"What's my wife going to say?" he whined continuously as we walked from Mr Fiorile's Cock-Cage Emporium.

I shrugged my shoulders. "To be honest, Freddie-pops, I think she'll just be relieved to know your little thing is hors de combat. I expect she'll be a bit curious as to how it happened, right enough. Tell her some nasty boys did it and ran away. Something like that. Either that or I suggest you start to make alternative sleeping arrangements. You've got a spare bedroom, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, I guess that's your room, now. Isn't it?"

He made no reply, but nodded morosely. Still unaccustomed to the metal between his legs, he bowed quietly alongside me like a little boy who had wet himself. It was poignant, almost. You had to laugh.

Now that Fred was ensnared, we had other work to attend to. Discussing our action plan over wine in my living room that evening, we agreed we needed some quick hits: Fred's seduction had been easy, but took longer than we had expected. "I want more," I drawled, sipping at my Marsanne and tugging on the leash around Mr Loverman's neck. He whimpered satisfyingly. "Two's not enough. We need more. And quickly"

"I know the very ones," replied Maria slyly.

I listened intently: Maria was the office cleaner, and consequently knew everything and everybody in the establishment. Not especially attractive, she was nevertheless one of those women who oozed sexuality and most of the men (plus a few of the women) in the office lusted after her. Although she never acknowledged the come-ons and stares, suggestions and ogling, she had developed a good understanding of the proclivities of everyone on the staff, and her knowledge was vital to the progress of our plan.

"The commercial sales team," she continued.

"What, the Bullshit Boys?"

"Yeah."

"Mary, Mungo and Midge, I call them," laughed Pamela.

I snorted. "That's a good one. Hey, the poncy one, Nigel - he must be Mary, right?"

"Yeah, that's the one. Lisps and sticks his bottom out when he walks."

I pondered for a moment. "Hmm, but that's a problem, isn't it? He's got to be gay. So how are we going to trap him?"

"He's not gay, let me assure you. Remember, I know these things." She tapped her nose mischievously.

"And how do you know this?"

"Well," she stretched on the settee, enjoying her moment in the limelight. "Anyone who leaves their computer password lying on the desk, with 'Password' written next to it is, frankly, a bit of a div. Asking for trouble, isn't it?" We nodded. "Little Nigel did, so I had a little look one evening, when you'd all gone home."

"What, you logged on to his network?"

"Yeah." She smiled broadly, pleased with her revelation.

"God, you're more machiavellian than I realised, girl. Go for it!"

"So, I looked around, couldn't really find anything. No juicy jpegs or the like, as I was expecting. Then I tried his internet history. You'd expect the idiot would wipe it, but I gave it a go, just in case...

"And?"

Maria turned to Pamela, grinning and popping a grape into her mouth. "I think he's one for you, Pammy." Pamela arched her eyebrow. "He likes big women." Maria accompanied her words with expansive hand actions, tracing the outline of a busty figure. We all laughed and Pamela blushed slightly. "BBW.com, Bouncy Tits, Ass and Thighs.com, that sort of thing. Pages and pages of it, and every image one of a big woman. Happy smiles and glorious knockers. None as beautiful as you, of course, Pammy. It'll be a walkover. A flutter of those eyelashes and a flash of cleavage and he'll be putty in your hands. Believe me."

Pamela's smile was a combination of lustful excitement and bemusement. Until she hooked up with us she had been shy and inexperienced: her size deterred her from making advances and she had had few opportunities to reveal her lusty nature. Consequently, she was still struggling to appreciate how easily she could manufacture an encounter with a willing man. "Okay," she said gamely, "so Mary's mine. What about Mungo and Midge?"

"Six and half a dozen. They're like twins, those two. Barely a thought between them, apart from what's in Loaded magazine this month or who's the latest babe in Hollyoaks."

"Any preferences?" I asked.

"Not really."

"What about you, Carina?"

Carina had been quiet until now: she was our newest recruit and still feeling her way. She licked her lips, her eyes staring into the distance as she considered. "Well, Adam's kinda cute."

"The little one? He must be Midge, right? You fancy him?" Maria screeched with laughter and Carina bristled.

"Not fancy, exactly. But he's kinda sexy. Tiny little arse. Not like lard-bucket here." She swatted Mr Loverman's bared backside, as though to emphasise her point. It was a little unfair, in truth: Mr Loverman's enforced lettuce diet and rigorous workout plan had done wonders for his shape and he was now lean and fit. Not that I would tell him that, of course. Taking Carina's cue, I leaned over and spanked him hard, leaving the imprint of my outspread fingers on his quivering flesh. He whimpered rather too loudly for my liking and I tugged his lead viciously, choking him into silence.

"Okay," said Maria. "Little Midge is Carina's. So that leaves me with Stephen - Mungo. He'll be a pushover. Virgin, I reckon. Always watching me, but slyly - out of the corner of his eye, pretending he hasn't even noticed me, as though he's not interested. Turns beetroot anytime I look at him."

And so our plan was formed. "Mary, Mungo and Midge it is then," I said, raising my glass. "Three quick hits, the latest conquests."

"Mary, Mungo and Midge," repeated Pamela, Carina and Maria, and we drank to our forthcoming success. The commercial sales team - who were probably in some grotty pub as we spoke, watching Sky Sports and doing that male-bonding thing, oblivious of the fate that awaited them - would soon be ours.

"We need a little wager, I think, to make it more interesting." The others turned to me expectantly. I continued. "This one's too easy, isn't it? No challenge. So we have to make our own challenge: who can trap them first?"

"Me!" said Maria firmly. "No problem. If I can't catch me a virgin, my name's not Maria!" The others argued, and I sat back delightedly as a heated debate ensued, the upshot of which was that the winner would spank the second and third, and the second would spank the third. The three gladiatrixes grinned and shook on their deal.

"Prepare yourself, ladies," crowed Maria, "my hand will be all over your arses very soon. And it hurts. Doesn't it, Mr Loverman."

Mr Loverman groaned as another volley was directed at his upturned, bruised backside.