The doorbell rang just after Ruth had emerged from the shower and was wrapping herself in a fluffy blue bathrobe. She cursed softly then padded down the corridor, her bare feet leaving damp prints on the vinyl tiles. By the time she had reached the door she had draped a towel over her long blonde hair and shoulders. Peering through the spy-hole, she could see a tall man in a long black coat and a peaked cap standing on the step with a clipboard in one hand and a torch in the other. She opened the door just sufficiently to look directly at him from the crack. "Who is it?" she demanded, realising that he must be some sort of official.
"Sorry to bother you, miss, but I'm an Inspector from the Gas Board. Someone has reported an escape of gas in this area, and we need to check the mains connections to all the houses round here." He produced some sort of identity card and flashed it briefly through the gap. "It's a bit of an emergency – could I just have a glance at your in-coming mains? Shouldn't take more than a couple of minutes."
"Well, I suppose you'd better come in. The meter is in the cupboard under the stairs." She led the way.
The man sniffed deeply as he opened the door, then switched on his torch and crawled into the recess. He had a rather straggly beard, and seemed to be in his early twenties – about ten years her junior. She watched as he tapped the meter and the pipe leading to it with a screwdriver. "The pipe run seems to go through that room," he said emerging backwards from the cupboard. "I'd better just check in there, to be on the safe side. You can just leave me to it, Miss." As he moved into her lounge, sniffing ostentatiously, Ruth returned to the bathroom and began to dry her hair. Seconds later she heard something fall over in the lounge; he must have blundered into something. She dashed into the room to find him clutching her handbag. Her reaction was instantaneous. She flew at him, slashing the hardened edge of her hand across his windpipe. As he staggered, gasping for breath, she drove her bare knee viciously into his crotch. He instantly collapsed onto the floor, screaming in agony. One of his arms was then seized and twisted high up between his shoulder blades and the pain in his testicles was sickening.
"This isn't your lucky day," she hissed as she forced the arm still further upwards. She taught a women's self-defence course at the local college, but rarely had the opportunity to demonstrate her prowess against a genuine adversary. She was determined to make the most of it, and teach him a lesson he would never forget. "What's your name?" she demanded.
"Barry," he gasped.
"You are lying! But it doesn't matter – Barry. Some of your friends might imagine they would envy what is going to happen to you - but you will be able to tell them better, after I've finished with you. You might have to tell them in a high, soprano voice, by the way."
Barry whimpered in terrified bewilderment.
She hauled him to his feet. "You're breaking my arm," he squealed as she began to frog-march him towards the cellar door. Still twisting his wrist, she told him to open the door and switch on the light. They began to descend the recently installed open-tread staircase. The young man's eyes bulged as he caught sight of the numerous large mirrors, the accoutrements of shining metal and of leather hanging from the walls, and the ominous wooden structures that stood in the centre of the room.
Ruth took a wavy-edged dagger from the wall and jabbed it into his back immediately above the right kidney before releasing him. "Don't get any ideas, sonny," she said with another jab. Just do as I say and you won't get hurt – at least, not too badly!"
Barry was still bent almost double, clutching his testicles and groaning aloud. "Now, strip!" she ordered. "I'll be watching every move…"
