Why had it made me so happy to put my name on that piece of paper? Why had I even signed the thing? He’d terrified me with his constant back and forth across the room, the look on his face, the tone of his voice, it was all enough to shut down my ability to think.

But through all that, a little whispering voice kept reminding me of the feel of him pressing against me, how it had looked as if he was about to kiss me.

I’d only once tried to raise the subject of submission with my now ex-boyfriend. The conversation had lasted less than a minute. I had subtly hinted that I wouldn’t object in principle to the idea of him spanking me. He had replied that the idea was sick and a sign that I’d been abused as a child. I came away from the conversation feeling ashamed of myself for even wanting to be spanked. Was he right? Was it sick?

The idea didn’t leave me though, it just lurked in the dark recesses of my mind, flaring back up from time to time and hinting that there were needs that I had that went beyond missionary sex once a month.

I had fantasised about being taken by a strong, handsome stranger, being told what to do, the weight of guilt over my desire being lifted by a lack of choice, by handing over all decisions to him. But reality was very different to fantasy.

For one thing, I never thought in my fantasies that the stranger might kill me. This was something else. The look in Ethan’s eyes as he told me to strip hinted that a darkness lurked deep inside him, a darkness that he was trying to control.

Of course, I had no idea at the time how right I was. There was a darkness there but it had nothing to do with me. But on that first day in his house, I was afraid of him, afraid for myself.

So why wasn’t I fighting him? Why wasn’t I running past him, sprinting for the front door? I thought back to when I’d first seen him in the pub. I had hated him then, hot as he was. But even in my anger, there was an undercurrent of something else, something that I ignored.

It came back to me as I looked at him. It was desire. I wanted him. The idea was disgusting. I couldn’t want the brute who was manhandling me, crushing me against a wall, demanding that I sign his stupid contract.

Scanning through the document, I couldn’t resist a smile. It wasn’t real. I almost collapsed with relief. It was just a game. There it was, buried in the middle, a safe word. All I had to do was say it and the whole illusion would be shattered. This was just role play. He was a billionaire who had got bored of the usual things and found his desires getting darker.

So he only got off on dominating women. That wasn’t so bad. I could submit for a week for a million pounds, especially knowing if things got too much, I had the safe word to fall back on.

Why did I pretend I didn’t know the safe word? I guess it felt good to have at least one secret, something he didn’t know about me.

It felt good to have that locked away though it didn’t help much when he told me to strip. Panic flashed through my mind. I hated the fact that my first thought when he said that wasn’t embarrassment, it was worry, worry that he might not like how my body looked. How screwed up is that?

I didn’t want him to see my body. He looked like he was chiselled from marble, me, I had a girl’s body, not a woman’s. He would take one look at it and change his mind and I’d be out on the street a minute later.

So I refused to strip. It felt awful disobeying him. It felt as if I might have fallen at the first hurdle, breaking the rules before I’d even been there an hour.

“Strip,” he said again and I shook my head, about to say him no once more, I wouldn’t do it, I couldn’t do it. But then I got my first clue of just how intense this game was going to be.

He was on me in a flash, before I even knew what was happening. He yanked my coat from my shoulders, grabbing my blouse and ripping it open, exposing my bra, the buttons flying across the room. My chest heaved as he took a step back, his face calm, looking for all the world as if nothing had happened.

“You are my slave for the next week,” he said. “You take off the rest of your clothes or I fetch a knife and cut them off you. Your choice.”

It was clear that he meant it, his face back to that cold emptiness, his foot tapping impatiently as I tugged the two halves of my blouse together across my chest.

“You will learn to obey me,” he suddenly roared, the sound so loud in the small room that it made my ears ring. He darted forwards again, shoving me against the wall, his hand suddenly between my legs, pressing upwards. He put his ear to my mouth as I fought to control the rising sense of panic threatening to bring the safe word bubbling to my lips.

“You’re enjoying this,” he said, turning his face towards mine. “I can hear it in your breath.” His hand continued to knead between my legs as I tried to tell him he was wrong. I couldn’t do it.

His fingers moved up, flicking open the button of my jeans. “There,” he said, stepping back. “I’ve helped you get started.”

There was a smirk on his face as he nodded down at my jeans. “You have thirty seconds to get naked before I run out of patience.”

My trembling hands moved towards my trousers and I began to slide them slowly down my legs, wincing as he looked at the bare skin of my thighs. Would he see how wet I was? Would it be noticeable through my knickers? I hoped not. I’d have no chance of keeping up the pretence of hating this if he saw just how my body had reacted to the touch of him on me. He’d know what my body was already telling me. I wanted to do this.

“Good girl,” he said as I peeled down my jeans. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”