The lifts were probably broken although Stig didn't bother to investigate as he could hear a low unearthly moaning issuing from the nearby elevator. The stairwell was oppressively dark, its walls adorned with the most frenetic of graffiti, and as he ascended the first few floors (all the while his Pampers comfortably expanding) his mind became dominated with thoughts of his Mistress. His lateness uncontested and his nappy irretrievably full, he was bound to incur the most brutal of punishments, much worse than just a few rounds with the paddle, for although he had never set foot in there, he was more likely to suffer the horrors of the dungeon, ripe for spending a night or two screwed up in an iron box so small only someone of his midgety stature could endure it. And he knew he deserved it, catching sight through a grimy window on the 9th floor the disused vulcanizing plant he had passed earlier, and thinking of that weasily little man of whom his Mistress had once remarked. Apparently he had worked extremely long hours for negligible wages, his backbreaking duties demanding he perform a range of dangerously acrobatic feats the length and breadth of the noble machinery. Mistress Nemesis had taken much delight in strapping him into thick black rubber panties, giving him a few rounds with the worst of her trade before suspending the little fucker from the ceiling. The daughter of a militant feminist, she had been indoctrinated in the evils of men from a tender age, and had even participated at rallies when she was still in gymslips. She was bright and could have stayed on in school although her disagreeable and vociferous father decreed she earn for a living, and no doubt the tensions of the typing pool had inevitably taken their toll. A seventeen year old girl with ambition and intelligence, forced to trade in her education in exchange for bread on table. Ordained to rise with the birds and set out on a gruelling journey eventually climaxing with her entrance into a vast low-ceilinged room on the 16th floor of a municipal office block, to join a rank of thirty ladies, in a room containing over a thousand ladies: knee-length skirts and sensible blouses, under-wired brassieres and high-waist briefs; clicking around on sharp stiletto heels with their legs encased in American Tan tights, typing 'til their fingers bled. No wonder she derived so much pleasure from putting perverts through their paces.