I gave up looking for a place in the car park and stopped on the verge. The rain had turned the grass to mud. At least it wasn't dog shit flaking off my shoes as I dragged my hangover round the office looking for somewhere to plug in my laptop.

"Marion! You're late this morning. What are you doing out here among the workers?" Phil loomed over me, his immaculate image of pinstripe suit and silk tie marred by thinning hair combed across an expanse of pink scalp.

"Hi, Phil. The bastards re-assigned my office to a team developing software to market dog food." I was long past being resentful of the vagaries of my management.

"We need to talk. Come into my office."

"You've moved up market. I could get my whole team in here." The big office had windows looking out on the car park. I prowled around, noting the squalid carpet and the damp stains on the window sills. The walls were marred by Blu-Tac stains

"There's a panic on. This is my war-room." Phil was smug, satisfied that this second-rate office shored up his status.

"War-room? The war's already happened in my head. I had a bad night. I can't remember..."

"Someone hacked Sainfield's website last night."

"They probably improved it. Those bloody supermarket sites are crap. I don't know why we tried so hard to get the business."

"Come and have a look." Phil invited me to sit in front of his laptop. "This is a copy. The guys repaired the on-line website."

"The Woman's Page. You think I'm so old that I need knitting patterns?"

"Look in the bottom right hand corner - story of the day."

"'Slap of Leather' - what!" I recognised the piece.

"Marion, it's sado-masochism - not very appropriate for the Woman's Page."

"Shut up. I'm reading ... This piece needs some editorial work but it's much better than the usual stuff that Sainfield's put up."

"One of their senior managers spotted it at three am." Phil hovered over me as I read the story.

"What's their management team doing, reading the women's pages at three am?" I muttered, distracted.

"This is serious. Our client executive spent months winning this account from JCN Corporation. He spent a fortune. And one of the big selling points was our ability to keep their website from being hacked."

"Yeah. I wrote the bullshit in the bid. But this is Sainfield's content. We're not accountable if they post unsuitable material."

"It wasn't them."

"So who did? Their website can't be hacked by Internet wierdos. I spent weeks on the design."

"Marion, you posted it."

"Me?"

"That's what the technical guys say. The logs say you put it up at eleven last night. Have you got an alibi?"

"Eleven last night?" My memory was hazy, and my hangover hurt enough to stop me trying to remember.

"Where were you?" He taunted me.

"Phil, give me a moment. I can't remember..."

"A bed... ?"

"Oh shit. It's coming back. Your wife..."

" ... came home early. You were sneaking out the back way at eleven. I hope you didn't drive home."

"I don't think so. Did I get off before we were interrupted?"

"You were far too drunk."

"Did you?"

"Eventually. It's very detumescing when you complain about how dull our sex life is."

"Even adultery gets boring in the end. Anyway, it's an alibi."

"Of a sort - you were shagging the security director. And my alibi?"

"You were shagging the technical leader. Sounds like conspiracy. Why didn't you call me in?"

"I did. There was no response. You were so drunk, I didn't expect much help"

"Sorry. I'll go and see what I can dig up. Is there a coffee machine working?"

"No, they're all broken."

The system logs told me which terminal had been used to hack the website. I went to it and stood behind the slim chit of a girl. Sunlight emphasised tender fur on slender arms below a white silk blouse.

"Chrissy, are you into erotic stories? And working late at night?"

She smiled up at me. Her face wasn't pretty - her teeth were far too big and her nose was squashed upwards making her look a little like a pig. But her blonde hair trailed over her shoulders, and her innocence and fragile body had captivated me for months.

"I'm wearing a silk blouse. I bought it specially for you."

"You always wear silk blouses."

"Usually I can only afford cotton. But I read what you wrote about liking tender fur on slender arms below a white silk blouse."

"You read what?"

"On a website - a forum called 'The Piranha Pool'. It's a notorious haunt of Internet erotic fiction writers."

People around us were beginning to listen. "Not here," I hissed. My hangover was not improving. I no longer wanted coffee - a good big whisky was my only hope. I looked round hopelessly for somewhere private.

"It's nearly lunchtime," Chrissy stood up and ran slender fingers across the lapel of my jacket. "We could go out somewhere - more secluded."

The Porsche was parked in a prime spot close to the building's entrance. The seat absorbed me and I closed my eyes.

"Will this help?" Chrissy offered a leather covered hip flask. I sniffed, and identified an Islay malt.

Chrissy stopped the car at the end of a farm track. "We can talk here." Her large eyes were soft and sympathetic.

The whisky had dissolved my headache and cleared my brain.

"You posted 'Slap of Leather' on Sainfield's website? It's a story about two women. One of them annoys the other. The annoyed one gets the other to beat her. In a toilet stall. With a leather belt. Very erotic. You didn't even acknowledge the author!"

"I chose it because you posted a comment that the story made you think about the fuzz on my tender arms." She ran her fingers beneath the sleeve of her jacket, emphasising the thinness of her wrist.

"How did you know I meant you?"

"You stare at me sometimes. No one else looks at me like that. It makes me shiver."

"How did you know I'd posted the comment?"

"Your net-name is in the file where you keep all your account details and passwords."

"There's no way you can get access to that!"

"I guessed the password."

"How?" My hangover was coming back and I took another swig.

"It's my name and the year I was born. It didn't take me long."

She took the flask from me and drank delicately.

"You're driving," I told her.

"There's no rush to go anywhere," she said.

I opened the window. The sun shone on bright pink campion straggling among the brambles. Forget-me-nots and stitchwort were fresh among the grass. Small birds courted noisily in the trees that screened us from the world.

I followed Chrissy when she got out and picked an early rose from a rambling briar. She threaded it through the buttonhole in my lapel, sucking a finger where a thorn had pricked.

"You haven't told me why you hacked the website."

She flung her arms out to enfold the spring countryside and smiled shyly.

"It made you notice. How else could I have got you out here with me?"

"Why me? I'm old enough to be your mother."

She peeped from beneath pale lashes. "You make me feel secure. And you like me, don't you? Men think I'm boring - no tits or hips. They only want to use me like a hosepipe."

"Chrissy!" Her crudeness was shocking.

"It's true. Once they've finished, they forget about me. But you understand what I need, don't you?"

Her trousers snaked down round her ankles and she pushed her scrap of panties after them. As she bent across the bonnet of the car, her vulva parted, seeming to split her narrow loins in two. Sunlight picked out pale hair and glistened on the moist pink tenderness.

"The story isn't quite appropriate" She looked back at me. "I want you to punish me for what I did."

"Punish you?" My voice was uneven.

"On the shelf in the car..." She wriggled her bottom at me.

There was a paper bag.

"You can't! It won't!" I struggled to tear the cellophane from the biggest dildo I'd ever seen. It was a hideous shade of blue and the swollen knob caricatured the end of a penis. The bulging ribs on the shaft reminded me of the Michelin man. It seemed long enough to reach her shoulder blades.

"It'll kill you!"

"Marion! Please," she moaned and reached back to pull her buttocks apart. Her little buns blushed bright pink with excitement.

I trembled as the vast blue knob distended her vagina. Chrissy moaned and wriggled, forcing herself back onto the dildo. She howled as each rib strained past her tender membranes.

I kept on pushing until only a couple of inches remained.

"Wait!" The car's bonnet drummed as she pounded with whitened knuckles. Tears dripped onto the paintwork. I pulled a couple of ribs out of her and she howled again.

"Put it back. It's OK."

I stood panting, my loins on fire, wondering what to do next. Chrissy lay impaled, flattened against the black metal, writhing slowly.

"My handbag strap comes off."

I'd though her silly to have a broad, long strap on such a small bag, but now I understood. Folded in two, the soft leather reeked of punishment and power.

Chrissy screamed.

"I'm sorry!" I bent to kiss the bright red weal. "Your bum's so small it's difficult to hit it with the flat."

"Go on. It's perfect. I like to scream." Her bottom wriggled again in invitation.

I stopped counting after eight. Chrissy's screams changed to howls as she pounded the Porsche's paintwork in her orgasm. Three or four strokes later, my vision dimmed and my knees gave way.

"I haven't come like that for years," I murmured into Chrissy's vulva as I knelt against her, smelling sweet sex and feeling wetness beneath my lips.

"I haven't come like that ever," she murmured dreamily. "There's a blanket in the back of the car."

Chrissy undressed me as we lay in the sun.

"I'm supposed to be tracking down the villainous hacker."

"I think you've found her. All you have to do is make the punishment fit the crime."

"It did fit. I'd never have believed it. Are you sore?"

"Not yet."

"It's a bloody good photograph." I clicked the mouse to zoom in on the dildo.

"Ghastly colour." Phil was leaning over my shoulder and I could feel his arousal - smell it too.

"It was all they had in stock, apparently."

"Her bottom's so small I'm surprised it holds her legs together. Wielding that strap, you look like something out of 'Die Walkure'. At least she had the decency to pixellate your face."