She tiptoed back through the kitchen door, not wanting to wake her husband. She entered the living room to find him sitting in the armchair, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

She hadn't done anything wrong, though, she didn't notice the hour go by, chatting to her colleague at work.

The room was subdued, lit only by the lamp next to the armchair where he was sitting.

‘Where have you been?’ he asked her softly.

‘I was chatting to Monica and didn't realise how late it was. I'm sorry,’ she replied, her head bowed, knowing full well that he wasn't going to believe her.

‘And why didn't you call? Or answer when I did?’

She stammered.

‘You know what you have to do now,’ he said in an almost commanding tone.

She nodded, her hands shaking as she busied herself getting rid of her coat and shoes.

‘The trousers,’ he said, with a shake of his head.

She sighed and took off her trousers.

He motioned for her to come closer. He sat back in the chair and tapped his knee.

She moved into position and bent over his knees.

‘How many of my calls have you missed?’ he murmured, stroking her bottom in a circular motion with the palm of his hand.

‘Twenty-four,’ she replied in a small voice.

‘Good...Start counting’ he told her, raising his hand just before slapping the first of the expected twenty-four into her.