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Mistress.'
    Itomi had been born and brought up in a city in the Orient, but she still found Western cities exciting. She knew that, with her long straight hair, almond eyes and girlish body, she looked exotic to these people. Since she had undergone training, first at the hands of an employer and then, much more thoroughly, within the Private House, at the Chateau, she also knew she was desirable.
    She knew now how to dress to emphasise her desirability. She wore a long black coat and high boots partly to keep out the cold. When she opened the coat, however, her outdoor garments contrasted with the minimal clothing underneath: a white cut-off singlet that left bare her midriff and the lower curves of her high, round breasts, and a white skirt so short that whenever she moved she displayed her skimpy white knickers.
    As Itomi strode along the crowded streets, trying to keep up with Stefan, she pulled open her coat from time to time in order to shock the passers-by.
    It was dusk and the street lamps were alight, creating pools of orange illumination within which Itomi and Stefan could perform for the passing crowds.
    They kissed, because public displays of affection seemed to offend some of the bustling throng and also because they enjoyed kissing each other. They had made love together several times since they had met at the Chateau, but liaisons of any permanence were frowned upon, and were punishable, by the Chatelaine. Now that they had been thrown together on this trip to the foreign city, they had spent the entire night on the ferry and most of the following day in bed together.
    'How is your poor little cunt?' Stefan asked loudly, in the hope of alarming'someone nearby, as he and Itomi danced under another lamp. He pulled her to him, drew apart her coat, and thrust his thigh between her legs.
    Itomi rode his thigh, rubbing the taut gusset of her knickers against the heavy cloth of his trousers. 'My cunt is hungry,' she said. 'She needs to be filled up.' Stefan's gloved hands were under her singlet, clutching at her breasts and catching on her nipples which felt as hard as pebbles. Already she wanted him again; she wanted him to hold her down and do all the things to her that he had done last time, only more and harder.
    'That's very naughty,' Stefan said, and kissed her eagerly. 'You'll have to be punished again. How is your poor little bottom?'
    'Still quite sore, thank you,' Itomi said. 'But I hope you intend to make sure it stays that way.'
    During the recent months of her tutelage Itomi had discovered many routes to pleasure, but her chief delight was still to receive corporal punishment on her bottom. The merest touch on her buttocks was enough to awaken her clitoris. A prolonged whipping, when administered with care and skill, would not only make her so wet that the juice would drip freely from her sex-lips but would, if the final strokes were delivered hard to the lower inner curves of her buttocks, bring her to orgasm.
    Punishment was an essential element of the regime at the Chateau, but chastising Itomi's bottom, no matter how severely, had no disciplinary effect on the girl. When the Chatelaine had realised this she had devised different, more inventive punishments for Itomi; the thought of the things that had been done to her brought a blush of shame to Itomi's cheeks. Itomi was one of the few trainees for whom a whipping was a reward for good behaviour.
    Stefan was not yet as skilful as the Chatelaine's servants with the strap, the cane and his hands, but what he lacked in finesse he made up for in enthusiasm. Itomi found that she felt melancholy and listless unless her bottom was stinging from a recent smacking; it seemed that on this expedition with Stefan there was little likelihood of melancholia.
    Stefan pulled her coat together. 'Turn round,' he said. 'Lift up the coat and let me see.'
    Itomi turned away from him, buttoning her coat. Hand over hand she tugged the coat-tails upwards - slowly, so as to