Shona, by contrast, was a buxom woman in her late forties. She, too, had a harsh expression and an unforgiving stare. I could imagine being frightened of her.

"Wow," she said as she breezed into the kitchen, tossing her car keys on the workbench and running her gaze up and down my naked body, "it is for real. Unbelievable!"

"Harriet, where's your manners? Get my guest a coffee," Sue ordered. I bristled. Only my Master gave orders like that, but with the instructions he had given me I had no option but to obey. Silently, I jumped from my seat.

"Hey, lovely arse," cackled Shona, and was about to slap me when Sue stopped her.

"No touching. It's in the rules. Don't want to upset 'The Master'." They both giggled. I started to make the coffee, trying to push my predicament to the back of my mind. The two women proceeded to talk about me as though I weren't there, debating what they could have me do, questioning where my obedience might start to break down, treating me like an object of derision. They were being deliberately cruel, teasing me, humiliating with verbal barbs and mental torture. And I could do nothing about it.

Coffee made, they adjourned to the living room, calling on me to join them as though I were some little lap dog. "Come, Harriet, come now," they called, slapping their thighs as though to bring me to heel. I did.

"She's got a lovely figure," sighed Shona. "Almost enough to turn me lesbian." The women exploded into fits of laughter at that, while I stood before them, feeling exposed and vulnerable.

"Yes," cried Sue, wiping a tear from her eye. "She certainly has. I expect she's a lovely mover, too. Dance for us, Harriet."

I stood stock still. I couldn't do that. It was too much. Dancing naked in front of these cruel, crowing women, I couldn't bring myself to do it. Sue saw my hesitation.

"What's wrong? Need some music? Let me get something." She rummaged amongst the large CD collection covering one wall of their living room, and let out a triumphant cry. "Ah, yes, this is the one. Perfect!" Turning to me, she grinned and let out a sneer. "Have you heard of this, Harriet? By Saint-Saëns, The Golliwog's Cakewalk. That's just perfect. Let's see you do the Golliwog's Cakewalk for me. You know how that goes." She proceeded to do some ghastly, stiff-limbed manouevre, like R2D2 with cramp, and Shona clapped her hands. They couldn't be serious.

But they were. Sue put the CD on the player and the music began, a jerky, demented piano piece, children's music, childish and erratic. I stood before the two women, naked and trembling, and started to dance. Willing myself on, I thrust my arms out stiffly and braced my legs, locking my knees and adopting a rigid, clumsy gait as I marched like a puppet round and round the room, the hideous music droning on an on, an accessory in this ritual humiliation. The women were in paroxysms on the settee, tears rolling down their cheek as they watched my demented dance. Finally, eventually, after what seemed like hours, the music clicked to a halt.

"More!" cried Shona, and pressed the repeat button. And I reprised my performance. What option did I have?

After ten minutes of this my limbs were aching, I was red and sweating and wished that the ground would open up and let me dive into oblivion. Suddenly, Sue leaped up, shouted on me to continue and ran upstairs. A moment later she re-emerged, holding a camera. Shona shreiked and clapped her hands, while I stopped on the spot and stared at it.

"Who told you to stop?" Sue snapped. "Get dancing! Your precious Master didn't say anything about no photographs, did he?" No, he had not. Reluctantly, a tear escaping my eye, I resumed my stiff-legged perambulation round the room, the hideous click of the camera alerting me to every shameful instant when my disgrace was committed forever to film.

"Okay, that'll do," laughed Sue. "I don't think I can take any more of that dancing. Sit down now, little Harriet. You've done very well." Exhausted, I slumped into the vacant chair opposite the women on the settee. I was severely out of breath, and my chest was heaving, legs trembling with the exertion.

"Just going to change the film in this camera," Sue said to Shona. "Back in a minute."

Shona looked at me, quizzically. "Well, you've certainly brightened up my afternoon, slut," she said. "Best fun I've had in months." Sue returned and proceeded to put a new film in her camera.

"Okay, little Harriet, time for some photos. Show us what you've got now girl. Some nice glamour stuff eh?" My heart leaped and somersaulted. How much more was there to take?

The women ordered me about, yelling at me to adopt the poses they required. I was photographed with my hands behind my head, covering my breasts, spreadeagled on the floor, looking backwards over my shoulder, curled in a ball, every way imaginable. All the while I felt the shocking humiliation of being ordered to take part in such a spectacle, not to mention the unnerving uncertainty over what would happen to these pictures.

They started pretty softcore, demure posing and coquettish glances, but as time wore on the two women began to get more demanding. They wanted a split beaver shot, and I reluctantly parted my legs, hearing that fateful click as the camera recorded what should be a private place. In spite of myself, in spite of my predicament, I started to get wet at that point, turned on by the total lack of control I had over the situation. Unfortunately, Shona noticed.

"Look at those lips. They're puffing up. Is she getting wet? I think she is! Damn slut is enjoying this!"

Sue crept up close to me and inspected. "God, you're right. Freaky. Okay, I know what we can do about that." She flounced into the kitchen and returned moments later, clutching a banana.

"Okay, little Harriet, if you're so turned on you can start playing with yourself. Here, there's a banana. Get using it."

That was too much. I flipped at that point, could go no further. With an enormous sob I ran to the kitchen, grabbed my clothes and ran for the front door. Not even pausing to button my blouse, I fled the house, the demonic cackling of the two women ringing in my ears.