"I can see," my Master said, coldly observing the three of us, "that Harriet has not been very revealing about her current situation. Have you Harriet?"

I shook my head, staring morosely at the carpet. This would not end well. My Master always took this sort of thing personally, as though by neglecting to discuss his role and dominance I was deliberately snubbing him.

"Perhaps you'd like to explain, then."

No I wouldn't. I wouldn't like to at all. This was the most difficult position in which I had ever been placed. These were my old friends, among my oldest, who had no conception of what I was about to reveal to them, whose memories of me, and perceptions of me, were of a feisty, carefree, devil-may-care young woman. I was now about to explain my new lifestyle to them, and it was going to be very difficult.

"Harriet!" he said, warningly. I had no option. I began.

"Siobhan, Kathy, this is my Master. I do whatever he commands, without delay, without complaint and without deviance from the instruction. I am his, and he controls everything I do. I worship my Master, and it is my role to obey him and to ensure that his needs are met."

I couldn't make eye contact with them as I said this, and remained staring resolutely at the carpet. My Master noticed, as he always does.

"Are you ashamed of this, Harriet?"

"No, Master," I replied. That 'Master' was difficult, the first time I had addressed him thus in their presence. Gradually, I felt the comfortable weight of the shared history of the Three Nearly-Degrees slip away, prised from us by this new revelation; things would never be the same again; never again would we reminisce in the blithe manner we had until a few moments before.

"And have you been forced to do this against your will?"

"No Master." Indeed I had not.

"So perhaps you might like to look at us as you speak. You have nothing to hide, and nothing to be ashamed of, so raise your eyes."

I did so, catching the pained look of Siobhan, and then the disbelieving gaze of Kathy. I smiled palely.

"You chose not to tell your friends then?" he asked again. Again I shook my head. "I consider that to be discourteous, both to me and to them." Oh no, I knew where this was leading. "Don't you agree, Harriet?"

"Yes Master, I'm very sorry." It would do no good, I knew.

"That's not good enough, Harriet. I'm sorry, but this calls for special measures." Siobhan and Kathy were rooted to their chairs, simply incomprehending. Neither had spoken throughout this episode, and both flitted their gaze automatically from my Master to me as we each spoke, like tennis fans watching the ball fizzing over the net from end to end. "You know what that means, then, don't you Harriet?"

Yes I did. I looked at him imploringly. And vainly. I nodded.

"Okay, trousers down."

"What?" screeched Kathy, rising from her seat. Undeterred, though, I unzipped my trousers, slid them down my thighs and stepped out of them. I stood before my old friends, the Three Nearly-Degrees, in my panties, awaiting my punishment.

"Over the knee or the chair?" my Master asked. Normally, he wouldn't give me the option; this was specially designed to add to my humiliation, reinforcing as it did my complicity in the arrangements, forcing me to share in the deliberations on my punishment.

"Chair, Master,"

"Very well, assume the position."

Siobhan and Kathy were speechless, breathless even, unable to comprehend what they were watching. I passed them and pulled the chair from the dining table, placing it in the middle of the room. I bent over the back and gripped the front legs, and settled myself into position, knees locked, bum raised in the air. From her seat, Kathy had a square-on view of my bottom and legs, while Siobhan had a side-on prospect, and could see my head as I bent over the chair.

My Master approached and I felt him tug at my panties. No, please, I thought, not naked; but he continued, and my panties were dragged over my bum and left to drop at my feet. Kathy, seated directly opposite me, now had a complete view of my naked rear. I felt tears well up in my eyes as I contemplated my situation.

"How many?" my Master asked. Once again, he was forcing me to collude in the punishment being meted out; and once again, this was as humiliating as the punishment itself.

"Twenty, Master," I replied. Siobhan gasped, but said nothing.

And then my Master hit me, hard and true and painfully, on the right buttock.

"One, thank you Master," I intoned. He continued to spank me, alternating cheeks, raising bright, red marks on my bottom, and I counted the strokes. The pain was excrutiating: my Master was not holding back at all, and each blow was like a lightning bolt on my flesh. The physical pain, though, was nothing compared with the mental torment: each blow, each manifestation of my servility in front of my two old friends, was like a pick axe chipping away at my esteem, and the humiliation grew, stroke by stroke, moment by moment, to a peak the like of which I had not thought possible.

"Ten, thank you Master." My Master showed no sign of tiring, and if anything his strokes were getting harder. "Eleven, thank you Master." That one was agony, and I very nearly broke my grip from the chair. That would be fatal, of course, necessitating a repeat of the previous eleven strokes. From my position, I could not see either of my friends, and they uttered no noise throughout the proceedings. What will they be thinking, I wondered. How will they react? What will they say when this is over? I knew then, that that would be the most humiliating moment of all: the immediate aftermath, when the punishment was over and some attempt would have to be made to return to normality. What do you say when you have just witnessed one of your oldest friends being spanked?

"Fifteen, thank you Master, sixteen, thank you, Master." I was in such mental torment that the spankings were going by and I was scarecely aware of them: I was used to the physical pain, and enjoyed it, in a way, but the mental torture of this situation was almost overwhelming. "Nineteen, thank you, Master." I realised I didn't want it to end; I realised that I didn't want him to reach twenty, because that would mean confronting Siobhan and Kathy; I wanted my Master to continue. Why hadn't I said fifty?

"Twenty," said my Master. "Have you learned your lesson, Harriet?"

"No, Master. Not yet."