Sue and Norman were the most insistent in the days that followed. After having been treated to a view of me with no skirt or knickers on, they were determined to investigate further. I disliked them intensely, thinking them middle class snobs, both solicitors who looked down on everyone with a self-centred and smug disdain borne out of their own overwhelming sense of superiority. Fortunately, my Master appeared to share my dislike, and did little to encourage them. I was hopeful, then, of being spared the humiliation of exposure in front of them.

I was therefore not thrilled when Sue invited me over for coffee one morning, and my Master insisted that I should accept.

"Master, what if she asks me direct questions?"

"About what?"

"About our 3; about our relationship, Master."

"Then you should tell her. Anything otherwise woul be discourteous to me, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, Master, I'm sorry, Master."

I didn't like the sound of this. The woman was a solicitor after all, coached in asking questions, trained to elicit facts, however embarrassing they may be.

"But Master," I continued. He said nothing. "If she asks me to do anything. To show her what I mean, what should I do?"

"You simply tell her that you obey only me."

"Thank you, Master." I felt much happier.

"And if she asks you to do anything," he continued, watching me intently, "my instruction is that only I may touch you, and you may touch only me, unless I say otherwise."

I took a sharp intake of breath. I didn't like the sound of that at all. It sounded very vague. A lot of things could happen which did not depend on touching: my Master's statement was open-ended in a way which a solicitor, of all people, could easily take advantage. I tried to point this out.

"But, Master," I started.

"I hope you're not about to contradict me, Harriet. You don't want to go to Sue's with a red bottom do you?"

I saw there was no point.

An hour later I was perched uncomfortably on a bar stool in Sue's kitchen. My Master had ordered me to wear a very short, black miniskirt and I felt exposed in this lofty position. I knew Sue could see clearly up the skirt: how far, I wondered; could she see my panties? But then again, I consoled myself, she's seen it all before.

We made idle chitchat for a while, sipping coffee and pretending to enjoy one another's company. This was my first lengthy discussion with her, and it confirmed my preconceptions. She was a hideous snob, unpleasantly self absorbed and contemptuous of other people.

Finally, she got round to the discussion which I knew had brought me here.

"So, Harriet," she said, "the other week, when we were at that ghastly barbecue at John and Delia's, what was all that about? That noise from your garden?"

I said nothing, head bowed, gripping my coffee mug.

"It sounded," she paused, searching for the appropriate word, "interesting."

"Well," I replied finally, "as you could probably tell, I was being spanked. I spilled some wine."

"Hmm," she replied, amusement and hauteur dripping from her voice, "and does that happen often?"

"No, not often. I'm usually well behaved, and don't require much correction."

"Correction?"

"Yes, correction."

"A curious term. Curious way for a wife to describe her husband's treatment of her."

I didn't want to pursue this, didn't want to have to go into the inevitable explanations, but my Master had given me my instructions: if asked, I was to be completely frank. To do otherwise was discourteous to him.

"He is more than my husband," I explained, "he is my Master."

"Your Master?" she repeated in an incredulous voice. "What do you mean, 'your Master'?"

"What I say. He is my Master, and I am his slave. I am his, I am devoted to him, I obey his every command, without hesitation."

"Christ!" she retorted. "That's freaky. Really freaky."

I made no reply. Frankly, I didn't care what this woman thought. She was contemptible, with her petit-bourgeouis aspirations and narrow-minded thinking.

"So you're what, a, a submissive?" She said the word as though she could scarcely believe it could exist.

"Yes, I suppose so. I am subservient to my Master, yes."

"So are you subservient to other people?" she asked. This was getting dangerous.

"I obey only him."

"Pity," she said, looking at me calculatedly. She was unashamedly staring at my miniskirt, taking in my legs, and the dark vee near the top of my thighs where the skirt struggled to hide me. "So if I were to ask you to do something for me, your Master wouldn't allow it?"

This was tricky. That wasn't necessarily the case, of course, but I didn't want to admit it. "I obey only my Master," I repeated.

She seemed to sense that there was something else, and pursued the point.

"Something simple, say. Would he object to that? Are you forbidden to do anything?"

I was in a quandary. I could sense the conversation slipping away from me, in Sue's direction. I could think of no reasonable answer to her question.

"Well?" she said, a frisson of anticipation entering her voice, as she sensed my uncertainty.

"I am forbidden," I said, "to touch anyone else, or have anyone touch me."

"Wow," Sue said, jumping off her seat with excitement. "That leaves plenty leeway."

I knew at that moment that I had made a huge blunder, had embroiled myself in what would be the most humiliating experience I had ever experienced. Sue was a hard woman, a powerful, domineering, uncaring woman, who would take ruthless advantage of the information I had just given her.

"Well then, in that case," she said, resuming her position on her seat and lighting a cigarette, "why don't you take that hideous blouse off."