I peed because he told me to. Even as I was still sat on the pot afterwards, the shame was already coursing through me.

He’d dragged me over to the pot and shoved me down, growling at me to get on with it. I was disgusted with myself for letting him, shuffling around the rim so I was facing away at least, wanting what little privacy I could give myself.

“You are not getting up until you’re done,” he said, walking round to stand directly in front of me. “So you better get on with it.”

I could leave at any moment. Say the safe word, I screamed at myself. Say it now before this goes too far.

But it had already gone too far. I was naked, sitting on a pot while he stared at me, his expression a mixture of rage and what else? What was that? Was that lust? It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t be interested in someone like me.

My eye moved to his constantly tapping foot. He had folded his arms and was watching me and I couldn’t do anything about it. I was certain that if I went to stand, he’d just shove me back down.

Why had I agreed to this?

The money, a voice whispered. That calmed me more than it should. I’d take a million for the humiliation of peeing in front of a stranger. Sure, it was unpleasant, embarrassing even. But nobody would know about it apart from him and me. All I had to do was keep my mouth shut afterwards and I could forget it ever happened.

But I couldn’t go. I sat there and everything tensed up, despite the agonising pain inside me, I couldn’t do it.

After thirty excruciating seconds, I looked up at him. “Could you at least face the other way for a minute?”

“You keep thinking you get a say in things,” he replied, kneeling down in front of me and pressing his hand into my bladder. “I can tell I’m going to have to do everything for you,” he said, kneading the flesh under his hand until my body lost control and I finally went.

I sighed with relief as the pain inside me began to subside but before I was even finished, I felt an acute sense of shame. What had I just done? I’d never done that in front of anyone. I was a private person about such things, even with my boyfriend. Ex boyfriend, I reminded myself.

Think of the money. Forget about that. It didn’t happen.

“Come with me,” he said, hooking his hands into my armpits and yanking me upwards.

“Where are we going?” I asked as he pulled me from the room.

He stopped, letting go of me and pointing down at my pussy. “To sort that out,” he said, grabbing me again and yanking me along, shoving his way through a doorway and into a huge bathroom.

Palatial didn’t do it justice. It was the size of half my house. The toilet was against the far wall, it seemed to mock me as I looked at it. He had tortured me by leaving me desperate all night and then made me go on a pot on the floor like a child and all the time there was a toilet just a few feet away.

To my left was a shower that seemed built into the wall, a drain in the tiled floor below it. To my right was a claw foot bath big enough to take four people at once. The walls were so white they hurt my eyes. It took me a second to notice the table.

It was the only thing out of place. A plain, polished wood table over in the corner. He dragged me across to it. “Lay on your back,” he said, turning away to the sink, twisting the taps until steaming water began to gush into the basin.

“What are you going to do to me,” I asked, my hands between my legs, trying to protect myself from what he might do, from what I definitely didn’t want him to do. Even as my body throbbed at the thought, I didn’t want that. Never.

“Shave that hair off you of course.” He had his back to me so I couldn’t tell how he looked but he sounded more amused than angry.

I climbed reluctantly onto the table. I’d never been shaved down there, I’d never dared. I hated how I looked enough already without needing to see that part of me in more detail.

Laid on my back, I could feel the cold wood digging into my skin. I turned to look at him as he crossed the tiled floor towards me, a bowl of steaming water in one hand and a razor in the other.

“Keep very still,” he said, putting the bowl down next to my right hip.

He picked up my left ankle and moved it sideways. “Bend your knees,” he said as I became more exposed to him than ever before.

I was ready for his disgust, for him to see how horrible I looked between my legs.

It didn’t happen. Instead he smiled, a genuine smile. “So beautiful,” he muttered, lifting a cloth out of the water, bringing it towards my thighs.

“You like it?” I muttered, ashamed of the question almost at once. I sounded like a child seeking approval, not a confident, mature woman.

“You look stunning,” he said, dabbing the cloth at the skin around my pussy. His hand never touched me but I reacted as if it did, my body heating up.

His eyes never stopped staring at it. Even after he had lathered my triangle of hair and picked up the razor once more, he was still staring. “Keep very still,” he warned again as he leant in and brought the blade sliding down towards my pussy, scraping away the hair and exposing the bare skin underneath, the nerve endings brought to life as he worked.

I fought to keep my breathing under control as he worked his way lower. I was barely keeping it together. Then he touched my pussy.