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to find fault.
    ‘That’s very good, Tara,’ he said unexpectedly. He addressed them all once more. ‘Now you will “Kneel at the Ready”. On the command you will bring your thighs together, rise onto your knees keeping your back straight, and bring your left foot to the ground beside your right knee. Do so – now!’
    They shifted position into the half-crouch. Warwick nodded in approval. ‘Good. This position enables you to rise easily to obey a further command. For instance …’ He moved to the opposite side of the lawn. ‘When I call your name, you will run to me, go down on your knees, kiss both my feet, look up and say clearly: “Your slave, Master”, then return to your place in line. Do you understand?’
    ‘Yes, Sir,’ they said, a strained edge to their response.
    Could they actually say such shameful words aloud, Tara thought dizzily? Could they really behave like obedient dogs, coming when their owner called? She’d never imagined it would be like this. Were the others waiting for her to protest? If one of them spoke up she’d do so as well. But none of them did …
    ‘Gail,’ the Major called.
    Gail scrambled to her feet and ran quickly over to him, her heavy breasts bouncing. She knelt and kissed his toecaps, then lifted her head up and said tremulously: ‘Your slave, Master.’
    He patted her on the head as one might a dog and said: ‘Good girl.’ As she returned to her place Tara saw she was actually smiling with relief.
    Sian was called next. She responded less readily than Gail and mumbled her words. That earned her a warning flick across the bottom with Warwick’s holly cane and the order to repeat herself clearly. Hazel, who followed her, practically sang out her words and was rewarded with a reassuring pat.
    Tara began to understand. The Major’s pats and encouraging words counterbalanced the flicks of his holly cane. Contrasting threat and reward made obedience easier, though nonetheless degrading. But knowing this did not stop it being disconcertingly effective and left Tara in a state of confusion. Should she now deliberately misbehave and risk additional pain just to show she could still think for herself, or should she continue not to give Warwick the excuse of punishing her? It was only words and a symbolic show of deference, however humiliating it might feel. It didn’t mean anything …
    Tara was called last. She ran quickly over to Warwick, knelt and obediently kissed his boots, lifted her eyes to him and said clearly: ‘Your slave, Master.’ She returned to her place unable to deny the small glow of relief his ‘Good girl’ and pat had given her even as she silently cursed him for both looking and sounding so sincere as he had done it. Did he have to play so fair even when he had them all at his mercy?
    ‘Now you will practise “Following to Heel”,’ he told them.
    He walked up from behind their line, passing close by a girl at random, calling her name and saying: ‘Follow!’ And they did so just like dogs on invisible leads, staying two steps behind and to his left, their eyes locked onto him to match any change in pace or direction. When he stopped they went down into the ready position. It was the same way Tara had seen well trained dogs sit at the curb by their masters, waiting for the road to clear. All that was missing was their tongues lolling from the sides of their mouths. Another step further on the road to utter degradation; and shamefully exciting to watch. Hazel and Gail trotted after Warwick like little angels. How rapidly he was breaking them in. Why hadn’t she ever thought to play this sort of game with them? Tara wondered.
    But surely she could not do it herself. There must be a limit to what she would submit to, even if there seemed none yet in sight to the residents’ inventiveness. The trouble was she was experiencing a disturbing sense of anticipation at the humiliating spectacle she would make. Perhaps she could turn the feeling on its