"What is it?" she repeated.

"Tell her, Mr Loverman." I knew it would increase his humiliation to have to explain it himself. His face bore a look of utter despair.

"It's a cock cage, Miss."

"A what?" asked Helen.

"A cock cage. It's a chastity belt for men."

"Well, bugger me."

"I don't think he can, at the moment," I replied drily. "That's the point. Poor little mite can't get it up."

Helen laughed and stepped forward, her face a vision of curiosity. "Let me see," she said.

"Mr Loverman," I instructed, "get up on the table and allow Helen to inspect you." Without demur he clambered onto the kitchen table and morosely stood to attention. His cock, encased in its metal cage, was at Helen's eye level and she stood beneath him observing the intricacy of its design.

"It's amazing," she said.

"It certainly is. Custom made: cost him a fortune, too. It constantly stimulates his little dick, so he is in a state of permanent arousal. But as you can see, his shaft is totally encased in metal, so there is no way it can grow erect. What's more, the inside of the tube is lined with rows of little pins. As he tries to grow erect, the pins prick his prick, as it were. Absolute agony."

"How long's he been in it?"

"A week now. Another three weeks to go."

"Jesus, that's fantastic." I watched Mr Loverman's face as we continued to discuss him. His shame was absolute. If you had suggested to him, two months before, that he would find himself in the position he was, standing naked on a table being inspected by the work cleaner, and having his personal details discussed in such a frank manner, he would not have believed it. But that was before he unleashed the terrible beauty of his Mistress's domination. That was before he called and I answered.

"It must hurt all the time?" Helen asked.

"Does it, Mr Loverman?" I looked up at his tormented face. He nodded.

"Yes Miss, especially when I move."

"Really?" Helen turned to me, her eyes gleaming. "Oh, get him to move about then. I know, we can start his exercise regime now. Tell him to run on the spot." This girl had hidden depths: whether she knew it or not, there was a domme streak in her. I smiled at the recognition of a kindred spirit.

"You heard her, Mr Loverman."

Mechanically, Mr Loverman started to run on the spot, causing the kitchen table to creak alarmingly. Oh well, he could always buy a new one if it broke; I never liked it anyway.

"Faster," shrieked Helen, clapping her hands. I reached up and slapped Mr Loverman's bare arse in encouragement and he speeded up, his knees rising and falling in a steady rhythm. His little cock, encased in its cage, bobbled about unceremoniously and it was evident from the agonised expression on his face that it was causing him severe pain.

Helen was in her element. She reached out and grabbed the cage, shaking it mercilessly and laughing as Mr Loverman yelled in pain. "You've no idea how good this is," she said to me. "All these months he treated me like some piece of dirt, the little cleaning girl who didn't deserve so much as a hello or even a friendly look. Arrogant bastard, and now look at him, dancing for me."

I smiled. I knew exactly what she meant. "He'll do whatever you want him to," I said, winking.

"Whatever?"

"Whatever." We exchanged glances and in that moment a silent pact was made. "Let's go and talk about this. Leave him to do his exercises on the table." I turned to Mr Loverman and fixed him with my sternest glare. "Keep it up, we'll be in the next room and if I can't hear you running there'll be hell to pay. You know what I mean." His face was red from exertion, and I knew he would soon be exhausted: whether he wanted to or not, he would soon be unable to continue. And then, of course, he would need to be punished. Poor Mr Loverman, his day was going from bad to worse. It often did.

Helen and I went through to the living room to discuss strategy. I showed her Mr Loverman's dog basket and food bowl to impress on her how much control I exerted over him. To her credit, she took it all in her stride. We sat and drank a bottle of wine and when, after about forty-five minutes, we were satisfied Mr Loverman would have been too tired to continue his jogging, we quietly stole back through to the kitchen. He was still standing on the table, his chest heaving, face bright red. He had clearly been running on the spot for some time, and had made strenuous efforts to obey his Mistress. But sadly, as we entered the kitchen he was not moving. He had failed, as I knew he must.

"Oh dear," I said icily. "Mr Loverman, you're not running on the spot. Didn't I give you an explicit order?"

"Yes, Miss, but 3;" He was too out of breath to continue. Not that it would have done any good, anyway, which he knew as well as I did.

"You've disappointed me. Not to mention embarrassed me in front of my guest. What do you think I should do?" A shiver of pain lanced through his face. Of course, he knew perfectly well what I was going to do, and the mere hint of punishment had clearly excited him, had caused his little dick to try to erect itself and push once more against the tormenting, constricting shield of his cage. I tapped it idly. "Hmm?"

"I need to be punished, Miss," he said finally, his voice a mixture of resignation and excitement.

"Indeed you do, you naughty little man. Indeed you do. Down you get, then. Helen's going to punish you. And what do you call Helen?"

He paused for an instant. "My Lady."

"Just so. Well remembered. Okay, ask Helen to punish you."

Mr Loverman climbed down from the table, perspiration on his brow and worried anticipation in his eyes. "Please, My Lady," he said, "will you punish me?"