"You can get to fuck," he shouted, shucked himself free of Nadia's grip and fled for the door, bent double, grabbing at the trousers which were flailing around his knees. To the sound of laughter he careered out of the door into the street, still grimly trying to button his trousers, and ran for his car. Nadia broke the silence which descended in his wake.

"You seem to still have his belt," she said to my Master, who grinned and stroked it affectionately, looking meaningfully over at me.

"Hmm, indeed. And I think it'll come in useful."

"You'd better learn how to use it properly then, my dear," Nadia said. Clearly, she had noticed my Master's misjudgements of the length of the belt, and the concomitant double hits on my body.

"Yes, ma'am," my Master said.

Ma'am?

What did he mean, calling Nadia ma'am? I broke into a cold sweat. What the hell was going on here? I stared at the pair of them wide-eyed with incomprehension, as they exchanged knowing smirks. This was all too freaky for me, and I felt as though I were a plaything in a game I could not understand. I was accustomed to being used by my Master in any way he saw fit, but generally I could see a rationale, could understand what his end-game was. Here, I was baffled. My Master saw my confusion and smiled encouragingly.

"Nadia taught me everything I know, Harriet," he explained.

"What?"

"Nadia. She taught me everything I know. The greatest teacher you could possibly hope for. Patient, demanding, dedicated. I sat at her feet and learned. And lay across her knee on occasions, as I recall."

"You certainly did, on a number of occasions," Nadia concurred. I stared aghast. My Master? Punished? By Nadia? It was extraordinary. "But you were a splendid pupil. I knew you were never a submissive. I knew you were always going to be a Master. But I was impressed by the way you chose to learn your trade, by your application. I always knew that any slave you chose would be well looked after. And you've done a wonderful job on little Harriet." My Master smiled coyly, an expression covering his face which I had never seen before and couldn't quite place. He looked totally different somehow, and I struggled to put my finger on it. Silently, I watched him as he beamed at Nadia's praise. Finally I realised what his expression was: awe, my Master was in awe of Nadia. I was thunderstruck, truly astonished by what was unfolding.

"Thank you," my Master said, his voice light and trilling. Unbelievable.

"I mean it. I never thought you would manage it. I never thought little Harriet would succumb. Too headstrong by half, I thought, she would never go all the way, she would never give herself totally to someone else. I always wanted to try to tame her myself, but I didn't have time to take on both of you. I was a bit worried about you, I have to say. She was your first attempt, and I thought she'd be too tough for you, but you did it. You've done wonderfully well, my brave young pupil."

My Master eyes were gleaming, his delight evident. I was still trying to understand: so all the time we had lived next to Nadia, unknown to me, my Master was being trained by her in the techniques of domination? Nadia, a domme? And I had no idea. I felt helpless, like he had cheated on me, like I was some female cuckold. A chill ran through my body as I tried to understand the new order. My Master was in thrall to Nadia, whom he called Ma'am. Where did that leave me, his slave girl? Bottom of the pile, as I was about to discover.

"Now, these pizzas will be getting cold," my Master said. I looked at them, still lying where the pizza man had left them after my strip show. "Harriet, why don't you go upstairs and get into your little maid's outfit and get ready to serve us." I stared at him, hoping I had misunderstood. I hadn't. My happy evening's reunion with my old friend Nadia had disintegrated, my notions of happily talking about old times withering and decaying before my eyes, and once more I was Harriet the Slave Girl, waiting in attendance on my Master and his guest. I would have no supper, nor be invited to join them as they reminisced. This, I reflected, was probably just as well, as most of their memories of our previous house clearly did not include me in any case. Holding back a tear, I fled upstairs and pulled my maid's outfit from the wardrobe.

When I saw it my breath, as it always did, caught in my chest. This was where it all started for me, back who knows how long ago, when a long anticipated evening with friends collapsed much as this one had, and for the first time I submitted to my Master in public. That had been a particularly traumatic evening, when I came out for the first time as a slave girl, being forced to wait on my erstwhile friends, gradually stripping off layer after layer of clothing as they ate their meal without me, laughing at my discomfiture, complicit in my shaming. It was my first experience of humiliation, of real humiliation, that overwhelming, shattering realisation that another person could force you to behave in the most demeaning fashion imaginable, and you had no defence, could offer no resistance. It had been a long road since then, and I had learned a huge amount. I had learned to control my feelings, learned to submit, learned to obey. But I had not learned, nor would I ever, how to combat those, racking, shocking moments of humiliation when you unveiled your true self to somebody for the first time. Sobbing, I eased myself into the hideous outfit, the badge of my shame, the mark of my submission. Hearing my Master yell from downstairs for me to hurry up, I checked my face in the mirror, eased my palm reassuringly over my bruised backside and rushed downstairs to attend to my duties. Harriet the slave girl was ready to obey.