An Avengers story, starring John Steed and Emma Peel.

Steed approached the door of Mrs Peel's Chelsea flat and rang the doorbell. The large, decorative eye on the door winked at him in response, fluttering its impressive eyelashes. He waited a minute and, when the door didn't open, he rang again. With still no response, he reached under the lower eyelid and brought out the key, which he used to unlock the door before returning it to its hiding place. He assumed his agent colleague must be engrossed in some serious activity and, as he had done on many previous occasions, he strolled in, closing the door behind him.

"Mrs Peel? Are you there?" he called out but, again, received no reply. He wandered through the flat to see if he could find her, starting to worry a little that she might be in trouble. When he glanced into the bathroom, he realised where she was and why she had not heard him. The door was open and he was looking directly at the shower cubicle. Inside, he could clearly see the naked body of Emma as she washed herself, her hands roaming over her lithe form, at that moment firmly rubbing the soapy sponge she was using over her pert breasts. Feeling himself flush, Steed backed away and turned to find something, anything, less arousing to focus on.

He saw a stack of magazines on the coffee table in the living room and went over to them, grateful for some distraction. He leafed through the pile, seeing titles that he expected such an intelligent and educated young woman as Mrs Peel to be reading - Science, Nature, British Medical Journal, Tatler, Horse & Hound, Country Houses and… Knotty Problems??

He pulled the unexpected magazine out and looked at the cover, which showed a very attractive young woman, naked and severely restrained in ropes! Not quite believing his eyes, he flicked through the pages, staring at image after image of women in various states of undress, all strictly bound, and many gagged. As he did so, he felt a stirring in his trousers and, almost immediately, became fully erect, resulting in a significant bulge in the finely tailored garment.

"Find anything interesting?" Emma said wryly, and he whirled around to find her standing behind him, wrapped in a towel which just barely covered the essentials, while using a second one to dry her hair. There was a quirky smile on her face. Unable to speak, Steed held out the magazine and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I was interested to discover whether pornography, specifically BDSM pornography, really works for women as well as men," she responded in a cool and entirely unembarrassed tone.

"And what were the results of your research?" Steed said smoothly, managing to recover some of his sang-froid.

"Well, in a sample of one," Emma went on, sitting on the sofa and crossing her legs rather alluringly, "it does seem to have a rather dramatic effect. As it does with you, I see." Steed hastily covered his embarrassment with the magazine, before hurriedly swapping it for the copy of Nature. He moved over to the armchair and sat down, leaving the magazine on his lap as cover.

"So, is this more than just a social visit? Not that I have any objection to you dropping in unexpectedly and… looking me up" Emma asked pointedly.

"I'm afraid so," Steed replied, "we've been asked to investigate the disappearance of two of our agents, Carter and Johnson."

"Taken by the other side?" Mrs Peel suggested.

"Possibly," Steed concurred, "although there have been no contacts. Using my back channels, they seem to know nothing about it."

"Do we have any clues?" the young agent asked and, as she did so, very deliberately uncrossed and recrossed her legs, bringing a look of alarm to Steed's face.

"I- I'm sorry, my dear," the older man stammered, giving a slight cough to cover his embarrassment, "did you say something?"

"Clues," Emma smiled, "something distracting you, Steed?"

"Oh, nothing, er… Clues! Yes, it seems Carter was investigating strange goings-on at the Reptile House at London Zoo, while Johnson filed a report saying that he was contacting our old friend, Lady Olga Fotheringham."

"Ah, Lady Olga!" Emma mused, remembering the numerous occasions on which she had crossed paths with the stunningly attractive woman of Russian extraction, who had married (and was now, conveniently, widowed) into the British aristocracy, "maybe something freelance, then."

"My thoughts exactly," Steed exclaimed, trying to shut out the image of the scantily clad woman in front of him. "So I thought I would go and talk to Prof Trelawney at the zoo, while you…"

"Renew acquaintance with the lovely but dangerous Olga?" Emma concluded.

"Mrs Peel, you read my mind," Steed smiled as he got up, "I'm sure you ladies will have a lot to catch up on!"

"Hmm, I'm not sure how pleased she will be to see me, after last time," Emma said as she headed for the bedroom, "I think it might be safer to arrive unannounced. And under cover of darkness!"

"Do be careful, my dear," Steed warned as he left, "she's a very dangerous woman, and she did vow to get even with you. I'll check back with you in the morning unless I hear from you before then." With that, he closed the door behind him and headed across town, trying not to picture his last memory of the meeting, when his fellow agent had let that towel slip as she disappeared from view, giving him a brief but oh-so-memorable flash of her perfect peach of an arse...

* * * * *

The moonlight shone down upon Alderley Hall and, with all lights inside extinguished, everything looked tranquil. There was some slight movement in the shrubbery, but that could easily have been a night animal such as a fox.

In fact, it was the extremely foxy form of Agent Emma Peel, creeping her way towards the house. When she had approached as close as she could while remaining hidden, she sprinted the remaining few yards in a low crouch, before plastering herself against the wall. In her trademark black catsuit, it would have been difficult enough to see her when she was moving, but now she melded into the shadows and completely disappeared.

After a few moments, confident that she had avoided detection by either security cameras or guards, she slid herself along until she reached the window. She quickly identified the electronic pads which, when separated, would set off the alarm, and attached the device which would neutralise them and ensure that everything remained peaceful. Now she could manipulate the lock and, in just a few seconds, she was able to lift the sash and climb into the property.

From her earlier research, she knew that she was now in the main study, and went straight over to the desk, her night vision perfectly adapted to the low levels of light provided by the moonlight from the windows. She easily picked the locks of the drawers and examined the contents, using her cowled pen light to ensure that there were no tell-tale signs of activity visible to anybody outside the room. She found nothing of significance and, after a similarly fruitless search of the filing cabinet, started to look around for likely locations where a safe might be concealed.

It was at that moment that the lights came on. Momentarily blinded, she instinctively went into a crouch, ready for attack from any direction.

"Ah, Mrs Peel!" a woman's voice rang out, the Slavic accent immediately recognisable, "so glad you could accept my invitation!" Emma straightened up as she saw the two goons with pistols trained on her. Between them was the woman she recognised as Lady Olga Fotheringham, and Emma noted that she seemed to have dressed for the occasion - black leather skirt, black leather boots, tight waist cincher, white blouse and black elbow-length gloves.

"Invitation?" Emma echoed questioningly, remaining calm but alert for any opportunity to turn the tables.

"Yes," Lady Olga replied, "those two other agents, mere sprats to catch the mackerel, bait to catch the larger fish or, possibly more appropriately, a chum line to bring out the great white sharks of the espionage world. I've been expecting you and, I'm assuming, your colleague Steed, to pay me a visit."

"I'm afraid you'll be disappointed," Emma said levelly, with her best poker face, "Steed is on another mission entirely, I'm working solo on this one."

"I hope, for your sake, that you're lying," Lady older retorted with a smile, "however, I'm sure we can attract his attention when required, one way or another. Restrain her!" This last was barked at one of the heavies, who stepped forward, pocketing his gun and taking out a pair of handcuffs. The agent had no choice, given that she was still at the end of the other man's barrel, and stood silently and unresisting as he pulled her arms behind her back and put the cuffs around her wrists, clicking them closed until they were painfully tight.

"Show our visitor to the guest quarters in the basement," Olga said with a smirk, "I'll be down presently."

The other guard came over to Emma and they each grabbed an arm, hustling her roughly out of the room. She walked along the main hallway, noting the decorative suits of armour on either side, each complete with sword or spear. She considered making a break for it and grabbing one of the weapons, but realised that, with her arms secured behind her, the odds were against her. Dismissing the idea, she just had to hope that she would get a better opportunity to escape later.

They took her down a dark set of steps and along another corridor, but this one had bare stone walls and stone slabs underfoot and overhead. They came to a heavy metal door, and Emma was pushed inside, before the guards joined her, slamming the door shut with an ominous clang.

Emma turned to face them, wondering if she was going to have to defend herself from a violent assault - perhaps a beating to soften her up - and she balanced on the balls of her feet, ready to duck, dive or kick out, whatever was going to keep these buffoons at bay.

But the assault never came. One of the guards took out his gun again and trained it on her, while the other approached and unlocked the cuffs. Emma rubbed her wrists as she watched him go over to the only piece of furniture in the stone-clad cell, an old teak chest, and then return with a skein of rope.

"Hands forward and together, please," the man with the gun ordered and, when she did so, the other tied her wrists together extremely tightly and in such a way that she knew she wouldn't be able to pick apart the knots, even with her teeth.

He took the rest of the rope and threw it over a metal bar hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room. Taking up the other end of the rope, he walked to the wall and threaded it through an iron ring, before pulling it taut. As he continued to yank on it, Emma felt her arms pulled up over her head until the soles of her stiletto boots were barely touching the floor. The guard tied the rope off, leaving the shapely young woman stretched out before them.

"Wouldn't you just love to run your hands over those delicious curves?" the man who had tied her said with an evil grin.

"You can forget ideas like that," the man with the gun said firmly, "her ladyship will be watching, and she doesn't appreciate having her toys played with before she's had her fun. Come on, let's get back upstairs." With a rueful look of disappointment, the man stopped smiling and they both turned and left the cell. As the door slammed again, Emma struggled briefly, if only to confirm her suspicion that her bonds were inescapable, then looked around the room for any opportunity to escape there might be.

There wasn't much to see. Apart from the chest, there were only two areas of interest. One was the bank of security cameras pointing at her from various angles. The other was a set of three iron grilles low down on the wall which she was facing, behind which appeared to be some kind of tunnel. She noted it as a potential escape route, if she could get free at some point. She turned to face the door as she heard it open, steeling herself for whatever unpleasantness was coming her way.

"I must say, Mrs Peel," Olga said as she entered, the heels of her boots ringing on the stone slabs as she sashayed up close to her prisoner, "I'm loving your outfit tonight! I see you've traded up from your sexy leather ensemble to a blatantly fetish latex catsuit. I'm envious of your self-confidence and, from what is plainly on view through that thin rubber, your body!"

"It's simply practical," Emma retorted, sounding rather more defensive than she had intended, "it allows me greater freedom of movement, and it wipes clean very easily - bloodstains can be so bad for leather."

"Yes, I'm sure, purely practical," Olga responded with a dismissive sneer, "has Steed seen you in that?" Emma didn't respond.

"No, I don't suppose he has," the beautiful interrogator went on, "I doubt if he'd be able to keep his hands off you if he had. Hell, I'm struggling to keep my hands off you myself! But then, why am I struggling? It's not as though you're able to stop me, is it?" She stepped closer, their faces only inches apart, then grabbed Emma's breast in one hand and a buttock in the other.

"Mmm, you feel as good as you look," she purred, pulling the bound woman into her, so that their bodies were pressed together, "I wonder if you taste as good too…" She leaned forward to plant her lips firmly against Emma's but, in the moment before their lips touched, Emma leaned back and turned away, moving herself out of reach.

"I like it when you play hard to get," Olga murmured, "but I will not be denied." As she said this, she grabbed a handful of Emma's hair at the back of her head and forced it forward, before crushing her mouth against that of her captive, thrusting her tongue between her unresisting lips.

Emma considered biting the intruder in her mouth but thought better of it, realising that it would merely goad Olga into a precipitative and, potentially, very violent reaction. She had never been kissed like this by a woman before, and she found it interestingly different, and not unpleasant. Tentatively, telling herself that she was merely trying to lull her attacker, she started to respond, pushing back with her own tongue, until they were wrestling for supremacy, first in her mouth and then in Olga's.

The kiss extended far longer than either of them had expected and, encouraged by the response she was receiving, the Russian fondled the latex form before her, feeling its curves, exploring its crevices, seeking out and finding the zip fastener at her neck. She eased it down, feeling the tight material spring apart to reveal her chest, cleavage, and finally her flat, toned stomach.

When they finally broke apart, both women were gasping for air.

"You really do have a magnificent body, Mrs Peel," Olga breathed, laying her fingers against the exposed flesh of her chest and feeling the heart beating below.

She grabbed the two sides of the catsuit and pulled them violently apart, casting a lustful and hungry look at Emma's now-exposed breasts. She lowered her head and latched onto one of her nipples, licking and sucking it eagerly, bringing it almost instantly erect. She transferred her attention to the other breast, quickly having the same effect.

"You're full of surprises, Emma," she smiled as she straightened up and looked the other woman in the face, "I would never have suspected you of being so… flexible."

"As you said earlier," Emma said matter-of-factly, "I don't have a lot of choice."

"Hmm, true," Olga conceded, "and you could be just playing along to avoid something worse. Maybe that's what they're teaching secret agents these days! But I detected some genuine arousal there. I'm sure, given half a chance, you'd play both sides of the street. Personally, I have no doubts about my sexual leanings and, I must say, I'm delighted to find you so cooperative. I wonder if you'll be quite so open to some of my other little peccadilloes?"

Emma watched the Russian walk over to the chest and, remembering that the rope with which she was tied had come from there, did not think that whatever Olga chose was going to be good, as far as she was concerned. She tried to see what her tormentor had picked up and was bringing back, but all she could see was something small and metallic in hand.

"I have a particular interest in pain and its use in sexual situations," Olga said, now standing once again in front of her victim. "I get a kick out of inflicting it on my partners. I'll be interested to learn if you get a similar thrill from suffering it."

Emma could now see that she was holding two small, steel clips, the jaws of which had sharp serrated edges. She grabbed one of Emma's breasts, gripping it tightly enough to prevent her from squirming away, and brought the clip towards her, opening it so that it looked like a hungry mouth about to devour her. She placed it over the still-erect nipple and slowly released it, allowing the metal jaws to close.

As the teeth of the jaws pressed down on her sensitive flesh, Emma's face twisted in agony and she bit her lip to stifle the scream she wanted to emit. The clip was sprung so powerfully that it felt like the metal teeth were piercing the skin and might draw blood. She had hardly come to terms with this first torment when Olga released the second clamp on her other nipple, doubling the agony and eliciting an anguished moan.

"Very good, Mrs Peel," the Russian said in a voice heavy with lustful emotion, "as I suspected, you have a pleasingly high pain threshold. I'm going to enjoy finding your limits."

"Do you expect me to talk?" Emma gasped, trying to keep her voice even, but the slight waver betraying the pain she was suffering.

"No, Emma," Olga laughed, "I wouldn't insult your intelligence or your professionalism by assuming such a thing. In fact, just the opposite."

Another trip to the chest resulted in Olga holding up what Emma immediately recognised as a ballgag. But the red ball held by the black leather strap seemed far too large to fit into her mouth. As Olga brought it towards her lips, she clamped her mouth shut and turned away, refusing to accept the gag.

"Don't be stupid, Mrs Peel, you know you can't prevent this." Olga took hold of the secret agent's face in one hand and drove her thumb into one cheek, her fingers into the other, prising her jaws apart until she could push the ball between her teeth. Now she could force it home, one hand behind Emma's head, the other pushing the tennis ball-sized gag into her mouth, stretching her jaws as wide as they would go, and then a bit further. Emma was sure that her jaw was about to break when the ball finally popped past her teeth and wedged there, completely filling her oral cavity.

"There," Olga said as she fastened the strap behind Emma's head, even though the size of the ball meant that there was no way she could push it out, rendering the strap unnecessary, "that should make it clear  to you that, even if you wanted to tell me all your state secrets, I'm not interested. Let me explain."

She walked to the chest once more, and Emma watched her fearfully, her bravado now completely dissipated. The limit of her ambition now was not escape, but merely survival. Her worst nightmare was realised when Olga returned with a long bamboo cane in her hands, flexing it threateningly as she approached.

"You see," Olga went on, "I have been commissioned to degrade the capabilities of your organisation to the point where it becomes an irrelevance. My view is that, once I take out the cream of the crop - you, Steed, and a few others - the rest will be child's play. So my purpose here is not interrogation, Mrs Peel, it's elimination. This is just a bit of fun before your inevitable demise."

With a casual but vicious stroke, she brought the stick down across Emma's already tortured breasts, finally bringing a desperate scream from her throat, which emerged past the gag only as a muffled whimper.

With a happy smile on her face, Olga walked around her bound prisoner, lashing out at her wherever and whenever the fancy took her. Emma's screams became almost constant as the cane repeatedly slashed across her stomach, shoulder blades, buttocks and thighs - front and back. The pain was unbearable, but she had no choice but to bear it, try as she might to wriggle and squirm her way out of the line of the blows.

The assault only came to a halt when Emma slumped in her bondage, her entire weight now held by the rope around her wrists, her head lolling on her chest. It looked as though she had fainted but, when Olga grabbed her hair and lifted her head, she saw a glimmer of life still in the young woman's red-rimmed eyes. She tracked the line of her tears down across her high cheekbones to the leather strap cutting across her cheeks, relishing the torment she had clearly inflicted.

"Well, I know I enjoyed that," she purred, "you, maybe not so much. Time for a change, I think. Perhaps you prefer pleasure to pain?"

Emma managed to get her feet underneath her and relieve the pressure on her wrists but, as she watched Olga pay another visit to the dreaded chest, she feared what was to come next. She took out some items and returned, before constructing a metal pole on a stand in front of Emma. She moved it forward until it was between Emma's legs, and then adjusted its height until the top of the pole was pressing insistently against her crotch. Satisfied that it was now correctly set, Olga removed it and reached for the lower zip in Emma's latex suit, unzipping it from her lower belly, between her legs, and up to the small of her back.

"I think you will like this, Mrs Peel," she said with a wicked smile, "every girl needs a good fucking every now and again, don't you agree?"

As she said this, she attached a huge, pink dildo to the top of the metal pole and moved it back into position between Emma's legs. With the extra height, she had to tilt it until she had worked the end of the dildo into Emma's vagina, at which point she straightened it up, driving the entire length of the dildo up inside her. Emma let out a muffled squeal as her feet were now an inch from the floor and, in an attempt to relieve the internal pain caused by the dildo, she grabbed the rope above her and pulled herself up.

"Very good, Emma," the sadistic Russian said as she watched Emma try, but just fail, to lift herself entirely off the pole, "I wonder how long you can hold yourself up like that?" She reached in, to the base of the dildo and flicked a switch, causing it to burst into life, gyrating and vibrating violently.

Emma found herself in a whole new world of pain as the vibrator assaulted her from inside. Frantically, she kept pulling herself up by the rope, but her arms soon began to tire, and she repeatedly sank back down onto the devilish device. Devilish because, while it was certainly painful, it began to have its inevitable impact and Emma found her level of arousal rising gradually but unstoppably.

Slowly, she felt the heat of her sexual need grow, although she continued to fight it in any way she could. As she felt the climax building inside her, she looked desperately for some mercy, only to see that her evil nemesis had picked up the cane once more and now started to rhythmically strike her breasts, driving her to the brink of insanity with the frequency and regularity of the sharp bursts of pain.

In a frenzy of lust, Olga pulled apart the back of the latex suit, exposing Emma's buttocks as she had done her breasts, and began thrashing them mercilessly, drinking in the muffled cries of protest escaping from the tortured woman's lips, allowing all the sensations to fuel her own impending orgasm.

Emma's climax exploded in a haze of pain and pleasure such as she had never experienced before. Its intensity was shattering, and a blackness descended over her vision as her consciousness slipped away, sending her into an oblivion where, thankfully, the overwhelming pain could no longer touch her.

When she gradually came round, she quickly realised that she was still in the dungeon, and still hanging by her wrists from the rope. The dildo, gag and nipple clamps had, thankfully, all been removed and her catsuit zipped up again, leaving her pretty much in the same state as she had arrived.

"Perfect timing, " Olga said, "apparently Steed has just been spotted in the gardens! It is slightly inconvenient, as I would have loved to play with you longer, but I must go and organise the welcoming committee for your esteemed colleague. Who knows? If you're still alive when we capture him, you will be able to say goodbye and die together!"

"So, you intend to kill me now?" Emma asked, hoping that Olga's hubris might persuade her to wait so that she could kill them both together, which would at least give him the chance to save her.

"Yes," the Russian confirmed, "but I've arranged something slow and painful, so you may still live long enough to see Steed again. Let's hope so. I would love him to see you suffer and die in the wonderfully exotic way I have planned." She turned to leave.

"Surely, you want to watch such a dramatic event?" Emma said desperately, playing for time.

"Don't worry your pretty head, Mrs Peel," Olga replied condescendingly as she pushed the ballgag back into Emma's mouth, "these cameras will record every moment of the action for me to enjoy over and over again! Goodbye, Mrs Peel, do have an unpleasant death, won't you?" With that, she walked out of the cell, closing the door behind her, leaving Emma to her fate.

To be continued…