And more to the point, I had enjoyed it.

I'm not sure enjoyed is the appropriate word, actually. Initially I was in such a state of dread anticipation and subsequently, when Rollo discovered me, in such revulsed denial of what I was doing to him, that enjoy is not a suitable verb; but it satisfied me, thrilled me, appealed to my sense of shame. It was an experience which was edgy and dangerous, in which I knowingly put myself in a position of humiliation. And it is that which made it so powerful: the knowledge that I had manufactured a situation of which I was no longer in control.

Now, as I hastened along the path at the far end of the park, threading alongside the casual river, I wondered what my Master had in store for me. I could see him in the distance, sitting in our usual bench which faced, contrarily in our opinion, away from the river and towards the massed ranks of football fields. It was generally a quiet spot, which was why we liked it, quite different from the breathless hustle on the other side of the park. I approached my Master in as carefree a manner as I could muster, aware nonetheless that my heart was pounding and my hands were tingling.

"Hello, Master," I said.

"Hello, Harriet," he replied, his eyes unwavering, following the line of a thrush as it hopped through the bushes on the riverside. I stood at his side patiently. Finally, he broke his stare and looked up at me, smiling. "Have you had a good morning?" he enquired.

"Yes, Master, I've had an excellent morning. I have lots to tell you."

"Splendid," he replied. "Take off your clothes and sit down beside me."

I paused for an instant, but forced myself not to look round. It was an instinctive reaction to do so, in order to see if anyone was coming, or was in a position to observe, but my Master had given me his instruction and he hated to see any wavering or vacillation. I had to trust him. I knew that directly behind me, about 100 yards or so away, a football match was in full swing, because I could hear the shouts and shrill whistles and dull thwacks of boot on leather, but I was confident they would be too engrossed in their activity to see us at this distance. Hoping that there was nobody walking along the path towards us, I opened my coat.

For the second time that day I publicly slipped out of my blouse and unfastened my bra, dropping them onto the bench beside my Master, then peeled my lycra skirt over my hips and down my thighs. Stepping lightly out of it, I placed it on top of the blouse. My Master watched me coolly, a satisfied smile on his lips as he appraised my nearly naked body. Taking a breath and stifling once more the inclination to look around, I gripped my panties and slid them down, bending as I did so, then lifted first my right and then my left leg to ease them free from my body.

And I stood up, completely stripped, the gentle wind rippling along my exposed flesh. The wind on one's body is a delightfully liberating experience, especially when it is on those areas not normally exposed. My breasts tingled, nipples hardening and growing, and as the breeze caressed my buttocks, lapping upwards like a gentle lover, insinuating itself into my crevices and cracks, I was aware of strong emotions building up within me.

"You look beautiful," my Master smiled. "Sit down beside me and tell me your story."

Gingerly, I eased myself onto the bench, mindful not to get any splinters in my exposed rump, and settled myself down. I began to relate the history of my morning in the launderette, describing in detail what happened and how it made me feel. My Master was particularly interested in the impact the experience had had on me, so I related my sense of shame, the overwhelming excitement, the thrill of exposure and the terror when I knew I had been discovered.

"Show me your panties," my Master ordered, and I passed them over to him. He studied them for a moment, rolling his thumb over the soft fabric, examining the stains I had carefully posited on them as proof of my morning endeavours.

"What is this?" he asked, pointing to a glittery trail, about an inch long.

"Sperm, Master," I replied. He cocked his eyebrow inquisitively and I explained about Rollo, about his discovery of my exposure and about the price he exacted from me for his silence. My Master nodded approvingly.

"And you crawled on your hands and knees towards him?"

I nodded. "Making my breasts sway, Master."

"Show me."

Reluctantly, I slid off the bench and positioned myself a few yards away, facing my Master. Falling to my knees, I assumed the position I had held this morning and crawled towards my Master, my breasts quivering beneath me.

"And you sucked his cock?"

"Yes, Master."

"Was it good?"

"No, Master, it smelled. And it tasted horrible."

"But did you enjoy it?"

"Yes, Master, I thought of you and hoped it would please you."

"It does. You can sit beside me again." I rose to my feet, wiping off the small stones which had embedded themselves in my knees and feet. "And show me," he continued, "the marks where you came." I leaned across and traced the outline of my dried juices on the crotch of my panties. My Master nodded contentedly. "Did you come after or before Rollo."

"After, Master." I explained what had happened, how I fixed Rollo in my gaze and forced myself to come with him watching me, and my Master clapped his hands appreciatively.

"You've done very well," he praised condescendingly. He gripped the panties and reached across me, raising them in front of my face. Suddenly he slipped them over my head and pulled them downwards. Grabbing my jaw, he forced my mouth open and fed the gusset of the panties into it. He clamped my jaw shut and I felt the fabric invading my mouth. Pulling at the panties, he slid them down so that the material which should have covered my bum was fixed across my eyes. And suddenly I could see nothing.

"Now, he said," it's my turn to watch you come."