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      She’s panting as she rushes through the door. She knows she’s late.
      He shuts it loudly behind her. He’s furious.
      “I’ve told you before, if you’re coming, be on time. I’ve got people coming round
and now I won’t have time to get everything ready properly!”
      She looks at the floor. No use explaining about work and the trains – that’s all
part of the world beyond the door, her other world, in which he’s not interested.
      He’s got something in his hand, and he’s been itching to use it. Right there in the
corridor, by the front door, he pushes her against the wall, face first, and yanks up her
skirt, tucking it in at the waist.
      The sight of her bulging buttocks makes him salivate. He pulls her knickers down
roughly, then rests a hand on the small of her back, holding her in place.
The crop whips down, sudden and vicious. One after the other, quickly ten strokes, soon
twenty.
      She takes deep breaths, her face screwed up with pain.
      “Look at the sight of you! There’s not a mark to be seen! I obviously didn’t thrash
you hard enough last time.”
      The whipping continues, on her upper thighs now. Each stroke deliberately hard and
careful, a nice red weal as its objective.
      “What are my friends going to think? That you haven’t been whipped for days! I was
going to spend at least an hour on you first.”
      At last he stops, bending to inspect her buttocks, to see what he’s wrought there.
      “Now get your clothes off quickly – quickly!”
      He watches impatiently while everything gets thrown to the floor in a heap. He
kicks the clothes into a corner.
      “Kneel down and hold your tits up.”
      She drops to the floor and presents the tops of her breasts to him, leaning back
her head to keep it out of the way of the strokes.
      He moves to one side of her. Ten on one tit, then ten on the other. Then another
ten each, only harder.
      Her eyes are watering, but she keeps still for the blows.
      “Push them together!” Ten more blows, over both breasts at the same time, and these
seem to hurt even more.
      Oh, but the tits are marked now! Properly marked!
      He walks away without a word, comes back with something different in his hand. He
holds it up in front of her face.
      “Do I want you to talk to me?”
      She shakes her head.
      “Am I interested in anything you might have to say?”
      Another shake. Her being here means she accepts his terms. There’s nothing to
discuss.
      The gag gets pushed into her mouth, done up tight at the back. It’s huge. It has a
sort of ratchet which he uses to make it even huger. Her mouth is stretched almost
unbearably wide.
      She wonders how long it’ll stay on this time.
      He disappears again and comes back with a black leather corset. Expertly, he whips
it round her middle, then pushes her down onto the floor and puts a foot on the back of
her waist to help him pull the lacing really tight.
      They’re still in the corridor. Her face is pressed against the bristles of a
doormat.
      Her mind has begun to clear. Her cunt has begun to swell.