People like me, in fact, which is why I recognised it so readily.

Although, on this occasion, I had just lost.

Well, not lost, exactly - I leave such defeatist talk to sheep and men. But if the war was still unresolved there was no doubt I'd suffered a stinging defeat in this particular battle. And, I feared, such stinging was nothing compared to that which awaited me.

"You serious?"

No, I thought. "Yes," I said.

"You wanna play, huh?" I nodded morosely. "And you want me to punish you?" Another treacherous nod. "Well!" He was driving at around ninety miles per hour at this point, seemingly oblivious of other road users, weaving in and out of the traffic. His face was given over to an enormous smirk. What a bastard, what a smug, slimy, ugly, revolting bastard. I resisted the urge to throw up, and instead smiled at him sweetly. "This is my lucky day," he continued. "Fuck the meeting. Let's go to a hotel." With that he picked up his mobile phone and called in to the office to report a fictitious twelve mile tailback on the A52. How I wished a police car would appear at this point and book him for illegal use of a mobile, but alas salvation such as that doesn't happen in real life: the police don't choose useful times to make their presence felt...

He slid off the A52 near Nottingham and booked us into a Holiday Inn. The blank-faced reception staff processed the booking with complete neutrality, but it was obvious to everyone what was happening. He even used the name Smith, damn it, an obviously humorous (to him, at least) diversion, particularly since he paid with his credit card. I felt revulsion and humiliation as I stood in the foyer, being observed by people who thought I was going willingly to a bedroom with this bulldog of a man for an illicit affair. I wanted to explain the reality, but instead retreated into my role of mute subservience.

God, how shaming. I'm cringing as I write this, I really am.

I'd make someone pay for this, that was sure: Mr Loverman's arse would be ribbons by nightfall. I followed Philip to room 372, my stomach heaving at the thought of what I was about to do. He swung the door open and ushered me in, and I slid past him. The sight of the bed - our bed, pink and antiseptic - brought home the reality of my fate and I very nearly made a run for it. Have courage, I thought. It's for the best.

The best, my arse.

Philip slammed the door, trapping me in my own private web of deceit. He grinned menacingly and approached, waddling towards me on squat legs with his arms turned outwards so that the palms of his hands were at 90° to his thighs, making him look for all the world like a deformed monkey. His big head wobbled on his shoulders, seemingly without the intervention of a neck, and I just knew he was going to be hairy - all over hairy. If I were to have died just then I wouldn't have been overly disappointed.

"Well, what are you waiting for. Get naked."

Charming. "D'you speak to all your girls like that?"

"Shut the fuck up. You're here to be punished, not talk back to me." I admit it, I felt a frisson of fear at that moment. Until then, I had been focusing on the undesirability of sexual contact with this beast, but I hadn't given any thought to what he might actually do, exactly.

"What are you going to do?" Well, it was a question that had to be asked.

"Oh baby, you asked for punishment. That's what you're gonna get. Now, get naked. Every second you delay is another beating. One, two, three 3;"

I was naked by nine.

Oh my god, I thought, as I stripped my panties off and stood before him in all my glory: what am I doing? If you had told me, only an hour before, that I would be in a hotel room with Guy the bloody gorilla, naked and awaiting sexual punishment, I would have laughed in your face.

But here I was. And here he was. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Nice bod." Somehow, it didn't sound like a compliment. "Never thought you'd look that good." Nope, it wasn't. "Turn round." I did. "Hmm, nice arse. Bit on the fat side. Tits are pretty small, though. You ought to get them enhanced. Boob job would do wonders for you. God yes, I can just see you with a pair of 34Fs. Hey, if this works out, babe - you and me - we'll have to see about that won't we?"

I smiled simperingly. They would find evidence of intelligence in George W. Bush before I succumbed to something like that, let me tell you.

"That's a nice cunt," he continued. "But I like 'em totally bald, though. Shave for me next time, or better still wax - it's smoother. Doesn't rasp against my skin." The thought of his suppurating skin anywhere near mine was too revolting to contemplate. I closed my eyes but the room started to spin. The bastard was drawing this out, increasing my humiliation. I knew he was doing it on purpose.

"Shall we get on with it?" I said.

"Woohoo, can't wait for it, huh? Can't wait to feel the firm hand of discipline on your slack arse? Can't wait to be shown by a real man how a woman should behave? And be treated?"

Real man. Great oxymorons of our time.

"Absolutely," I said, my voice flat with defeat.

"Over by the window," he snarled, his voice suddenly filled with menace. I noticed the bulge in his trousers: oh shit, the animal was in heat - now I was in trouble. I did as I was told, reluctantly, since the window looked onto the hotel car park and was a somewhat conspicuous spot. "Turn round, face away from the window."

Well, that was a relief anyway.

"Legs apart. Wider. Now bend over."

That wasn't. Nonetheless, I complied, exposing my arse to the hotel-goers of Nottingham.

He dragged the bed towards me and sat on it. I could see immediately what he was doing: from this position I was clearly visible, my punishment all too humiliatingly public, but my punisher was hidden from view. All that would be seen from outside would be a disembodied hand administering my beating.

Which, of course, is what he did.

I screamed with shame as he brought his hand down on my naked butt cheek.

Again and again and again he spanked me. "This is what you get for being Miss Hoity-Toity. Miss Ideas-above-her-station. Swanning around the office as if you own the fucking place. Now look at you. Your arse in the air, finally being put in your place."

I had to fight to hold back the tears. This was bad enough, but I didn't want to show weakness. That would be the limit.

"There's someone watching," he said. "Some old guy, Japanese." I had no way of knowing whether this was true or not, but it was a busy hotel so it was inconceivable that I wouldn't be spotted at some stage. "He's just standing, staring." Well, you would, wouldn't you? I was spanked again, and I could almost feel the watcher's eyes bore into me.

Philip was revelling in this. "Someone else watching now, as well. Oh, and another. God, there's a group of them, now. I think there's a coach party arrived." All the while he spanked my bare arse and the pain was excruciating, but no worse than the mental humiliation being heaped upon me. Even so, I wasn't sure how much more pain I could take. For an instant, I felt a flicker of pity for Mr Loverman. Fortunately, that was enough to bring me to my senses: pull yourself together, woman, I chided myself.

"Okay, stand," he said. I eased myself upright, stretching my back. Then he said the words which demonstrated what an utter, total bastard he really was.

"Now, turn round and wave to your audience. And when you've done that, blow them a kiss."

I still didn't know whether he was bluffing or not. Solemnly, I held my breath and turned slowly, half convinced there would be no-one there. I looked down and my heart lurched. In the car park, looking up at me, stood around a dozen people. My audience, between them, evinced shock, surprise, appreciation and disgust. I smiled wanly, blew them a kiss and prayed to die.