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His shirt collar and two top buttons were undone, taunting my efforts to keep a level head.
    ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, it was exactly right. Thank you. I just hope you meant it.’
    ‘I did. I do,’ he said, leading me to the door. ‘Every word. I know I used to be a dick, Lulu. It’s not pleasant to have to confess to it in public, but it’s no more than I deserve.’
    ‘I’m glad you see it that way.’
    We were inside the house now, standing a little awkwardly in the splendid but dusty reception hall. It needed mum’s touch. Perhaps he could re-hire her.
    ‘So,’ he said, after a heavy pause. ‘I think we should stay out of the bedroom to begin with. My office?’
    ‘Where you work? Where Fran works?’
    ‘OK, perhaps not. The breakfast room isn’t looking too disastrous and there’s plenty of space in there.’
    The breakfast room. Where he had bent me over the table and had me until the silver plate rattled on the cloth.
    ‘Lead on.’
    His smile lingered a little too long.
    ‘Exactly,’ he said.
    The morning room was one of my favourites in the whole house, spacious, airy and with a beautiful view out over the back terrace and the gardens beyond. Even in darkness, it had a friendly, cheerful sort of vibe for which I was grateful.
    ‘You’ve done a bit of research, I know,’ he said, perching his backside on the breakfast table while I took a seat by the windows. ‘So I imagine you’ve read up on submissive training. I don’t think I can proceed in the standard kind of way, though, because I don’t think you’re a submissive.’
    ‘Don’t you indeed?’ I was fascinated, and slightly offended by this claim. How could he say he knew me that well? ‘And why’s that then?’
    ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong. I think you like most of the aspects of submission. But my guess is, when it comes down to it, you’re a bottom.’
    ‘Are you calling me an arse?’
    ‘Lucy,’ he said sternly. ‘I thought you said you’d researched this.’
    ‘OK, OK, I know what you mean. Joke. Nervous. Weirded out.’
    He nodded, the steel core less in evidence. ‘I get that,’ he said. ‘And actually I don’t much care for the term “bottom” in this context. It does sound like, well, as you say …’
    We both smiled at each other, conspirators caught out in low-minded thoughts.
    ‘The difference between the two,’ he continued, ‘is that I have full control over a scene with a submissive. But with a bottom, we have to agree what happens first. Bottoms hate not knowing what’s going to happen – submissives enjoy it. Well, that’s a bit crude, but you see what I’m driving at?’
    I nodded, rather relieved by his assessment. I wasn’t ready to just place myself in his hands and let him go to town on me … yet. But if we could negotiate what he would do to me beforehand, then it wasn’t so scary.
    ‘So, with that in mind, I think what I have to do is go through the sorts of things that would be expected of you at one of His Nibs’ parties and practise them. I’m not going to make you “my submissive” because you don’t want that. Unfortunately.’
    He paused, looking sideways at me. I gave him my blankest face.
    ‘But I’m going to make you able to play the part,’ he continued after a sad-eyed pause.
    ‘Right. So what’s first?’
    ‘Positions,’ he said, standing up and snapping his fingers. I was so startled by the sudden change in tone that I stood up too, which seemed to delight him. ‘Posture.’
    ‘Books on the head?’
    ‘If necessary, but probably not. There are nine positions that he will expect you to know. Tonight I’m going to teach them to you. It’ll be up to you to practise and learn them before our next session.’
    ‘Sexual positions?’ I asked warily.
    ‘No. Just ways of presenting yourself to emphasise your submission.’
    ‘Right. So …?’
    ‘So,’ he said, coming closer and giving me a greedy up-and-down inspection. ‘Would you take off your clothes,