He dabbled in sponsorship of middle-ranking F1 drivers, which is where we come to the exception. One driver was a young woman named Sabrine. He liked to refer to her (when he was lucid) as “like an oasis of cool, refreshing water in an otherwise male desert of drivers”. Which was all very well, she scoffed; but fine words meant little when she received about half the money that male drivers got, who were no better than she was.

She complained about it to him and he invited her to the chateau to “discuss” it. Yes, well she knew what that meant. So she resolved to encourage him in his use of drugs and alcohol from the outset, while taking nothing herself, and wait for him to pass out. Then she would spring her trap.

Not since Bismarck has a plan come to fruition so successfully. After an hour, Antoine was making no sense; after 2 hours, he did indeed pass out.

He woke up with the sense that something wasn’t quite right. He was naked. Did that mean he’d had sex with Sabrine and didn’t even remember it? After all his fantasies about her? But there was something worse than that. He had some hideous cage fixed to his penis. His eyes moved from that across the room, where she sat smiling slightly at him.

“Did you do this?” he demanded.

“No, your butler did it,” she told him.

“WHAT?”

“Yes, of course I did it.”

“You’re weird and twisted,” he complained.

“I thought that’s the way you like your sex,” she answered.

“Well yes, but on my terms. Why did you do it?”

“To get my money.”

“Get this thing off me!” he shouted.

“Wrestle me over it then, in the ring outside the chateau, where we can decide on my money.”

“You’re a racing driver, not a wrestler.”

“Then you should have no trouble beating me, should you?”

“Come on then, bitch.” (Cliche again.)

*****

Because Antoine was coming round from his drugs, he couldn’t really appreciate the sight of Sabrine in her racing diver-style leotard. What a shocking waste, she thought. She knew she looked great in it, with breasts that appeared to point at anyone facing her, and a mischievous, round bottom.

“Good Lord, you look rough!” she told him, smiling.

“Haven’t you ever felt rough?” he countered.

“Certainly, and you’re going to experience how rough I can be,” she concluded, putting him in a headlock. She wrapped her deceptively powerful arms around his neck, making him choke and gasp, and brought him down onto one knee. The headlock had now morphed into a sleeper, though Antoine wouldn’t have known – or cared – about the technicalities. Whatever it was called it bloody hurt and made him struggle to breathe, as well as making him feel listless.

Using the sleeper, Sabrine brought them both down on their sides. It looked as if she was piggyback riding him, except she had her ankles crossed disconcertingly just underneath his caged manhood.

On her back now, she pulled him round to his front, plunging his face into her breasts. But that was only the start. Locking his right arm in the crook of her left arm, she crossed her legs around his neck, incorporating his locked arm in the head scissor. Muffled, incoherent sounds of protest and entreaty came from him, which she ignored as she reinforced the hold. She moved her supple, versatile legs up until Antoine felt as if he was drowning in her breasts.

But it wasn’t just her legs that were versatile – she coiled her sleek body over and around his head, neck and shoulders, like a spider enveloping a fly in its web. She had his right arm trapped inside a head scissor as before, while she twisted his other arm at right angles to itself. The sounds that came from Antoine had even greater vehemence and urgency to them.

It was clearly his right arm that she sought to weaken at this stage though, which was sound tactical thinking. A man with a strong right arm can do a lot of damage, she knew, and that was what she must wound early on. Lying on her side in the opposite direction, Sabrine dragged that arm through her legs, which still trapped his neck in a scissor. She proceeded to manipulate it into excruciating, unnatural angles from the elbow joint.

When she let his arm go, it flopped uselessly at his side. It was time to attack the left one. Kneeling so she straddled his neck, she performed what must have been her trademark head scissor, incorporating his left arm inside it. She moved on by locking it by the wrist and then twisting his individual fingers, so that they made sickening cracking sounds.

Now, with both his arms temporarily out of action, Sabrine could concentrate on where she was strongest – her legs. Pointing down Antoine’s upturned body, she stretched out luxuriously in a sort of reverse push-up position, facing upwards. Crossing her ankles over again, she snapped her thighs shut around his neck and squeezed in a classic head scissor.

Antoine had once sat as a passenger in Sabrine’s car. Watching her rev the engine, clearly enjoying herself while driving at speed, he had – in his perverse way – fantasised about her legs, so confident as they were with the accelerator and clutch. He had imagined her using them in the same way for lovemaking. Well, he was never going to experience that; but oddly, he now recalled that trip in her car and he understood why she was so adept using them to crush his neck and spirit.

How strange it is the way things turn out! He had dreamt about a moment such as this – trapped in her thighs, and looking along her superb female form towards her upturned breasts. If his neck wasn’t severely constricted, he would be enjoying it.

Sabrine flipped him onto his side. Propping herself up on her right hand, she was able to look down at the trapped male, thrashing about pointlessly. She smiled.

“You see,” she explained, “I was a professional MMA fighter, but my parents didn’t like what I did, so I switched to racing driving to please them. Aren’t I a good girl!”

“No,” Antoine gasped as she relaxed her thighs enough to enable him to answer. “Good girls don’t put cages round men’s cocks.”

“Oh, I don’t know, if it’s a man like you, it could be claimed I was protecting women by doing it.”

“Bitch,” he whispered, as she tightened her grip again.

“Not much of a conversationalist, are you?” she added, giving that little extra squeeze to remind him who was boss.

Propping herself up on her left hand now, Sabrine positioned herself across him on his front. In her most elaborate hold yet, she half scissored his neck in the crook of her right leg. At the same time, she pulled her other leg over with her free hand to sandwich his right arm in a multi-layered scissor.

Indeed, she considered it was time to return her attention to his arms. Lying across him, she imprisoned his left arm in her thighs and used both hands to lock and twist his right arm to render it useless again.

How close this was to one of Antoine’s fantasies too! Sabrine’s pointed nipples, enlarged from the excitement of the fight, seemed to dig into the skin of his chest while she pushed her body down against his.

Antoine gave a wail of agony as they both heard his arm crack, so that little job was done for the time being. She moved him onto his front and kneeling over him, bent his left leg back until his foot touched the back of his head, while he screamed himself hoarse. She seemed to know a man’s body as intimately as she knew a racing car’s strengths and weaknesses.

Placing him on his back now, Sabrine knelt over his stomach and locked his right leg above him. She enjoyed hearing the many shouts and cries from this pampered human being, who lived only for his comforts and perversions. Yes, well he’d followed a particular perversion once too often, inviting her for a “discussion”, hadn’t he?

Then it was back to his left leg. Leaning across him, she heaved it up and linked her arms around it, stretching it up and over him. She laughed again as she lay more comfortably over Antoine, dragging it against the boundary of his endurance.

If he had a good line in perversions, she had an equally good line in weird (but effective) wrestling holds. She pushed herself on her side under him, bumping the small of his back so that it rested above her left hip. Locking his left arm in her linked arms, she imprisoned his other arm between her left thigh and the mat. This restricted the flow of blood beyond his elbow, while she concentrated on contorting his other arm into painful angles.

So far, Sabrine had been content to lock Antoine’s legs individually. But if she could attack both his arms at once, why not his legs? Kneeling on her left knee, she placed her right foot between his legs and raised him so that only his head and left shoulder were on the mat. She bent his left leg back over her right leg, while locking his right leg in her linked arms. From “pins and needles” in both his feet, Antoine knew the warning signs by now. First came that sensation, then the aches, next the burning feeling, and finally the cracks of bones.

Coming full circle, Sabrine returned to a sleeper. Kneeling behind him she encircled his head and neck in her arms again. Her left arm wrapped itself around his neck while her right hand kept his head in its place in the hold.

“Remember this, Antoine?” she asked unpleasantly, “it’s how we began this little romance of ours.”

But it was altogether too passive a hold for the mood she was in. She released him and, while he was still gulping down oxygen, propped herself up on both hands to jump her legs up under his arms. She completed the full Nelson-style hold by crossing her feet over behind his neck. It required great dexterity on her part, and an equal feat of endurance on his, as it felt as if she would wrench his arms out of their sockets behind him.

Sabrine returned to the head scissor – or rather a variation on the theme. Pushing up on her hands, she crossed her legs shut over his neck from side-on. This way, she could raise him off the mat by his head, placing even more strain on his neck.

Keeping with the side approach, she propped herself up on her right hand again, so she could view the progress and effect of her scissor. It also provided her with the psychological bonus of being able to look down on her opponent as she ratcheted up the pressure of the scissor.

It was time, Sabrine thought, to return to his arms. Hitherto, most of her attention had been on his right arm, as you’d expect, since most people are right-handed. So she turned to his left arm now. Kneeling over his left shoulder, she hauled it up into a lock behind his back. Once again, Antoine got the series of pains in his arm, starting with the “pins and needles” in his fingertips, and he was familiar with the grisly progression of suffering. She found his shouts of pain hugely entertaining. The way she was kneeling meant that her right leg encircled his neck in a half scissor, for a bonus.

She did favour this crossways work, and she undoubtedly used it to great effect. So, lying across his chest, and trapping his right arm under her body weight, she dragged his left leg up into a sinew-straining lock until his foot rested over her head pointing backwards. Antoine tried to dislodge her, but his right arm was stuck on the mat above his elbow. All it did was to flap about, at one moment with his hand touching her peachy bottom. Considering the chastity cage on his penis, that was the last thing he needed to be doing!

Sabine worked him to a sitting position and head locked him from behind. “Not this again,” he thought. On the other hand, what would he rather she did? Everything involved torture. Kneeling on one knee, she joined her arms and went to work mercilessly until he thought he would never be able to breathe freely again.

It’s fair to say that, at times, Sabrine’s style bordered on showing off. For example, she forced Antoine’s legs into a Figure 4. It’s a complicated hold, involving use of the legs to move one of the opponent’s legs into a crooked angle from the knee over his other leg. Conventionally, the “attacker” lies on their back facing away from the victim. But not Sabrine. Oh no, she had to make an upside-down push up, with both hands and both feet on the mat to do it, as if to say, “Look how strong and skilful I am”. On the other hand, it worked, and Antoine’s left leg suffered appallingly.

But still she hadn’t finished with that leg. Sitting on the small of his back, facing down his body, she hauled it into a lock in the crook of her left arm, so that his leg was bent excruciatingly once more, with his foot pointing at his head. It suffered pretty much equally above the knee as far as the hip joint, and below it as far as the ankle.

Despite Sabrine’s fondness for unorthodox holds, she could use the more commonplace ones as well. So we see her employing the camel clutch next. Everything about it was traditional (including the agony for the victim from the neck, down the spine and around to the ribs and stomach). She sat on the small of Antoine’s back in the approved manner and heaved his upper body up with her hands under his chin, while pushing his middle down with her body weight.

It seemed a long time since Sabrine last stood up, so up she got, taking his left leg with her. She wrenched it up into an ankle lock, holding it just under her chin. Only his right leg below the knee and arm below the elbow were on the mat. She proceeded to twist his foot into grotesque angles, each one earning a shout from Antoine. Indeed, by this time she had also given him a sore throat as an incidental injury.

She now inflicted on him a sort of standing Boston crab. Standing either side of his body, she held both his ankles, and raised his legs by degrees until her own body curved backwards and his feet were above her, facing the same way as his head. Was there no end to her twisted inventions, thought Antoine.

Seemingly not! She now modified the hold so that she crouched forward, with both has ankles tucked under her left arm. This way, she could inflict just as much pain, she found, without straining her own body, because she was still forcing his legs into right angles from themselves. Antoine banged the canvas with his fists in – what? Outrage? Despair? Who knows? Anyway, he banged it.

Standing to the side of him, Sabrine gripped his right arm and tugged it behind him. She held it just above the wrist in her left hand, while her right hand started work on his right hand. If there was a hold called a “wrist lock”, this would be it, as she twisted his hand in the same way she had done his foot earlier.

Back on the mat (sort of) Sabrine knelt straddling the small of Antoine’s back and twisted his left arm into a half Nelson. Everyone is familiar with this hold – children do it to each other at home and school. But just because it’s well-known doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt – it does, as many of us can remember.

She certainly made up for lost time with that left arm! Dragging him onto his side, from behind him she now bent his arm the other way until it felt as if it had no life left in it.

Sabrine returned to his right arm for another elaborate hold. Locking it behind him, just above the wrist, she pushed his head down on the mat with her left foot, so that he was in a most ungainly position, with his backside in the air. As a bonus, his left arm (which was still useless anyway), was held in place by her left leg. Antoine’s shouts were delivered into the mat for a change.

There seemed to be no end to her inventiveness. For she now lay over and across him on her back and dragged that right arm into a series of angled locks, each one of them hideous for Antoine, until it felt as if someone had injected burning acid into his shoulder joint.

Sabrine pulled him up to one knee, but she forced his body so far forward that he had to support himself on his right hand. Still, his left hand and arm were free, and it would be a pity to let them go to waste. So she stood over him and twisted his left arm into a lock in the crook of her left arm. It was another half Nelson, even if it wasn’t in the usual position for one. It certainly hurt like one.

“Now,” she menaced him, manipulating the fingers on his left hand. “Do you submit?”

“YES!”

“You’ll pay me the same as the men?”

“YEEESSSS! Will you take this cage off?”

“You pay me first!”

“Okay, okay, please stop!”

Sabrine celebrated her victory (and her money). That’s the way to negotiate!