"Really?" he asked, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. "And what do you recommend?"

"Twenty more, Master." I knew that would be excruciating. I had rarely had as many as forty strokes before, and my Master was striking me very hard. Already, my bum was aching, aflame with generalised hurt, and each stroke was sending daggers of pain slicing through me. I wasn't at all sure I could cope with forty, but it would postpone the moment of reckoning with Siobhan and Kathy, so it was worth it. "Twenty more," I repeated.

"Very well, if you're sure," my Master replied. "Is that what you want, Harriet?"

"Yes, Master." He began again. This time the blows weren't quite so hard as, presumably, my Master was tiring. The accumulated pain from the previous twenty, however, meant that even the mildest slap send shuddering waves of agony through my rear. Tremulously, I counted the strokes. "Seven, thank you, Master, eight, thank you, Master."

My grip on the chair legs was getting tighter and tighter, until I felt sure I would make indentations in the wood. I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the moment from my consciousness, forcing back the tears which were flowing from me. I knew one thing: this was the most exquisite moment in my life: the conjunction of physical pain and mental torture was more acute than I had ever imagined possible. It was all I had ever dreamed of, in those distant days when I was experimenting with sexuality and looking for channels to satisfy my desires. Never could I have imagined a moment like this; never could I have anticipated the sensations running through me, the emotions gathering within me; never could I have predicted the sheer delight to be had from public humiliation. I cried and I laughed. odi et amo, I thought again. My favourite poem, I hate and I love. Those simple, haunting words came to me time and again in moments such as these, explaining the duality of pain and pleasure, subjugation and control, hate and love. odi et amo

I was almost delirious by the end. I was only barely aware of each stroke, and some form of mental automatic pilot assisted me in counting them aloud. "Nineteen, thank you, Master."

Crunch time again, the end of the punishment, the time to face the next phase of my humiliation, when I saw the faces of my friends. "Twenty, thank you, Master."

"And do you think you have learned your lesson now, Harriet?"

Had I? Was I ready to face them?

"Yes, Master, thank you Master."

"Very well, get up then."

Slowly, I stretched myself clear of the chair. My back ached from being bent over it for the last quarter of an hour, and I eased myself into an upright position, placing my hands on my hips and stretching my spine, pushing my chest forward and bum back. This was the moment. I turned and faced Siobhan and Kathy.

Their faces displayed such shock it was all I could do not to laugh; in any case it cheered me immediately and made my predicament easier to deal with.

"Now," said my Master, "I'm going back upstairs to finish my work. This time, I expect some proper peace and quiet." And with that, he was gone, leaving me alone with Siobhan and Kathy. I smiled, nervously.

"Cat got your tongue?" I asked. I couldn't think of anything else, frankly.

"I don't believe what I've just seen," Kathy said, shaking her head.

"Look, I told you, it's complicated. It's not what you think, you know." I launched into a long and rambling description of the dom/sub mentality, trying to give an explanation of how I had come to be in this situation. "A master-slave relationship," I concluded, "is a very complex one. It's very much a partnership, not at all a one-way thing. We both get a huge amount out of it..."

"You mean you enjoy that?" exclaimed Siobhan incredulously.

"Yes," I replied. "Yes, I enjoy it. It stimulates my mind, it adds an extra dimension to sex, it lifts life out of the banal, out of the ordinary. I enjoy it more than anything I've ever known. I'm constantly being tested, pushed to my limits. And every time I think I can't take any more, every time I think he has broken me, that I can't go on, somehow I manage to summon up the courage to take that one extra step. One extra step. One move closer to the edge. And that is why I love my Master so much. He is so clever. He knows just how far to push me, he knows me better than I know myself, he knows exactly what I can take. He is a genius. Wonderful."

I could see that Siobhan and Kathy were still having difficulty understanding, but I was sure that I had made one point at least: I was certain that they now understood this was not an abusive relationship, and the dominance was based on trust and respect. It was important to me that they did realise and accept this, and I was satisfied that I had made my point. Still, though, the complexity of the relationship, and its intensity, escaped them.

"You always were a bit kinky, right enough," said Siobhan finally, and we all laughed. It broke the ice, gave us a new launch point from which to re-establish ourselves.

"Too right, sister. You were always too tame for me," I grinned.

"So let me try and get this right," said Kathy. She was always the serious one, the thinker, the one who pondered on problems until she understood. "You like to be constantly tested to see how far someone can humiliate you?"

"Yep, got it. Someone I trust, though. Not just anyone."

"You want to keep pushing the barriers of the acceptable?"

"Yep."

"And that gives you a buzz? Constantly forcing yourself to do more and more outlandish things."

"Not half," I agreed cheerfully.

"So if I was to ask you to do something, I don't know, something outrageous, it'd turn you on, being forced to do it?"

I paused. Would I want that? Would it turn me on? Being humiliated by my oldest friends? Hmmm.

"Because I trust you, yes," I said. There was silence. A protracted silence.

"So if I asked you, let's say, to lick my feet, that'd turn you on?"

"Well, it'd be a start," I laughed.

"Okay," said Kathy, "Would you lick my feet?"

"No."

"Oh," Kathy replied, somewhat confused. "You said..."

"You asked. Tell me..." Finally, Kathy twigged.

"Harriet, lick my feet."