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In a remarkable departure from her usual silence, indomitable heiress Paula McIntyre spoke exclusively to Oh-Yeah! Magazine about her recent ordeal.

We met in a large, white, un-ornamented, almost stark lounge. The white leather modular suite, the white coffee tables were Ikea rather than Designer. Fresh, white stucco, a white-tiled floor, frosted up-lighters and a vast wall-screen completed the minimal decor. Paula greeted us with an gentle smile, a shrug, "This is my quiet room. Some days, it is all I can handle."

We sat. Pale as her waist-length, blonde pony-tail, Paula was almost invisible against the wide upholstery. Still dressed in the white, tight-laced, fetish leathers she wore during her fifty-five week imprisonment, she explained. "Isometrics helped, but I'll need a lot more physiotherapy before I can shed these stays. My kidnapper turned me into 'Little Pony Paula' as a bizarre revenge on Daddy."

Fingering her white bikini's spaghetti-straps with long, white-varnished nails, Paula added, "I can't name names. We know who. He knows we know. There's warrants out. But, it is sub-judice."

What happened ?

"His snatch team were Pros. I managed to fight off a couple, then they tazed me. Took me out, drugged, with false papers on a private jet. Next thing I remember was being dressed like this. Plus a gag and hood-mask, minus the bikini, of course. His people put me in a big cage with bed-couch, wash/dry toilet, swing and dance-pole. Each meal-time, I was cuffed to the bars and fed through a tube. They used that to drug me, too. And, yes, they taught me to pole-dance."

That must have been difficult !

"It was hard. It was very hard. I'm no Clubber, I don't Disco-Down. I was a Science Geek; My sports teachers said I had two left feet...

"Well, my trainer knew that. She began with simple moves. Do this, slide there. Do this, slide there. Over and over. Hour after hour. Day after day. Huh. At first I could not even balance in my pony-boots. I had to learn to 'stilt-walk', too. Then, as I had nothing else to do, I got interested. I saw a way to choreograph those pole-dance moves. My Pete tells me there's a similar notation for Campanology (bell-ringing)...

"Well, I used my system to build riffs, then songs, then an album. My kidnapper, the 'Boss Man', became fascinated. He'd sit and watch me for hours. He'd even talk on his phone, do business. He was very careful, he only spoke in Arabic-- He didn't know I'd just done a Linguaphone course !!"

Bad stuff ?

"Yeah. Tazer hurt. They drugged me a lot. I had sleeping pills every night. I'd wake laced tighter, or with a new mask-hood. They threatened me with de-clawing, hobbling, cataracts, ear-wigs, even breast implants if I did not co-operate. Wake up like this, wake up like that. Scary...

"I was on the Pill, of course. Their dose boosted my bust beyond DD, gave me a phantom pregnancy. That was so weird. I began lactating. They had to milk me at meal-times. And I was so broody, I was off my head...

"You've heard of 'Stockholm Syndrome' ? Well, those hormones made me lust after the 'Boss Man'. For a couple of weeks, I was a 'Bitch on Heat'. Very scary...

"Once, one of the women was too kind to me. 'Boss Man' made her strap-on and rape me. Front and back. While he watched. Luckily, I soon fainted. They dosed me with pain-killers for two days, went on as if nothing had happened."

That is terrible ! What do you remember of your rescue ?

"Helicopters, gun-fire, explosions. Squad of soldiers broke into my cage, carried me to their evac point."

Your plans ?

"Marry Pete, of course. Sure, I'd kept it quiet. We're both Uber-Geeks; We both thought the other was too good to be true. He didn't know I'm an heiress. I didn't know he was such a great guy. We clicked. Then, I was gone. I'd managed to leave my cell-phone open during the kidnap. A mutual friend passed the info to Pete. Daddy's people were sceptical, but followed the leads, found superb forensics. Met' and Interpol took it from there."

You said you had a surprise for us ?

"After the raid, Daddy's people saved my couch, swing, pole and a section of cage. I can show you how I was fed, how I danced. Just through here..."

Helped by devoted 'Personal Trainers' Tammy and Mairi, Paula exchanged her plain hair-clasp and discreet neck-brace for the cruel collar and bulb-gagged hood-mask she'd worn all those months. To be more authentic as the 'Carer', Tammy donned a burqa.

We could hardly believe our eyes when Paula casually 'assumed the position' against that six-foot section of bars. In moments, her wrists and ankles were chained, her masked face locked to the bars by a funnel-like adaptor. After deftly spooning some yoghurt, the 'Carer' deployed a snaky, silicone feeding tube. We almost gagged as Paula easily 'drank' the tube down, down, down. With the other end connected to a 're-purposed cake icer', she ingested a small carton of juice, her usual vitamins and some water.

Unlocked, Paula stepped up to her pole, began to dance. Our photos do not do her justice. That steamy, five-minute mini-set was worthy of Vegas.

For the next part, our photographer replaced his camera's memory-card with one supplied by the McIntyres' implacable Minders. The 'Carer' unclipped Paula's bikini top and bottom. Returning to her pole, Paula repeated that mini-set, move for move, but now with additional, eye-watering flaunt...

The 'Personal Trainers' helped Paula change back to her bikini, hair-clasp and neck-brace. We returned to the minimal lounge, where coffee was waiting. Paula reclaimed the memory-card, slotted a USB adaptor and reviewed our photos on the 50-inch wall screen. She deleted many as unsuitable for a family-friendly magazine, transferred the rest to a new card for us.

Asked about her enforced dress code, Paula shrugged. "I'm used to it. I've found some styles that complement my leathers-- White bikini, crop-top, T-shirt or turtle-neck, skort, jumper-dress, even a neat poncho. I-- I can't go out without a cowl or open-face hood. But, people say I have a SciFi look, smile rather than shudder..."

When can she shed her tight-lace ?

"Later rather than sooner. I do a lot of pool work, I use electro-stim, but it is a long, long haul."

Asked about her reticent 'Personal Trainers', Paula shook her head. "Rehab hurts. They push me hard. They must. Between sessions, we do have fun."

Wedding Bells ?

"Not yet. There's a lot to arrange. Legal, logistical. And the Family Trust has justifiable concerns about my competency. All takes time."

What does Sir Henry think of Peter ?

"After initial reservations, they've struck up a wonderful rapport. Daddy almost considers Pete the son he never had..." Paula grinned, added, "After working with Daddy on my rescue, Pete's developed a remarkable head for business. But, once a Geek, always a Geek: We have so many technical interests in common ! I've even done some consultancy work on his Polywell project-- Fresh eyes and all that !"

With our time up, we left the indomitable Paula to another long and painful session at the unrelenting hands of her 'Personal Trainers'. When our photographer commented that they moved like 'Exotic Dancers', Paula wryly replied, "Well, so do I !"