"It's what Harriet wants that counts. You're hers now."

Hers now.

What the hell did that mean? I was shaking, my pulse cold and rigid in my throat, as I contemplated the words. My Master and Nadia, with the aid of Ian, had set up Sue, forced her into a compromising position the like of which she would be unable to talk herself out of with her husband, and were seemingly intent on using this to force her into a position of submission.

Submission, that is, to me. To Harriet the Slave Girl. A slave girl's slave, the lowest of the low.

I couldn't deny the woman deserved it. She had abused and tormented me, used me unfeelingly, treated me with contempt. Giving her a taste of her own medicine was undoubtedly attractive. And yet, in the seconds in which this all took place, nagging doubts swirled in my mind. Did I want to do it? However appealing it was to gain revenge on Sue, did I really want to have anything more to do with her? My fear, I suppose, was that she was such a dominant personality that I would be unable to subdue her and make her submit to me. It was playing with fire, I reckoned, and I was uncomfortable. I think, at that point, I might have backed out had it not been for Sue. The woman just couldn't help herself, couldn't prevent her nasty nature from rising, even in this circumstance.

"Hers? You must be fucking joking. Nobody owns me, least of all that drippy little tart."

"You shut the fuck up until you're spoken to. Not another word."

Amazingly, the words were spoken, not by my Master or Nadia, but by me. For the first time in I couldn't say how long, I had asserted myself, I had shown a flash of temper and with it an element of defiance. And it was only then that I realised how submissive I had become and how much of my own temperament and character I had suppressed as my slave girl persona came to the fore.

And as that realisation sunk in, another, deeper understanding embedded itself, and my Master's behaviour of the previous few weeks started to make complete sense. He had been testing me, probing further every time, seeking to provoke me by subverting our original relationship and turning it into a less consensual, more aggressive affair: what he had been trying to do was make me rebel, he had been trying to reawaken the dormant elements of my true character, revive my spirit, restore my fight.

He had wanted me to say no.

My Master was telling me I had become too compliant, unthinkingly accepting of any situation, no matter how wretched it made me. And he was telling me that a slave girl, in order to serve her Master effectively, has to react against indignity, has to show rebellion, has to fight back.

So I fought.

"Not another word," I hissed, pushing my face close to Sue's. She drew back in surprise and the movement pushed her against the edge of the bed, causing her to fall backwards onto the mattress. It was an unintended effect, but no less effective for that, and I smiled in triumph.

"I don't know what happens next," I said airily. "I need to give it some thought." I headed for Sue's large, mirror-clad walk-in wardrobes.

"I think some punishment is called for," said my Master, seeking to help me. Clearly, he thought I wasn't yet able to make up my own mind.

"No, I don't think so," I snapped back. Behind the look of surprise on his face I though I detected an element of approval. "I'll decide what and when that should be." In truth, I felt that there was no possibility of forcing Sue to submit to anything like that at this stage, no matter how compromising our evidence against her was. The notion was simply alien to her, and she would be quite unable to comply with any order or allow herself to be punished in the way she had done to me. Far better, I thought, to leave her to stew for a while, let the seriousness of her predicament impress itself on her. I knew a slow game was going to be required if Sue was going to be drawn into the trap.

"I want to go home now," I said. "Norman will be back soon and I don't want to be here when he arrives." I opened the wardrobe doors and flicked through Sue's clothing, picking out a suitably expensive blouse and skirt in matching light blue and laying them on the bed. Sue, still stretched on it, eyed me incredulously. I opened her chest of drawers and drew out a pair of silk French knickers, beautiful, slinky blue and ravishing in look and feel. Sliding off the dressing gown, I raised my leg and began to put them on.

"What the hell are you doing?" exclaimed Sue.

"What's it look like? I've got to wear something to go home in, and my own clothes are lying on your doorstep, remember?" How long ago that seemed, when Sue had forced me to strip before allowing me to enter her house. "Ian," I said, turning to him, "go and fetch them for me, please." I would have preferred to send Sue, of course, but I was still uncertain of myself, unsure whether I could force her to submit or what I should do if she refused. Plenty of time, I thought, just play it right.

The outfit didn't fit very well, truth to tell, Sue being taller than me, but in a way that made the effect even better. I was taking something of Sue's, something of value to her but useless to me, simply because I could. This was her first lesson, and I felt it was a telling one, far more subtle but ultimately more significant than a physical punishment would have been.

What it said was "I can mess with your life, I can do as I please, and you can't do anything to stop me."