Zara tried to look around the room but it was difficult with her limited head movement due to the collar and chain and the room was too dimly lit to make out much anyway. It was a fairly small room with dark walls and black tatami flooring. There was one small window covered with a black velvet drape. A red bulb in the light fitting gave a soft, ethereal glow to the room. Whips and chains, leather straps, coils of rope, shackles, manacles and restraints of various types hung from black cast iron hooks. A wooden crucifix with leather and chain restraints was affixed to the far wall. Zara had never known such fear. Where was she? What was going on? And what was going to happen to her? The images that flashed through her mind were hideous.

       A blaze of light from a hallway suddenly lit up the room, as the door was swung open. A figure stood framed in the doorway. Zara’s eyes widened with shock and fear. The woman was very tall and slender, with a wave of raven hair and dark piercing eyes. She stood poised in a shimmer of gold-embroidered black lace. Her basque, her gloves, even her stockings and stiletto ankle boots were elaborately decorated. Her hair had been sprayed with golden glitter and her flesh gleamed and sparkled with golden body gel. She was radiant. Zara took a deep breath at the sight of this goddess of the night. She wore a small diamond stud in her bottom lip and one on the side of her nose. She carried a leather cat-o-nine tails loosely in her right hand. She really did look just as though she had stepped straight from the cover of a fetish magazine. She stood still and silent in the doorway for a few long moments, as though posing theatrically for her helpless captive. Then she slowly, purposefully strode towards her. Zara shut her eyes tightly, trembling uncontrollably, her forehead beaded with sweat. The woman bent forward to put her mouth close to Zara’s ear.

       “If you ever want to be allowed to wake up from this nightmare, then you’d better be a very good girl and do exactly what Lady Vixen tells you. I am going to untie you. You will not struggle, scream, or lash out in any way at all. You will be quiet, calm and obedient. Is that understood, bitch?” With tears flowing down her ashen cheeks, Zara attempted a slight nod of acknowledgement. She had no choice but to submit to this woman. “And just for your information, there are armed guards and dogs patrolling the grounds and there is an extremely high electric fence all around the estate so any thought of escape is futile.”

       Escape from where, from who and what? Zara wondered wretchedly. Just what the hell was going on? Surely Kurt was not responsible for this? As little as she knew him, it simply didn’t seem his style. Lady Vixen proceeded to unfasten the chain from the collar. Then she unfastened the leather belt and untied Zara’s hands and feet. Finally she removed the gag. Zara moistened her dry lips with her tongue and rubbed her aching jaw. She stared up at Vixen with wide, frightened eyes.

       “Why?” she asked simply, her voice almost a whisper.

       “Shut up!” Vixen snapped. “You will not speak without permission. And lower your eyes at once – you never look your Master or Mistress in the eye. You should know that. Now get up and follow me.” Her goddess-tormentor swept from the room. Zara struggled to her feet and, wobbly on her legs, followed after her. Had she been more sentient perhaps she would have resisted, demanded an explanation, lashed out and attempted escape… But she felt sick, dizzy, scared to death and knew anyway that at only five feet in height and slightly built she was no match for this Amazonian dominatrix.

       Zara was led down a long narrow hallway, the walls of which were decorated with surreal erotic photographs, paintings and drawings, dimly lit by the occasional red wall-light. There were a few doors leading off from the hallway and Vixen led Zara through the last one. It led into a spacious, tastefully decorated drawing room, with a burgundy leather three-piece suite, dark wood occasional tables and a beautiful marble fireplace that held a roaring log fire. Seated near that fireplace, in a high back leather chair, sat a tall muscular man with a thick mop of jet-black hair swept backwards and a neatly trimmed black beard hiding a cruel mouth. He wore dark wrap-around glasses so that you could not see his eyes. He had a gold sleeper and a small crucifix dangling from his left lobe. He was wearing tight, black leather trousers and a black leather cuirass. He wore a wide leather belt with a ram’s head buckle; a plaited leather whip hung from that belt.

       Lady Vixen stood the pale and trembling Zara before this sinister figure. Although she could not see his eyes, Zara could somehow feel his intense gaze burning into her like a brand on the soul. With a slow movement he removed the dark glasses and his gaze rested coolly and dispassionately on Zara. His eyes lingered on her breasts then wandered to her thighs and long, slim legs. He regarded her silently for several moments, moments that seemed like hours to the scared and helpless newly enslaved Zara; his gaze, his manner, seemed disdainful, scornful. Then he pointed to the floor and Lady Vixen pushed Zara down onto her knees. The leather-clad stranger made a brief hand signal to Vixen, who at once drew Zara to her feet again and nudged her forward. She gave a startled yelp as he caught her wrist and pulled her down across his lap. His flies were open and she could feel his huge manhood pressing against her flesh. His fingers went straight to her pretty little rosebud, which he began to tease and stimulate before forcing his thumb right in, struggling against the resistance of her sphincter. She gave a gasp and then moaned softly.

       “Leave us,” he suddenly snapped at Vixen, his voice husky and masculine. Vixen left the room, leaving Zara alone with this stranger probing and exploring her most secret orifice. He began to flick at her clitoris as well, quickly fuelling the fire that was building up inside of her against her will. Then he pushed her from his lap.

       “Put my cock in your mouth,” he ordered. Zara hesitated – she was repelled by the thought, yet afraid to disobey. “NOW!” he bellowed and she quickly took him into her mouth, closing her lips around the rapidly growing member. She could only take half of him into her stretched mouth and gagged once when the knob came close to her throat. She ran her tongue up and down the stiff shaft and flicked it over the knob end. She heard him emitting a soft gurgling from deep in his throat and slowly the sound became far more guttural as he came close to climax.

       “Lie down,” he rapped and this time Zara obeyed him instantly, laying down on her back on the soft deep-pile midnight blue carpet. She still kept her eyes tightly shut. She heard his groans and deep-throated grunts increasing to an animalistic frenzy and suddenly there was warm, sticky cream spurting all over her face. There followed a very long, otherworldly silence. Zara could not move. The silence was suddenly shattered by the sound of a zipper that seemed as loud as a tiger’s growl in the eerie stillness.

       “Who are you?” Zara at last ventured in a small voice, curling herself into a ball on the floor.

       “Your Master,” he replied tersely. At that moment, the door swung open.

       “Ah, my other latest acquisition,” he remarked with a contemptuous tone of voice. He grabbed painfully at her hair and thrust her head up so that she could see who had just entered the room to witness her ignominy.

       “KURT!” Zara cried out in utter shock and disbelief. He stood framed in the doorway, naked, stooped and round-shouldered. His eyes were pained and angry. His legs were shackled so that he was forced to take small awkward steps; his hands were cuffed in front. There were marks all over his hirsute muscular body – cigarette burns, welts and bruises. “My god, what have they done to you?” Zara exploded. Kurt did not answer; he was not looking at her but at the brute holding her. He swore briefly and violently in Dutch then continued in English.

       “Nicholas, your argument is with me, not the girl. Let her go.” His tone was biting.

       “You know better than that, Kurt” Nicholas’s voice was taunting. “Such a pretty little whore, could prove very profitable. You yourself know how much certain foreign clients love white European flesh.” As he spoke, he pulled Zara to her feet and cupped her breasts possessively. Zara went to pull away but Nicholas tightened his grip until she winced. “Farazouk for one would pay a handsome price – perhaps I’ll get her crated up and sent out tomorrow.”

       “Fuck you, you bastard,” Kurt cursed vehemently. At this loud exclamation, a burley character suddenly appeared in the doorway; Zara noted with a shudder the gun in its holster. He had appeared so instantaneously that she realised he must have been standing just outside the door the whole time. Nicholas merely made a brief gesture of the hand and the man nodded and disappeared from sight again.

       “Fuck me? It is you and Zara who will be fucked – fucked, buggered, beaten and broken until I have recouped every penny you stole from me.” Nicholas’s tone had suddenly changed from one of mocking contempt to one of molten anger. Zara cried out as his nails suddenly dug into the soft flesh of her breasts but he ignored the pain he was causing her.

       “She’s nothing to me, I’ve only known her a couple of days. Leave her out of it. Let her go or I swear I’ll kill you.” Kurt made to lunge at Nicholas but in one swift movement, the brawny armed guard was back through the door and had him swiftly restrained in an iron grip. He forced the shackled man down onto his knees.

       “We will strike a bargain…” Nicholas began, his voice calm yet menacing.

       “I will never strike a bargain with you,” Kurt groaned. “And I never stole from you. It was a legitimate take-over bid. We’re both businessmen – we both know the risks with stocks and shares. You gambled and you lost.”

       “I never lose. And I think you will bargain. Because Zara is the stake in this business deal.” Zara suddenly felt her blood run cold. She was struggling to comprehend all that was happening, but understood enough to know that she was in very real danger at the hands of this Nicholas. Nicholas went down on his haunches before the kneeling Kurt and lifted his chin with a finger. “If you co-operate, then I give you my word that your precious Zara will not be sold. Once I have recovered my money, you will both be free to go.”

       “Your word? And what is that worth?” Kurt hissed through steeled teeth. “By god, if you weren’t surrounded by a private army of cronies with guns I’d rip you apart and tear out your guts with my bare hands.” His voice was molten with rage, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white, his temple twitching with coursing blood.

       “You are hardly in a position to mistrust me. I possess you both utterly and completely, can do as I please with you. It is up to you how much the girl suffers. Co-operate and she will eventually go free – resist and I will have her in a crate and on my jet in a matter of hours.” Kurt diverted his gaze from Nicholas to Zara, who was now huddled on the floor leaning against the settee, tears streaming down her ashen face. He knew that he had no choice but to co-operate with his bitter enemy and pray that he would keep his word and release Zara…eventually.

       Nicholas yanked at a crimson twisted pull near the fireplace and somewhere in the huge house a bell resounded. Moments later a young man in his early twenties appeared, with chiselled cheekbones, ash blonde hair and sultry cerulean eyes. He was dressed casually in faded denims and a blue tee shirt.