit me from the stomach down, leaving my free swinging breasts in shadow. I put my lap top between my thighs so I could talk to her and negotiated a pair of black knickers, thinking they too would look like shadow. They cost me a promise to put my electric dog training collar shock box in them and to push the button whenever she told me to, at whatever power setting she chose.

To the casual passer by, someone disinterested in the contents of dining rooms, I'm sure a fleeting glimpse of me and the pattern of shadows I appeared to be wouldn't have aroused suspicion. Anyone who stopped to stare would have seen me clearly enough though. I earned my 6, it was terrifying and I felt like an Amsterdam whore. I told her I did.

When she went to bed she left me with instructions to stay there for a further hour and shock myself at full power for ten second bursts every ten minutes. I felt so poisoned by my own obedience told her I thought I needed to be taught a fuckin' good lesson and maybe only one hour wouldn't do any good. "You really are asking for it aren't you!" she sent, "Stay there two hours then, you whore!"

Each day I started wearing only the dog collar and socks and with three hours fleece allowance I could spend whenever I liked. The third day was colder and I bought an extra hour by spending the afternoon on my spreader bar, accepting I'd take it off only when I'd been told to. She'd planned adventures for me knowing I was already subject to other dice elsewhere. I am a whore, I'll play with whoever can be bothered with me and I owed one hundred barefoot steps as part of a woodland walk I'd had planned for weeks. Very late that night I walked the mile cross country she escalated my ordeal to, naked, not even carrying anything I could have covered myself up with if I'd been caught. Thankfully she let me have my boots and the fast march kept me warm enough until I got back to where I'd hidden my clothes.

She sent me out in daylight too. I was asked to go out for coffee in town in a dress I considered disposable and cut it up under my coat before I left the cafe. A dice roll determined whether I could walk home with pants on, which I lost, and I had to cover the half mile back to the house with my dress in ribbons and the icy head wind chilling me underneath.

If I wasn't busy freezing my tits off inadequately dressed in public I was doing it chained to my desk at home and writing little stories to entertain her with. She filled my week and by the time the ice melted in the bowl my padlock key was frozen in and I could unlock myself, at three in the morning on the last night, I was too tired to come. Even though then, I was at last allowed to! We were both knackered by the time she let me go.

Nothing prepared me for the crash I felt the next day, when she wasn't there. We messaged each other for nothing because it felt so wrong not to, just to do something about filling in the gaping hole in a day without our game.

It's an emptiness, a longing, an ache I've come to know well.