Claire fidgeted with her cheap Christmas jumper and scrolled through the list of available Continuous Professional Development courses. She was short of points for the year and had been a little shocked to have been reminded about it by Elizabeth, her senior manager.

Claire would have much rather been at home in her pyjamas with her buttplug buzzing away in her ass under the desk and regular masturbation breaks, but senior management had decreed today to be official Christmas Jumper day, so enforced jollity and small talk it would have to be.

It wasn’t Elizabeth's role to monitor individual training and certification, she was global head of something or other and rather intimidating at times, but she seemed to have taken a particular interest in Claire and had nudged her to take another look at the list of courses; surely there must be something worthwhile among all the pointless box-ticking.

• Driving safety interactive (online) 50 CPD points (completed) 
• Diversity in the workplace (online) 100 CPD points (completed)
• Desk Yoga (online) 25 CPD points
• Sexual Harassment Awareness (workshop) 50 CPD points (completed)
• Health and safety awareness (online) 50 CPD points
• Preventing a data breach (online) 50 CPD points
• All about internal audits (online) 25 CPD points
• Food & Mood: how to improve your mental health with nutrition and lifestyle (online) 50 CPD points
• Reconciling feminism with sexuality and online media (residential) 150 CPD points
• Desk space ergonomics (online) 25 CPD points
• Business communication & presentation skills (workshop) 50 CPD points
• Working from home and emotional resilience (online) 25 CPD points

Once more she scrolled through the list, struggling to find any interest. Then something clicked in her brain; did that really say residential? She didn't recall seeing anything like that in the list before. A free trip away, paid for by the company. That sounded like just what she needed in return for sitting in some tedious seminar a few hours a day.

Claire scrolled back up and clicked for more information Reconciling feminism with sexuality and online media (residential) This one week intensive course is carefully tailored to help attendees address internal conflict. 150 CPD points

Well that was pretty vague, but a free trip is a free trip, right?

Claire clicked the sign up button, and her email immediately pinged with a pre-course survey. She was about to click on the link to fill it in, when Elizabeth walked in. She was wearing a reindeer christmas jumper, and Claire did a double take when she noticed that the reindeer's face was Elizabeth's exposed breast, with just a red ball of tinsel hiding her nipple.

Elizabeth grinned, "Good isn't it?" and stood up straight with her shoulders back.

The tinsel moved hypnotically, and Claire found her eyes locked on to it. She'd laughed at exactly that sweater online, and secretly wished she'd been brave enough to wear one. Even so, at the office? She felt suddenly even more in awe of the senior manager's confidence. And, she found herself starting to blush even as she thought it, what amazing tits Elizabeth had.

"Ahem" coughed Elizabeth, "my eyes are up here" and smirked down at Claire who blushed deeper.

"Ohh, excellent choice of course," continued Elizabeth looking at the screen, "I got a lot out of that one a couple of years ago. I'll look forward to discussing it with you when you get back. Just make sure you answer every question in the survey with absolute honesty"

"Now come on, it's time for mulled wine and mince pies. And inane small talk, of course." Then with a twinkly smirk she was gone.

Claire checked the time, and decided the survey could wait until later. There was free food and wine in the boardroom, and who could resist that.

It was late when Claire got back to her desk, and she'd had a little more mulled wine than she'd really intended to. The email was still on her screen, along with two more urgent reminders about the survey.

The questions were multiple choice, and started off quite innocuous. She was asked to rate different definitions of feminism, and to select different ways in which she'd experienced prejudice as a woman. She clicked through quickly, aware of the dark skies outside and the windy, wet weather she'd have to walk through to catch her train.

More questions, about her past sexual experiences. She hesitated, but remembered Elizabeth and her reminder to answer everything honestly. She took a deep breath and kept clicking.

By the time she got to the section on her sexual fantasies she was racing through them, admitting to masturbating to ideas she'd never told a living soul (although her search history might have given some clues). The questions went on and on, and she found that answering quickly allowed her to be honest, like she wasn't quite admitting things to herself even as she clicked the buttons.

Finally Claire was done and closed down her computer. She was meeting friends after work, and would now be rushing to make it on time. She stepped into the lift, and was greeted by Elizabeth, her risque jumper now covered by an unbuttoned jacket and her cheeks a little aglow from the wine.

Claire felt a hand take hers as she stood side by side facing the doors, and something was pressed into her palm. "See you next year, and enjoy the course," Elizabeth said quietly.

She strode out of the lift with barely a smirk as she went, and Claire looked down at what she'd been given, and grinned to see a ball of red tinsel in her hand. When she looked up, Elizabeth was gone.

The next morning, Claire awoke alone in her bed with a sore head and sore feet. She'd had quite a lot to drink and danced for hours, but was confident she hadn't done anything to embarrass herself.

She picked up her phone and looked through messages. A couple from her friends, sharing pictures and making sure they'd all got home safe, her parents asking when she'd be travelling to theirs for Christmas and asking her to get extra brussels sprouts, and one from work.

She sighed, wishing they'd leave her alone during the Christmas break, but opened it anyway hoping she could deal with it quickly and then forget about it.

In her hungover state, she had to read the email twice to make sense of it. It said she was to make her way directly to the training course on the 2nd of January, that her work was covered until her return on the 9th, and there were train tickets attached.

Also, clearly a typo, the words “Your safe word is RED.” Somebody messed up there, Claire thought.

She checked her work calendar, and found it cleared of all meetings and reminders until the January 9th.

"Ok then," she thought, and went back to sleep.

The next few days were a rush of travel and seeing family and eating too much, and catching up with old friends from school. From time to time, questions from the survey she'd taken would pop into her head.

"Have you ever fantasised about being at the centre of a gangbang?" She'd clicked a wholehearted YES on that one, without hesitation.

"Have you ever been tied up in a sexual context?" YES, although rather tentatively by an ex-boyfriend.

She'd hesitated briefly when asked about masturbating with anal toys, but answered a truthful YES.

She'd even admitted, she was fairly sure, to fantasising about being kidnapped, raped and sexually tortured. She squirmed at the thought of actually sharing her deepest, darkest secrets.

"What did it all have to do with feminism," she wondered, "surely these dark, filthy thoughts were not the least bit feminist."

The train rolled to a halt in almost complete darkness. The only light visible was from two streetlights on a bare concrete platform, where a lone figure stood at the point where the two ineffective pools of light didn't quite meet.

Claire checked the station name against her ticket and the brief email she'd received about the course, hauled her small case down from the rack and moved a little stiffly along the empty carriage. It had been a long day of public transport, the thin January light gradually seeping away as her third train of the day emptied more and more at each stop as it headed West into the early sunset.

She managed a smile up at the figure, thinking she should try to make a good impression since she'd be here for a few days. The stranger offered no acknowledgment, other than to hold up a stiff card with one hand.

"Reconciling feminism with sexuality and online media" the sign read; the name of the course she'd signed up for in order to meet her Continuous Professional Development goals for the year. This bleak, windy platform didn't seem quite so appealing as she'd imagined from her warm office two weeks previously, but she resolved to try and make the best of it. There must be some good scenery this far West, at least.

The train door swished and clunked closed behind her, and the two empty carriages groaned and whirred as they began to rattle off into the darkness, the pools of orange light from the overly bright interior fading away along the tracks.

As the noise of the train faded to a distant rumble, the silence of the evening became huge and overwhelming.

"Strip," commanded the figure in front of her.

Claire gasped, shocked and taken aback.

"You fucking heard me right. Strip." The voice was masculine and deep, and spoke with the authority of someone not used to being challenged.

"I…" Claire began.

"I've read every response in your survey, and your company has been kind enough to forward your browser history. Let's drop the pretence that you're not into this. Your safe word is RED. Now strip."

Claire looked around, seeing nothing but blackness around her, looking for any sort of way out of this. The man was right though, she had spent far, far, far too much of her time reading and watching and masturbating to the idea of being abducted and forced to comply.

His mention of a safe word brought her back to the briefing she'd received. That had also contained a line she'd wondered about, "Your safe word is red." Of course she knew what a safe word was, nobody who read as much BDSM erotica as she did could possibly not know that. She'd figured it was a typo in the email, someone mixing up their messages.

Suddenly, it seemed real. And it didn't seem like she had any sort of choice.

With her heartbeat pounding in her ears, she started to strip. As she peeled off her jumper, she felt her nipples pucker hard in the coldness of the night. Flecks of cold rain stung her ass as she peeled down her jeans, placing them roughly folded on top of her case. The man watched, unmoving and seemingly unmoved.

As Claire straightened and placed her knickers on top of the pile, a smaller figure moved out of the shadows and passed behind her on the edge of the platform. Her suitcase and clothes were smoothly collected, and disappeared into the dark.

Shivering, and covering as much of her bare skin as she could, Claire looked up at the man in front of her. He now held something in his hands. A chain, it appeared, and what looked like a collar.

He approached, and she saw it was a collar. The exact collar she'd been looking at a couple of weeks ago, wondering if she could justify the expense of the thick, soft, caramel-coloured leather as a Christmas gift to herself.

She'd dismissed it then, when would she even wear it? Pretending to herself even in the privacy of her own mind that she didn't know how deeply she craved the feeling of leather around her neck.

She couldn't dismiss it now, naked and rain-stung on the harsh concrete, somehow instantly at the mercy of this strange man.

"Kneel," he commanded. She didn't hesitate this time.

He slipped the collar expertly around her neck, fastened it snugly without being uncomfortably tight, and slipped a lock into the fastener. The click of the padlock seemed louder in Claire's head than it could possibly have been in the windy night.

His hand gripped the chain, just a hands width away from where it was firmly attached to her new collar. He pulled upwards, and she stood. His strength was irresistible, and she pondered for a moment whether she could even escape at this point. Before she could decide one way or another, he let out some chain, turned, and walked towards the end of the platform. Claire followed close behind, not wanting to be dragged.

The lights of a dark coloured van came on as they approached the rear, and the man's face was illuminated red. He had a beard and dark eyes, that was all Claire could really tell. She was bundled into the back of the van onto some blankets, and he locked the chain to a fixing point in the floor, then the door was slammed and complete darkness fell.

As the van rocked and swayed through the night, Claire checked on her body. She ran her hands over her cold feet and her sore knees where she'd knelt on the cold ground. She'd be ok. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to get some warmth into her bones.

She tucked her cold fingers between her thighs, and gasped when she felt how wet she was. She wondered for a moment if her period had arrived, but the schedule was way off for that. She pressed her fingers deeper between her thighs, finding her clit hot and throbbing, realising suddenly that she was incredibly aroused.

It was true what he'd said, back there on the platform. She was into this. She was really into this, to the point of it being almost an obsession at times.

Lying in the dark, brake lights occasionally illuminating her mobile prison cell, Claire touched her clit, humping her hand with eager hips as she was transported into the unknown.