One of my favourite regulars has invited me to join him in Dublin this week for an overnight police role-play session at his hotel.

His role-play idea is that in a technologically advanced but sexually repressed future state, not so far away from here and now, police will be able to probe the minds of deviant personalities and send the worst, most depraved and immoral reprobates to a gulag for re-indoctrination into appropriate, proper, serious, missionary position copulation.

I will wear my most disciplinary latex outfit, pop open a suitcase containing a judicious selection of spanking implements and big dildos, pronounce sentencing as his judge, jury and professional tormentor and then rehabilitate the fuck out of him with my strap-on. Can't wait!

He's a very special prisoner and I'm the most secret police.

I have all sorts of ideas for penal labours he can undertake. What's the plural for penal? Penis? He has one of those. It's a miserable little specimen so it won't be going anywhere near me but if he's lucky, I might grind it under the heel of my police issue Pleaser platform stilettoes and see if he can cum that way.

He loves it when I tie him up tightly so he's completely immobilised and helpless and then speak Russian into his earhole in a menacing, growly voice. He has no idea what I'm saying. I can happily recite my favourite recipe for borscht and he'll assume I'm castigating him for bringing shame to the Fatherland though his unmanly, panty sniffing, prostate stimulating, foot licking, kinkiness.

In fact I think the Fatherland could do with some more kinkiness. The more kink the better if you ask me. Nothing keeps you warm through a long, harsh Siberian winter like a good ass whipping.