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and there was a dull throbbing between her thighs.
    Suddenly the door flew open, and he entered. He was dressed as she had requested, in a battered biker’s jacket over a dark plain T-shirt and skin-tight black jeans. His short black hair was gelled into fashionable spikes and he had a neatly-trimmed goatee beard. His eyes were cold and hard and unforgiving, and she dropped her head before his gaze.
    He circled her slowly, taking in every inch of her bound, shapely form. She gave a gasp as he grabbed hold of her hair and yanked her face up to meet his own.
    â€˜Not bad – for a wanton, idle slut,’ he conceded finally. ‘Christian tells me you need to be punished for your tardiness. Is that true?’
    So Christian must be the blond, Joanna thought to herself. ‘I – I don’t know,’ she stammered.
    â€˜I don’t know – what?’ His tone was harsh.
    â€˜Master.’ The unfamiliar word burned on her tongue.
    â€˜That’s better.’ He circled her again as he spoke. ‘Yes, you certainly are in need of punishment. You know I’ll make you beg, don’t you, slut? When that first blow lands on that pert little backside of yours, you’ll beg me to stop, and yet, in your heart, you’ll be begging me to carry on, to give you the treatment you know you deserve.’
    His hand roamed over the cheeks of her arse, caressing the soft flesh through the thin cotton of her knickers. Without another word, he inserted his thumbs into the waistband and yanked the flimsy garment down around her ankles. Contemptuously, he pushed her legs slightly apart, and ran an inquisitive finger over her tufty blonde pubic hair and into her cleft. As they had both expected, it came away slick with her viscous, musky juices.
    â€˜Bend over.’
    Quickly she obeyed, anxious to avoid any extra strokes. Her position was slightly precarious, with her hands still bound behind her back and her breasts stretched out like taut cylinders of flesh. He fondled her hanging nipples, squeezing them roughly between finger and thumb. The unexpected pain made her gasp at the same time as her pussy twitched and moistened further.
    â€˜Perfect,’ he muttered, and for the first time she thought she detected a hint of approval in his voice. She had no further time to think of anything as the first slap landed, hard and stinging, on her left buttock. A second followed with alarming rapidity, this time on her right. She wanted to cry out, but she thought that might anger him and earn her a couple more blows. Her fantasies had not prepared her for the shocking pain of her initiation into spanking, nor for its twin attendant, the throbbing undercurrent of pleasure that was making a furnace of her sex.
    He was thorough in his attentions; whoever he was, this was not the first time he had doled out a spanking. His palm was covering the taut flesh of her cheeks, never seeming to settle on the same place twice, so that every centimetre of her skin was reddened and smarting.
    At last his hand was still. ‘Very good, slut,’ he muttered. ‘I never thought you’d take all that without a sound.’ He sounded almost admiring, and she wanted to turn her head and flash him a smile of gratitude. His next words pushed that thought from her mind. ‘I haven’t heard you beg, yet, have I?’
    His palm smacked hard against her buttocks again. His earlier attentions had sensitised her nerve-endings, so that now she felt each blow with increased severity. When his hand moved down to tan the soft crease where the flesh of her bottom met the tops of her thighs, she could not prevent a squeal of anguish from escaping her lips. She thought that might earn her a reprieve, but the reverse seemed to be true. She shuddered, fearing she might lose her balance, but he was holding her steady, his arm around her waist and the flat of his hand pressing against her pubic mound, making her want to