Thoughts were heaving and turning in my head. I was adrift and alone, far from the comfort zone of my Master's thoughtful and inclusive regime. Where once I felt a party to my own fetishistic development, a parcener of my destiny, I now felt detached. The symbiosis which must exist between slave and Master was disintegrating and I felt such a sense of helpless uncertainty that I struggled to prevent myself from breaking into self-pitying sobs.

"So this is the legendary slave girl?" said Ian, leaning on the door frame. "I half thought you were making that up."

"Everyone does." Everyone? How many people had she told about me? A nervous chill slid through my veins. "But now that she's volunteered herself I'll get a chance to prove it to you all."

"Volunteered?"

"Yes. Damn bitch came knocking on my door. 'I've been having filthy dreams about you and want you to punish me,' she said. Can you believe it?"

"Christ," he laughed, "it's incredible."

"I told you, she gets off on it. Don't you, slave bitch?"

I lay rigid on the carpet as the conversation ranged around me. I couldn't bring myself to speak. I couldn't articulate the emotions jostling in my mind. I couldn't 3; I just couldn't. I looked up at Sue pitifully.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said.

"What time does Norman get back?" asked Ian.

"Not till seven. Plenty of time."

"Splendid. Now then, show me what you do to spank someone."

I tried to work out what was going on. Ian wasn't Sue's husband, I knew. That was Norman, whom I had met before and disliked as intensely as I did Sue. Somehow, I seemed to have become a sideshow in Sue's extra marital affair. No doubt my presence was adding an extra frisson of excitement to the lovers, ratcheting up the tension another notch, substantiating their mutual belief that theirs was a more vivid relationship: affairs can only subsist on the premise that they are intrinsically more daring, more exciting, more radical than the legitimate partnership. And Harriet the Slave Girl, naked and awaiting punishment, was living proof of that for Sue and Ian.

"It's easy," scoffed Sue. "Bitch, on your feet, now."

Wearily, I rose and stood before her, my back to Ian.

"Nice arse," he said. Irrationally, I blushed. Somehow, the verbal confirmation that someone has seen you naked is even more shaming than the fact itself. It's the ostrich principle, presumably: until Ian said something I could subconsciously tell myself that he wasn't looking, hadn't seen anything, hadn't noticed my nakedness.

"It's even better when it's red and bruised. Isn't it, slave girl?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, ma'am." I wouldn't call her Mistress. She wasn't my Mistress.

"That's right. How did you like it when I thrashed you last time?"

"It was very painful ma'am."

"And did you enjoy it?"

"I deserved it, ma'am. I behaved badly and my Master asked you to punish me."

"But did you enjoy it?"

"It was very painful, ma'am."

We were going round in circles. Had I enjoyed it? No, of course not. It was humiliating and demeaning and made me feel worse than I had ever felt. But that, I feared, was nothing to how I was going to feel by the end of this afternoon.

"I asked you a precise question, bitch. Answer it or I'll strip the skin off that pretty arse of yours."

"Yes, ma'am, I enjoyed it." There was no point. My feeling were of no consequence to her anyway, so I may as well lie, I thought, and allow her to hear what she wanted. I felt the hollow sweep of defeat.

"See," she screeched triumphantly at Ian. "Okay bitch, time for some more. Feet apart, bend over."

This was the way she had punished me before, making my stretch and bend as far as possible, exposing myself completely, my pussy and arsehole on display and all dignity stripped from me. Ian breathed in sharply and moved behind me where the uninterrupted view shattered my privacy.

"Grip your ankles," Sue shouted. As I did so she belted my backside with something solid, I didn't know what, lancing a furious, livid pain through my body. I was taken unawares and stumbled forward, screaming. I teetered on my toes, arms unable to steady myself because my hands were gripping my ankles, and after a couple of seconds I finally lost my balance, fell over and ended up sprawled on the floor.

"Good God," Sue exclaimed. "What a performance. We're trying to show Ian how to give a punishment here and you ruin it all by falling over like some little drama queen. Get up, for God's sake."

Sobbing, I rose to my feet and once more assumed my position. I steeled myself for the assault, because I knew Sue was going to show off and beat me as hard as she could. Accordingly, her next blow was powerful, a full-blooded crack right across both cheeks. It was a slipper she was using, I thought, the pliable plastic sole administering a shocking assault on my exposed flesh. I gritted my teeth and tried to transplant my mind from this hideous moment to a world of calm, to block my senses and deny Sue the pleasure of invading my inner world.

She spanked me over and over, her breath heaving with the effort. As I had suspected, she was trying to impress and, to an extent, that worked in my favour. So intent was she on administering the hardest blow possible she mostly lacked rhythm and her slipper rarely fell square on my backside. I was congratulating myself on being able to survive the ordeal when the dread words fell from Ian's lips.

"Okay, I want a go now."