My Master got up and ostentatiously crossed the room to the sideboard. In panic, I realised what he was doing: in the bottom cupboard of the sideboard he kept his paddle. Instantly, I undid a couple of buttons on my blouse, and it hung open. I looked down at myself: as long as I sat back, nothing was visible. My Master saw that I had obeyed him, smiled and returned to his seat.

"Have a drink, Harriet," he said. All three of us knew that the movement of bending forward to pick it up would expose my breast. Slowly, staring defiantly at Clive, I bent forward and clutched the glass. My breasts were now on show. I stayed there for a moment, frozen in this obscene pose while the brat took his fill of the free view, and then sat back again, much to his evident disappointment. Not for long.

"Why don't you take it off, Harriet? Clive tells me he's never seen a real woman's breasts."

Mechanically, my hands moved to my blouse and undid the remaining buttons. Pulling it from my skirt, I slid it off my shoulders and freed it from my wrists, finally pulling it clear from me. I sat, topless, before them.

"They're lovely," said Clive. "But really small. I thought women had big tits."

My Master laughed. "Not all of them, Clive. Some have big, some have small. Harriet's are very small." It was utterly humiliating, having my Master discuss my lack of chest with a spotty kid barely past puberty. My face reddened.

"Can I get closer," the boy asked.

"Yes, go and sit next to Harriet on the settee." Clive crossed the room and sat down beside me. I felt his eyes boring into me, ogling my breasts, taking in every millimetre of them.

"Her nipples are hard," he said. Damn him, they were.

"They do that when a woman is aroused or excited," my Master explained. "Again, not all nipples are the same. Harriet has very long nipples." There they were again, discussing my anatomy as though I wasn't there.

"They're gorgeous," said Clive. He was almost salivating. "Do you think..." he paused.

"What?"

"Do you think I could see her... you know, down there..."

"Of course," my Master replied. "Harriet, could you remove your skirt please." I looked pleadingly at him, but he was resolute. His eyes glanced towards the sideboard, and instantly I took the meaning of the gesture. Biting my lip, I stood and unzipped the miniscule skirt. What the hell, I thought, he's seen everything already. I slid it down my legs and stepped out of it, and stood in front of the boy, completely naked, but for my high heels and Charles Rennie Mackintosh earrings.

"Wow," he exclaimed. "That's so beautiful." My Master smiled.

"Yes, she is."

I sat down again, and Clive continued to stare at me, his eyes fixed on my trimmed bush. He could clearly see my slit now, my lips on full display.

"Is it okay if I get on the floor?" he asked. "To get a better look. I'd like to see it face on."

"Yes okay," my Master said. Eagerly, the boy leapt on to the floor at my feet. "Harriet, open your legs please." I did as ordered and Clive slipped between them. He rested his arms on my knees and pressed himself close to me. From his new vantage point he began staring more intently, and I watched his eyes as they zoomed around, taking in this fresh, new sight. I could feel his breath, short and fast, on my upper thighs. It was a curious experience, being examined in almost forensic detail like this by a schoolboy; it was unsettling but vaguely erotic. I didn't like what was happening to me at all, but I couldn't deny it was sending a frisson of sexual excitement through me.

"Harriet, part your lips, please. Let Clive see properly." Without demur, I did as bidden, and placed my hand on my quim. With my first two fingers, I spread my pussy lips apart, revealing the pink, fleshy expanse within.

"Christ," said Clive, awed. I thought he was going to explode with excitement. "Unbelievable. Fantastic." I was now displaying my most intimate parts to the boy, reclining on a seat and flagrantly exposing myself to him. It was shocking. But exciting.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" my Master said. "The most beautiful sight in the world, and a privilege for any man to look on." This was fundamental to my Master's belief, and it was why I adored him. His dominance over me was predicated on his love of women, and not as a result of some nihilistic, misogynistic canker. A dominant/submissive relationship based on anything else is tawdry and unworthy, and anyone who can't understand the difference is wretched. My Master smiled at me encouragingly.

He began to explain to the boy the various parts of my anatomy. He pointed to my outer lips; he had me part my inner labia again; and he showed him where my urethra was.

"That's her pee hole? Cool."

And then he showed him my clitoris. "This is the most important part, Clive. Familiarise yourself with it, know where it is, know how to please it, what to do with it, and what not to do with it. It's incredibly sensitive, like the tip of your cock, only much, much more. Harriet, show him."

I slipped my fingers either side of my hood and pulled it back, revealing my shiny, hard button. Despite myself, I was getting turned on by this experience. Clive was up close now, his spotty, acne ridden face inches away from me, his breath whispering against my exposed lips. They began to puff up, and I could feel myself begin to get damp. Pray God, he didn't notice.

But of course he did. How couldn't he, given that he had been staring at me intently for the last five minutes. Any miniscule change would be immediately evident.

"It's changing," he said quietly. "It's like a flower coming into bloom. And it's getting wet..."

"That's because Harriet is getting aroused," my Master said. "It's like when you get a hard-on."

" Get a hard-on?" he exclaimed. "I've had one for the last half hour!" My Master laughed.