The complete text of this 43,000 word story
is available in a
which prints at 55 pages.


MANY TOPICS introduced in the story
are explored furtherunder the heading


A fiction-based-on-fact story
Jim Stewart

Paddy Cotterill is a staunchly heterosexual, quick-fisted unemployed Irish labourer.

He is no stranger to the world of men who like to challenge and be challenged ... but, when he meets a team of blokes who enjoy a very different sort of physical challenge game-playing ... they introduce him things that boggle his mind.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: photos used to illustrate this story
are a few of my favourites found on the Internet.
If owners of any photo will contact me I will credit the source or, upon request, immediately remove the picture.




Paddy Cotterill was bored. He hadn't had a good fuck in weeks.
Must be losing his touch - or was it because, since being made redundant, he didn't have the price of a couple of drinks in his pocket?
This morning (early) at the gym he thought he might be onto a good thing with a tasty piece of tottie, but she settled for young Terry. Flash bastard! Twat! Fuck him. Still, Paddy consoled himself, her loss. Slag!

His mind returned to his immediate needs. After the gym he'd taken his old bike for a bit of an extended spin for ten minutes. It's engine needed a breath of air. With the price of petrol, it didn't get used much. He'd even worn his old leather bike jacket in the hope it might arouse a bit of female lust. But, no. A couple of possibles had both given him the thumbs down.
So, nothing for it but another session in front of his computer screen. A hand-job into a hanki again, while he trawled the porn sites.

After stripping off his tracksuit pants and sweaty briefs (he hadn't bothered to shower after the gym - some women appreciate a bit of man-sweat) he covered the desk chair with a towel. No need to get it more stained than it already is, he told himself ... and keep your track suit top on (He was getting into the habit of not using the central heating).

Wedging bare feet back into his hi-tops, he surveyed himself in his full-length mirror. The look suited him. Not bad for an out-of-work thirty-two-year-old, he told himself. Legs muscular and tanned, and even under a bulky sweat-top, his upper body promised something impressive underneath. Got to stay in trim in case work came along ... and stay in shape for the ladies, he reminded himself.
His hair looked OK; recently tightly cropped, number one on the sides and two on top. DIY job with the clippers to save the expense. It suggested a slightly military look. Not that he had any time for that army shit. Some fuck-ups would take any sort of job. But, perhaps the military high-and-tight did appeal to some slags more than the tangle-headed look he'd sported on building sites for the past however long. His thick ginger mop had often attracted lustful looks from both women and a certain kind of bloke. A head of hair did give them something to hang onto during a good energetic fuck.

The hair around his crotch was still thick and curly, he observed - and the long, fat roll of flesh was enough to impress, even when limp as it was at this moment. Soon put that straight, he thought - and then smiled at his unintentional double meaning. God, he was randy. He massaged his dick.

His mind dragged him back to heady days on construction sites all over Europe , when British guys were still something exotic for local females. And ashore off the rigs for Rest Days in Aberdeen when he was a teenager. Easy pickings then - and plenty of money in his pocket. A casual fuck for the price of a Campari and soda or good blow-job for a pint at a push. Problem back then was staying uninvolved enough to be available when something more tasty turned up - which was often. Steer clear of complications had always been his motto. The only complication these days was what it needed to make a DIY hand job more satisfying than they'd been lately. A solo wank needed at least eye-candy to help it along.
He settled down at the computer.


His Favourites list was wearing thin. Busty German tarts and thick-lipped middle-Europeans leering out from behind masks of make-up. Or the more homely sites where housewives from Slough competed with transvestites from Thailand .
Even the less frequently visited kinky sites with leather and handcuffs or plastic-wrapped sirens were losing some of their exotic appeal. The Dominatrix thing did nothing for him. He just needed a good strait-forward screw; nothing complicated.

Find fresh sites, he told himself. A quick Google - but Google on what? He was only window-shopping, for God's sake. Paddy's mind was on auto-pilot when he typed in NEED SEXUAL OPPORTUNITIES.

A list came up. At the top was "Guys needed for Ladies". The flashy banner promised EARN £100 PER HOUR - but Paddy was a realist. He knew a come-on when he saw one: Registration fees, hidden extras, lure you into the site and then ask a pound a minute and your Credit Card details. No fucking way! He needed pictures and needed them now.

Seductively, the next two banner headlines promised "Sexual Satisfaction In Asia " and "Opportunities to spread your seed in Bangkok " . Bangkok nothing. He didn't have the fare to Basingstoke .

Further down the list, another £100 sign did cause him to look closer.
"Genuine opportunity to earn £100 next Wednesday."
A click on the link was immediately disappointing - no photos. The modest screen showed a series of shaded frames within frames. This created the illusion of a deep perspective, drawing the eye in.
A stylish monogram announcing THE AGENCY headed the page.

"Are you healthy, active, adventurous?
We are recruiting men who have got what it takes.
WE PAY YOU for an evaluation session.
£100 cash-in-hand for a day of your time."

Seduced, Paddy clicked the NEXT button.

A similarly elegant screen was again headed THE AGENCY - still no pictures. Definitely a commercial site of some sort, decided Paddy. He was sceptical but continued to read the smaller print:

"Our discreet International network requires men of stamina and imagination.
A Recruitment Team will assess the potential of selected candidates in a day long series of highly challenging aptitude exercises. What do you have that other people might want? What do you want that our Clients might have?"

Paddy's cock stirred into life. He knew exactly what he wanted - SEXUAL OPPORTUNITIES for Christ's sake! The ambiguity of the wording was pissing him off. What was it getting at?
Healthy, active, adventurous? The question on the previous page had stuck in his mind.
He was all of those things. He remained cynical, but couldn't resist clicking the next NEXT button. He'd got nothing better to do.

The new page made him lean further forward in his seat. The type was smaller - and the same set of shaded borders inside borders seemed to pull the eye even deeper into the screen. Hang on! Paddy was suddenly aware that the lettering on each screen was just slightly smaller than the previous. Subtle. Sneaky, he decided - but dragged his chair further forward to read more.

"If you have what it takes to arouse our interest WE WILL PAY YOU for a day of your time whether or not we eventually offer you a position OR if you decide not to accept any offer we might make. ARE YOU MAN ENOUGH?"

With growing interest Paddy paused in his reading. He'd always been a risk-taker and could never resist a fucking challenge - and he was certainly man enough for any of the bastards: a succession of pissed-off site foremen could vouch for that. Paddy knew how to fight his corner and come out on top.

"During a comprehensive range of tests, a team of professionals will assess your potential in terms of our requirements. The day will be both physically and mentally challenging, and will probe deeply into your individual assets."

At this point Paddy's enthusiasm faded. This is obviously one of those Gay sites, he decided, and fuck that for a game of soldiers! Probe deeply into my nothing, he told the screen. Fuck you, ducky. My individual assets are not for you! ...
... but then, out of curiosity, he continued to read.

 "Personal sexual orientation is respected.
THE AGENCY caters for a discreet and discerning range of Clients world-wide. Our present recruitment drive is specifically for Men of Action who welcome a challenge and can handle themselves in any situation. They need to be physically fit and healthy because, when necessary they may be required to take control and be able to keep it in the face of opposition."

Paddy's mind conjured up images of mercenaries and bodyguards. He'd often fancied himself in either role. He had the bottle. Is that what was on offer? But, hang on ... he'd found his way to this site via SEXUAL OPPORTUNITIES.
"Sexual orientation respected." he read again. What the fuck did that mean?
Then the more practical side of his brain reminded him "We will pay you £100 whether or not you take the job."
At the bottom of the screen it said, "To find out more, it will be necessary for you to complete the questionnaire on the following web page."
Oh, yes! thought Paddy, here comes the catch. But immediately above the NEXT button, was a very reassuring final line of text:


So what harm was there in pressing the button.

A uniformed security guard, a guy in military combat gear, a biker in his leathers, a construction worker in a hard-hat and a guy in a suit. What was this? The fucking Village People? But, looking closer, he realised that the bloke in each photo looked more like the genuine article than some poof jerk-off fantasy line-up.

In large letters the page was headed RECRUITMENT.
The questionnaire below looked businesslike. "Check only the boxes which apply to you," it said. Fair enough. The list was long, but Paddy had nothing better to do.

AGE RANGE 21/30 - 31/40 - 41/50: Wow, men of action at fifty, thought Paddy - and then he had to decide whether to push his luck and check the 21/30 box. But at 32 - what the hell, he thought. Take it or leave it fruit-cake, and checked the middle box before moving quickly though the categories; height / weight / nationality / ethnic / marital status / hair colour, etc., etc.

Irish - white - separated he checked off. No problems there. Sandy sounded better than ginger ... What the fuck does ... DOMICILED IN mean? Oh - South London - he chose the box from a range of British locations.

PHYSICAL CONDITION: No problem there. He chose Extremely fit without hesitation.

CURRENT EMPLOYMENT STATUS: he selected the Freelance box rather than Unemployed. Fuck 'em, this was all only for something to do on a boring Thursday morning.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: The fact that there were several options under this heading gave him pause for thought. After hetero / homo / bi came sexually active / passive / both ... which prompted an unintentional detour. The phrase 'none of the above' sprang to his mind. Three weeks without a fuck!
He ticked the Hetero and Active boxes before moving on, only to be pulled up short by a very complicated-looking section:

FETISH PREFERENCES? Suddenly he felt suspicious - no - self-conscious. There was nothing kinky about Paddy Cotterill. Straight as a fucking die and proud of it - and he'd mangle anybody who suggested otherwise. Always had been and always would be. But, all of a sudden he was feeling a bit left out.
He scanned down the panel: two columns, each with ten boxes. Wow - what was this, a kink-fest site?

He read down the list carefully - and felt slightly - what? - unsettled - uninteresting?
Risk-taker he might be, but he'd always steered clear of ... a lot of things. But then, he thought to himself, if given the challenge - what might he be up for? Just suppose ...

His eye lingered on a couple of categories on the list: Leather. PVC and then there was Oilskin. He'd got bike leathers and a rain suit ... and had sweated his nuts off in PVC work gear a lot of his life in bad weather. With a sense of bravado, he dropped ticks into all three boxes.

Boots/Wellies/Waders? Well, two of them anyway. No, what the hell, all three. On the docks in Aberdeen , he'd often envied trawlermen stomping around in their thigh-high rubber boots.

Stiletto heels/cross dressing No way. What the hell is Infantilism? Oh that! - thanks but no thanks. He kept the cursor well away from those boxes.

Rubber - not really - cold and clammy - but he did quite get off when occasionally he'd had to wear a dry suit to work "over the edge" on the rigs, he remembered. Getting togged up, squeezing into an old neck-entry - needing help to get out of the fucking thing when you're fingers were freezing. Having to piss in it because it was such a performance to get out of. Jokes about being rubbered-up - trapped in a man-size condom. Good times. Go for it!
And, sealed up in those the survival suits, mandatory whenever being ferried by helicopter to and from the rigs. It was pushing it, but he ticked Anti Exposure / Hazardous Materials gear. What the hell, just for a lark.

Bondage - now there's a biggy A couple of birds had had handcuffs (one even had fur-lined ones. He'd been afraid of breaking them). As his mind wandered back to a couple of prostitutes who'd suggested tying him to their bed and having they wicked way with him, his cock stiffened. No way! Never. He wasn't into that sort of pervert stuff.

But then he thought, occasions around different construction sites and rigs on long evenings, pissing about - blokes got jumped and tied up - taped up, just for the hell of it - something to do. That had been a laugh. Sometimes things had turned a bit aggressive - opportunity for grievance pay-back under cover of ... fun. And God knows, he'd been arrested and handcuffed enough times after a pub brawl over the years. Could be quite a blast - provoking some dumb copper. Bastards. Scary sometimes but - Great times. Yeh! Tick the fucking box. That only left Piss, Shit, Fist-fucking - and you can forget those, Mary. Thanks, but never in a million ...

His mind wandered back to rough-and-tumbles when he'd been jumped and tied up by somebody he'd pissed off - hosed down once when he'd been in his oilskins, he remembered. Ganged up on. Good times! - and his cock was stirring - but he reminded himself to move on. There's a time and place for everything. What's left? Oh fuck!

EDUCATIONAL QUALIFICATIONS (list): and a box to fill in.
Comprehensive school, he typed - and then had to Spell-check it to make sure he'd spelt it right.

As he scrolled down the screen, he was surprised to find only one more box to type into, followed by a slot inviting him to give a name 'Which can be an alias,' he was reassured to read. Plus day time telephone number (obligatory) and E-mail address (optional).

He speculated how wise it was to give a phone number. Obligatory, but E-mail optional. He thought it should have been the other way round but, lulled into a sense of false security, he typed in his phone number. He had an answer machine and often monitored incoming calls, he told himself.

For a name, he used one he'd used before when signing on the dole with two different identities. Jack Offerton, he typed with a self-satisfied smile.

Now - only the final box to type - which he'd already decided would give him no problems - except, would the box be big enough?

PREVIOUS EMPLOYMENT (list) plus any additional comment:
He typed carefully: Apprenticeship car mechanic / scaffold rigger / oil rigs / welder / general construction site work / roofer / HGV driver. He paused to think - and the Irish in Patrick tempted him to continue the list into champion stud / champion drinker and brawler / fuck-anything-that-moves ... but instead, he decided to finish off with a flourish. Risk-taker. Can not resist a challenge, he wrote triumphantly and pressed the SEND button.

Immediately he had second thoughts - but, like many other times in his life, Paddy Cotterill was a creature of impulse. Fuck yous all -Bastards! - had always been his motto in life.
There were a couple of mucky magazines in the cupboard and he needed a wank.

The phone rang just as he was getting into the shower. Paddy grabbed for it. It might be work. In the pub last night Davy Finn had told him about ...
"Jack Offerton?" enquired a voice.
Paddy stood rooted to the spot, admitting nothing.
"Hello? Is anybody there?" asked the voice.

Of course he was there, stark naked and fucking speechless. It had only been yesterday morning when ...
"You filled out our questionnaire ... "
Should he slam down the phone or deny all knowledge and say it was a practical joke played by one of his mates?
"We were sufficiently interested in some of your answers; no promises, but could be that you'd at least qualify for the offer - the £100 for a day of your time doing evaluation tests. Is it something you'd like to find out more about - or not?"

"Er - Yes ... find out more." Paddy managed to force out, as he scratch the hair around his crotch. He always got prickly around the crotch when he was in a tight spot.
"Good. So, Jack, a few more questions ... "
Paddy needed to sit down. He was fucking shaking. The leatherette chair was freezing when he sat on it - he was hardly listening ...
" ... so if it's OK by you, I'd like to set up a meeting. Not at our offices, somewhere informal - less intimidating. What part of London do you live in? No need to give too much information now. Preserve your anonymity. We liked your pseudonym, by the way."
Paddy was cringing at the stupidity of the stupid name ...

"What we usually suggest is, if there's a caff or something close to where you live. I could meet you there and we could run over a few points. That way you don't have to commit yourself to anything. You'll learn a bit more about what's on offer - and I'll get to meet you face-to-face on neutral territory - so ... " the voice continued seductively, " ... you're not exactly sticking your neck out?"
Silence, before the tempter threw a bait that couldn't be resisted:
"You said you were a risk-taker - can't resist a challenge. What have you got to lose?"
"Well ... "
was all Paddy managed, but then had to stop and think about that.

After a pause the voice cut in again ... "What area of London would be convenient for you?
Easy for me to get around by motorcycle - name an area."
Put on the spot, Paddy croaked "Battersea - Clapham Junction ... "
"I know Dave's caff near the Queenstown Road station - or that greasy spoon in Falcon Road."
Fuck Me, thought Paddy, how come this bloke knows ...
"What's it called - Manny's? We could meet in there, over a coffee - or tea?" suggested the voice. "We won't be talking about anything other customers will find out of the ordinary."

Well that's bloody something, thought Paddy picturing the blokes he often rubs shoulders with in Dave's caff in the Battersea Park Road .
"When might be a good time for you?" asked the voice, driving the situation along at a pace Paddy was finding unnerving.
"When?" was all he could manage by way of response.
"What have you got on this morning?" asked the voice.
The words were out of Paddy's mouth before he realised what he was saying.

"Great. What is it - ten thirty - I could be there in less than an hour. I'm all for getting things done and dusted. How about you? Let's get moving, whether there's any mileage in it or not. Only you can say - and you can't say till you know more about what's on offer - and what is involved - and if I can tell you that in public with the sort of blokes that sit around Dave's on a slow Friday morning, what have you got to lose?"
"You keep saying that,"
said Paddy, almost rattled.

"Well, what? Are you working today?" -
"No, but ... "
"Are you working next week?" -
"No, but ... "
"So you'd be available, if we see eye to eye over a cuppa - and you want to accept the challenge that comes with this opportunity - you can walk away with a hundred quid in your pocket next Wednesday".

What could an out-of-work Irishman say as he sat there naked and shivering.
Was it nervousness or excitement?


Dave's caff was almost empty, like the bloke on the phone had said it would be.
Not time yet for the mid-day rush on the pie-and-chips, beef stew-and-boiled, sausage-and-mash, and the sort of puddings Paddy used to get at school.
Nell behind the counter knew Paddy of old; knew him as something of a trouble-maker, specially after the pubs turned out. She was surprised by his subdued manner when he'd walked in, looked around furtively and order a tea in a low voice.

Turning to decide where to sit and wait, the bloke in the corner with the crash helmet on the table, caught Paddy's eye and indicated the Radio Times he was reading. That had been the agreed way of recognising one another, the Radio Times.
Paddy had clocked the biker when he arrived but had taken him for one of the regulars at Dave's. So this was 'Nick' as he'd called himself. The agreed mutual recognition had been arrived at on the phone when 'Nick' had asked 'Jack' to describe what he would be wearing.

Paddy had offered alternatives; a wax Barbour motorcycle jacket, red England football shirt or hi-vis site jacket with Costain stamped all over it.
Nick had said, choice of image was one of the things they would be talking about. How he saw himself was something the interviewee would be asked.

To Paddy this didn't make much sense. He was ... who he was. But, on thinking about it, how did he see himself - now - today - not the same as ten years ago? It had never struck him before that time was moving on - and perhaps it was time for some changes in his life.

Easing himself into a chair in his bulky hi-vis site jacket, Paddy put the hard-hat on the chair next to him. He'd gone for the full image. The rigger boots were his normal footwear, but a hard-hat when he wasn't actually working was, perhaps, a bit over the top - imagewise.
"Glad you could make it at such short notice," said the visitor, "Jack? Right?"
"Er - yes."
"Fair enough,"
drawled Nick in a tone of sceptical acceptance which put Paddy on the defensive. Almost accusingly he shot back, "You got here earlier than you said. I'm early but you're already ... "
"I used to be a bike courier. I know all the short cuts - and I know this area because I've got a couple of mates on the Shaftsbury Estate. So, let's get down to business."

The biker loosened his well-used Gore-Tex (expensive) motorcycle jacket in order to lean forward comfortably across the table. "The way I see it," he began quietly, "all we need to cover this morning is whether you're the sort of person who has
(A) got confidence in his own physical abilities
(B) can rise to a challenge with energy, determination and humour and
(C) can give as good as you get in some sort of competitive sport.

"Humour?" was the word Paddy picked up on, repeating it.
"Yes, indeed. The one-day testing involves a series of quite intensely stress-producing exercises, but they're treated as a game. Several are a matter of, to what degree you're willing to stick your neck out."
echoed Paddy questioningly.
"Finding limits and then pushing beyond them. Nothing you can't handle, I'm sure - and all the tests are conducted by guys who like to win but aren't afraid to lose."

"How many - guys? " asked Paddy, not sure whether a group situation would be safer than a one-to-one if these guys (as this bloke called them) were all queers. "And no women?" he risked.
"Strictly man-to-man stuff. Not sure how many on the team - if it's this coming Wednesday, maybe three - four including me."

Paddy needed more information, but in this public place, he needed to be cautious: "I found my way to your site by Googling ..." he hesitated, "... sex opportunities."
"Ah!" said Nick, "Sexual rather than sex, it said - and there is a difference."
"Not for me there isn't," argued Paddy almost defensively. "Is this a ... ", he checked his rising tone, "a Gay thing?" he almost whispered.
"Not unless you want it to be,"
was the abrupt and firm reply. This was a challenge which brought Paddy up short. After quick consideration, he decided not to follow that line of questioning - at least not just yet.

It was as if Nick could read his mind: "Here is not the place for us to discuss what is just raunchy talk among blokes - and what you would think is a bit of a laugh and what you might regard as being seriously off limits in the way of Kink ... "

Paddy almost flinched at that word being said aloud in public, but Nick seemed unaware as he continued: " ... here today, all we need to decide together is whether or not there's a basis for mutual trust. You need to decide - I need to decide. If you fancy taking a risk - eight hours - having a bit of man-to-man friendly challenge and counter-challenge ... "
"How friendly?"
challenged Paddy, interrupting the flow.

Nick smiled "Friendly enough for you not to be vi-o-lated physically, mentally or spiritually".
The word violated was mouthed almost silently, and the twinkle in Nick's eye forced Paddy to admit the humour of the situation.
"Fuck you," said Paddy with an almost unintentional grin.
"You should be so lucky, chummy! You'd have to prove just how good you are at getting the upper hand in a wrestling ring - and keeping it - before you could even contemplate that possibility." Nick then winked provocatively across the table.

Paddy, chose not to rise to the implied challenge, and asked "Wrestling ring?"
"Wrestling/boxing ring, fully equipped work-out space ... Play-Space,"
offered Nick, wondering whether this guy would pick up on the term. He didn't, so Nick moved in for what he knew would be the irresistible clincher.
"All you have to decided now - or at least before Monday is - whether from nine-to-five next Wednesday you would like to find out more about what The Agency does - AND - test yourself to find out if you can cope with the demands that our regular operatives get paid very high rates for doing - as often as they want to do them."

"Do - them - what, exactly?" interjected Paddy determinedly, but his question was ignored.
"Having met you - I think you can cope with anything I or the rest of the team might throw at you for a single evaluation session. Trust us. A few of the things might boggle your mind, but they might also widen your horizons ... "
"As long as that's all that gets widened,"
warned Paddy, who was perhaps by now curious to find out just what this bloke thought he could get away with. The Irishman knew he could always punch his way out of a tight corner. But Nick was still explaining ...
"Not only will the different sessions give you the opportunity to prove your physical capabilities - they'll introduce you to a whole range of alternative possibilities and opportunities for the future - AND ," he continued, blocking another question, " you will walk away with a hundred pounds cash, tax free, whether or not The Agency decides to offer you 'involvement' in the future."

Paddy thought about this before confirming, "You pay me to do these tests, not than the other way around? Why?"

"Good question - 'Jack'. Shrewd question." The emphasis on the name was not lost on Paddy as Nick continued. "Because the testing process will be video recorded for both safety and future training purposes, the fee is a buy-out on the footage. The agreement you will sign will give us the right to use the visual material in any way we see fit ... provided! ... " Nick emphasised the word, again preventing an interruption " ... provided that you are not identifiable in any of that footage. OK?"
"Oh - OK,"
said Paddy, his question answered.

A group of workmen entered the caff, straight off a nearby building site. They were all speaking Polish or some foreign language. This not only confirmed for the Irishman that he would accept the opportunity, but it also made him less inhibited about asking Nick. "Would I be right in thinking that some sort of fetish or kink will be involved in this - testing?
replied Nick, amused.
"Bondage?" persisted Paddy, hardly bothering to lower his voice, "whether I can deal with ... with ... some of the ... things listed on the questionnaire on your site?
confirmed Nick, his smile getting broader. "Step by step you'll be introduced to gear and equipment which Clients of The Agency like to see in use - or to use - or have used on them expertly and efficiently.
During the day you'll be invited to explore some of it either from the outside or inside.
Every step of the way you'll be free to chose - yes or no - no compulsion. You can try it or watch it demonstrated. Some things it's safer to know what it feels like before you try in on somebody else. Have you ever tied anybody up?"

The caff patrons were going about their business. Paddy was now totally oblivious of them. "Yes," he admitted flatly, his mind speculating on demonstrating what he was capable of doing.
"Did they get free - the blokes you tied up?" asked Nick.
"Not until they were let lose - we were only pissing about, of course ... ".
"Of course,
" soothed Nick.
Paddy ignored the smirk, and continued ... "Early on, I used rope, but more recently I used - we used (he corrected himself) duct tape. That had to be cut off - and even so it was painful to peel away. I know, because I had it done to me as well as doing it to other blokes when we were pissing around."

"Good!" said Nick emphatically, "so some of the things our Clients like to see - and all of our operatives are good at doing and surviving having done to them, will come as no serious shock to you."
"And some will - right?"
challenged the now completely hooked potential Agency Operative.
"We will certainly want to test how you react to some of the more extreme restraint equipment like - a strait-jacket, perhaps?"

"O - K, " breathed the Irishman, speculating on how he might deal with it. "And what else?" he challenged, looking almost casually around the rapidly filling up caff.
"Oh, different types of hoods, or at least head-coverings in leather and rubber. Think you can deal with those?"
"I've worked in anti-exposure protective suits and masks, and sweated my bollocks off for hours in a diver's dry suit,"
he confirmed, now determined to convince this bloke that he was up for the challenge.

"Then you'll be quite at home in some of the stuff," said the seducer, ready to reel in the hooked fish. "I'm sure you'll be able to deal with a lot of things that'll come at you. And - some of our Clients like to watch people putting up a real struggle while trapped inside that sort of gear - real men - and seeing them being forced into difficult and uncomfortable situations - apparently against their will (Apparently, remember) - and then kept there - and forced to stay there long past the time when they're ready for release ... and sometimes the desperation is real. But most of our operatives are men who enjoy proving that they can deal with/survive in such situations. Certainly, some of our lads specialise in putting up a no-holds-barred struggle ... while others enjoy the challenge of achieving their objective however much resistance is put up.
And, at the end of the day, EVERYBODY always comes up smiling ... we have the video footage to prove it. For legal reasons, we always end every videoed session, however intense it might have got, with everybody involved smiling and shaking hands""

Paddy's prick was getting harder by the minute - and his day was made when Nick offered: "Look, if you're prepared to give me an e-mail address ... " he broke off mid-sentence, having remembered another question. "Do you live alone or with somebody?"
admitted Paddy.
"OK, so if I send you a small selection of clips that show the sort of situations we film for our Clients ... different sorts of challenging ... er ... predicaments our lads not only dream up for one another ... but get a kick out of both imposing on others ... AND surviving them when they're on the receiving end ... however heavy they get. How does that grab you?"

The idea had grabbed Paddy by the short-and-curlies and his prick was ready to burst.


Nick Bartlett certainly knew how to land a promising catch when one swam into his net. He and his mate, Denny, got quite a blast from spotting 'potentials' as they called them; men who perhaps didn't know what they were getting into - then jumping them through a few hoops before either winning them over or sending them on their way, hopefully with no harm done. This was a high-risk game in itself - and risk-taking had always been Nick's thing.
"The Agency" was, in reality, not the main focus of their activities. It was a profitable side-line, which gave focus to some of the games the liked to play - but it was the man-to-man rough-and-tumble competitive escapades themselves that energised the minds and bodies of this select group of game-players.

Also, "The Agency" made a reassuring cover story, because finding a tough newbie and enjoying a day-long session of cat-and-mouse, was a regular entertainment for the Team.
Another skill they'd developed, was video editing; putting together just the right combination of 'scenes' to do the trick in each individual case. Denny had become a dab-hand at this.
After the meeting in the cafe, Nick had warned that this Irishman might be unpredictable, volatile or even dangerous to mess with. Just the ticket. So they had fun deciding exactly how far to push their luck. How much to include and not include in the video they sent for download on that Saturday morning ... and they got it right.

Paddy, by the end of a weekend watching the video, was fired-up and ready. His mind was not only blown by such action-packed sequences - he'd spent two sleepless nights picturing himself as both the victim and the aggressor in the different challenge situations. His prick was sore from wanking over video footage, and shooting too many loads.
If man-to-man challenge was the name of this game - too fucking right, Paddy Cotterill had never been able to resist a challenge! For him, Wednesday couldn't come soon enough.
What was it brought him to this pitch?
Judge for yourself.


5- THE SET-UP: #
A text file was the first thing Paddy downloaded. This was in the form of an advertisement sent out to Clients of THE AGENCY. It read ..



mind-games made real - excitement to order -
danger for hire

The DENNICK STUDIO is a place where
anything can happen to you -
because you decide to ask for it.

This unique Dramatic Scenario Workshop= specialises in helping you make your wildest imaginings actually happen, but happen SAFELY. We employ a skilful team of Men-of-Action who can help turn your fantasy, however extreme, into a very real experience.

The team specialises in creating the sort of dramatic personal event which some men dream about, but might not want to happen to them in real life. Whether one-to-one challenge, tangible menace, sense of danger or just the unexpected; whatever excites your imagination and gets your adrenaline pumping, here is a chance to find out how well you would deal with it - while knowing you will not end up dead.

Depending on the dynamics of the experience you have outlined, during an intensive interview you will be encouraged to formulate a plan. With our help this session can, in itself, become a highly stimulating experience, including discussion of a range of alternative possibilities, and perhaps preliminary demonstrations of the sort of physicality that could be involved.

In consultation with one or more of our Scenario Planners, all you will be required to do is let your imagination run wild. At this early stage, what matters most is that you make clear the precise nature of the experience that will excite you - its duration - and how challenging or intense you might like it to be. Once we know the parameters of the situation you hope to experience, we will then take care of all practicalities. Factors such as the logistics of space & equipment, premises and (most importantly) the safety aspects of the happening. This is where our experience is essential.

Most importantly, you do have to make clear to us just how far you imagine you would like the experience to go in terms of intensity. How realistic it should feel. However, in order that there will be an element of surprise, you may chose to indicate only a broad outline. This will allow our lads to be more creative while interpreting your basic theme. Alternatively, you can compile a list of elements essential to your fantasy, but still leave us free to improvise within pre-determined boundaries.

During this INITIAL CONSULTATION session, we can perhaps suggest ways to enhance your SCENARIO. You will be encouraged to visualise it step-by-step in your Mind's Eye while talking it through in protracted dialogue with the sort of men capable of making such an event happen realistically ... but these will not necessarily be the men who carry it out, so the element of surprise is also enhanced.

This INITIAL CONSULTATION can, in itself, be a memorable experience ... and this first step may be enough. It may be all you can afford, because this sort of scenario building does, inevitably, come at a price.


Will - - Garry - - Paul - - Bungo - - Dickhead - - Nutter - - Lenny - - Baz
(Author's note: photos used to illustrate this fictional article have been culled from the Internet. If owners of any photo
will contact me I will credit the source or, upon request immediately remove the picture.)

may be offered to you by Dennick Studios at this point.
It could be that, as a result of our detailed discussions (which may include some preliminary demonstration of physical elements involved), you could decide that the experience you have enjoyed visualising happening to you - might be more enjoyable and stimulating if it were to HAPPEN TO SOMEBODY ELSE with you as an observer at a safe distance - OR participating as one of the perpetrators.

Depending on the complexities of the action, plus equipment required, premises and number of Operatives involved, this stage may in itself require a number of steps.

We will undertake to draw-up an estimated costing as part of the fee for the Initial Consultation.

Subsequently, in order to explore more fully the logistics of turning your plan into reality, this may need to be covered by a modest advance on the final GO AHEAD payment.

A detailed budget will then be prepared and discussed with you, perhaps with less costly alternatives offered before the signing of a CONTRACT. Detailed consents, waivers, legal covers must be signed at this time - and CONFIRMATION OF DATE will be fixed. Alternatively at this point, it may be decided to set no precise date, thus allowing for a suspense/surprise element, rather than an agreed time slot.

THE FULL FEE will become due at the formal signing and witnessing of the Final Agreement together with other relevant documents.

A BACK-OUT CLAUSE will allow for a change of mind. But at a late stage, this will inevitably involve a considerable financial penalty.

A VIDEO RECORD OF THE EVENT can be included if required. If made for your exclusive use, this could provide a potent souvenir of the event. The cost of this can be agreed in advance.

A COST REDUCTION ON THE GO-AHEAD FEE is, however, another attractive alternative.
If the nature of your proposed scenario might make it interesting to other people, a VIDEO for sale on limited release under the DENNICK STUDIO label, could reduce
by a substantial amount the cost to you of your experience at the hands of our Operatives, .

All of the above considerations are open to discussion and negotiation

 E-mail us for any further information

There ends the first 6,750 words of a 42,000 word total.
To find out what happens when Paddy visits THE AGENCY,
continue reading the story from this point, by going to


The complete text is printable from that file

for other fiction-based-on-fact

return to HOME PAGE