You storm into the room with a magnificent harrumph and look pointedly at me. It’s clear that you’ve been building up your courage for a while, that you have something to say and that you won’t speak until spoken to, as is only proper.

“Yes?” I say quietly, looking up from my periodical.

“I demand a raise!” You blurt out. “I cook, I clean, I mend your clothes, I wear this god damn collar and I do all those … things … those disgusting and horrible things you make me do, I do all of it for thruppence a week and I deserve more, I demand more!”

When you’re finished you sigh a little and look down at the floor sheepishly, you know you’ve crossed about half a dozen lines.

I put my whiskey, in it’s crystal cut glass, down on the mahogany table and get up. I walk slowly over to you and stand quite close, “well I’m sad to hear you’re disgruntled in my employment, that’s a shame. I mean you are of course free to leave whenever you like, I hear Lady Chatterley is looking for staff and she is, by all accounts, lovely.”

You blush and look at the floor “no sir, I, I don’t want to leave, I just want to be appreciated.”

I step forward, we’re very close now, I put a finger under your chin and try to lift your head so I can look in your eyes. You blush all the more and shy away from me, I can feel your heart beating quite fast.

“Well,” I say in a kindly voice, “I don’t think the problem here is a lack of remuneration. I think the problem is that you’re not fully adjusted to your station.” I tenderly run the back of my finger down the side of your head, weaving in and out of a few strands of hair, “and that can be corrected with a little teaching, can’t it.”

“No sir, please,” there’s a delicious little whimper in your voice as you can feel that dark, twisted, energy building up in the air, “I know how to behave.”

“Oh really?” I say, taking a couple of steps back and walking around the room, gesticulating, “because when you moved in here I told you, you don’t barter, negotiate, ask, demand, command or any such thing, you beg, and you can beg for anything you like, but anything other than begging will not be tolerated. Do you remember that?”

“Yes,” you say, quivering. You’re so cute when you’re falling to pieces.

I walk right up to you and say loudly, right at you, “And what did you come in here and do?”

“I demanded sir.”

I drop back into a quiet and friendly tone, “Yes you did, didn’t you, so we shall have to make sure you don’t forget the rules again won’t we, for your own good.”

“I’m sorry sir, I won’t do it again, please, sorry, sir.” You blurt out, a cold fear building in you.

“Oh no, and what are the rules on apologies?”

“I mustn’t apologise without tears in my eyes.”

“And, if I am not mistaken,” I grab your head and wrench it upwards to look in your eyes. Your delicious little subby eyes, so full of desperation and nerves, “there are no tears here … yet.”

“No sir.”

“Good well I’m glad we are on the same page with that. Now what you’re going to do is take off your uniform right here. You’re going to leave on your heels and stockings, I know you hate wearing those. And you’re going to crawl into the other room. There you will fetch your cane, the one you hate, you know the one I mean?”

You shudder a little as you nod, you know it’s sting all too well.

“And you will kneel down on all fours on the rug by the fire with the cane in your teeth and you will wait for me there, even if I am a long while, do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“And you will feel the full force of my fury, and we shall see some of those lovely tears of yours shan’t we. And you can learn these lessons you have been so slow to learn up to now.”

I take great pleasure as you try to fumble at the buttons of your uniform. “Well!” I say loudly at you, just to panic you more, to make it harder, you’re already on edge. When you blush and tremble you glow, it’s beautiful. Turns out it isn’t going to be such a dull evening after all.