"I don't understand my wife!"

Janet turned and stared at her client with some surprise; she was used to hearing this expressed the other way round, and often in a self-pitying tone. But Brian was looking genuinely bewildered; this wasn't his first visit and, although Janet was not formally qualified to act as a counsellor, she was finding that she was increasingly called upon to perform that function.

"Let's talk about it," she suggested.

Brian was a bus driver in his mid-thirties, and was married to Denise, of a similar age. Janet learned that Denise had done well for herself, rising from secretary to PA to personnel officer to head of human resources in little over ten years, whilst Brian had been patiently hauling his bus round their small Lancashire town day in, day out for the same period. They had no children, though they had talked about it often enough. In the past.

"Maybe you could bring Denise along for a session?" Janet asked.

Brian looked dubious.

"She's very busy at work," he explained, "and she's very self-reliant, not the sort of woman who's always looking for shoulders to cry on."

"I'm sure if you start talking about counselling she'll come round," reassured Janet. "If there's marital troubles in the offing the wife usually senses it first, so the fact that you're concerned should mean it's getting serious."

"I'm not sure it's that serious, maybe we're just sort of ... bedding down ... not in that sense, of course," he added.

Janet could see this solid, unimaginative lump of a man watching his marriage lose its zing and bounce and ascribing it to some building-like ailment, an inevitable calcifying. She liked him, and wondered if his wife would see Janet's involvement as a threat. Janet would do her best to find out; she glanced down Brian's shift roster to try and ascertain a convenient evening for the three of them to get together. She also got Brian to make two lists regarding his wife, one outlining her faults in red marker pen and the other her assets in green; the red list came out much longer. Janet asked him to try his best to persuade Denise to come to the counselling session, for this didn't look good at all.

The following day Janet did something completely out of character; she dressed in the dowdiest clothes she could find, puffed her cheeks and scrubbed off all trace of make-up, covered her eyes with sunglasses and her hair with a scarf and hung around the bus station until a bus driven by Brian eventually swung into the pickup bay. She boarded the bus and kept her head low, searching for change.

"Where to, love?" said Brian in a much cheerier tone than at her office the previous day - the disguise had obviously held.

Shit, she hadn't even looked where the bus was going!

"Terminus," she mumbled.

Brian blinked.

"You mean Accrington?"

Janet nodded.

She paid her fare and sat down, not immediately behind Brian but close enough to keep an eye on him. An old lady got on bearing two well-filled Tesco bags.

"Ooh, you shopping for two now, love?" teased Brian as she showed her senior citizen's pass.

The old lady looked embarrassed but not displeased; clearly Brian knew his regular passengers. The bus set off, picking up more passengers near the shopping centre. A mother and toddler boarded, and Brian asked when the little girl would be off to nursery; another elderly lady appeared to have missed the bus, but Brian spotted her and parked up until she tottered on board, then made a great comic show of consulting his watch and tutting loudly. Two teenage girls boarded and tried to flash passes; Brian called them back and examined the passes.

"Where you going?" he asked.

"School, "they replied.

"In that case you're on the wrong bus, them passes are only valid to Wood Lane. And not at this time of day. I could confiscate 'em, you know; so are you two going to pay the proper fare or not?"

The girls grudgingly paid up, and Brian drove off, after further admonishing them for missing out on their education.

So, thought Janet, he's confident and cheerful, even authoritative when he's on his own patch. But that's clearly not where he sees his marriage any more. She window-shopped in Accrington for half an hour, then caught the next bus back.

Two weeks later Brian and Denise came back to keep their evening appointment with Janet. Denise was not initially impressed with the ambience of the counselling rooms; they were above commercial premises and entered by means of an intercom placed next to an anonymous door; no brass nameplates bearing professional abbreviations could be seen. Though, as Denise surmised, there were a lot of weirdos out there who turn out to be counselling junkies and Janet probably didn't want a constant stream of them hammering on her door.

The reception room was poky and, to Denise, Janet had the appearance of a fussy middle-aged matron, wearing a too-frilly high-necked white blouse over too-long black skirt. Denise, on the other hand, was still young enough to get away with tight designer jeans and a hint of cleavage; Brian never wore anything noticeable and was neither scruffy nor smart. Janet welcomed them, collected a cheque from Brian and began the session, but first she asked them to sign a consent form which emphasised that her therapy could turn out to be painful and traumatic. Again, Denise could understand that; she'd watched people she'd had to dismiss burst into tears in her office; it was the shitty side of her job, but she knew such things had to be done. She signed her name beneath Brian's and sat back confidently to see what would unfold.

"I think firstly I need a private talk with Denise, so, Brian, if you'd pop into the other room and make yourself comfortable for a while..."

Brian rose slowly and ambled out placidly.

Janet didn't beat about the bush.

"If you're not careful you're going to lose him, you know. Is that what you want?" she asked.

A condescending smile slid across Denise's bright red lips.

"Oh, I don't really think so!" she replied with a smirk.

Janet knew that she was being unprofessional, but the smugness goaded her, and she leant forward and slapped Denise hard across the face; Denise yelled, and clasped a hand to her stinging cheek.

"You don't think so! Have you ever been on Brian's bus? ... no, I don't suppose you'd be seen dead getting on a bus! Well, I have. Buses are full of women during the day; attractive women, available women ... they all know Brian, and he's good with them. Really good. You think he's dull and slow compared to your office whizz-kids, but out there he's cheery and witty and competent. You get the picture?"

Janet omitted to mention that many of these women were of pensionable age; but, after all, he only needed to meet one that wasn't. Denise nodded, still holding her cheek.

"Right, it's time to start the therapy. Now we'll go into the other room and swap places with Brian for a while..."

She called out for Brian, and they crossed in the corridor.

Janet opened the door of the therapy room and ushered Denise inside. The first thing that Denise saw was a large fish tank, a common enough feature in surgeries and counselling rooms. But in this case the bobbing fish were clearly plastic, and were sharing the tank with several birch rods being kept supple in the briny water. Janet froze; she had been lured into the lair of a dominatrix, who now stood smiling between her and the door.

"I wouldn't be so stupid as to try and keep you against your will," explained Janet in a low voice. "And, yes, my kind of therapy will hurt, as Brian well knows. But I'm experienced with couples too, and it will also work for both of you, as long as you approach it properly. Remember, he's paid for this session, so now you need to do your bit. So get completely undressed, please; modesty is a luxury here."

Denise obediently stripped, both cheeks now burning red. Janet then motioned her to the far side of the room where a small vaulting horse was positioned before an arrangement of angled mirrors; the horse had restraints for the wrists and ankles.

"I am now going to fasten you in position, and you will not be able to rise until I am satisfied that you have received what you deserve. Is that clear, and do you accept?"

"Yes," said Denise softly.

When Denise was held securely, Janet walked to the front of the horse and showed her a card on which Brian had written in red felt pen "Criticises My Driving".

"Is this true?" said Janet sternly.

"Yes," replied Denise, "he's much too slow and doesn't take his opportunities ...oww!"

Janet had slapped her hard on the bare rump.

"This is about your shortcomings, not your husband's," she warned. "Any more of those comments will be severely punished! Now, what is this?"

Janet held up a card with an embossed certification in the right-hand corner.

"Safe driving award," Denise replied.

"Is this yours?"

"No, it's Brian's."

"Is this the only one he has?"

"No, he collects one nearly every year from the bus company."

"And whose is this?" Janet held up a driving licence.

"Mine, I think ... have you been going through my handbag ... oww! ooh!" yelled Denise as two more slaps followed.

"And what are these?"

"Penalty points."

"How many?"

"Six."

"And how much did that cost you?"

"I dunno now, I just wrote the cheques."

"Can't have been much of a punishment for a well-off professional woman like you. Let's see if we can come up with a better one."

She selected a thin cane from a rack and swished it in the air.

"Count slowly to six, please, Denise."

On the count of one Denise screamed with pain as the cane whipped down and bit into her exposed behind. Janet sighed.

"That, my dear, is the junior school cane. I was beaten with that kind when I was nine and didn't make half that fuss. I really don't think you've got the courage for this."

And she bent down to unbuckle the straps holding Denise's wrists.

"No!" said Denise suddenly. "I'll go through with it!"

Good, thought Janet, her pride's hurting more than her bottom.

"Very well," replied Janet. "Now we'll start again, and if there's any unnecessary racket I'll use the birch instead. Understand?"

Denise nodded. She counted slowly, and took the subsequent six strokes well, making no noise beyond a sharp intake of breath at each one.

"Tell me about your wedding day," said Janet suddenly.

This wasn't at all what Denise expected; she began hesitantly, but when Janet made no effort to beat her again she soon began to talk naturally and with some animation. Janet cut her off after five minutes.

"Nicely told, dear. But I'd like to make one or two comments. I counted fourteen references to "I" and "my" and only five to "us" and "our". Not a good ratio for the most precious day of your lives together, is it?" Denise, having betrayed herself, began to sob quietly. Janet picked up the cane again and flexed it for Denise to see.

"Fourteen minus five makes nine strokes; painful but deserved!" And she held up another card with red writing, this one bore the comment "Self-Centred."

"Tell you what, I counted two references to Brian alone, so I'll deduct them. That makes seven. But don't tell Brian or he'll start demanding discounts too."

And Janet proceeded to add another seven sharp stripes to Denise's buttocks; Denise was still crying, but managed to control herself beyond the occasional yelp as she watched in the mirror whilst the weals increased and the pink areas began to diminish. Then Janet called Brian back into the therapy room and began to explain the next stage.

"So far, Denise, I've been punishing you for symptoms, of which I selected merely two, but if we're to make any real headway we need to get to the root cause of your problems, which, put simply, is your disrespect for Brian, which he doesn't deserve. This is a very serious attitude problem, and needs immediate and severe correction. So now I'm going to give you six proper strokes with the senior cane, and after each one you will thank me and apologise to Brian."

Janet selected a longer, thicker cane and slashed it hard against the middle of Denise's bottom. This one she couldn't take silently, and gave an agonised yell.

"I'm waiting," prompted Janet. Denise lifted her head.

"Th.. thank you, Janet, for punishing me as I deserve. And, Brian darling, I'm sorry for my disrespect and I promise to improve my attitude," said Denise, then hung her head submissively and waited for the next blow.

Janet widened her eyes and pursed her lips towards Brian; the girl was learning fast! Janet continued to cane her hard, however, the thick red-edged weals being expertly spaced as Denise howled and writhed. After the last stroke, Brian went to comfort his copiously weeping wife, but Janet held him back and shook her head warningly.

"The final part of the punishment in such cases should always be administered by the husband, and I've chosen the Aviemore strap." She selected a thick piece of leather, studded and buckled, and showed it to Denise. "This device was used in Scottish borstals and prisons until outlawed as too cruel in 1926. However, it's quite an intimate little thing and is still widely used on wives and daughters in rural Scotland to this very day. Now I'm going to make us all a nice cup of tea, unfortunately the kettle's rather slow so you two should have at least ten minutes to get acquainted with the strap; come back to the office when you've done. Oh, and I'd better move this in case anyone faints at the sight of blood." And she re-angled the mirror so Denise could no longer see behind her.

Denise was now trembling with fear as Janet passed behind her and, with a wink, hung up the studded monster and instead handed Brian a small thin plain strap which Janet normally took to novice spanking parties. The "Aviemore strap" was nothing more than a decorative horse brass, but new initiates could so easily be conned. As Janet went to put the kettle on she heard an anguished but unsuccessful pleading, a distinctly soft slap of leather on bottom and a scream of pure imagined agony. Mind games, merely mind games, she thought to herself; and I'm good at them.

Eight minutes later they were dressed and drinking tea. Denise was red-eyed, perched stiffly on the edge of the settee whilst Brian was his normal stolid self.

"Right, I want to see you both again in two weeks time," Janet said briskly. "Brian, do you do much writing?" she asked sensitively.

"I fill out bus defect reports at the end of each shift," he admitted.

"Excellent! Brian, for the next two weeks I want you to fill out a wife defect report every day without fail. This will determine the level of punishment Denise receives on her next visit. I do not expect you to be negligent and conceal her faults any more than you would with a bus where passenger safety is paramount, if you do I will take corrective action against you too."

She then turned to Denise.

"Denise, you will take immediate steps to show respect for Brian by transferring the whole of your salary into a bank account which Brian will manage; he's perfectly capable of handling that amount of money, he does it every day. You may keep a small residue for personal expenditure, no more than a hundred pounds per month. You will also dress modestly at the office and change into more seductive wear when you arrive home. You will submit to any corporal punishment which Brian feels is necessary and you are to meet his sexual needs without murmur; you may however decline on no more than one occasion but this will be classed as a defect unless there is a genuine medical reason. Do you understand?"

Denise nodded whilst Brian looked pleased. Janet turned to address him again.

"Brian, if Denise fulfils these conditions you in turn must fully meet her sexual requirements and furthermore purchase one small personal present for her plus an evening out each week which must please her at least as much as it pleases you. Is this clear?"

Brian now nodded; Denise looked surprised.

"Good behaviour should be rewarded as much as bad behaviour is punished, dear!" Janet explained. "When you have your family you'll do likewise!"

When the couple had gone, Janet returned to tidy the punishment room and noticed that the seat of the vaulting horse had been hurriedly wiped, though not completely; there were traces of a feminine residue which was not sweat. She began to wonder exactly who had been playing the best mind games that evening; never mind, Brian and Denise would soon be back and she could have the hide off the pair of them at the time of her choosing, which would of course be when they were least expecting it. She had her reputation to keep, after all!

Brian drove home as Denise was feeling somewhat distracted, but not so much that she failed to notice Brian miss a clear opportunity to turn into Manchester Road; she thought about making a critical comment but stifled it and stroked his thigh instead.

"Brian, darling, please don't ever punish me like that again, and please don't send in a bad wife report to Janet. I'll be a good girl from now on, I really will!" she promised.

But, of course, she wasn't.