Mistress Nemesis resided on the 19th floor of Babel Point, a 24 storey tower block known for miles around as the 'Terror Tower' - a typically uninspired moniker dreamt up by the red-tops in the 70s. Such a nickname most likely conjures up the image of a grisly theme park ride, replete with phoney-looking ghouls and skeletons, but in reality the block was an established criminal's Mecca, overrun with vandalism and drug abuse, burglaries and rape. Whereas one would think that such a hazardous environment would most likely repel any non-residents, especially those as small and insignificant as Stig, Babel Point's countless dangers merely served to heighten the thrill of the midget's unspeakable liaisons, and once he arrived at his Mistress's flat, having surmounted the hell of the stairwell (for the lifts were invariably broken) he liked to pretend he was a school boy, his sessions entailing him donning shorts and blazer, cap and tie - looking for all the world like a miniature version of AC/DC's Angus Young - obediently enduring the rigours of a brutal and antiquated educational regime.

Stig's Mistress had partitioned her flat into a variety of small enclosures, each one catering for a different proclivity. There was the obligatory dungeon, the school room, the kinky operating theatre, and a room that resembled a rather unusual nursery. As with most sex-workers, the Dominatrix's decisions were primarily determined by money, and her position as something of a multi-purpose Mistress had attracted a much greater number of punters than other girls working the area. Therefore it puzzled Stig as to why the woman didn't up sticks and decamp to a more salubrious residence, and in his many insecure moments he frequently suspected that this was solely because she enjoyed making him trek the long and lonely journey to her dangerous locale. The school room was appointed with chairs, tables and blackboard, all of which had been surreptitiously purloined from a nearby comprehensive some time back. A typical session would begin with the woman dumping her lowly client in front of some impossible mathematical equations, and, while he sweated over them, she'd prowl around the dingy little room in gown and mortarboard - the air of academia visibly subdued however with fleeting glimpses of her knickers and suspenders - playfully fondling her paddle in a menacingly sexy manner.