I don't know how to begin to tell this. I'm tempted to write it in the third person, as though it happened to someone else, not me.

But that would be cowardly.

It did happen to me. This afternoon. The worst afternoon of my life.

So here goes.

I got home about ten to two. Just enough time to log in to chatmate, switch on the cam, hide the on-light and switch the monitor off. Surveillance ready. Then off to the bathroom to throw up and brush my teeth - didn't want my breath to smell, did I? Of all the stupid things in the world, I was worried that my breath might smell and offend a prostitute I was paying to spank me. Hey ho, what a nice, middle class girl I am. My mother would be proud of my manners...

The doorbell rang about three minutes past two. Those were the longest three minutes I've ever known. I thought she wasn't going to come, tried to convince myself it wouldn't happen. Thought I'd been reprieved. Then the doorbell rang. Cruel.

I opened it, trying not to throw up in her face. A woman stood before me in a belted raincoat, despite the heat of the day. She was blond - very blond - and although she smiled her features were hard. Here eyes were dull, her mouth small, nose long and sharp. I was frightened of her.

"Molly?" she said.

"Yes."

"May I come in?" I stepped aside and she swept past. Like a naughty child, I followed in her wake. She stood in the living room and looked round, nodding, but there was confusion in her eyes. I knew she was trying to understand the situation. I couldn't explain.

"Are you sure about this?" she said, approaching and staring into my eyes. She was appraising me, and I could tell she was struggling to see the rationale behind all this.

"Yes."

"Absolutely? I don't want to waste my time. I'm not here to play silly fucking games."

"No, it's not a game. I want to do this."

She stared hard. "Okay. Fifty quid." I handed her five notes and she slid them into her bag silently. "You seem very nervous. First time?" I nodded. "Don't worry, leave it to me. I'll look after you." She unbuckled her raincoat, stepping away from me as she pulled it off and draped it over the settee. She wore a black basque and fishnet stockings - a young boy's dream woman. Except I wasn't a young boy. What was I doing?

"We're going to have some fun, sugar," she crooned. "Relax. Got anything to drink?" I nodded to the sideboard, unable to speak. She poured two straight gins - triple measures at least - and handed me one. "There you go. A bit of courage for you."

"Thanks." I swallowed it as though it were water.

"Where d'you want to do it?"

"Bedroom."

"Okay, sugar. Let's get on." She walked to the bedroom door and turned to me. Instantly she changed, turning into Madame Juliette. "Right, you little bitch," she yelled, "get through here this instant. You're going to get a thrashing."

I wanted to bolt out of the front door, but my treacherous legs carried me into the bedroom. Madame Juliette slapped my face lightly. "Hurry up, girl. I haven't got all day."

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"What?" She slapped me again, this time harder.

"Sorry, Madame."

"That's better. Now get out of those clothes, bitch. Now!" I walked to the foot of the bed and pulled at my blouse, my shaking hands struggling with the buttons. Unzipping my skirt, I stepped out of it, and Madame Juliette snorted. "No knickers. What a slut. No wonder you need punishment. Bet you can't keep your legs together, can you?"

"No, Madame."

"Is that why you're getting punished?"

"Yes Madame. My Master wanted it." I almost choked on the word. Reaching behind, I tugged at my bra and loosened it, peeling it off and standing naked before Madame Juliette.

"Neat little ass. It'll be fun to spank that. How should I do it?"

"Over your knee, Madame."

"Just how I like it. Well, hurry up!"

I was almost unable to move. I was gripped by fear, the situation spiralling out of control so fast I couldn't keep up, causing my brain to shut down in protest. Madame Juliette grabbed my arm and yanked me towards the bed. Sitting, she pulled at me and I felt myself sliding across her. She pressed her hand in the small of my back and pushed me forward until I lost control, falling forward onto her knees, my arms stretched in front of me, searching for something to steady me. Even yet, I don't think I comprehended this was really happening.

Not to Molly Hadley, rising star of Chase McCabe Management.

She wriggled beneath me, settling herself into a comfortable position, then adjusted my body, pushing me further up. I felt as though I were about to lose my balance and reached out to the floor to steady myself, but couldn't quite make it. I was stranded, laid across her thighs, unable to touch the floor with either hands or feet. I felt more vulnerable than I could have imagined possible.

"Lovely ass," Madame Juliette crooned, stroking me gently. "Your skin is so smooth, sugar. How d'you keep it like that?"

I saw no point in answering. This wasn't a normal social situation, after all.

"Rude bitch. I can see why you need a good thrashing. How many do you want?"

"Fifty."

"Fifty? You sure?"

"Yes."

"Rather you than me, sugar. Okay, here goes. You ready?"

"Just do it." Already, I was beginning to sob. My body was tense, my buttocks clenched, fists balled tight. I closed my eyes and prayed for it to be over. She hit me for the first time, a stinging blow on my right cheek and I let out a cry.

"Huh!" she snorted. "We've not even started yet, don't start snivelling already. Have you any implements I can use?" She spanked me again before I could reply, and then again and again. Already, I could feel my buttocks reddening and the pain was becoming pronounced.

"There's a paddle," I breathed, cursing myself for my honesty. But I knew str8guy was watching, and he wouldn't be happy if his new purchase didn't get an airing. He'd no doubt just make me do it all over again.

""Excellent. We'll keep that till the end. That'll hurt like fuck, let me tell you." She spanked me again, four times in a row, concentrating on the same cheek, and I began to squirm wretchedly in her lap. I wanted to escape, but she held me firm as she brought her hand down again and again on my exposed rear. The pain was becoming intense, each spank sending a sharp stab across my behind, and it seemed to penetrate ever deeper into my flesh. The aftershock was dull and lingering, and the miserable residue of each blow united and merged to form an overriding current of pain across my backside.

After about twenty or so I begged her to stop. "It's too sore. I can't go on," I whimpered.

"Two minutes," she said, gripping my reddened buttock and squeezing it. She began to stroke it, her fingers sliding into my crack and I pulled my legs tightly together. She was doing it to humiliate me, playing with me while I was helpless and exposed. Despite my protestations she continued to probe, forcing her finger between my thighs towards my arsehole and down towards my pussy. I struggled and tried to prevent her, but in my prone position I had little strength to retaliate. She easily forced her fingers onto my pussy and I felt them slide across my lips, slowly and rhythmically. Jesus,no, I didn't want this.

"Okay," I said. "I'm ready again."

"Two minutes aren't up."

"I'm ready."

I looked to my left, towards the unblinking webcam, my unwavering recorder, an amanuensis for the electronic age, steadily chronicling the decline of Molly Hadley. Lowering my head once more, I awaited the next phase of punishment. Madame Juliette started again, seemingly invigorated by the rest and inflicting a much harder blow than any previously. Unconsciously, I let out a cry, which caused her to laugh sarcastically and hit me again, even harder. Immediately, the pain returned to my backside, completely undiminished from before. I began to cry in earnest, my fingers clenching and unclenching helplessly as the prostitute laid into me, spanking each cheek alternately and with ever increasing force.

"That's forty," she said, sitting back. She pushed me vigorously and I tumbled to the floor, landing on my bruised and reddened rear. I looked up at her incomprehendingly, eyes bright with tears.

"I need fifty."

"I know. You'll get fifty. The last ten are with the paddle. Bring me it."

My heart leaped. I had almost forgotten the paddle. Silently, I crossed to the sideboard and pulled it out of the drawer, returning and handing it to Madame Juliette. Her eyes widened when she saw it, and she swatted it gently against her hand.

"Jeez, this is gonna hurt."

I needed to know that...

"Up against the chest of drawers. I need you standing for this."

I positioned myself against it, resting as I had on Sunday night with Jonathan, but this time there was to be no pleasure.

"Arse out!" she instructed. "Further, goddamnit. Bend your back." I was presenting myself in the most obscene manner, and I felt a surge of humiliation battling against the pain.

She hit me, and the pain won. It was excruciating, like nothing I've ever known. It was like an explosion on my arse, like my skin had just erupted and my flesh burst out of my body. I screamed loudly. "Fuck! No! No more!"

"Nine more." And she hit me again, and again almost immediately. My upper thighs felt like ice and my lower thighs were numb, while my arse was a mass of seething agony. "Seven more." She struck again, then again directly on the same cheek. I screamed at that and my hands clutched at my arse involuntarily.

"Stand up!" she yelled. "Hands away. Six more, nearly done."

"I can't. I can't take any more." Ignoring me, she hit me again, three times in succession, and each time I thought I had reached the zenith of pain, it was ratcheted up another few notches.

"Three more. Breathe out. And in. And out. That's it. Arch your back, push out your bum. Good." She hit me again, the hardest blow of all, and I found I could only whimper now, tears coursing down my cheeks, my muscles aching from the tension. Another swat landed on my right cheek, which was by far the sorer of the two. I sobbed uncontrollably, my head buried in my arms, leaning against the top of the chest of drawers.

"One more," she said, and stroked her palm across my arse cheeks. In other circumstances it might have been seductive, but it only served to bristle my skin even further. Almost immediately, she struck the final blow, an almighty hit which slammed my body against the chest of drawers, banging my knees painfully against it. A final, surging, electrifying pulse of pain erupted on my arse and radiated through my body. I sank to my knees and began to weep.

"All over," Madame Juliette said softly, switching off her professional voice. She bent and hugged me, pulling me gently on to the bed. "All over. Well done."

"Thank you," I whispered, burying my head in the pillow.

"Would you like another drink?"

"Yes please. Gin, big one." I closed my eyes and withdrew to a core of my being. I never heard her return, but two hours later I began to sip my gin.