Chapter 1

Dear readers, this is the bare arsed plot. To save you wading through pages of tedious exposition till you get to the smut, you get a brief set up below then it’s straight into the BDSM...

The Set Up

Conan Steel is the cruel but brilliant twenty something millionaire CEO of a soft furnishings company in Rochdale. He acquires a young intern, the beautiful and headstrong Alexandra Rasputin, the daughter of Russian émigrés. Steel is intrigued by her ethereal nature and confession that she is a virgin. In turn, Rasputin is both attracted and frightened by the handsome big swinging dick with a capricious and sadistic temperament, and fascinated by the small clues he gives to his tormented upbringing, such as his father forcing him to attend Stockport County home matches in the late 1990s. Upon learning she is auctioning her hymen on E-bay, and fuelled by longing and jealousy, Steel psychologically and financially coerces her into signing a non-disclosure deal guaranteeing him first crack at her cherry and then exclusive sexual access until she runs to fat. She must also be his submissive willing to explore her most extreme desires and enter the twilight world of BDSM (Christmas and bank holidays excepted). Rasputin is at first appalled by his perversions, which include an insatiable appetite for bondage, sado-masochism, water sports and Top Gear re-runs, but as she becomes more sexually confident she begins to be addicted emotionally and physically to the marathon BDSM sessions conducted in ‘The Rumpo Room’. As the sessions progress, Steel gradually reveals more of his tortured psyche, allowing Rasputin to see the vulnerable little boy within his corporate warrior carapace and understand his dark desires. It is at the end of one of these sessions, as Rasputin tenderly removes a strap on from his anus, that their eyes lock like laser beams and they realise that this is more than an erotic business arrangement this is now a love affair ... Driving home to his luxury duplex apartment in Oldham, and taking extra care to avoid the speed bumps, Steel texts Rasputin saying they must never see each other again for he can never dare to love ... now dear reader enjoy some fragments from the love affair of this century...

The Steel Cock Is Her Destiny

Steel is in his office taking an important call from his transatlantic trading partner Torn Rip, whose thriving business empire is located over a hardware shop in Wisconsin. Alexandra enters holding a silver tea tray with his elevenses, a pot of tea and a packet of chocolate digestives. She is trembling, having in her short time as an intern come to feel a curious mixture of love, hate and desire towards Steel. He is rich, cultivated and handsome, with exquisitely chiseled features and a lion like mane of blonde hair. Conan feels a stirring in his nether, his cock a titanium springed sex cobra. He can smell her wet pussy from ten feet. The Rasputin girl is a particularly enticing morsel, with her lustrous long black hair, her fulsome luscious red lips, deliciously pert hard nippled tits and seemingly endless slender long legs. She is wearing a low cut white blouse, a black pencil skirt and killer heels. Torn’s voice echoes through the intercom.

“Goddamn sack of country shit!”

The line falls dead. Conan fixes Alexandra with his cobalt blue eyes and she feels her knees weaken under the ferocity of his glare. His gaze is magnetic and burning, fused with erotic desire and hinting at the demons that wrestle inside his tortured soul. She feels like one of the ants her brother used to scorch by refracting the sun through a magnifying glass on the scurrying insects during the summer holidays. Looking deep into Alexandra’s brown doe eyes that convey vulnerability like a kitten left out in the rain and an unlocked, ferocious sexuality, Steel is torn apart inside by conflicting desires; should he love and nurture this beautiful child woman or just find a flimsy pretext to slip her some Rohypnol and get her attached to the Titty Twister machine in The Rumpo Room? Conan is so lost in rapture Alexandra suspects he is stricken by Bell’s palsy. Suddenly he leaps from behind his desk and rips off his shirt and trousers. He stands, tall and commanding, in his boxer shorts and black socks. Alexandra gasps at his finely toned body, not an ounce of fat and muscular with an abdominal rack you could grate cheese on.