"He is my slave. He does whatever I ask of him. I control him, I own him, he's mine." Pamela still showed no sign of understanding. I continued. "He is my little plaything. I use him in any way I see fit. I punish him if he needs it. He looks after my every need. Every need, if you see what I mean."

Finally, I think she began to.

"God."

"Just so. Would you like me to demonstrate?" She nodded. Mr Loverman cringed. Pamela turned to him, her eyes appraising him, her mind accustoming itself to a new, shocking interpretation of a man she thought she knew. "Okay, Mr Loverman, what is the normal position for my slave when we are together in this house?"

He paused for only the merest fraction of a second, which delighted me. Well done, Mr Loverman, I thought, well done. Rising from the settee, he walked towards me and knelt at my feet, bowing his head. "My place is at your feet, Miss," he said. Pamela gasped in shock as she saw Graham, one of her manager's at work and someone she both respected and fancied, willingly subjugate himself in front of me.

"Yes it is, Mr Loverman. And how should you appear when we are together?"

"Naked, Miss."

"So why aren't you?"

A solitary tear ran down his cheek as he understood his life had irreversibly changed. Under the astonished gaze of Pamela he stood and silently undressed, every movement of his hands confirming his new role in life. It was public, there was no going back. I think that was the moment when Mr Loverman truly understood the nature of his predicament, realised that he would never be freed. Pamela's eyes were wide as he stripped off his shirt, revealing his newly toned body, then bent to peel off his trousers. Finally, he stood - naked.

"Turn round," I told him. "Let Pamela see." He stared at me sadly, his eyes no longer pleading, finally accepting his fate. He turned and Pamela shrieked.

"What the hell is that?"

"That's his cock cage," I explained. "He's been wearing it for weeks now. Mr Loverman, step forward, let Pamela see." He moved towards her, his encased cock just inches from her shocked face. "It's locked. Only I have the key. He can't get an erection, he can't come while it is on. But all the time it is stimulating him, making him try to get an erection. It's excruciating, isn't it Mr Loverman?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Christ." She looked up at him. "And you let her do this to you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because she owns me. I worship her. I do anything she asks."

A warm burst of pride flooded through my body as I listened to my little slave's words of subjugation.

"Mr Loverman, fill Pamela's glass, then bring us supper. It's time to eat." It was a somewhat awkward moment: after all, what could Pamela say, confronted by such a situation? It was best to move on, using the meal in an attempt to ease her confusion and, I suppose, embarrassment. Mr Loverman did my bidding, disappearing into the kitchen. "You'll want your apron," I shouted at his retreating form. "Don't want any nasty scaldings or accidents, do we?"

We settled down at the table and shortly Mr Loverman appeared with our soup. He was dressed in his frilly pink apron, so short it barely covered his cock cage. Pamela giggled and I smiled contentedly - that was a good sign. I topped up her glass again: a tipsy Pamela could be fun. There were three places set on the table, and once Mr Loverman had served Pamela and me he stood patiently, awaiting instructions, a hopeful expression on his face. I shook my head.

"Bowl, Mr Loverman, bring it in." He trotted back to the kitchen and returned with his dog bowl filled with soup. Laying it on the carpet beside the table, he got to his knees and bent forward, his face approaching the bowl, and began to lap at the soup. I could tell he was trying to blank us from his mind, convince himself that we weren't there in an attempt to limit his humiliation. That wouldn't do at all, I thought. "Soup nice, Mr Loverman?"

He stopped, then slowly raised his head and looked, first at me, and then at Pamela. "Yes, Miss, delightful, thank you." I nodded and he lowered his head once more into the bowl. I could clearly see another tear sliding down his cheek. Those of you who have tried will know it is extremely difficult to drink from a bowl: our tongues aren't long enough, really, and it is hard to get a decent mouthful without reverting to sucking the liquid in. That, naturally, is a noisy operation, which adds greatly to the humiliation of the drinker, attracting attention to him and his pathetic predicament. Mr Loverman had no option, though, and he slurped noisily at his soup, trying to maintain his balance and prevent himself from tipping into the bowl. Again, this is extremely difficult: it is inevitable that at some stage the wretched drinker will tip too far forward and dip his nose into the liquid. Mr Loverman did it twice, and knew better than to wipe it off. As he collected our emptied plates at the end of the first course his nose was dappled with the remains of his soup.

Supper proved to be a delightful affair. As the evening progressed Pamela, her glass constantly being refilled, became more and more tiddly, and correspondingly more and more relaxed. By the end of the main course she was openly flirting with Mr Loverman, her shyness overcome. I gave her a potted history of our affair, dwelling on the more humiliating events and enjoying Mr Loverman's discomfort. By the end of the meal she was in no doubt as to the extent of our relationship, or the depths of Mr Loverman's submission to me. The first objective had been met: Pamela had been introduced to the relationship and hadn't fled screaming in terror.

Phase two was about to begin: Pamela needed to be drawn into the game.

We settled down as Mr Loverman tidied and washed the dishes, making polite conversation until the star of the party returned. I dragged his dog basket from the bedroom, and when he finally returned from the kitchen I motioned to him to take his place. Wordlessly, he fitted himself into his basket, resting on his back, his caged dick resting on his stomach on full display. Pamela watched, her eyes taking in his body.

"He's quite fit, isn't he?" she said.

"He is now. I've been working on him."

"I bet!" She laughed, a deliciously wicked laugh, and I knew things were going to work out.

"Shall I show you some of his tricks?"

"Oh yeah, definitely."

"Great. Mr Loverman, fetch your toys, there's a good thing."