'Jumping' Jack Walsh, my exuberant neighbour, drove a flashy convertible and was very good at selling high-end cell-phone contracts to folk who wanted cheaper. Alison, his bubbly, bottle-blonde partner of five or six years, was a part-time receptionist for my dentist. Flying to a three-week, all-inclusive, dream holiday in the Seychelles, they got as far as Charles de Gaulle Airport's transit lounge. There, they discovered their package company had just folded.

Late that evening, I was in their kitchen, feeding and fussing their two fat tabby cats per arrangement, when a taxi returned the unhappy couple. ABTA bonding meant they would get a refund but, meanwhile, they were grounded. They'd maxed out their plastic getting home, had no pay due before the month's end. They were honest enough folk that, unasked, I lent them a thousand, half my cash stash, for groceries and expenses.

Noon, Saturday, at the end of their first week back, I got a rather nervous call from Alison. Could I open a small, brass 'suitcase' padlock without damage ? My ditzy step-sisters didn't just lose house keys so, yes, surely. I grabbed my wallet of fine tools, was very surprised when their door was answered by a dark blue, mesh-faced burqa.

'Quick, come in !' Alison hissed from within it. With the door shut for privacy, she lifted the burqa's hem to show her ankles' padded manacles, their stout connecting chain and two small, but effective brass padlocks. As my eyebrows climbed, Alison hastily explained. It began the night I lent them that money. While discussing how to spend their three weeks, she and Jack both sank several large bottles of cheap red wine to ease their misery.

I'd seen her wild Halloween outfits, knew she loved 'fancy dress' parties. Somehow, Jack persuaded her to CosPlay StarWars' Princess Leia. With that cute metal bikini and those dainty chains, of course, of course. Rather drunk, she offered to wear such for a week, plus a burqa by day, if she could choose his outfit for the third week. Rather drunk, he agreed.

But, what arrived this morning was industrial strength, a brutal, stainless steel, chastity / bondage set with locks rather than clips. The 'bra' was a steel collar and two mirror-polished, hemispherical cups. The 'T-thong' was strip steel, invasively 'plugged' fore and aft. There were also wrist, thigh and ankle manacles. The set's components were linked by heavy-duty chain. More chain formed a matching leash, as yet unused.

Jack swore the stupid supplier had sent the set in error. Despite initial shrieks, she decided it would be wicked fun to wear. By noon, her opinion had changed. Though most components had rubber rims, several were cruelly chafing. Fitted and locked too quickly, they needed urgent tweaking. And, of course, Jack had taken the keys when he went off to a local soccer match...

The set had two spare locks, intended to attach and anchor the collar's heavy leash. I opened my small tools' wallet and delved the key holes. As I'd hoped, they were not a 'high security' design. Five minutes sufficed to master their simple pattern. Another five minutes released Alison's injuries. After ten minutes in their en-suite, she returned with the set adjusted and her nascent sores slathered in soothing cream.

Frowning, Alison mentioned her growing concern; what had Jack actually ordered ? While working up the nerve to call me, she'd looked at their home PC's Chrome history. That was clear. And, there was nothing suspicious among their many Chrome 'favourites'. Knowing rather more about Chrome, I began by checking the saved passwords. Sure enough, Jack had recently opened an account at a leading BDSM supplier. A quick search of that site found no 'Leia' kit. More, Jack's order history was singular, unambiguous; he'd lied.

Alison's volcanic anger crystallised to cold fury. Like HG Wells' malevolent Martians, she laid her plans. Could I find replacement locks before Jack returned ? Given a few moments' thought, I nodded. I hated cruel practical jokes, and this surely qualified. Taking a spare lock for comparison, I drove to the nearest big hardware store and was back in half an hour. With all swapped, Alison thanked me, said she'd handle the rest...

A fortnight later, per rota, I was working the weekend. I had a long, hard day, did not get home until late evening. The 'cat feeder' key was among other Saturday post in my letter-box. A note in Alison's neat writing was taped to its big fob; please, when I got home, would I go in ?

I was tired, hungry and thirsty, but I could not neglect those cats. So, I grabbed a drink of water then let myself into their dark and apparently empty house. Oddly, there were no waiting cats or emptied bowls. There was scant cat food in the usual kitchen cupboard. A glance around found no cat carrier or litter tray. Curiously, there were two empty baby-feeder bottles on the drainer. I noticed several small jars of baby-food, a part-tub of 'formula', a part-bottle of 'Lactulose' liquid laxative and fifty in cash on the table. Puzzled, I checked the ground floor rooms, then went upstairs. The master bedroom's bed was neatly made, minus any sleeping cat. Two big wardrobes and a chest of drawers stood open and empty, one bed-side unit was bare. Female essentials had gone from the en-suite.

I turned at faint sounds from the adjacent 'guest' room. It was kept closed to exclude cats, but something was happening inside. I opened the door, turned on the light and found an over-sized baby crib now stood beside the bed-settee. I followed the incoherent noises to its heap of pink bedding. From deep within a huge pink bonnet, Jack glared back, his hoarse cries muffled by an over-sized pacifier on a tight elastic ribbon. He could not reach it because of padded wrist and ankle cuffs latched to the crib's strong rails. He wore bulky, pink plastic pants and a matching 'baby' smock. By the foul smell, his nappy change was many hours over-due. I sighed, eased the big pacifier from his mouth.

'That Essex bitch slipped me a Mickey Finn !' Jack howled. 'I've been here since last night !'

'That's terrible !' I said. 'What could have come over her ?' I released his left arm and leg, then lowered that side of the crib before advising, 'Stay on hands and knees until your legs recover.' He had the sense to nod. I released his right, helped him roll to the floor. Legs spread wide, he scrambled on all fours to the master bedroom's en-suite. After the pan flushed, I heard the shower run for a long, long time.

Jack slowly waddled back, wearing a towelling robe and wincing with every step. At a guess, he'd need nappy cream for a week. 'Thanks,' he said. 'Uh...'

I showed him Alison's note, said, 'Her stuff's gone; did she blame you for the holiday ?'

'I-- Er, no, we chose it together...' He hesitated, dropped his voice, 'Man to man, I think she lost the plot...'

I managed to look sympathetic. Jack worked out at the local boxing club, considered himself 'hard'. Happily ignorant of my mat skills, he considered me a wimp, a 'milquetoast' at best. Alison knew better; registering at that dental practice, I'd completed a lifestyle questionnaire. The sports section alerted them to the risk of 'racquet teeth' and such; my eclectic list finished with the 'Karate (d3)' I then was...

We'd met when I was a 'Cable Guy' with 'Home Network Diagnostics' as a fun side-line. 'Here's my card; if problems, text me !' Jack was delighted when I briskly diagnosed their old PC's misbehaviour as recruitment to a drive-by hacker's bot-net. After I flushed the bot, installed an effective firewall and secured their wireless router, I was invited to the occasional dinner party. Yes, I was usually there to make up the numbers. Yes, I was usually the butt of Jack's endless boasting about his superb sales pitch, fantastic salary and flash car. I didn't mind; head-hunted by Barrow's as a Senior Programmer, I was now on thrice his pay, and my neat little car did all I wanted. Really, I was there for the food. My cooking was barely better than 'vittles'; a pot of mild chilli, a pan of spaghetti and a freezer of ready meals fed my week. Alison, though, was an artist in her kitchen. The results were worth enduring Jack's oft-cruel banter.

'What happened ?' I was curious to hear Jack's spin on his predicament. He didn't fail me.

'Ah... We decided on a 'fancy dress' stay-'cation; I'd choose her's, then she'd choose mine, each for a week. I'm a big 'Star Wars' fan, so I got her a 'Princess Leia' costume-- You know, with the gold bikini and pretty chains ?'

'Ooh, wild !'

'She looked really, really good in it. But, that first night, when she got too drunk to stand and I put her to bed, I found she'd changed the locks !' He misread my silence and raised eyebrows, went on, 'How on earth could she do that ?'

'Hmm...' I thought for a moment, asked, 'What sort of locks were they ?'

'Oh, little brass 'suitcase' locks...' He held up finger and thumb spaced an inch or so. 'Nothing heavy...'

'Perhaps she picked them ? I'm sure Google could find tutorials, but it still takes fine tools... Hmm. Alison worked for a dentist; did she have any stainless steel dental picks ?"

'Uh, yes, she kept two or three with her tooth-brush-- D'uh, were they all she needed ?'

'Could be...' I shrugged.

'F**k,' he allowed. 'Still, we had a lot of fun-- I didn't know she could be such a tease !'

'Ooh, la, la...' I murmured.

'Oh, yeah...' Then Jack's face fell. 'For my turn, I had to wear an enormous nappy, that stupid dress and big pacifier, play with baby toys, sleep in the crib...'

I hissed through my teeth, shook my head. 'She locked you in ?'

'Nah...But I lived in this room. She fed me with bottle and spoon, burped me, changed my nappy, sang silly songs-- I just had to take it !'

'Huh...' A thought occurred to me. 'Did she breast feed ?'

Jack blushed rather pink, managed to nod and say, 'F**k, yeah !'

I gave him a wink, then changed the subject. 'Are you sure she didn't blame you for the holiday folding ?'

'Nah...' Jack hesitated, shrugged, 'Well, just a bit; our company was fifty quid cheaper than a well-known one...'

I sighed, asked, 'So, what happened last night ?'

'She tucked me into the crib, gave me a bottle to suck, began reading a bed-time story. But she must have added some of her sleeping tablets. I felt weird, passed out...' Jack shook his head. 'Gut cramps woke me before dawn-- I was locked to the bars-- My nappy kept filling and filling and filling-- I lay in my shit all day ! Now, I've the butt rash from Hell !'

I shook my head sadly, ventured, 'You haven't been, um, flirting with cute clients ?'

'Nah, not more than usual...'

I shook my head again, thought to ask, 'Will you be fit for work on Monday ?'

'Uh... Is there any nappy cream left ?'

I looked about, saw a large plastic tub behind the crib. Beside an assortment of baby toys and books, it held a big, rolled-up changing mat, a part-pack of adult nappies, several packs of baby-wipes, a puffer-bottle of baby talc and two big tubs of nappy cream. One tub had an inch or two left, the other was still sealed. There was a PostIt on the latter. I picked up the note, read it aloud, 'Jack, we had so much, but you blew it. Grow up. ps: Apply thickly.'

'Ungrateful bitch !' Jack snarled.

'Have you any food in the house ? Money for shopping ?'

'I-- I don't know. But my holiday pay should go in Monday...'

'Joint account ?'

'F**k, no !'

'Okay, I'll check the fridge. If you've enough for tonight and tomorrow, I'll leave the spare key on the table and let myself out.'

'Thanks... Uh, I still don't feel clean-- I need another shower !'

I was back up after five minutes. 'Jack ? You okay ?'

'Yeah...' He grumbled from the en-suite. 'F**k, this cream stings...'

'Good news and bad. There's fifty in cash on the table, some 'ready' meals in the fridge, enough coffee and rolls to carry you through.'

'But ?'

'All your booze is gone. Wine, lager, Red Bull, spirits--'

'Aargh ! Not my Talisker 57--'

'Gone. All gone. The recycle bin is brim-full.'

'Bitch ! Bitch ! Bitch ! Bitch ! Bitch !' Jack thumped the door-frame and sobbed.

'Jack ?' I called. 'When I got saddle-sores pony trecking, I had to wrap my butt with a towel to contain the cream. It didn't work very well. Swallow your pride and wear one of these disposables.'

'How did I know you were going to say that ?' The door-frame took another hit. 'Yeah... Okay, thanks. Uh, is my Canon EOS 70D out there ?'

'The smart dSLR ?' He boasted about his camera, too. I looked around. 'Can't see it. But, I haven't been looking...'

'Would you ?'

'Sure.' I went through the house systematically, returned shaking my head. By his wary stance, Jack was wearing a clean nappy under his towelling robe. His glum face fell further as I said, 'No camera, no accessory bag, no tripod. Computer's gone, too. So's your all-in-one printer. Didn't see a 'Leia' costume; did you hire it ?'

'No... It counted as 'body-wear', wasn't returnable.' He looked both relieved and terrified.

'Your camera--' I cut to the chase. 'Kinky photos ?'

'F**k, yeah !' Then his eyes went wide. 'Did she take any of me ?'

'I didn't see any print-outs...' I looked around for more PostIt notes, asked, 'Is Alison vindictive ? Would she carry a grudge ?'

'Nah, she'd throw a wobbly, then 'kiss and make up', but...'

We both looked at the crib and its cuffs, shook our heads. I put it in words. 'Sorry, you'll have to wait and see.'

Jack whimpered, then bravely stated, 'Thanks for not laughing, Al. I'll see you get your money back.'

'Uh-huh...' I thought for a moment, added, 'Don't do anything stupid.'

His eyes went wide, then he closed them, heaved a long, slow breath, whispered, 'Just a stag night prank gone wrong. Just a big joke. Nothing to die for...'

'I'll hold you to that...' Leaving the key on the kitchen table, I let myself out.

A couple of months later, I got home from work to find a new 'To Let' sign on Jack's wall and a fat envelope in my letter box. That held a 'Thank You' card and my thousand. Jack's note read, 'Can't face this place, found a house-share across town.'

I later heard that Alison's departure cost him his mojo; he couldn't close tough sales. He lost his bonus, then was demoted. Perhaps, too, it was fear of those photos...

Christmas brought another fat envelope. This had a Cheshire post-mark but no return address. To my surprise, it was from Alison. The lovely card read, 'Moved in with good friend. Found nice job. Cats love garden. Have new hobbies. Life is fun !!' The bulk was a CD-ROM. Naturally, I let Norton's do a thorough scan before exploring the two folders. One held the photos Jack took. They were surprisingly burlesque; with hindsight, vengeful Alison was playing to the camera.

The second folder, which I'd expected to document 'Baby Jack', was a real surprise. A tiny 'ReadMeFirst' text-file said, 'Jack got lucky; both camera batteries were flat !!' The accompanying photos, taken at a raunchy Halloween party, included a fully-rigged Alison in tow to a rangy Cat-Woman...