“Welcome, Mrs Peel, and thank you for coming here today.”

Emma looked along the line of men sitting behind the long table in front of her but, with their faces hidden behind masks, she could not discern their expressions and determine exactly what their intentions might be. She steeled herself to respond to whatever she encountered, while she went over the facts of the situation in her head.

“We have a new case, Mrs Peel,” her colleague and friend, John Steed, had informed her. “Several top female scientists have disappeared while working on key projects, and Mother wants us to investigate.”

“Interesting,” she had responded, experiencing the excitement which she always felt when faced with a new challenge, “do we have any leads?”

“Only this,” Steed replied, showing her a diary entry. “It seems that all the scientists met with this chap shortly before they disappeared.” Emma read the name ‘Bill Matthews’, followed by the name of an organisation.

“The Inferno Club?” she remarked, her eyebrows raised questioningly.

“Yes, intriguing, isn’t it?” the suave agent smiled. “I’ve not managed to find any trace of such a group or club. I have, however, managed to track down Bill Matthews. I thought you might visit him and use your feminine wiles to see if you could infiltrate this secretive organisation?”

“I’m sure my wit and intelligence will do the trick,” she said jokingly, “but if he requires any further inducement, I can always try to entice him with something a little less intellectual and rather more… physical.”

When she had met with the dashingly handsome Bill Matthews the next evening for dinner, Emma found that she would hardly need her powers of persuasion to achieve her goal.

“How did you find out about the Club, Mrs Peel?” he asked suspiciously when Emma raised the subject, inadvertently confirming to her that the club was real.

“Oh, just a rumour I heard from the friend of a friend of a friend,” she said airily, smiling innocently, “I do so love a secret, and that name - The Inferno Club! It sounds so exciting! So… naughty!”

“Well, between you and me,” he whispered confidentially, leaning forward across the table, “it is… very naughty! A select group of individuals with very specialist interests of a libertarian nature. It might challenge your concept of acceptable conduct, but I know an intelligent and, if I might say so, extremely pretty young woman such as yourself would fit in perfectly.” Emma’s smile broadened as she leaned forward as well, until their faces, and lips, were only inches apart.

“Oh, Bill,” she murmured in her sexiest tone, “it sounds wonderful! Do you think the members would have me?”

“Undoubtedly,” he replied, taking her hand in his, “we’re always looking for bright young things to bring into the fold and provide them with new and exciting experiences.”

“I can hardly wait,” the agent purred, “when do you think I could meet the other members?”

“Well,” Bill replied, “there’s no time like the present. I’m going to the club right now, why don’t you accompany me?”

“Oh,” Emma responded, a little surprised by the suddenness of this development. She wondered whether she should wait until she had had a chance to consult with Steed, but decided that she should take the opportunity while it presented itself.

“Do you think I’m appropriately dressed?” She was wearing one of her trademark trouser suits, this one figure-hugging in lime green, with fashionable block-heeled ankle boots.

“You look perfect, Mrs Peel,” Matthews said, getting up, “I’ve got my car outside. Shall we go?” Emma stood up and followed him out of the restaurant onto the street. He held open the passenger door of an open-topped MGB and, after closely watching her ease herself into the seat, went around and got in behind the wheel.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to wear this,” he said, holding out a sleep mask. “The location of the club headquarters is a closely guarded secret and, until you have been accepted as a member, it has to remain so. Just a formality, I’m sure, but the committee are very strict on this. As, indeed, they are on many other things…”

Suppressing any feelings of doubt, while putting on a confident smile, Emma took the mask and blindfolded herself. Bill drove the car very quickly and, within minutes, the pretty agent had lost track of the number of turns they had made. The journey took well over half an hour, and Mrs Peel knew that she had no idea where they had finally come to a halt, except that it was in front of a large country house.

“I think I can safely say,” the leader of the committee now sitting in front of her was saying, “that you will make a fine addition to our ranks, Mrs Peel.” There was a general nodding of heads along the line, and a murmur of approval.

“Once, that is,” he continued ominously, “you have successfully completed the initiation process. Bill, perhaps you’d like to prepare Mrs Peel for her challenge?”

“I’d be delighted,” Bill replied, stepping forward and holding out a hand. Emma stood up and allowed herself to be led into a side room.

Ten minutes later, she stood before the committee table once more, feeling herself again under scrutiny, this time even closer and more intrusive. She gritted her teeth and told herself that this was just a means to an end, a trial she must endure to infiltrate this organisation and uncover its secrets.

The trouser suit was gone and, in its place, she wore a red satin corset with black trimming. While he pulled the laces of the corset punishingly tight, Bill had explained proudly that the garment was one of the few which nowadays used genuine whalebone stays to achieve its dramatic effect, the crushing of her waist to a waspish twenty-two inches.

Suspenders from the bottom of the corset attached to sheer black stockings, leading to patent leather shoes with four-inch stiletto heels. The outfit did not include underwear, and she fought to control her disgust as the men lasciviously stared at her bare breasts and thatch of pubic hair.

“Turn around for us please, Mrs Peel,” the chairman said, twirling his finger. Biting back her anger at being humiliatingly displayed in this way, Emma turned her back to them.

Now they could see, not only the fine peaches of her plump buttocks, but also the way that her arms had been strictly restrained. They were twisted up behind her back with her hands, encased in a leather pouch, positioned between her shoulder blades. Two leather straps, one across her chest, the other below her breasts, pinned her arms tightly to her body.

“I don’t remember this position from my yoga classes,” she had remarked sardonically as Bill applied the bondage with great enthusiasm.

“It’s called the Reverse Prayer,” he had explained, clearly taking delight from her obvious discomfort, “simple to apply, yet devilishly difficult to escape, I’m sure you’ll agree.” For her part, Emma was somewhat concerned by this development. She was already in an unknown location without backup, and now she was stringently bound, with no clear idea of what awaited her. If she needed to escape, this was going to make things rather difficult…

“Very good,” the chairman commented, with a rumbling of approval, “you’ve done a great job, Bill. I think it’s time to begin.” The line of masked men rose to their feet, and Bill took hold of Emma’s arm, leading her out of the room and down the hall. The committee members followed behind, enjoying the sight of the semi-naked, bound woman sashaying along in front of them.

They entered a long room, lit by flaming torches in brackets on the walls. Along the centre of the room, raised about six feet off the floor, was a wooden beam, similar to a piece of gymnastics equipment but much longer. At either end of the beam were a flight of steps, and Bill led Emma to the nearest set of steps and prompted her to climb them.

At the top, the agent found herself standing on a platform just large enough to accommodate both her and Bill, who had followed her up the steps. She looked along the beam, which was about four inches wide and at least twenty feet long, and was surprised to see a thick rope lying along its length, with large knots tied in it every foot or so.

“If you’d like to stand here, please, Mrs Peel,” Bill said, moving her to the edge of the platform, facing the beam, her feet either side of the rope. From behind her, she heard the sound of a ratchet clicking, and the rope rose up, shortening and tightening. It rapidly came up between her legs, and that her thighs, until it was pressing across her sex.

The ratchet clicked several more times, until the rope had pulled up between her buttocks, parted her pubic hair, and even started to spread her labia. She gasped involuntarily as the rough cord dug into her perineum, raising her to her tiptoes to try to alleviate the pressure.

As she tried to come to terms with the invasive intruder, she was startled by the application of a noose around her neck. The other end of the noose, she saw, was tied loosely around a metal pipe which stretched away across the room along the same line as the beam.

“A safety rope in case you fall,” Bill explained, “although of course, if you do slip, it’s not going to be particularly comfortable or pleasant, hanging by the neck until you regain your footing.” The smile on his face had become an evil leer.

“So, Mrs Peel,” the chairman called out from the floor below, “all you need to do is to traverse the room, and you will have successfully completed your initiation. While you do so, the other members and I will be testing your… resolve.” As she looked down, Emma saw that the dozen men were standing along the length of the beam, staring up at her and, to her alarm, she saw that each of them held a whip.

“You can start walking now,” Bill whispered in her ear as he groped her, one hand squeezing a breast, the other fondling her buttock, “I’ll see you on the other side.” With no other choice available to her, Emma stepped out onto the narrow wooden path, one elegant foot placed carefully in front of the other.

Immediately, she felt the rope between her legs start to drag painfully across her sex. She could only take tiny steps forward in the high heels, but each one became a trial, as she grimaced against the pain inflicted by the rasp of the rough hemp against her pussy. And then, she encountered the first of the knots.

What had been extremely uncomfortable became agonising as she struggled over the large obstruction, which scraped across her delicate flesh, forcing apart her nether lips and bruising her clitoris.

It was at this moment that she felt the first crack of a whip against her body. With expert aim, it caught her on the left breast, making her cry out at the sudden pain, hitting her like a streak of fire. A second and third strike quickly followed, lashing her thighs and buttocks. She was in agony now, but knew that her only hope of respite lay in completing this hideous ordeal. Trying to ignore the pain and discomfort, she forced herself to move on.

She had reached about the mid-point when she was thrown into complete disarray by the tip of one of the whips hitting her directly on her clitoris, briefly exposed by the working of one of the knots across her crotch. She stumbled, one foot slipping from the beam, sending her falling. Suddenly, the noose yanked tight around her neck, choking her as she swung out into the open space.

Unable to breathe, she fought desperately to get her feet back onto the beam. Ironically, it was the rope between her legs, which had so far caused her so much agony, which now saved her, keeping her close enough to enable her to regain her footing and take the strain off the noose strangling her. The rope loosened sufficiently to allow her to suck in air and recover her equilibrium. The whipping, which had paused as her tormentors watched her struggling for her life so frantically and, in their view, so sexily, began again and, hoping to escape their cruel attention, she resumed her perilous journey.

The crotch rope and its knots continued to torment her, the whips continued to lash her, but eventually, the tortured agent reached the other side. Bill was there to greet her, as he had promised and, after once more groping her now bruised and aching body, he helped her down the steps. Emma had never been so glad to be back on terra firma.

“Congratulations, Mrs Peel,” the chairman said as he approached her, “I’d like to welcome you into the Inferno Club. I’d like to, but unfortunately it has come to my attention that you are, in fact, a government agent, sent here to expose and destroy this organisation.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Emma blustered, realising that she was in a very dangerous situation, “who on earth told you that?”

“I’m afraid that would be me, Mrs Peel.” A tall figure stepped forward and removed his mask.

“Steed?!” the astonished woman cried out.

“Yes, Emma,” Steed smiled, “this little club is actually a brainchild of mine, set up to allow me and my friends to satisfy some very specialist interests, not condoned by polite society or, indeed, by the law. These are my fellow perverts, sharing my predilection for beautiful young women in tight bondage.

“All these years we have worked together, Mrs Peel, all the occasions I’ve had to rescue you from perilous situations in which you managed, somehow, to get yourself captured and tied up. And I would have to untie you! Do you know how difficult that was for me? Having to release you, when what I really wanted to do was put you in chains, whip you, and have my wicked way with you! Well, now I have you exactly where I want you.”

“Steed!” Emma exclaimed, shocked and confused by what she heard. “John… this is insane! You can’t get away with this. Mother will investigate my disappearance, and more agents will be sent to find those missing scientists!”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about Mother, Emma,” the senior agent smiled, idly reaching forward and fondling her breast, “as far as everyone is concerned, your long-lost husband has returned unexpectedly, and you have retired from the service with immediate effect to accompany him on an expedition deep into the Congo.

“As for the female scientists, they were carefully selected for their youth, beauty and intelligence, but they were not involved in high-profile government research, so will not attract the attention of Mother, or any other organisation. The police have already given up their search.”

Suddenly, Emma felt herself grabbed from behind and a ball stuffed in her mouth while, at the same time, someone locked shackles around her ankles, joined by a chain barely two feet long. A similar hobbling restraint was clamped just above her knees, rendering her completely unable to use her feet as weapons in the desperate attempt to escape she had been planning all the time Steed had been delivering his monologue.

“There,” Steed said, stroking her cheek almost lovingly, “that should hold you. We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself trying to fight for your freedom, would we?” Emma flinched as his hand moved from her face to between her legs, his fingers forcing their way up into her aching pussy. He fingered her roughly, forcing her to gasp and cry out around the gag. Other hands reached around and groped her breasts, pinching her nipples painfully. More hands roamed her body, which quickly became slick with sweat from her forced arousal until, against every ounce of resistance she could muster, she was brought to a screaming orgasm.

“I think our latest recruit is ready to join our slave harem,” Steed announced to the others, “take her to the wine cellar and lock her up with the other lovelies.” He cast an appreciative eye over his former colleague’s semi-naked body, feeling particularly aroused by the restraints holding her desire to fight back in check.

“Until later, my dear Emma,” he smiled, enjoying the furious look on her face as she was dragged away.

He had lusted after Mrs Emma Peel from the moment he had first laid eyes on her, and he certainly intended to sate that lust over the coming hours, days, months…

Years?