Then it struck me: it was Wednesday night. My little slavebunny would be waiting at home, with dinner ready, and ready herself for any entertainment I fancied. The day seemed instantly brighter.

I strode to the front door, no longer a weary post-yuppie professional, but a self-confident master. Some of my plans for little bunny were fairly firm, as I was fast becoming, but such a willing, submissive slave clearly deserved the be used in the very best -- or worst -- way.

I opened the door and was immediately greeted by the smell of a pungent Indian curry. After a split second, my eyes begain watering. Ah, I thought to myself, a nice nuclear curry. My slave had outdone herself.

And she had done he...

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