Authors Note: This part was written with Kate S, I began it and she finished it, we aren't exactly sure how it will pan out but it keeps us amused and well blame me for the S&M

Part 1: In too Deep

If looks could kill Michael would be six feet under right now. Yet he wasn't, no, Mike was sat in his bedroom, rather, awkwardly tied up with handcuffs. You may think you've just stumbled upon an extremely kinky sex scene, no. You've just encountered a fitful spite of revenge. You see, Connie, Mike's goddess of a wife, returned from the course from hell this morning, courtesy of mike. Connie had been fizzing mad as the dirty minibus had made it's way into the hospital car park, spitting feathers was putting it lightly.

"Good morning dear," he smiled cockily, reaching out to give her a hug.

"No dear," she repeated his pet word with inconsiderate clumsiness. He wasn't flavour of the month, he doubted if he was even flavour of the year. But shit happens

She stood facing him, her cleavage pouting at him as she let her body drop to his level. The whip in her hand was slithering closer to his thigh by the minute; "now then, dear," she smiled, licking his skin with the end of the item, sending him crazy with arousal. She stood up. "Do you really think you've been a good enough boy to deserve such pleasures?" she purred, moving away from him and sitting on the edge of the bed. Connie took her time to do up the laces on her boot, the fishnets catching occasionally as she drove herself silly with frustration attempting to lace them up, it only turns dear Michael on more.

Stalking over to him she places a leg between him, stepping as close to him as her footfall will allow. He grimaces in arousal, "you see I don't think you do, and something else, Michael," she pauses as he lifts his head up to her, staring at her sultry dark eyes, lined with charcoal black eyeliner. "I don't think you understand what that course was like," she pouts, crouching down to his level. "But to give you an idea I think I'll let you stew for a while," with that she stands up and turns away from him, her hands rest on her hips akimbo style. As she makes her way to the door he wriggles in protest.

"Connie you have to untie me, NOW!" he squeals as the metal lurches into his arm, she merely smiles as the key is deposited down her top. She grabs the beige coat hanging on the back of the door and leaves.

Ric trudges down the dimly lit corridor of his flat grumbling at the keen visitor waiting at his door, the sleep blurring his vision slightly. "Hold on, I'm coming," he sighs, undoing the several latches that he'd insisted on installing considering the "niceness" of his neighbours. His eyes are somewhat stunned when he finally opens the door; standing in front of him is none other than Connie, he tries to stifle a moan at having to spend any more time with her after the last few nights but she fritters past him, barely missing his bare toes with the heel of her boots.

"Connie, what on earth?" he eyes her warily, his mouth hanging open as she sits on the sofa, crossing and uncrossing her legs in a manner that leaves him in no doubt that she really was wearing nothing but the killer boots, a long, beige coat, a tight black corset and a thong. For a moment he stops, pinching the back of his hand and waiting to wake up. He doesn't. Surely this isn't for real. Apparently it is.

"Oh Ric, do shut your mouth; you look like a stunned goldfish!" she reprimands him sternly and he snaps his mouth closed without even thinking about it; apparently he now has a reflex that makes him obey her every command 'now show me to the bedroom' but possibly not that command. Surely this has to be a joke; surely there is a film crew hiding in the hall waiting to leap out at him brandishing a camera and laughing at him. She stares at him, deadpan as he laughs nervously. Apparently she's serious. Fuck.

"Connie, what on earth are you doing?" he finally manages to croak and she rolls her eyes impatiently, as though he has just asked the most imbecilic question imaginable. Perhaps he has; perhaps the answer is blindingly obvious and he is simply missing something. Of course he is missing something; when a woman shows up on your doorstep at gone midnight clad in clothes that can only be bought in a kinky sex shop her intentions are fairly clear. She wants a repeat performance; only this time apparently the performance involves a degree of sadomasochism, specifically a whip and boots that could inflict severe damage on most parts of the anatomy. He is terrified.

"Ric, Ric, Ric," she tuts and shakes her head with disappointment "I always thought that you were a man of the world. Surely you've seen a whip before" she adds, emphasising the word 'whip', somewhat pleased with the way in which it makes him flinch. If only Michael had Ric's prudish streak then perhaps he wouldn't be in the unfortunate situation in which he now finds himself. Of course that is part of the game; he thought that she'd release him when she was good and ready, and that she'd probably expect sexual favours for him in return.

"I've seen a whip before" he confirms "I just don't understand why you've bought one to my house…"

"Well that's gratitude for you…" she laughs lightly and rolls her eyes in a manner that suggests disappointment that she has apparently underestimated him "I had some time to kill and I don't have to return these clothes to the shop until later, I thought you and I could have some fun"

"Connie, if these clothes aren't for my benefit then…" he pauses for a moment, pondering the wisdom of continuing. He concludes that to persist in this line of questioning would be incredibly unwise. He persists anyway "what are they for?"

"Michael" she replies simply and he feels sick. He's supposed to be grateful for Michael Beauchamp's leftovers? He doesn't know whether to laugh or be insulted.

"I thought you were angry with Michael. The way you behaved at the hospital I got the impression that Michael wouldn't be seeing you like this for a very long time. I thought that you wanted to punish him…" he trails off, once again met with the exceedingly unpleasant suspicion that he has missed something crucial. From the look on her face he can tell that she thinks him incredibly naïve.

"This" she gestures down at her attire with a self satisfied smile "is his punishment. Well part of it"

"You mean…" Ric's heart sinks; unwittingly he has become a pawn in the Beauchamp marriage. Surely this whole set up is Michael's punishment; it is as if he is child and she has bought his favourite toy, only to give it to another child and make him watch. Again he looks for the video cameras.

"Michael thought he was in for a real treat when he saw me – he's always had a perverse enjoyment for the whip. He couldn't get enough of me…"

"Where is Michael?" he enquires wearily; he is certain that he doesn't want to know but at the same time, he cannot help but ask. It's like some sort of morbid fascination.

"At home" she shrugs before giving a malicious laugh that makes his blood run cold "in bed" another laugh "he's a little tied up"

"Please, please tell me that you haven't chained your husband up in the bedroom and left him there" he pleads but he knows that he stands little chance; it is abundantly clear that this is exactly what she has done. He can't help but be a little impressed – when she had announced that she was going to punish Michael so much that he wasn't going to know what had hit him he had assumed that she was referring to the silent treatment and sleeping on the sofa for a few days or weeks. He hadn't expected this but he has to admit that it's ingenious; cruel and quite possibly illegal but ingenious nonetheless.

"Oh he loves it" she shrugs "well he does as long as he thinks that I'm coming back. Right about now he'll be starting to wonder whether I intend to leave him there for the night, by tomorrow morning he'll be starting to panic. By the time the police arrive tomorrow afternoon he'll have worked out that I'm not coming"

"You intend to the call the police?" he murmurs, shutting his eyes and making a mental note never to piss her off. Which apparently means that he's going to have to sleep with her and pray that she doesn't chain him to the radiator and call Jess to find him or something equally depraved.

"No, no, no" she shakes her head, giving a tinkling laugh that fills him with foreboding "I intend to call the press and his mother. Then I intend to call the police"

"Connie, this is…" Brilliant? Depraved? Inspired? Illegal? "…Wrong"

"Oh don't be so boring, Ric" she rebukes him with a roll of her eyes and a lopsided smile "the headlines will be fantastic; 'Senior Advisor to the Minister of Health in Kinky Sex Shocker'"

"Or 'Scorned Senior Cardiotharacics Consultant Arrested on Suspicion of Illegal Imprisonment"' he retorts immediately "this is a dangerous game that you're playing"

"Let me worry about that" she reaches out and squeezes his hand reassuringly "that's between me and Michael" another squeeze but this time it isn't his hand that she's squeezing "this, on the other hand, is between you and I. Bedroom?" it's a command not a question. He simply cannot resist.