Our next target proved far more formidable: Philip, the HR Manager, a squat, ugly little man with an expanding nose and a neck the width of a model's waist. His head was too big for his body, a fact emphasised by the thickness and length of his hair, and the shortness of his legs and size of his belly made his features seem completely out of proportion. Fiercely loyal to the company, he was known to be obsessive about work and unable to discuss anything else. Not much fun, you may gather.

His entrapment, unfortunately, was entrusted to me.

We were driving together to a meeting in Nottingham. Mr Loverman had bathed me that morning and stroked me to orgasm as I lay in the bath, so I was feeling mellow.

"D'you fancy a drink some time," I asked Philip.

"We'll be pretty tied up all day, with this meeting and then the site meeting at Gildens."

"No, I meant after work."

There was a silence, one which lasted slightly too long for comfort. "And why would you want to do that, exactly?" His voice was coldly interrogative.

"Dunno, just thought it'd be fun."

"Look, even I know I'm not fun. Nobody's ever accused me of being fun."

Oh God. The only thing worse than a bore is a self-aware bore. They wear their turgidity like a badge of merit, uttering banalities like 'I'm happy with myself, I don't need to be judged by anyone else.'

"You're too harsh on yourself," I said.

"No, I'm not. I know myself perfectly well. I'm obsessed by work and I have no social graces. I know that, you know that. I'm happy with it, and I don't care what anyone thinks. I don't need to be judged by others to prove myself."

See what I mean?

"So," he continued, "the question remains: why would you want to ask me out?"

There was silence while I tried to think of something plausible. It wasn't easy, and the silence was correspondingly lengthy.

"I like men with thick necks," I said finally, my heart sinking at the lameness of the remark.

Philip snorted and treated it with the contempt it deserved, pointedly ignoring it. "Okay let's see. Is it my sparkling wit and repartee? No. Is it my lithe, sexy body? No. Is it my dazzling intellect? Rippling muscles? Millions in the bank? No, no no."

"Does there need to be a reason?"

"Yes."

Well, that was true enough. Now, I just had to find one.

"There's some funny things going on in our office," he said darkly. "I'm no mug, and I see what's going on. I know you've been shagging Graham for months. There's something creepy about that, I don't know what it is. He's totally changed. He used to be lively and outgoing, now he barely speaks. And you're up to something with Fat Fred Thirlwell, too. In and out of his office all the time. And he's changed as well. Like he's going to cry half the time. Then there's the harpies."

He paused, waiting for me to enquire. I obliged. "The harpies?"

"Hmm, yeah. Those women, that little harem of yours. Wherever you go, they go. They've run amok through the sales team." I must have shown some surprise. "Yes, I know about them, too. I told you, I see things, I watch what's going on." He turned to me and stared into my eyes at length, a mildly alarming occurrence since we were on the A52 at the time. "And now you're asking me out, the most boring person in the company. So tell me, what the fuck are you up to?"

Now, the best way to lie is to tell the truth. To a point, anyway. Fabricating stories only leaves you with too much to remember, too many details to trip over at a later date. Keep it simple, ground it in truth. It always works. I hoped.

"Okay, Philip, bang to rights," I said, adopting a conspiratorial tone. "Don't know anything about my 'harem', as you call it, they're just friends, but you're right, I have been busy in the office." I paused, but he drove on without eliciting any emotion. "I'm ambitious," I explained. As explanations go, it didn't appear to be throwing much enlightenment on Philip. "I want to get on in the company. In five years time, I want to be MD." Far sooner than five years, in truth, but it didn't pay to sound too pushy. "It's useful to have supporters in strategic places."

"So you're fucking your way through the company in order to get control of it."

Time for a bit of flattery. "Nothing so crude. Only the important people."

"Graham? Important?"

Hmm, he had me there. "Graham, no. He's just a bit of fun."

"Never struck me as being much fun. Not your type either, I'd have said."

Philip was a smart guy. I was tense, aware that I was under close scrutiny and my entire plan could unravel if I wasn't careful. I decided on a high-risk strategy to continue with the truth much further than I would ordinarily do.

"Well," I said, measuring my words carefully, "Graham's a bit different. We 3; er 3; we 3; play games, shall we say."

"Games?"

"Hmm. Graham's a bit 3; kinky." I felt relief that I had finally managed to blurt out the truth. The rest was easy. "Kinky, yes. He's a bit of a naughty boy, is our Graham. He likes discipline, you see." Philip's eyes remained commendably focused on the road, but I knew he was interested. "Likes to be spanked and told how bad he's been and all that. It sounds very embarrassing when you talk to someone else about it, but it's fun."

It was, indeed, embarrassing. Philip probed for details, in particular addressing my role in proceedings, and I cringed as I recounted tales of spankings and punishments and described my leather outfits and the tasks I would make him undertake. It was excruciating, but it served my purpose of deflecting conversation from the real business of my office ambitions.

I was aware, though, that with the turn of conversation an erotic tension had filled the car. I'm alive to such emotions - they're my stock in trade - and I knew that the conversation between us had gone beyond a simple discussion and taken a darker turn. It was clear to me that Philip was both intrigued and turned on by what we were discussing. The way he probed, asking specific questions, framing precise observations, was more than the stuff of casual conversation.

It was then that I did the riskiest thing I have ever done. If I got this wrong I was sunk, but I took a gamble. It was evident that Philip was genuinely interested in the scene I was explaining. It also seemed likely to me, given the informed nature of his conversation, that he had some experience.

And I very much doubted he was submissive.

"So," I said jovially, "it's all very naughty isn't it? Taking advantage of poor Graham like that, making him do all those terrible things. I should be ashamed, shouldn't I?" The atmosphere in the car was stifling. My heart was pumping and a sheen of cold fear pressed to my forehead. The hiss of nervousness filled my ears. I felt as though I were an observer, listening to my own words. I held my breath for a moment then uttered the fateful words.

"Do you think I ought to be punished for it?"