I think about him in the shower.

This client has unlocked something inside of me that I didn't know existed and I desperately want to hear from him again. But my feminine pride tells me that I don't want to look too ****, so I fight the urge to send off an e-mail straight away. I determine to send one the next morning instead.

Now what to do with the rest of the evening? I catch a whiff of my cunt and decide that the first thing on the agenda is a proper shower. Fortunately, I have a mini bathroom that is ensuite, so I don't have to walk through the house again.

As the water hits my toned naked body it wipes away the sweat and grime of the day. It also washes away the outer signs of my self-inflicted degradation. When I emerge I will be Lucy again - sweet natured teenager, pure as the driven snow... until the next time.

I wonder what it would be like to have a master all the time. To never have to make a decision, to be told what to do and what to wear, has a strange kind of allure - it is almost scary how quickly a century of feminism can be left behind for the illusion of security.

But then how secure is it to give oneself wholly into the power of a stranger who is yet only a mortal man, to be a fuck-toy used and abused (beaten?) on a whim. This is meant to be the voice of reason, pulling me back from the precipice; but I find it, if anything, more seductive. I find my nipples stiffening at the thought and I start to pluck at them as the water beats down on my breasts.

My fantasies are filled with dark strangers spanking and beating me because I will not suck their odious cocks (though secretly I long to). I slap my arse to try to simulate the effect, but it is only a pale imitation.

I take the shower head and bring it close to my pussy. The water pounds against my sensitive flesh, stimulating and exciting it. But not enough. I clamp the shower head between my thighs, shooting upwards towards my cunt. Then I start to turn up the power until the **** of it is almost unbearable. The water pounds into my soft flesh like a thousand tiny whips. I am in sweet agony, but I am determined not to let the shower head fall.

Again I begin to pluck at my nipples and almost immediately begin to gasp at the twin **** on my most sensitive regions. Gasps turn to soft moans as I am determined not to let the shower head fall or to stop pulling on my titties. Soft moans become whimpering cries as the pleasure and the pain become unbearable. Then whimpering cries are joined by violent shudders as my orgasm surges through my entire body. As I collapse against the wall of the shower, the shower head drops from my weakened thighs and spurts wildly in all directions. I lie exhausted on the floor.

Eventually, I complete washing myself in slightly more conventional style. It seems that even the shower is not a place to wash oneself completely pure.

Satiated for the moment, although still with a lustful tingle in my nether regions, I put on a skimpy nightie and gather my clothes together. As I bend to pluck my school uniform from the floor, I hear a bleep from the computer behind me.

Puzzled, I turn to take a look. I have an instant message from somebody called Dominant1 (my client from earlier? I wonder). It reads:

"Bending over without your panties on? What a slutty thing to do."

I realise with a thrill that he is still watching me. Then with alarm that the webcam is supposed to be switched off. I am about to send a reply, when I realise that this is just the last in a sequence of messages. I run back through the list and find that all of the others refer to my wanton act of self pleasure in the shower. In a panic I wrench the plug from the wall and kill all power to my computer system, before flopping down on the bed.

How could he know what I was doing in the shower? My first thought is that he must be in the house somewhere, but then I rationalise and realise that there is a webcam in the shower, so all he had to do was access that in some way. But how, when I had logged off of my site? That should have taken all the cameras down.

I calm my nerves and once again set about the process of picking my clothes up from the floor. The screen of my computer remains reassuringly dark. Once I have a bundle of clothing together I take it down to the kitchen with the intention of slinging it in the washing machine.

When I get down to the kitchen I find cousin Anastacia, dressed only in a vest top and panties, reading a magazine at the kitchen table. With a guilty start she jerks and pulls her hand up out of her panties. I smile faintly to myself, pretending I haven't noticed - at least I'm not the only wanton slut in the house!

As I pass by I glance down at the magazine, wondering what hunky male singer or celebrity she is lusting over. Hmmm... Atomic Kitten - neither hunky nor male.

I bundle my clothes into the machine, set it going and then head back to my room.

"'Night, Stacy," I say.

"Oh, 'night Lucy."

I leave her in peace. But as I exit the kitchen and glance down the hall, I see a card has come through the letter box and is lying on the mat inside the front door. I pick it up and look at it and am shocked by what I read.