I went downstairs, shoes in hand because I didn't trust myself to negotiate steps while wearing them, and sought out my Master. He was popping the casserole into the oven and didn't hear me coming in. Turning, he caught sight of me.

"Shoes on," he said. "And do something about that face, for God's sake. You look like a rag doll that's been left in the rain."

"But..." I began, but my Master stopped me.

"No, Harriet! There are no buts. I won't tolerate this. Either you accept what has happened or you don't. There is no debate about this. Just do as you're told, when you're told, without complaint." I hung my head as the full impact of my shameful situation became clear. There was no point in continuing, so I excused myself and went to the bathroom to repair my makeup.

I stared at myself in the mirror. My eyes were puffy and red, and would take some disguising. "Oh well, girl," I thought, "get on with it." A ring from downstairs announced the arrival of our first guest. I froze, staring at my reflection in horror. What could I do?

"Harriet, get the door!" my Master shouted. I stood transfixed before the mirror. With a colossal effort I dragged myself away and teetered on my heels downstairs. My Master was waiting angrily. "Where have you been?" he demanded. As if to confirm my tardiness, the doorbell rang again at that very moment. "Well?" he said, and turned to the kitchen again.

I stood at the door, counted to ten, held my breath and turned the latch. The door swung open and John and Andrea stood before me, grinning. As they saw my outfit their grins evaporated and they stared at me open mouthed. I stretched my hand out and took the wine bottle which John was holding, ushering them in as I did.

"Welcome," declared my Master. "Do come in. I'll explain later. Come through and have a drink. Dinner will be another half hour at least. Harriet, serve my guests with some drinks."

"What the hell are you wearing that for?" laughed Andrea, as I poured her a glass of Chardonnay. Before I could respond, the doorbell rang again, and I fled to answer it. Again, I paused to pluck up the courage to turn the knob. Mark and I had always flirted, platonically but with obvious mutual attraction. This was going to be difficult, thoroughly humiliating. I opened the door and smiled at Mark as a look of utter bafflement crossed his face.

"Is it fancy dress?" he asked, clapping his hands.

"Hi Mark, come in," said my Master from over my shoulder. "John and Andrea are already here, so I can explain what's happening. Harriet, get my guest a drink please, and see if John and Andrea need a top up." Mark settled himself into the chair next to the drinks cupboard and I self consciously poured a glass of wine for him, aware that as I bent over the table my skirt was riding up and exposing my upper thighs and panties. With a shaking hand, I passed the wine to Mark, spilling a drop of it on his trousers. Glancing at my Master I saw, with a heavy heart, that he had spotted this.

"You're no doubt curious as to Harriet's attire," my Master said, while my friends laughed nervously. "Harriet is my slave. She has been for a long time. How long, Harriet?"

"Nine years, three months, two weeks and one day, Master," I intoned instantly, since my Master always expected me to be able to tell, to the day, how long since he first tamed me. My friends looked at me, stunned.

"Precisely. Until now, we have kept this between ourselves and appeared normal in public. However, I have decided that we can't conceal it any longer. I can't stand any more of this duplicity. Harriet is my slave. She has no life of her own, she does what I order her, and thanks me for it. She is punished when she makes mistakes, and thanks me for that too. Don't you, Harriet?"

I looked at Andrea, my closest confidante for ten years, with whom I had shared many raucous evenings dissecting the failings of men. I looked at John, who had always professed his admiration for my negotiating skills at work. I looked at Mark, with whom I had flirted for longer than I care to remember. I was shamed and humiliated before my closest friends. I hung my head. "Yes, Master, I do. Thank you, Master."

"Obviously, this is a great surprise to you all," continued my Master. "And it changes the nature of our friendship, the structure of our group. I will quite understand if any of you feel you can't continue our relationship. You may feel this is unnatural, or wrong. You may disapprove of my taking a slave. I will, as I say, understand, and respect your views. However, it won't change what has happened. Harriet is still my slave. If you cannot accept that then you may leave now, with no hard feelings. If you stay, you must accept the new status quo."

I looked up quickly, as a glimmer of hope appeared before me. What if my friends were to condemn this, refuse to have anything to do with it, convince my Master that it was wrong for him to do this to me? Surely they would support me. They couldn't condemn their long-time friend to this. I looked at each of them, and they looked at each other. There was silence for more than a minute.

"Well," said John, at last, "it's a pretty bizarre situation, I have to say, but you're both adults, and if that is what you have both decided," he stressed the word both, staring at me, " then that's okay with me." My heart sank, and I looked to Mark.

"Yep," he concurred. "If you two are happy with this, I can live with it. Harriet, are you doing this of your own free will?"

I hung my head again. How could I answer no? It was entirely of my own free will. My Master gave me the chance to leave and I didn't take it. I wasn't forced into this outfit. My Master did not beat me into opening the door to my friends dressed like a common tart. It didn't mean I liked it, but it was of my own free will.

"Yes," I said, softly. "This is what my future is."

"Splendid! Right then slave!" said Andrea, slapping her thigh with amusement. "Fill my glass at once. And don't spill any this time!"