‘Who owns you cunt?’ she hissed. I hesitated again and another slap hit me across the face. “Answer me or do you want another session with the t...ble?’ My heart raced at the thought but I instead whispered ‘You do’. Another slap ‘Who?’ I shook my head from the force of the blow and said ‘You do Mistress Marsha’. She smiled and released my hair. ‘Do you know how wet it makes me hearing you say that?’ she purred. Then she laughed. ‘Of course you don’t cunt, because I have not allowed you to touch. ’ scenario but both agreed that just wouldn’t be a good idea. I’m not sure I was fully convinced though – and I wasn’t sure Hannah was, either.Weekends were not normally easy times for us to chat – we both had things to do in real life, but we still sent each other the occasional message on Kik.One Saturday I decided to have a wander around West Quay – the large retail and dining complex in Southampton’s city centre. I had a couple of things I needed to get from John Lewis and the weather was. More

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