“In the kitchen,” my darling mother’s voice echoed through the house directing her bullish boy friend right to me, thanks mum. Ian was a bastard...and that was no surprise, he was the newest in a long line of bastards dragged into the house by my mother. She had married a man in her teens, had me and been surprised when he buggered off as soon as I was born. Since then there had been a long succession of arrogant worthless low lives each as bad as the next in their own way. Mostly they had. He walked completely around me, as if checking my position from every angle, and all the while I was dying to know what he was thinking: Was he turned on by examining me like that? Or just thinking I was a naughty girl who needed punishing. Finally he stationed himself at my left. Then he gave me an abbreviated version of his lecture on obedience. I was excited but pretty nervous, not knowing what to expect. So when the first stroke landed, I nearly jumped off the sawhorse. Not because it hurt. More

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