This is the fourteenth part of a fiction serial, in 800 words.

The house was a double-fronted detached 1930s style in a nice area of Derby. Terence parked the car in front of the separate garage, and ran his gaze over the property looking for any sign of a burglar alarm. The house next door had a ‘For Sale’ sign at the front, and appeared to be empty. In a street with only ten houses, all identical, nobody was around at that time of the afternoon.

There was no visible alarm box. Maybe Clive wanted to give the impression that there was nothing inside worth stealing? He picked up the house keys, locked the car, and went in.

It had been left in more or less original condition, with many period features. His best guess was that Clive had inherited the family home, and decided to make no modern improvements. There was some post on a hall-stand, all addressed to Clive. No sign of a wife or children, no photos on display, and a rather sterile feel. On the left, a door led into a spacious living room, with a dining table at one end next to French windows overlooking an average sized garden. The television was nothing special, and the room had little atmosphere or style.

Terence went back to the hallway and into the room opposite. That was more like it. A dedicated office area. Computer, monitor, printer, fax machine, large desk, and two filing cabinets. After thirty minutes going through everything in the cabinets and desk, he had the measure of Clive.

Owner of no less than four car dealerships in the immediate area. Audi, which was predictable, but also Mercedes-Benz, Volvo, and Lexus. Clive had an impressive portfolio indeed, and bank statements showed he had a great deal of money. Payments into his current account ran between twelve thousand to forty thousand a month. Much of that was transferred out to savings accounts, and just one statement showed him with a stash of eighty thousand in one account. His current account alone had a balance of no less than thirty-three thousand pounds, and there were business account statements that Terence didn’t even bother to look at.

Small wonder he could afford five hundred quid for one hour of service to his current kink. Compared to Geoffrey, this bloke was seriously minted.

Upstairs, he found two bedrooms ready for use, including the main one at the front which was obviously where Clive slept. The third room was empty, save for an ironing board and iron. There was no ensuite in the main room, just the one dated family bathroom with sixties decor. Clive might be a man who had money, but he didn’t spend it on his accommodation, that was for sure. The fourth room was more interesting. It had a hasp and staple on the outside of the door, allowing it to be secured with a padlock.

But there was no padlock.

Inside, Terence turned on the lights, being temporarily blinded by three incongruous flourescent tubes that lit up the place like an airport terminal. He whislted softly when he saw the scene, and shook his head.

The room was about fourteen by twelve, and the window at the back covered by a solid shutter. Racks lined the walls, and in the centre of the room was what looked like a weight-lifting bench. But the variious straps and shackles attached to that bench told him it had nothing to do with weight-lifting. And the old-fashioned video camera on a movable dolly confirmed what he suspected. The room was some sort of torture chamber. Whips and canes were fitted to the racks, along with shelves containing leather clothing of great variety. Along with gags, hoods, and clubs.

It was a punishment room. Terence had heard of those, but had never seen one before.

Next to the camera was a small shelving unit, a DVD player, and a small television. The unit was full of DVD discs in white covers, each one with dates, times, and names of the people involved. Taking one at random, he put it into the DVD player below the television, and pressed play. Smiling, he chose another. And after that, another.

Clive was always the victim. Many of those handing out the required punsihment were older women. In some cases, they appeared to be kindly grannies. In others they were dressed in PVC clothing and thigh-boots, weilding whips. But it was the third DVD that interested Terence the most.

Some young boys, and young girls. They appeared to be underage, as far as he could tell. Terence started to take photographs on his phone, and then picked up a dozen or more of the DVD films. As he went back downstairs, he couldn’t stop smiling.

He had hit the jackpot, and that jackpot’s name was Clive.