"Very pretty," said Mark. "Gorgeous body, a delight to observe. The finishing touch to a quality meal."

"Yes indeed," concurred Andrea. "Not entirely competent, though, is she? Spilling the wine, for example. And pretty slow at the service, too, I thought. Needs some training, I would suggest."

There was a hush in the room. "I'm very sorry you're dissatisfied, Andrea," said my Master finally, in an ominous voice. "I take these things seriously, and am distressed to think my slave has proved unsatisfactory to you in any way."

"Nothing that can't be trained into her," said Andrea, staring at me contemptuously.

"Just so," my Master replied. "How would you propose that is done?"

"Well," she replied, "firstly I suggest she needs to be punished for her dismal performance tonight, to teach her a firm lesson. Then, more practice. Lots of it."

"Precisely. My feelings exactly." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My Master was accustomed to punishing me when I deserved it, but to contemplate doing it in front of these people, this was something entirely different.

"And since you suggested it, I think you should have the first crack."

Inadvertently, I let out a cry, causing them all to look round at me. I stared at Andrea, my erstwhile friend, as she nonchalantly gazed at me, eyes sweeping up and down my trembling body. She grinned and nodded.

"Excellent!" she cried. "Bring her to me." I stood rooted to the spot, unable to comprehend the depths to which I had fallen. John and Mark grabbed an arm each and pulled me, protesting, towards Andrea.

"How do you want her?" asked Mark.

"Over my knee, I think. She's nothing but a pesky, irritating girl, and needs to be treated like one." With that, she pulled her chair away from the table and sat astride it. Motioning to the men, she indicated that I should be laid across her. I tried to resist, but it was pointless. The shame of it, I was stretched, naked, across the lap of my former best friend, my little bum on show for all to see. And about to be spanked. I began to sob gently, trying not to let anyone see.

"Now then," began Andrea, "I think we'll start with twenty slaps on the bare arse, on alternate cheeks. You will count out the number after every stroke, wretch of a girl. Is that clear?"

"Yes," I said, mournfully.

"Yes what?" she snarled, grabbing my hair.

"Yes Mistress,"

"That's better." And with that she began my ultimate humiliation. With an almighty crack she landed her palm on my bare cheek. I let out a cry of surprise and pain and my hand instinctively felt towards my bum to rub it. I was prevented from doing so by Mark grabbing it and pushing it back in front of me.

"One, Mistress" I counted, through gritted teeth. It wasn't a very hard stroke, nowhere near as hard as those my Master would customarily inflict on me. It was the situation, having the punishment dispensed by another woman, in full view of my old friends, which was the worst part. At the same time, though, the depths of my humiliation was, in a way, shockingly exciting.

Another blow assaulted my exposed bum this time on the other cheek, and harder than before. I counted the stroke and braced myself for the next. And the next, and the next. Andrea was getting into her stride, each stroke progressively harder. My bum was aching now, a sharp, smarting pain which was spreading across my cheeks as the heat began to permeate my skin. By number eight the strikes were excruciatingly painful, like being momentarily scalded. After the initial impact there was a nanosecond of numbness, when I felt nothing, then the scalding sensation turned to a generalised throbbing agony, covering my entire bum.

Nine, ten. I let out a tiny scream and bit my lip. "Eleven, Mistress, twelve Mistress." The pain was all-consuming. Tremors of adrenalin-induced shock rippled through my body, spreading the rude pain to all parts of me. I was aware that, mixed with the hurt, I was feeling exhilerated, that as each stroke lashed against my defenceless behind, the immediate pain was intermingled with a thrill of anticipation of the next blow. I could feel the excitement manifest itself in my pussy; my clitoris was hard and sensitised, my pussy lips swelling up and moistening. Oh God, I didn't want Andrea to notice that. That would be too much, being made sexually aroused in front of my ex-friends by being spanked.

Still, she increased the severity of each successive blow. It was becoming unbearable, and I started to sob openly.

"There, there," said Andrea in a condescending tone, "I think our little slave girl is beginning to appreciate the error of her ways. Is that right, girl?"

"Yes, Mistress," I snivelled. Andrea administered stroke sixteen and, as I counted it for her, left her hand on my swollen, pink cheek, stroking it, feeling the shape of my bum cheek as it rounded towards my thigh. The tenderness of her touch, in contrast to the severity of her strokes, was delicious. She removed her hand and I waited for the next blow.

"Aaahh, seventeen, Mistress," I exclaimed, as the hardest blow yet rained down on me. After the velvet, the steel. But then, again, such a gentle, almost affectionate stroking. Her hand roamed over my right cheek, down my thigh and back up again, resting delectably against my crack before slipping over and caressing my left cheek. It was as though she were gently massaging the hurt away.

"You realise we do this for your own good, don't you Harriet," she murmured, her index finger easing itself between my throbbing cheeks and worming its way inwards. At that moment, the pain of my punishment tempered and interspersed with such tenderness, I did truly believe that. Before I could answer number eighteen landed, followed immediately by nineteen. And then, just as I believed my flaming arse could take no more, she began to stroke it again.

Her fingers were easing my cheeks apart, and I was aware that I was pushing myself upwards to help her. I was trembling with pain and quivering with excitement. My heart was pounding as I felt her finger circle my asshole, pressing firmly against it, her nail grazing my delicate flesh. Her finger probing me like that was extremely stimulating, and I could feel a deep rooted sexual anticipation welling up within me. Her finger slid downwards, towards my pussy. I knew I was soaking wet now, and there was nothing I could do about it. I would be found out.

As her finger reached my pussy it picked up the lubrication of my juices and slid easily upwards and inward, parting my swollen lips. I felt another finger slide against me, rubbing up and down my engorged, sensitised lips. I longed for her to reach further round and touch my clitoris, but instead she eased her hand free.

"Hmm," she said, a note of amusement in her voice, "I think our slave girl has been enjoying this too much." The men laughed as, presumably, she showed them her sticky fingers, damp with my juices. There was silence and then the final, shattering crack as number twenty was inflicted on my poor bum, sending fiery tentacles of pain shooting through my body. It was almost overwhelming, enveloping me in its aura, shutting down all my senses, leaving me to concentrate on my suffering, a poor, aching wretch with her bum on fire. And I knew I was as excited as I have ever been.

"That'll do for starters," said Andrea. "Now that the little trollop is like a mongrel in heat she can start seeing to us. Now, who's first?"