“This is an outrage!” he fumed, standing up.

“What is?” Yvette asked, pretending she didn’t understand.

“I am being interrogated by a woman, when I said I will answer only to a man, and I am naked! It is against my human rights.”

“It’s also against peoples’ human rights to blow them up,” she countered, standing up herself, “which is what we’re concerned about. As to your being interrogated by a woman, we have equal rights here. I got to be a security officer through merit and hard work. We don’t recognise your stone age attitude towards women. The fact that you’re naked is deliberate. It’s to emphasise that you’re vulnerable in front of a woman – me.”

Aziz swore in his own language and took Yvette by surprise with wild left punch. She escaped most of it, turning it into a glancing blow, but it stung and – worse for her personal and professional pride – knocked her officer’s hat off.

Her training kicked in, fractionally later than it should have done, and Aziz went flying over her shoulder, somersaulting in mid-air, to land on his front on the floor. Yvette dived onto his back, locked his arm behind him, and dragged him to his feet.

“Okay Aziz,” she hissed, barely able to contain her fury, “if you want to play it that way, we will.”

“Where are you taking me?” he demanded, as the intimidating, shapely officer marched him out of the room.

“We’re going to the playground to continue our game,” she explained, manhandling him outside.

The “playground” turned out to be a boxing ring, where the security officers kept fit. Yvette pushed him to one side of the ring by the back of his head.

“It is shameful for a man to fight a woman,” Aziz snarled at her.

“But not shameful to hit her when she’s not expecting it?” Yvette sneered. “That’s cowardly.”

He glared at her for some moments. Being male, with the usual instincts, he couldn’t help but take in her beauty in all her anger: her large breasts rising and falling with her quickened breathing; her narrow waist; her rounded hips and glorious bottom that he wanted to smack (but didn’t dare to, the mood she was in).

She noticed him admiring her and gave a knowing smile, placing her hands on her hips. Men are all the same that way, she thought, and it doesn’t matter whether it’s Mecca, Madagascar or Macclesfield - show them a fine bosom and a tempting bum and they go to pieces.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she jeered, sure in the knowledge of her subtle feminine dominance. “Hit me if you dare, Porky!”

“Filth!” Aziz shouted. “For that I punish!” he roared, throwing a straight right, which missed the evasive woman by inches.

Yvette’s fists came up and she warded off a left cross, determinedly standing her ground. She swerved out of the way of a right hook, catching the frustration on Aziz’s face. She had calmed down enough from her initial anger to be able to concentrate, whereas he seemed to be losing all control.

Aziz lunged an attempted body shot at her; she leant forward, poised and ready for him to overreach. When she sensed him stumble slightly, she thrust her right elbow back sharply at his jaw. He gave a little cry and staggered back; she spun round and planted a solid left cross on his chin.

That was another thing about a man, she thought, noticing his eyes bulge in astonishment (and pain). He expects a woman to be “tricky” in self-defence, with complicated holds and throws. What he doesn’t expect is for her to punch him in the face, as a man would. Yvette loved the look of bewilderment on a man’s face whenever she did it!

Settling into her stride, she caught his jaw painfully with an angled right uppercut. Her fist made a distinct “crack” sound as it landed, jerking his head up and to the side.

Ducking under an attempted right hook, Yvette hammered Aziz’s chest with a powerful straight left. This time, her fist made a strange hollow sound, which seemed to echo both inside his chest and outside in the ring. He felt as if he had just swallowed the hottest variety of chilli.

But worse was to come, because Yvette now fired her right fist in at his kidney. It was a different, numbing pain that she caused from the burning one in his chest. But it spread in debilitating waves throughout his midsection, seeming to set up its own internal contest with his chest pain.

He lashed out with his right, desperation starting to show. Yvette had its measure and ducked below. With impeccable timing, just when his attempt was running out of steam, she jumped up and landed a shattering right hook, which put him on his back.

There was no sense of honour or fair play to this fight. Aziz was on his back and vulnerable, so it was time to drive home her advantage. His head rocked to the side when her left fist hooked into it. Squatting over him, she let him have her right fist in the eye.

It was time for some of that “tricky” stuff after all. Yvette bundled the stunned young man onto his front. Kneeling with one knee between his shoulder blades, she pulled his head up by his hair in a hold a bit like a camel clutch. It was as degrading for him as it was painful, which was deliberate on Yvette’s part. Apart from the fact that she enjoyed humiliating him just for the hell of it, she aimed to undermine his self-confidence and his will to resist. She calculated that it would make it easier to extract the information she was tasked with uncovering.

Warming to the hold, she stood either side of the abject male and heaved him up with both hands around his head, placing great strain on his neck. She pulled him all the way up until he stood – or rather stooped, because she had him in a tight headlock. With her left arm wrapped around his already sore neck, she jabbed the fingers of her right hand into his eyes, then punched him three times on the temple.

After that, she surprisingly let him go, as if she wanted him to make a fight of it. (Perhaps she did.) Aziz mentally shook himself to sober up after the drubbing he had taken, then made to grab her, thirsting for revenge. She blocked his move, and they resembled a couple of clumsy dancers, getting it hopelessly wrong as they moved and counter-moved around the ring.

Yvette ended the confusion by catching him with a short right hook to the vulnerable part of the skull, just behind the ear. With an oath, he hurled his right fist at her. But she anticipated it before he had delivered it, and half-knelt to hammer her left fist into his chest, reopening the injury she had already created there.

Aziz experienced heartburn long before many people get that all-consuming pain, and he was disorientated by it. Yvette, giving him no respite, spun half round to give herself momentum, and this time used a full right hook to get him in exactly the same spot behind the ear that she had only recently hit. Her fist was deafening, landing as it did so close to his ear, and Aziz wobbled precariously, his orientation temporarily gone.

He was an open target and Yvette helped herself. She almost had him over with a rising left cross to the high cheekbone. Building up the impetus, she smacked him on the jaw with a rising right cross.

Oddly enough, that last punch seemed to rekindle Aziz’s instinct for self-preservation. He knew that counterattack was his only hope, as mere defence was useless against this wild woman. He swung a huge body shot, but Yvette arched her body out of harm’s way. Positioned as she was beside his firing left arm, she seized it in her left hand and pulled him into her right fist, soaring upwards to land just below his eye.

Keeping hold of that left arm, she bent herself forwards and brought them both down with a simple swing of their combined body weights. Before he was aware what was happening, she had him in another headlock.

He knew her left arm was strong already, right from that first cross to the chin. But he wasn’t prepared for the ever-growing might of it around his neck now. She knelt behind him, sitting on the small of his back, and hauled him beside her by his neck in a dragon lock. She grabbed his right hand in hers and proceeded to bend and lock his fingers. His face shouted in pain, even though he was silent due to the hideous hold she had of his neck.

Yvette raised him to one knee, still with that remorseless headlock engulfing him. She kept him there for some moments, relishing the power and control she had over him as much as he hated it. Then she brought him up to his feet and suddenly relinquished the headlock. But before he could gulp in any oxygen, she rammed her knee into the small of his back. He went rigid with shock and yet another pain.

Yvette wasn’t going to let a target like that go to waste, so she pivoted on her left foot to kick him, broadside on, in his right kidney.

To Aziz, she was the agent of Satan. Her job was to safeguard and promote evil as an officer of her country’s infidel regime. Her strength, as he saw it, was Satan’s strength (and nothing to do with pushing her body to its limits in her rigorous exercises). It was his duty to fight back, even though every movement now hurt, thanks to that wicked woman. He struck with a left punch, but once again it missed. The Devil was protecting his own, ensuring Aziz’s fist travelled harmlessly over her shoulder.

To Yvette, her opponent was a fanatic, who thought he was doing God’s work by murdering people. She now took great pleasure in punching him in the eye. Once again, she used a rising left cross to do the damage, and Aziz let out a yell of rage and pain.

Sometimes you will hear sports pundits talk about a beautiful shot, whether it’s tennis, snooker or football. To see Yvette’s next punch was to see a thing of beauty. It was a curving right uppercut, impeccably balanced through skilful footwork to land with the maximum force on his jaw. The busty, curvaceous woman knocked the taller man off his perch. His teeth clanged together and he staggered back towards the ropes.

Aziz lashed out with his right, but his coordination was all to pot by now and Yvette was able to ignore it, while pounding his jaw with a left hook. She was landing knees, kicks and punches with impunity, cheering when she gave him a black eye.

“I bet you daren’t tell your comrades-in-arms a girl gave you that black eye!” she gloated.

“Diabolical woman – ahhhh, NO!” he roared, as she kicked him in the balls.

She had driven him into a corner. There was no more retreat, apart from flight. He would have fled, but she had slowed him down, whereas she seemed to be gathering speed. She knocked him partly out of the ropes with a superb high left kick. The sole of her boot caught him across the chin so that his upper body jerked under the top rope.

Aziz was semi-conscious by now. But even in that state, something new troubled him, seemingly at the edge of his mind. Despite the utter disgrace of being beaten by a woman (or perhaps because of it) he had become aroused. Meanwhile, Yvette’s fist sent him back between the ropes and out of consciousness altogether.

What a victory! “That’s the best fight I’ve had for a long time!” Yvette thought happily to herself, standing over Aziz in triumph. There was just one small problem – she hadn’t got the address of the safe house. Still, she thought she knew how to get it, teasing away at his defeat boner with her foot, until he stirred back into consciousness.

“Come on, sleepy head, up you get,” she said, helping him up. “Are you okay?” she asked, appearing to be genuinely concerned at his dejection.

“It is a disgrace just to fight a woman,” he wailed. But to lose to her is banishment to hell, and to be excited by it must be even worse!”

Yvette stood right next to him, showing sympathy: “You shouldn’t punish yourself too much,” she told him coaxingly, “I’ve been trained to fight hard. I had to defeat a male security officer to get this job. As to your, er, aroused state, it’s quite natural when a man loses to a woman. The security officer was just the same. In fact,” she continued softly, “I gave him a little consolation prize.”

“What do you mean?” Aziz asked, close to tears.

“Oh, just this,” she told him, curling her fingers around his erect penis and making him gasp.

“Beautiful! Adorable!” Aziz blurted out.

Yvette chuckled. “But to return to the matter in hand – not this one,” she pulled hard, making his eyes pop. “I do need the address of that safe house.”

“Impossible,” he insisted.

“Oh, what a shame! I’ll have to stop what I’m doing,” she tormented him.

“Wait. No, please!” he stammered.

“The address,” repeated Yvette.

“72 … oh, please don’t stop!”

“Well, 72 what?” she prompted the panting man.

“72 Elmthwaite Road …”

“And?”

“MARKLEBOURNE!” Aziz shouted in a voice they could probably have heard in that fine town, as he came profusely.

“Yes, that makes sense,” Yvette said, satisfied he was telling the truth. “Okay,” she continued, ominously clenching her left fist. “Goodnight Aziz,” she concluded, knocking him back out with a final match-winning uppercut.