Besides, she seemed to come round towards the end. As my Master approached her from behind and began to acquaint himself with her rear passage, she didn't seem to show quite as much disdain as she had earlier. Could we have a new little slave girl on the square, I wondered idly as I dozed contentedly on my Master's firm body.

I was incredibly sore the next morning when I finally woke up. Every inch of me ached. My muscles felt like I had spent a day dragging a juggernaut up a mountain; my pussy was so sensitive that even the water lapping in my bath aggravated it; and my arse - well, the less said about that the better. It was aflame, aching, red and raw. I didn't sit down much.

My Master was generous with me for the next day or so, allowing me time to recover, giving my body the opportunity to return to normal. Pete popped over the next afternoon, and it appeared Barbara was in the same fragile condition. I resolved to go and speak to her later. You see, charity is so often one's undoing; but little did I know that, then.

I had forgotten two salient points. Firstly, Pete and Barbara had the weird son, spotty Clive, who had managed to manoeuvre himself into the position where he had followed me up the stairs when I had no panties on. I had never forgiven him for that humiliation. Secondly, it was the school holidays, and the brat would be at home. Realisation of these two facts dawned, with rising horror, the instant I rang the doorbell of Pete and Barbara's detached cottage a couple of doors down from ours. Oh God, I thought, don't let it be Clive. Don't let him be in. So you can guess who came to the door.

"Hi," I said, as brightly as I could muster.

"Oh, Harriet, hi," he replied, a sly grin forming on his evil little face. "Come to help me with my computer again?"

"No," I laughed heartily. "Not today, sonny. Is your mummy home?" Not a wonderful put-down, but it pleased me.

"Oh sure," he replied. "She's just through here. Come in." He held the door open for me, standing right beside it, ensuring I had little room to squeeze past. I rubbed against him as I slid past. Ugh! "She's in the living room, I think," he called as I swept along the hallway and headed for door at the far end.

She wasn't there.

I turned to go back out again, but Clive was in the doorway. "Oh, she doesn't appear to be here. She must have gone into the garden or something. Have a seat. She won't be long."

I just knew the brat was lying. He had that gloating look on his face, like someone who knows he is getting away with something daring. Well, I thought, I won't be beaten by a kid.

"Okay," I said breezily, and sat on the settee. I patted the seat next to me and gave him my best simpering look. "Come and sit beside me. Tell me about your holidays. Are you having lots of adventures?"

"Not yet," he replied noncholantly, "but I'm hoping to start one soon." My heart chilled. There was something about this boy.

"Oh really?" I asked, trying to conceal the trepidation I felt.

"Hmm, yeah. D'you remember that night when you showed me how to fix my computer problem?"

I was hardly likely to forget it. I did it half naked. "Yes," I replied testily.

"That was cool." I waited for more, but he said nothing. Eventually I continued.

"Good, glad you enjoyed it."

"Oh, I did," he smirked. What was he up to? If he was expecting another look now he had another think coming. Slave girl or no, I wasn't about to give myself up to some hormonal teenager when my body still felt like it had been churned through a grinder. Again, he went silent. This went on for a few minutes, and I was distinctly uncomfortable.

"I think your mother must have gone out," I said, at length.

"Probably. She often does."

"Well, I'll maybe come back later," I replied, getting up to go.

"Do you know I'm still a virgin?" he said. The abruptness of it startled me.

"Well, I'm not surprised. You're not very old. Only, what sixteen?"

"Seventeen. Seventeen last month. And still a virgin."

"Well," I said, unsure how to deal with this turn in the conversation, "I'm sure you'll find someone eventually. When the time is right you..."

"Oh, I think I have."

"Really?" I asked, a dead weight dragging my heart into the springs of the settee I was sitting on.

"Do you know," he said, launching once more on a different tack, "do you know you are the only woman I've ever seen naked?"

I was silent for a moment. "Well, again I'm not that surprised. As I said, you're still..."

"I really liked that. It was cool."

"Good. Clive, I have to explain, that was a special circumstance..."

"I want to do that again," he ploughed on, ignoring my plea.

"But it isn't possible, Clive. It was a bit of fun, that's all..."

"But I think it is possible, Harriet. I know what you are. I know that you're a slave girl."

There was no point in denying that, so I agreed. "Yes, I am, Clive," I said, "but, you don't understand..."

"Well, I think I do, actually," he replied. "I may be a kid, but I'm not stupid, you know." No, I feared he wasn't. "Now, if I was to ask you right now to strip for me, I don't think you would do it for me, would you?

I paused. "No."

"Thought not. I'm just a kid after all. Which is why I'm not going to do that." A wave of relief surged through me.

But not for long.

"No," he continued. "That wouldn't work. It would just alienate me in the eyes of your "Master". What I intend to do, Harriet, is more subtle than that. I am going to work on your Master. Persuade him that it is your civic duty to help me. Persuade him to let me have you."

I looked into his beady, penetrating eyes; I saw the look of sly triumph on his lips; I saw the swagger in his demeanour; heard the calm certainty in his delivery; realised the bland assumption of the veracity of his own summation: and I knew. What this kid said, he got. Oh God, Harriet, I thought. What have you done this time?