On Sunday I got well and truly startled in a cab home from the train station.

In the usual chatty manner the driver wanted to know where I’d been, where I was going, and whether I had any time for chasing boys.

I didn’t tell him that I’d just spent a whole day in London dressing up as a schoolgirl and being spanked. I only said that I was away, but now I was looking forward to seeing my husband, who had also returned from a long trip a few hours earlier.

We pulled up in front of the house.

“Has he got a kettle on for you inside, then?” asked the cabbie. “Are you training him proper?”

I grinned: “Oh, aye, working on it.”

“If you need help like, I’ve got a whip in the boot.”

I don’t think my jaw dropped too far. I thanked him politely, and said I had plenty of whips of my own.

And then I went into the house, to have Abel’s purchases from Singapore tested on me.

If only the cabbie knew…

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