Friday, March 31, 2006
And here is the really selfish part. This is the part that I know is not romantic, sweet or sentimental but this is the part that my mind daydreams on and actually makes plans for. I understand that this part is less likely to happen than the above request, but it never fails to arouse me. And I think it will never play out as cool as I imagine it.
I want to have tryouts and interviews. I want a big long week of interviewing women to be my kinky servant plaything fuckbuddy. I want to process dozens of applications and sort out the gold from the tin. I want call backs, interviews, competitions and quizzes that culminate in me picking one awesome woman to be my happy slave.
Yes, I want my own BDSM version of American Idol but although I am a sadist, I am also a very nice person. Instead of being Simon Cowell, I'd be like the leather wearing version of Randy. I'd reject people like this-
"Hey Heather you know I'm your biggest fan. I love your tits, your awesome fashion sense and your videogame skills, but I just can't get past the fact that you think blowjobs are yucky. I'm just not feeling it, sorry. Goodbye, and keep following your dreams!"
And the tryouts would be open to any woman of legal age. Large women, skinny women, Asian, Latin-American, African-American, Indian, white trash, rich girls, young and old. If a sixty year old woman wants to try out, then by the Gods, let's see what she's got. I don't want to pre judge or assume anything. Let the process work and slowly grind away until one applicant rises above the rest.
As for the process, I have no idea. Some days I fantasize that it involves a lot of interviews which are really just talking about sex. Some days I imagine it involves women masturbating in front of me while I read their resume. Other days I see the process as a series of dares and challenges that only the uninhibited and intelligent could win. On really tense, greedy days, I picture the process as one long spanking/blowjob marathon. Maybe that last one is not the best way to determine your submissive, but it's good for a masturbation or two.
Ultimately I want to live a fantasy that solves the one problem that plagues all doms and subs. I want to get to the end. I'm tired of the bad dates, the searching, socializing and worse of all, the breakups. I want to have some sort of awesome event where I literally comb through all the eligible women in the world and get to the one that suits me. I want to start living my life with the woman who enjoys serving me the way I want to be served and who gains fulfillment from that.
A grand open call just seems like a really cool way to achieve that.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Middle school is when I started to see the divide. Black boys were angry and hostile for reasons my young naive mind couldn't understand. White boys were just as hostile but it was much more of a bullying and fighting for alpha male status. It was that anger I remember from the black kids, it always hurt my feelings that they had such hatred towards me and I didn't do anything to them. Looking back at that school and the sheer poverty that surrounded it, I am surprised they weren't angrier than they were.
But the black girls were another story. They were hitting puberty and curves were filling out and oh my goddess they were hitting my buttons. They didn't have the anger and if anything, they had ten times more empathy than anyone I have ever met. They had compassion, something young teenage white girls in my neck of the woods seemed to be lacking. And maybe this was just my school, but my black female friends were funny. That sounds so terrible and like a cliche, but my black friends were so much more fun to be with.
High school was the first time I realized racism existed. Our town had one high school, which meant the rich kids and the poor kids were finally under one roof. Hell, I was discriminated against by wealthier white kids much less the more overt discrimination being done to my black friends. Being a kid, I still took it personally when a black kid would treat me different because hell, they expected the worse from me.
It was also at this time that I realized I was never going to date any of my beautiful, funny, sexy, sweet, intelligent black female friends. Maybe it was always that way and I was the last to know. Maybe I had so many black female friends was because they didn't feel threatened by me in a dating sense. Either way, it was difficult for a guy in his over sexed hormone teenage years to be told he was never going to have the ones he wanted the most.
Incidentally, I ended up dating a half Japanese girl my senior year and had no outside pressures at all. Funny/sad how that is.
Now I am an adult white male with a BDSM fetish and a poly lifestyle married to a white blonde female. The chances of finding a black submissive female who won't mind me being married are as rare as finding Bigfoot's summer vacation home but you know, I still hold out hope. I don't know if I am craving something I never had in my youth, if I still feel like I have more in common with black women than I do my own race, or if it's just sheer libido for a curvy dark beauty with eyes that sparkle when she laughs.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Part of me wonders if the nudity is a part of the process that erotica writers go through to sell themselves to their readers. There is a reason why most erotica writers choose a female pen name and that's because people want to fantasize about the writer who's telling them this awesome sexy story. Readers want to imagine that the writer is this incredible sex symbol who is telling them this story late at night. A nude picture confirms that fantasy and gives the reader fodder for visualization.
I also wonder if the act of exposing oneself requires a high self esteem that is necessary for writing. If a writer feels so unattractive that they don't think they are desirable, then how do they summon the courage to share their writing and expect it to be sexy? I wonder if posting nudity turns into a proof of courage that helps bolster their writing.
I t also strikes me that most erotica I read on blogs is very autobiographical. The lack of sheer fiction disappoints me but I have to admit that the voyeur aspect makes some blogs very addictive. In that context, I can see the need to include photos but I still have to wonder. I mean, not to get all sensitive male on everyone here but, isn't writing about the mind? I'm glad so-and-so has a great body but did her awesome tits come up with that story about the cop and the nurse?
Oh, and if I had the rock hard abs that I wish I had, then that picture would be on every freaking post.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Yet here she was, standing on a street corner because the Society had told her to be here for a six hour road trip. Penny was grateful to the Society for a lot of things but this command almost made her quit. Sure, they had saved the twenty-eight year old from fetish clubs, stalker dominants and the slow grind of gossiping with other submissives, but a road trip? The thought of sitting in a car for six hours was making her eyes itch like a triggered trauma. This time, the Society was asking too much.
She picked up her small travel bag and put it right back down. Penny wanted to run home, come up with some sort of excuse for her slut Blog and skip out of this assignment. She stayed where she was. The Society would know. Even if there was a chance she could lie and get away with it, the idea of being caught and kicked out was too much to contemplate. How could she possibly return to her dull data entry job without the promise of wild unknown adventures that the Society provided every weekend?
A red SUV pulled up. Dark tinted windows rolled down to show a thin man that was around Penny’s age. His hair was cut short to a brown buzz cut but it was his green eyes that captured her attention. The eyes reminded her of her cat when he was about to pounce on a new cat toy. Penny actually relaxed. Perhaps this road trip won’t be as boring as she thought.
“Going anywhere special this fine Georgia day?” the man asked.
The code phrase was correct, so Penny answered with the prepared response. “Anywhere that has a warm cock or a wet pussy is fine with me.”
A woman leaned across from the passenger’s side to look over the shoulder of the driver. The woman’s short red hair framed her pale face like cupped hands. A smatter of freckles softened the woman’s face but the eyes were just as hungry as the man’s.
“We have both honey,” the woman said. “Get your ass in the car already.”
Penny refrained from smiling and just nodded. Oh yes, this would not be like her parent’s trips at all.
The back seat was softer and more plush than Penny has expected. It ran the entire width of the van and had seatbelts for three people. She couldn’t help think of her brothers cramming in with her but she shook that thought off. Instead she thought about how easy it would be to get fucked in this back seat and which of the two people here would fuck her first. Penny placed her bet on it being the woman.
“Sit in the middle honey so we can get a good look at you,” the woman said.
Penny groaned but did as she was told. Memories flooded her but she focused on the present. At least neither of them appeared to be smokers. She reminded herself that she was twenty-eight now and not the badgered twelve year old who was condemned to thoughtlessly obey her parents. Well, she still obeyed people but it was by choice. Submission can be a real mental head-trip sometimes.
Penny sat up straight and did her best to show off the clothes the Society had picked for her. She smoothed out the black skirt that came just shy of her knees. Light pantyhose covered the rest of her legs, creating the illusion of being more tanned than she was. She stuck out her chest to show off her curves inside the white button down shirt she was wearing. A toss of her head shook out her long blonde hair that fell past her shoulders. Penny lifted her head slightly to expose her throat and show off the charm necklace that all the Society sluts wore. The charms told everyone who knew the code just what Penny liked, what she craved, what she feared and what she could not do.
The woman looked at her neck and nodded in satisfaction. The man looked at her through the rear view mirror and those green eyes flashed with a hunger that was more like starvation. These two were going to devour her, Penny was sure of it. The man started to drive and head towards the interstate.
“My name is Joan,” the redhead said. “My husband here is Earl. Your name is slut of course.”
Penny nodded. “Of course.”
“Now Slut, let me explain why you are here,” Joan continued. “We’re going to visit Earl’s family this weekend and they live in South Carolina. It’s a long boring drive on I-20, one of the dullest roads you have ever been on. Your job slut, will be to entertain us.”
Penny smiled. “Gladly, Ma’am.”
Earl laughed and the evil tone of that chuckle told Penny she had done something wrong. Joan blinked and smiled. The smile didn’t touch her eyes.
“Call me Joan, slut,” she said. “Ma’am is for someone far older, wouldn’t you agree? Now lift that skirt of yours and show us your panties.”
Penny raised her skirt to reveal the dark red thong the Society had specified. Joan looked at Penny’s crotch with a critical eye. It was always strange for Penny to be examined like this as well as humiliating. She wondered what Joan was looking for; if there was some quality that penny was lacking or possessed. It also caused Penny to blush as thought about how much she wanted to have that unknown attribute. Nothing in the world would make her happier than to have a pussy pleasing to Joan, and that desire is never easy to accept but impossible to deny.
“Pull your thong aside and let me get a look at your cunt.”
Penny obeyed again. Joan looked at her sex for a few tense minutes before holding the wheel so Earl could look as well. Penny tried to calm herself but her heart was racing as the man reached out and ran his finger along her cunt. His fingertips brushed her neatly trimmed hair and glided so teasingly briefly over her nether lips. He smiled and said nothing as he turned around to continue driving.
“Unbutton your shirt, slut,” Joan commanded.
Penny glanced at the windows and Joan laughed. “Don’t worry slut. We’ve had plenty of fun in this van and no one has seen anything we didn’t want them to see. Now open your shirt before I lose my patience.”
She just had to trust them, didn’t she? Penny opened her shirt slowly, starting at the top and parting it as she worked. Her white lace bra cupped her breasts and held them tightly. As the full weight of her breasts was revealed, Joan whistled and Earl snuck a glance through the mirror.
“Wow, how big are they?” Earl asked.
“34C” Penny said. Men always wanted to know the numbers. She wondered if there was some sort of notebook they kept on the size of tits that had seen.
“Reach behind you and get out the white cooler, slut,” Joan told her.
Penny looked behind her into the trunk area. Nestled between two suitcases was a large red cooler and a small white cooler that could barely hold a six pack of drinks. She pulled it out and set it down beside her. At Joan’s urging, Penny opened the lid and looked inside. Her thighs clenched together as she saw the travel supplies these two had decided to bring.
The first item to catch her eye were the clover clamps that were sitting on top of a layer of ice. Penny grimaced. Clover clamps were unforgiving and impossible to ignore. She rooted around the ice and found a red dildo that was somehow colder than the ice around it. There was also a black ball gag and a black pair of panties immersed in the ice.
“Take off your shirt and bra and put on the clamps honey,” Joan instructed. “Put them on your nipples so Earl can have a nice big erection while he drives.”
Earl snorted. “You are so kind, dear.” He aggressively passed a moving truck with a vengeance. Penny fought back the smile that almost emerged. Safe in the backseat, she liked the idea of teasing the couple. Now that she knew how much Earl liked the clamps, they weren’t so scary.
Penny stripped off her shirt slowly and removed her bra even slower. She took her time as she folded her shirt. Earl’s eyes stared at her from the rear view mirror. As cars zoomed by, Penny picked up an ice cold clover clamp. She meet Earl’s eyes through the mirror and placed the frozen clamp on her nipple and locked it in.
She screamed. The rubber tips were so damn cold and the clamp was so damn tight on her nipple. Earl and Joan said nothing but both of them were smiling.
“The other one, now,” Earl said. His need to hurt her was clear in his tone.
Penny grabbed the other clamp and winced as the movement tugged her sensitive nipple. She fought through the pain and fastened the icy clamp onto her other tit. A scream erupted from her throat and echoed in the large SUV. She slammed her head back against the seat and then cried out again as her clamped tits jiggled.
“Be careful with your speed, dear,” Joan said.
“I am,” Earl said though Penny could feel the car slow down significantly. “Traffic is just light today.”
“We’re lucky. Remember how it was last year”
Earl and Joan spent the next half hour talking about last year’s traffic and other trips that they had taken in their marriage. Penny was confused. Here she was clamped and freezing in the back seat and they were discussing bad drivers from years past? A bump in the road made Penny’s breasts bounce and she bit down on her lip to keep from screaming again. The clamps hurt where they were pinching her but the frozen clamps also hurt her where they lay against her breasts. For a frightening moment she worried that the metal clamps might freeze against her skin but the infrequent bumps of the road quickly proved how unstuck the clamps were. They bounced and wiggled against her chest in random bursts of pain.
Through the pain Penny tried to find a focus. The passing cars and rolling landscape were too fluid to concentrate on. Joan was sitting back in her seat talking to Earl about everything but Penny. For comfort Penny focused on the green eyes of Earl that she would catch in the rear view mirror. Most of the time they would ignore her but sometimes, he would look at her and her tortured tits. Just that small knowledge that someone was enjoying her ordeal made her suffering easier. At least until the next bump in the road.
“How long have you been with the Society?” Joan asked.
“Four years,” Penny answered. “May I ask how long you two have been?”
“Earl has been a member for about five years, I joined two years before him,” Joan said. “We meet at a Society event actually.”
“Really? Were one of you a slut?”
“Yes. Can you guess which one?”
Penny laughed and then winced as the clamps bit harder from the jiggling. “I wouldn’t dare guess.”
“I’ll make it interesting for you,” Joan offered. The feral look was back in her eyes. “Guess correctly, and you can remove one of those clamps.”
Penny swallowed. Earl was obviously a sadist, but then Penny had met sadistic sluts before. Joan hated to be called Ma’am, which might mean she was vain about her age. That didn’t help Penny much as both sluts and users had their vanity streaks. Maybe the fact that Joan has been a member longer meant she was the slut. There was no telling but at least it was a fifty-fifty shot.
“I think you were the slut, Joan.”
Joan laughed and her smile was very cruel indeed. “You guessed wrong. Earl was the slut. Now reach behind you and open the other cooler. I’m in the mood for some water. You need anything dear?”
“No, I’m good,” Earl said.
Penny was grateful for small favors. She twisted around and bent over the backseat to reach the cooler. When she reached down to the cooler, her clamps pulled her tits painfully towards the floor. Tears clouded her vision while she sorted through the ice for the water bottles. When she found one, she whimpered when she realized it was attached to a plastic ring with other bottles. As the car hit more bumps in the road, and the clamps pulled her breasts in new directions, Penny struggled to pull the water bottle free of the ice and the plastic ring. When it finally broke free, Penny collapsed into her seat and handed the water to Joan.
“Look how flushed she is, Earl,” Joan said.
The hungry eyes drank in her pain from the mirror. “You know what? I think I do want a bottle of water after all.”
Penny groaned but did as she was told. It felt like Earl hit every road bump in Georgia as she hung over the backseat. She retrieved his water and collapsed back into her seat. Earl took the water and continued the earlier conversation like nothing had happened.
“I was a slut for the Society when I met Joan,” Earl said. “She was hosting a party for her vanilla friends and the Society had assigned me as a bartender. Only Joan and I knew that I was wearing a vicious butt-plug while I was serving drinks to her friends.”
“Earl was so sweet and proper, like right out of an erotic slave novel,” Joan said. The pride in her voice told Penny how much Joan loved Earl. “I fucked him once during the party because he was so delicious and then fucked him the rest of the night once the party was over.”
“Well dear, we also talked between fuckings,” Earl said. “I never talked so much in my entire life. It was so weird to find someone else who loved Marlon Brando movies, Mexican food and European pop music as much as I. It was love at first spanking.”
“How did you two stay together?” Penny asked. “The Society always told me that it was forbidden to contact other members that I meet.”
Joan and Earl looked at each other and some sort of silent communication happened between them. Joan nodded and then explained it to Penny.
“We didn’t see each other again for three months. I was depressed and so was Earl. We wrote about each other constantly in our journals that we kept for the Society. I must admit, I was a bit nastier than I should have been to some of the sluts they sent me. Earl was the same way, except he was passive aggressive to his users. One day, I received a command from the Society that told me I was going to take Earl in to live with me for a month. I couldn’t have been happier! At the end of the month, the society kept telling us to extend it to another month and then another, which at that point we went ahead and got engaged.”
“I’m just relieved they let us stay,” Earl said. “For awhile there, I felt like they were putting us together and kicking us out.”
Joan shook her head. “I always knew they would take us back. They just wanted to let us test our romance. Once they saw we were for real, they knew better than to waste us.”
“I didn’t know till they sent us our wedding presents,” Earl sighed. “A blonde and an Asian woman handcuffed together appeared at our honeymoon hotel room. That made for a festive week!”
Joan laughed. “The first time I saw you spank Keiko, I knew the Society would find uses for us. Earl here was a closet sadist and has spent the last four years catching up.”
Earl’s eyes looked at Penny through the mirror. “Speaking of which, why don’t you put on the gag now slut?”
Penny nodded and opened the smaller cooler again. The ball gag was black and shiny from the icy water it been submerged in. She placed the ball in her mouth and silently squealed as she bit down on the frozen rubber. The strap went around her head and she snapped it in place. The cold leather pressed against her cheeks and head but it was nothing compared to the cold of the gag. It was like being forced to bite down on an ice cube that wouldn’t melt.
“Now slut,” Joan said, “Grab both nipple clamps in your hands and when I say three, release both of them from your breasts. Understand?”
Penny groaned behind her gag and nodded.
Joan paused, waiting for a nice clear stretch of highway so Earl could watch through the mirror. Penny bit down harder in anticipation while her fingers curled around the clamps. This was going to hurt.
Penny popped the clamps off and the blood rushed back to her nipples. The pain shot through her, traveling over her breasts, clenching her eyes shut and making her pussy wetter than she could have imagined it being. Screaming was impossible with the ball gag but that didn’t stop her from trying. A muffled scream came out sounding more pathetic than anything else. She shuddered and resisted the urge to grab her tender breasts. Her eyes opened to see Earl’s eyes still staring at her. He drank in every whimper and every shudder.
“Lift your skirt and take off your panties, slut,” Joan commanded. Penny was happy for any distraction and quickly stripped off her panties. She rolled her skirt up as best she could to show off her cunt. It was only when she had finished exposing herself that she realized there was still a cooler full of toys to be played with.
“How much longer till we stop for a rest?” Joan said.
Earl sighed with the heavy weight that comes from having the same conversation for years. “Dear, you know I like to take a break every two hours to stretch our legs and prevent cramping. Our next scheduled break is in fifty minutes. According to Mapquest, we should be near a town that we can pull into and use the restrooms if needed.”
“Fine, fine,” Joan said. “Slut, get the dildo and fuck yourself for an hour.”
“Don’t climax!” Earl added.
“Of course not,” Joan said. “I’m going to play some music for awhile. I-20 is so fucking boring.”
Penny listened to the conversation as she pulled the dildo out of the cooler. It was freezing to the touch of course. It just going to be painful at first but that was nothing new in her experiences with the Society. Complaining would be useless as well as impossible with the gag on. Joan had given her an order and that was all there was to it.
She spread her legs as wide as the skirt would allow and gripped the dildo with both hands. Joan turned on the radio and picked up a 90’s nostalgia station. Earl was driving and passing a long line of slow trucks. They were ignoring her and the icy trauma she was about to commit. Penny groaned and bit down harder on the ball gag.
The only way to do it was quickly. She slammed the dildo into her and screamed into her gag. The ice opened her. Penny breathed hard for a few seconds, her nostrils flaring. She slowly pulled the dildo out and slammed it back into her. Sensations alternated between pain and numbness as she fucked herself. The dildo was cold, harsh, terrible and intense.
The two in the front ignored her while Penny abused herself in the back. It reminded her of the callousness of her parents but then, Penny never got to masturbate in her parents’ car! To her delight, the dildo warmed up in no time and pretty soon Penny was grunting with arousal. Grunge music blasted from the radio while the dildo slid in and out.
An orgasm threatened to over take Penny but she slowed down. It was harder than she thought it would be. She wanted to climax. She wanted to loose herself in an orgasm. She wanted to feel hot and sweaty after so much ice play. Instead, Penny slowed down her thrusts and stared at the traffic and endless trees. The thrusting didn’t stop. She had her orders. She would fuck herself till she was told to stop. Penny forgot about her family, forgot about the two people up front, and she forgot about her hatred of traveling. All she had to do was fuck, and Penny lost herself happily in the act of perpetual masturbation.
“Stop now, slut,” Joan said. They were pulling into a Georgia rest stop. Rows of parked cars lined the stop with people stumbling out and stretching their sore legs. Penny pulled her dildo out and sighed with relief. Thank God for tinted windows.
“Put your bra and shirt back on,” Earl said. “And put on the thong in the cooler.”
Earl turned in his seat so he could watch her directly. Penny smiled at him and got dressed. She took her time not to tease him but because she dreaded putting on the frozen thong. Joan got out of the car, obviously not as interested in the show as Earl was. Once her shirt was buttoned; all that was left was the dreaded thong.
It was colder than the dildo. The sheer material had been soaking in the cooler and parts of the material were frozen outright. Penny stretched the thin thong out and slid it up her legs. Her thighs clenched as the thong left wet streaks up her legs. When the thong finally reached her cunt and screamed into the gag. The ice pressed against her sex and up the crack of her ass. She squirmed but it was no use. You just couldn’t escape something pressed into her crotch like that.
“Take off the gag and take a walk around the rest stop,” Earl said. “I want you limber and ready for when we start driving again.”
Penny nodded but Earl was already leaving the van. She popped the gag off her mouth and stretched her jaw. For a moment she forgot to pull down her skirt but luckily she remembered before opening the door. Penny stepped outside and groaned as the icy thong found new places to freeze on her skin.
The people at the rest stop were oblivious to what Penny was suffering. Kids raced to the snack machines while weary parents made halfhearted attempts to keep them in check. A group of senior citizens got in front of Penny and slowed her walk to a crawl. Walking slower just made the ice feel like it was sitting on her cunt so she walked into the grass and around them. A dog ran up to her and Penny had to side step the yapping beast awkwardly till it’s owner ran up to her rescue. She didn’t even hear his apology; she was too focused on getting back to walking and hopefully melting the damn ice that encased her pussy.
Halfway along the path that surrounded the rest stop, Penny realized she got her wish. She felt the trickle of water sliding down her thighs and past her knees. The melting ice was leaving long glistening tracks down her legs! Penny blushed with horror. She had to get back to the SUV!
The walk back was humiliating. A group of college guys snickered as she walked past and Penny could only imagine what they assumed the wet drips could be. Did they think she was so horny that her pussy was leaking? Did they think she had pissed herself? Or worse, did these young guys somehow know she had ice shoved into her crotch and it was melting? What kind of stories were they going to be talking about when they get home?
Which of them was going to jack off thinking about her tonight?
Penny shivered and not all of the shivering was from the ice. She got back to the SUV and tried to open it. It was locked.
Ten long minutes passed by. Penny stood outside the car like a locked out teenager. The Georgia sun warmed her completely and also soaked her legs in melted ice. She ignored the stares of passing families and she turned her face away from the college guys when they drove out. When Earl and Joan finally emerged from the rest area, Penny couldn’t help smiling in relief. She felt like a puppy who’s owners were finally returning.
Joan used the remote key chain to open the doors. Earl surprised Penny by opening the back door and climbing in. He sat in the center where Penny had furiously masturbated. Earl slapped his lap and looked at her.
“Over my lap, now,” he said.
Penny looked around to see if anyone was watching. Someone was. She spotted a husband sitting in his car while he waited for his family. He was looking at her absent mindedly but now that he saw she was looking at him, he was watching her closely. It didn’t help that Joan was standing by the back door, ready to close it behind Penny.
“Now, slut,” Earl growled.
There are times in the Society when it is just best to obey. Penny climbed into the backseat. Her skirt rode up and she knew that the watching husband saw a flash of black thong between her thighs. She climbed on all fours into the van and crawled over Earl’s lap. When her ass was directly over his crotch, he pushed down on her and stopped her crawling. She could feel his cock beneath his pants and it was very hard. Her legs were hanging outside the van till Joan pushed them upwards till they folded against her knee. The door slammed and Penny tried to relax her legs but the most they would uncurl was into a ninety degree angle.
Penny cried out when Earl reached under her chest and grabbed one of her breasts. She was still sensitive from the nipple clamps but Earl didn’t mind. His fingers sunk into her flesh; grinding her tit together. His other hand lifted her skirt and exposed her ass as well as the evil soaked thong. Penny clenched her ass in anticipation and Earl laughed.
Joan got in the driver’s seat. She adjusted the mirror so she could watch Penny’s ass. “Have fun dear, but remember to leave something for me.”
Earl dragged his fingernails over Penny’s ass. “If I know you Jo, you’d rather I left you with next to nothing. You always like them better when they are ready to collapse.”
Penny shivered. The idea of being used and passed around between these two was making her pussy clench. She just prayed they let her cum at all this trip.
Earl’s hand patted her ass gently before coming down hard in a vicious spank. Penny grunted and lifted herself by her hands before relaxing back into a prone position.
“Oh no, this will not do,” Earl said. “Joan, pass me the handcuffs please.”
Penny heard something like a glove compartment being opened. It made her wonder, how many fetish toys did they have stashed around the car? Was there a paddle stashed in the door pockets? Did they have spare blindfolds in the change compartment?
“Hands behind your back, slut,” Earl commanded. Penny folded her hands behind her, which meant she was face down on the seat smelling the asses of everyone who had ever ridden in the back seat. Idly she wondered how many other sluts had masturbated where her nose was right now. Earl locked the handcuffs around her wrists. Now all of her struggling was going to be the wiggling kind.
Now that her hands were cuffed and her face was buried in the seat, Earl went back to business. He reached under and grabbed Penny’s breast again. Penny waited for him to start spanking her but Earl teased her by doing nothing for at least two minutes. Then out of the blue, he struck her ass with a force she didn’t expect from the thin man.
“Ouch!” she cried out.
“Dear, maybe you should gag her?” Joan offered.
“And deny me her screams? No, she’ll be fine”
The hand came down again, smacking to the right of Penny’s ass. Her feet kicked and she tapped the window. Earl didn’t notice. He was striking her ass slowly, moving around her round bottom in a clockwise motion. Penny couldn’t get over how slow he was. His hand would sting her ass, cop a feel and then move away. Sometimes as long as a minute later, he would slap her ass again, shocking her from the lack of warning. There was no rhythm or build up. He was just spanking her when the mood moved him. All she was to him was a toy; like some sort of living squeeze ball.
Speaking of squeeze balls, his fingers never stopped mauling her tit. Sometime he would trap the nipple in his fingers and he would pinch it for an obscenely long time. Other times he would grab her whole breast and crush it like a vice in his hand. It was the left breast he was abusing and Penny was wishing he would share the love with the other breast. If anything, just to give her left breast a break.
This continued on for who knows how long. The vibration of the van tried to lull her into a relaxed state but the infrequent slaps on her ass kept her tense. Not to mention the constant groping of her tit was making her very sore. Earl and Joan didn’t talk at all which was kind of nice. It allowed Penny to sink into her own mind. In between slaps she was nothing more than a aching breast. When the hand did slap her ass, she transformed into a welt covered bottom, tender and sensitive from the random hits. Back and forth she changed, alternating from one abused body part to another.
At one point, Earl changed tactics. He grabbed her thong, which was now soaked for much different reasons than before, and he gave her a wedgie tug. The surprise made Penny who was already very tender, scream and kick her legs. Her shoes bounced off the window and Penny was terrified that she had cracked it.
“You are not breaking my window, slut,” Joan said.
“Sorry,” was all Penny could offer.
Penny heard an unfamiliar sound that was followed by the roar of the road. By the wind that was now blowing past her ankles and exposed ass, Penny realized that Joan had rolled down the window! Something loud passes by and Penny wondered if it was a trucker. Could people look in the window and see her ass?
“A little fresh air is always good,” Earl says. Penny didn’t know how to respond but she soon lost her train of thought when she felt Earl’s finger slide into her cunt.
“Oh fuck!” she cried. Earl laughed at her but that was okay. His finger was inside her and all was right in the world. Penny tried not to hump his finger but she couldn’t resist. She got in three really sensual humps before his finger slipped out. Right as she moaned in frustration, he grabbed a handful of her pussy hair and pulled.
“Son of a bitch!”
“Keep it down slut,” Earl admonished. “The windows are down.”
He gave her pubic hair a vicious tug. Penny opened her mouth to scream but she didn’t want to attract any more attention then she had to. Inspired by the increased pulling, Penny bit down on the SUV seat. It choked her screams as Earl tugged, pulled and yanked her poor pubis hair.
The pain was so intense she didn’t notice at first when he slipped a finger in her cunt. The sudden invasion made her groan. Earl finger fucked her pretty hard but in the back of Penny’s mind, she had to wonder how much longer before he went back to pulling hair.
It wasn’t long at all.
With her ass now burning from the slow abuse, Earl turned his attention to her sex. A few strokes would get her cunt wet and ready to be fucked, and then he would pull on her pubic hair till tears clouded her eyes. He would stroke her clit with an expert tenderness until she was humping his leg before pinching one of her cunt lips and twisting it. Penny tried to struggle but the handcuffs and her folded legs just made her squirm. Considering how much she felt Earl’s cock twitch under her, she knew the wiggling only encouraged him.
At some point Earl stopped. Penny didn’t know why but she was thankful for the chance to catch her breath. Her thighs were starting to cramp up from the odd positioning. Her cunt was a big wet sore mess that didn’t know whether to open up for a cock or close tight to avoid any more torture. Thankfully, Earl had stopped mangling her breast, which gave her over sensitized flesh a moment to recover. As grateful as Penny was for the break, she had to wonder what new torment Earl had in mind.
“Slut, I’m ready for you to fuck me now,” Earl says.
“Yes, please,” Penny says. This she can do!
He took her skirt off, unbuttoning and pulling it roughly off her. Earl slapped her ass and told her to sit up. He pulled her by the hair on her head to encourage her to rise. Penny winced but shit, at least it was better than pulling her by her other hair!
The SUV wasn’t quite tall enough for the position she’s in now. On her knees with her bare ass and handcuffed hands facing the open window, Penny had to hunch her neck down to keep from banging her head. She watched as Earl removed his pants to reveal his cock. Penny licked her lips as he rolled on a condom. It wasn’t that his cock was big, thick or particularly handsome as much as it was just a cock. There was no pain or mind game when it came to cocks. They were built to be taken in and enjoyed.
“Mount me slut,” Earl says.
Still handcuffed, Penny swung her leg over Earl’s erection. She lowered herself onto his cock and groaned with sheer relief as it entered her. Finally! She was so happy she actually giggled. The giggling stopped when Earl slapped her ass hard with both hands.
“Fuck me slut, and don’t you dare slow down,” he said.
She had her orders. Without the use of her arms, all Penny could really do was grind. That appeared to be fine with Earl. Back and forth she slid on his cock, resting her weight on Earl’s shoulder. He kept slapping her ass though, and no matter how fast she went he kept slapping. When she realized his spanking was just part of sex, she slowed down and stopped trying exhaust herself. He took her shoulder between his teeth and bit down hard. Penny grunted and moaned. The biting was just another sensation to mix with the pain and pleasure.
Penny knew she was going to come only seconds before she did. Wow, that was a fast orgasm! Bliss blossomed in her cunt and washed over her body to momentarily sooth the sore parts. Then Earl slapped both cheeks of her ass and she went back to grinding. No rest for the slutty.
It wasn’t easy to keep grinding right after an orgasm but Penny grinded on. It wasn’t the first time she pushed her cunt passed the point of sensitivity in the service of the Society. Her body was on autopilot as she kept her hips in movement.
Looking over Earl’s shoulder, Penny noticed a couple who were driving ten feet behind the SUV. The couple was laughing about something. Penny felt a moment of panic as she wondered if they could see her riding Earl. She relaxed slightly when she realized the back window was tinted too. The couple looked normal. They appeared to be the typical average ordinary folks who go driving on a weekend. As penny kept grinding on Earl’s cock, she wondered how the couple would react if they could see her. Knowing vanilla types, they would probably watch and then pretend they were offended. Penny could imagine them speeding off in indignation and then twenty miles later slowing down to see if they were still fucking.
Earl grabbed Penny’s very tender ass and squeezed hard. She froze as the pain overtook her. A loud moan vibrated through Earl and she could feel his condom covered cock spasm. Earl had finally climaxed and by the death grip he had on her ass, Penny could tell it had been a good one. He stopped biting her neck and gave her a gentle push. Penny slid off his cock and sat down beside him. The condom was slick from her pussy, and filled with his seed. She smiled at his cock with pride. It also made her feel good to see a cock fucked into orgasm.
“Enjoy yourself?” Joan asked.
“Yes,” Earl gasped.
“Your timing is good,” Joan said. “I was just getting ready to pull in for our mandated two hour rest and fill up the tank.”
“You make fun of the rest but you remember that one time in Ohio when your leg cramped up? We had to pull into that hick town and find you some Aleve while you hopped on one leg.”
Penny sat beside Earl in a daze. The couple talked about old experiences while she just sat there. Her cunt was so well fucked it was almost numb. It hurt her ass to sit but her legs were sore enough to welcome the chance to sit. As exhausted as she was, she couldn’t imagine what Joan would do to her when she got in the back seat.
“Uncuff the slut so she can get dressed,” Joan said.
Earl did so and Penny rubbed her wrists. “Take off your bra but leave the shirt on,” Joan said. “Put your skirt back on, but put the red dildo inside you first.”
Earl chuckled. “Want me to get the water mister?”
“Yes, thank you dear,” Joan said.
Penny did as Joan had asked. She was a little embarrassed by how easily the red dildo slid back into her well-lubricated cunt. Her cunt was so sensitive that Penny had to bite her bottom lip when she moved around to put her skirt back on. She was more hesitant when she buttoned her shirt over her now braless tits. The white material was far too thin and her nipples were straining against the shirt. She had gone from slut to outright indecent.
Earl was just as busy. He cleaned off his condom and put his pants back on with the ease of a true slut. Once he was proper again, he dug around the trunk area and brought out a small water bottle with a sprayer attached. He waited impatiently for Penny to finish; the water bottle cocked and ready.
“Just a light misting,” Joan said. “I want her to look like she’s a sweaty slut.”
The mist that came from the sprayer was a tiny amount but it was still fucking cold. Penny gasped as Earl soaked her shirt. He sprayed her carefully; finding a middle ground between a few spilled drops of water and a wet t-shirt contest. Penny saw where her right areole was visible under the shirt and the curves of her left breast were sticking to the shirt.
“Thirsty, slut?” Earl asked.
“Open your mouth,” he said. When she did so, he adjusted the sprayer so it would shoot a solid line of water into her mouth. It was an impractical way to drink but Penny was going to take anything she could get. She also couldn’t shake the image of Earl shooting his semen into her mouth. The slut clenched at the thought and then groaned as the dildo shifted inside her.
Joan stopped at a gas station, pulling right up to the pump. She reached into her purse and gave Penny some money. Penny’s stomach sank as she realized that Joan was going to send her into the convenience store like she was. Joan wasn’t dressing Penny for herself, she was dressing her for total strangers.
“Get me a chocolate bar,” Joan said. “Pick up some orange soda for Earl and pay for our gas.”
“Like this?” Penny asked. She clasped her hand to her mouth as soon as she said it. Arguing never led to anything good in a slut’s life.
Joan turned around and smiled that cat’s smile again. “And since you are paying cash, don’t pay until we have filled up the tank, okay hon?”
“Good slut,” Joan said.
Penny stepped out of the SUV. Her knees crumpled for a second and she almost lost her balance. It took a moment for her legs to get used to walking and standing, as opposed to wiggling and grinding. The dildo shifted inside her; reminding her of it’s presence with every step. She made her way into the convenience store very slowly, took a deep breath and walked in.
She tried to not make eye contact with anyone. It saved her from having to look at their faces, but she knew they were watching her and her damp shirt. When she passed anyone in the store, they would stop moving until she went to another aisle. Conversation stopped followed by hushed whispers. Penny’s face burned as she imagined the speculation behind those whispers. Did they think she was stoned or did they just think she was a slut?
One guy tried to find out. “Hey there,” he said. Penny looked up to see a young guy wearing a backwards baseball cap. His eyes drifted from her face to her nipples to her face again. “Do you know the way to Charleston, I’m a bit lost?”
“No,” she said brusquely. As she walked away, she could hear him mutter, “cock tease”. Penny’s face darkened but this time with anger. If only that punk knew about the cock she had ridden just a few minutes ago. For that matter, if he only knew about the cock she had inside her right now.
Penny kept looking out the window to see how the gas pumping was going. Earl and Joan were outside, walking and laughing as the gas loaded. Penny sighed and picked up what she was ordered to. The dildo shifted inside her with every step. Standing still didn’t help either, as it only seemed to encourage men to hang out around her and not move away.
Finally she saw Earl wave to her and signal the gas was done pumping. She walked as fast as one could with a dildo jammed in her twat to the register. Of course there was a line. Penny had to stand still as customers resupplied on drinks, cigarettes and lottery tickets.
That is when she felt her dildo slipping out.
The girl clenched her thighs together. Inch by inch, she could feel the dildo slipping out. The walking, the standing and sheer nerves were expelling the dildo. What the fuck was going to do if a big red dildo popped down her skirt and hit the ground? Penny could imagine the shock rippling through the line followed by propositions from horny drivers.
She felt the dildo slip another inch.
Penny could feel her face burning with embarrassment. The toy was coming out too fast. By the time the guy ahead of her picked his lottery numbers, she was going to become the most famous slut this county had ever known. Running to the bathroom would never work. She knew that one brisk walk would shoot the dildo out and into the candy bar aisle.
There was only one thing she could do. Staring at the back of the guy in front of her, Penny reached down between her legs and pushed the dildo back in. She heard a gasp of disbelief behind her. A chain of whispers erupted down the line. Penny wished she could shut her ears from the snatches of conversation that drifted to her. Words like ‘pussy’, ‘shameless’ and ‘Damn!’ bore witness to the lewd act she had just committed.
The woman at the counter rang her items up without speaking to her. What Penny was denied in friendly conversation was made up for in sneers and disapproving looks. The store employee shook her head in silent disgust and gave Penny’s visible nipple a glare when she gave her change back. Penny’s embarrassment escaladed past humiliation and passed over into a weird zone of detached curiosity. Why was the lady afraid to speak to her? Was she afraid that her own embarrassment or arousal would be evident in her voice? Penny liked to think that was the reason.
Outside of the convenience store it took all of Penny’s willpower not to run back to the SUV. Earl was standing outside stretching his legs. Joan was in the back seat, the door open and waiting for Penny. Both of them watched her as she walked to them. Their eyes were on her cunt, imaging how the toy inside her was being grinded by her walking. Penny felt her humiliation slip away. The people in the store couldn’t handle even the small peek of sex she gave them but these two, these two bathed in her sexuality and couldn’t wait to make her groan, grunt and whimper again.
“Come on in, slut,” Joan said.
“Gladly,” Penny said. Earl closed the door behind her. Penny relaxed as the walls of the SUV encased and protected her from the outside world. She felt she should have been at least a little afraid now that Joan was in the back with her, but she couldn’t muster the fear. The world inside the SUV with these two cruel dominants was much saner than the snickering voyeurs inside the store.
Joan sat on the far side, behind the front passenger seat. Penny noticed that they had moved the front seat up to the maximum distance so there was a generous amount of legroom for Joan. She felt her mouth water as she realized that they weren’t making that much room for Joan’s legs. That space was reserved for Penny.
“Buckle up,” Joan said. Penny felt disappointment but she did her best to cover it. Earl started up the car and pulled back into the highway. There was more traffic now as the late starters began their journeys to who knows where.
“Take our toy out, slut,” Joan commanded.
Penny nodded and obeyed. She parted her legs and reached under her skirt. A groan erupted from her as she pulled the long toy out. The red dildo glistened even with the tinted windows dimming the light. Joan looked at the dildo with her usual scrutiny. Penny didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or proud. She opted for proud.
Earl clicked something and the window beside Penny came down. Joan laughed when the slut jumped.
“Clean my toy,” Joan said. “With your mouth.”
“With the window down?” Penny said. She knew the answer as soon as she asked. Without waiting for Joan’s response, Penny put the dildo in her mouth.
She managed to get most of the fake cock into her mouth much to Joan’s laughing delight. Penny demonstrated her oral skills very well until a passing car startled her with a honk. She choked on the dildo and without thinking, turned to look at who honked. It was a man in another SUV, his eyes bulging and his smile as wide as his head. Penny was paralyzed with shock as she realized she still had the dildo in her mouth.
“Don’t you dare duck,” Joan hissed. “Give him a show.”
Penny whimpered with the cock in her mouth. She made eye contact with the other driver who was busy trying to stay on the road. It wasn’t easy to suck a dildo for someone in another car but Penny soon found the rhythm. The trick was to only perform when she actually had his attention. There was no need to deep throat a toy when the other driver was trying to avoid crashing into another car. Penny managed to cram entire sucking pantomimes into five-second windows of opportunity.
Eventually Earl lost the other driver when a convoy of trucks intercepted them. The window zoomed up and Penny almost collapsed in her seat. Her heart was pounding harder than she could ever remember it doing. Joan passed her a bottle of water and Penny eagerly sucked it down.
“Scary wasn’t it?” Joan said. “There is nothing like exposing yourself to a stranger. You create a brief connection devoid of complications or context. For ever and ever, that man will tell his buddies about the girl with the red dildo.”
“Dangerous too, isn’t it?” Penny said. “We could have crashed, or he could have called the state police.”
Joan leaned across and grabbed penny’s thigh. Her fingers bit into Penny’s flesh. The slut whimpered and hissed with pain.
“All very true, slut,” Joan said. “The Society prides itself on being secretive, and Earl and I have both been reprimanded in the past. But you know what? I think the Society forgets it’s part of the world. Tell me something slut, are you wet right now?”
“Yes,” Penny said.
“Good. We have to be doing something right. Earl pull up along side the truckers. Let’s find our slut someone to flash.”
“Yes dear,” Earl said.
“You want me to flash them?” Penny said.
“Well hon, you’re halfway there with your shirt. Just undo your buttons and give them a nice look at your chest. Hmm, you’re going to have swap places with me so the drivers can see you.”
Joan unfastened her seat belt while Penny opened her shirt. The two engaged in some close quarter gymnastics as Penny straddled Joan for a split second and moved over her. Their passing contact gave Joan the chance to catch a nipple in her mouth and bite it as Penny moved away. The slut cried out and Joan winked at her.
The window rolled down as Penny kept her shirt closed. Earl drove up next to one of the truckers. Penny could see that the guy had noticed her. The height he was at gave him a perfect angle to look down at her. He smiled, almost as if he knew what was coming.
“Do it slut,” Joan urged. Penny opened her shirt and leaned towards the window. The trucker honked his horn in appreciation. For a split moment Penny thought the deafening horn was some sort of omniscient disapproval of her nudity and she closed her shirt. The trucker laughed at her while at the same time, Joan was painfully pinching her thigh. Only when Penny exposed her chest again did Joan let go.
“One down, four to go slut,” Joan said.
Penny looked at the long line of trucks. Four more times? Her heart was racing for so many different reasons. It wasn’t just the nudity. Penny had been nude and worse plenty of times in the dungeon clubs of Atlanta. What was so disturbing to her was that she didn’t know these total highway strangers. They weren’t members of her fetish community, fellow outcasts from the mainstream. These strangers WERE the mainstream. Penny had never realized how much she had sequestered her sexuality away from the rest of the world.
She flashed her tits four more times for the truck convoy. Each exposure was easier than the last to the point that Penny was actually laughing when she flashed the last truck. The truckers rewarded her tits with their horns like a sonic climax. The piercing loud horns made her tits jiggle from the vibrations. That was a singular experience Penny wasn’t expecting. She also didn’t expect the last trucker to take out a camera and snap a shot of Penny’s tits. It was so surprising to her that she just sat there as he clicked off five more pictures.
The SUV pulled away from the trucker convoy. Penny relaxed as the automatic window rolled up and shut out the world again. She was breathing hard with excitement. Her eyes closed but popped back open as Joan’s hand went under Penny’s skirt and stroked her cunt.
“Oh fuck!” Penny said. Joan said nothing as she kept stroking Penny’s cunt. Her fingers plunged deep inside Penny. The slut just sat there and enjoyed Joan’s nimble attentions. She didn’t say a word or move a muscle for fear of Joan stopping for any reason. Only when her orgasm detonated did she allow herself to moan. Her moan started low but grew louder as the fingers teased every last bit of pleasure out of her.
“Get on the floor board, slut,” Joan commanded. Penny dragged her exhausted body down to the floor of the SUV. Although there was more room than usual in a car, it was still a tiny space. Penny crossed her legs compressed herself as much as possible.
Watching Joan shimmy out of her jeans and panties was more than enough inspiration. The freckles that dominated her face were also present on her pale legs. A tiny tuft of red hair decorated her cunt. Joan swung one leg over Penny’s shoulder and slid across the backseat. She then grabbed Penny’s blonde hair and yanked the slut to her crotch.
Penny heard the window rolling down again but she didn’t worry herself over it. She had a cunt to eat. Joan’s lips were already damp with desire; making for a delicious meal for Penny to lap up. The angle of the seat wasn’t easy to deal with but Joan’s tightening grip on Penny’s hair ruled out any moving around or adjusting. Joan needed to be eaten now and Penny’s discomfort wasn’t going to delay it for a second.
The floorboard became a new form of sadistic torture. Her legs were cramped and squeezed together. Joan’s legs hung over her shoulders; fighting with Penny’s back for whatever room was left. Her breasts were smashed against the edge of the seat, an area obviously never designed for tit comfort. The vibrations of the SUV numbed Penny’s ass while also stimulating her pussy. In Penny’s sexual life she had been locked in cages, small closets and one time, a rather large suitcase, but few of them were as uncomfortable and ache producing as the floor of an SUV.
Joan muttered something. Penny couldn’t hear her over with Joan’s thighs gripping her head. The slut kept licking. The pussy in front of her kept moving as Joan fucked Penny’s face. Penny used every trick her mouth knew to get Joan off. She licked, bit, fucked her with her tongue, teased, stroked, sucked, nibbled and ate at Joan’s pussy. Joan kept muttering and Penny kept eating.
When Penny’s lips were numbed and the taste of cunt was permanently on her tongue, Joan pulled Penny’s head up.
“Off the floor slut,” Joan said. “We’re almost there.”
Penny winced as she moved back into her seat. Her knees were sore and her jaw was just numb. She wiped Joan’s juices from her face but she could still feel her. The highway outside the SUV was gone and now there was some small town she didn’t recognize. She wondered dimly if this was the hometown of Earl or Joan; and what kind of a town could produce someone such as they.
Lost in her pain and sex, Penny had to be told to button her shirt. She was in a daze. It was that wonderful bliss that she only achieved when she was used and used well. She got dressed and sadness fell on her. It took her a moment to realize it was because she was disappointed that the trip was ending.
“This is your stop, hon,” Joan said. It was a street corner like any other. There was a gas station and across the street a local video rental store.
“It’s been real nice meeting you,” Earl said. The rear view mirror was aimed at her again. She wondered how long he had been looking at her.
“It was nice meeting you,” Joan said. She wanted to say more but the Society frowns on emotional good-byes. With bag in hand, she got out of the SUV and closed the door. Joan moved to the front seat. Both of them waved at her as they drove off.
The daze faded as reality butted in. What was she supposed to do now? The Society had told her to prepare for a road trip, they didn’t give her any more details. Quite frankly, as much as Penny hated trips, she hadn’t given much thought about her destination. Was this part of the plan? Penny’s stomach sank as she wondered if being abandoned was Joan’s little improvisation on society rules. Maybe she was making Penny really have to deal with the outside world.
A van pulled up. It was one of those older vans from the 1980’s. There were hardly any windows and the entire vehicle was built for passenger space. The passenger side window rolled down to reveal a grinning blonde woman in her forties.
“Going anywhere special this fine Georgia day?” the woman asked.
Penny frowned. That was an odd thing to ask, especially considering they were in South Carolina. She wasn’t sure how to answer till understanding dawned on her. That was the code phrase the Society had told her to respond to! What was the code phrase to say again?
“Anywhere that has a warm cock or a wet pussy is fine with me, Penny said.
The side door opened to show a couple sitting in the back. The lusty grins on their faces reminded Penny of Joan and Earl. Sitting on the floor of the van was an air mattress and a few pillows.
“Well we have two of each, so take your pick,” the blonde answered.
Penny got into the van. The couple in the van started to undress her immediately. The couple in the front seat watched and sighed.
“Where are you guys headed?” Penny asked. The man in the back was biting her nipple while the woman was slapping Penny’s ass.
“Atlanta,” the driver said.
Penny moaned and surrendered to her four new traveling buddies. The Society always thinks of everything.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Monday, March 20, 2006
From Warren Elli's newsletter, we discover that being a sexual comedian is grounds for losing custody of your kids.
I love the Sub Genius and think they will be the first ones rounded up when the government opens the Sex Terrorist Concentration Camps
Friday, March 17, 2006
Claire Currie looked up at the rear view reflection of the cab driver. He hadn’t said a word since he picked her up from her hotel but he had guessed right. Apparently she wasn’t as calm looking as she was hoping to project.
“Am I that obvious?” she asked.
The cab driver grinned. “As obvious as your accent. Where are you from?”
“London,” Claire replied. “I just arrived yesterday and yes, I do start work today. Could you tell me how you noticed, please?”
“It’s your clothes, honey. You got that super dressed up look that people stop doing the second week they are there.”
Claire looked down at her clothes and frowned. She didn’t think she was over dressed. Her navy blue pantsuit went well with her dark brown skin. Underneath she had a white shirt that really brought out her smile. She had pulled her kinky hair back in a ponytail because there was really no other way to keep it manageable. Her make up was light and professional though she did spend a half hour cleaning her gold-rimmed glasses to make sure they were perfect. Maybe Americans had lower standards?
“What kind of work are you doing?” the driver asked.
“I’m a librarian,” she said.
He looked at her again through the mirror. “You don’t look like a librarian.”
Claire smiled politely. It was a line she was tired of hearing. It appears that even here people thought librarians should look like old spinsters.
“Wait a sec,” the driver said. “Shouldn’t I be taking you to one of the libraries then. The address you gave me was for a hotel.”
Claire grinned. She was annoyed by the comment of looking like a librarian and decided that the truth might help break some illusions. Besides, it was her first day and wanted to brag about it.
“I’ve been hired by the Colette-Ashbee Library. They are a group of private collectors to manage their books. The actual collection is in France, but their librarians travel around the world to collect more books. I’ll be meeting my boss today while he is in town for some new acquisitions.”
“You run around the world to get books? Why don’t you just order them by mail?”
Claire smiled and leaned forward in her seat. Her voice shifted into a husky tone as she boldly confided the purpose of the collection.
“These are not the kind of books you can call up and order. These are rare, erotic books. Sexual exploits of fictional and real life confessions that have been handed down through the years and collected for the pleasure of a few private individuals. Each book is a snapshot of sexual desire for it’s time period and it will be my job to gather and catalog them.”
The cab driver swallowed hard and the flush spreading across his face pleased Claire. “This isn’t Taxi cab Confessions, lady. I run a clean cab here.”
Claire thought of the cab driver while she was in the elevator. He had stopped talking to her after that and that made her a little sad. Her parents had much the same reaction when they found out about her job. For that matter, so did her friends and professors at college. They acted like she sullying her degree by dealing in erotic works. It was enough to make her scream. It told her how little they knew of her as a person. It was Claire’s dream job and none of the ones who claimed to really know her could adjust to that.
“That just makes it easier to have a job without a home,” she said out loud in the elevator. Claire almost convinced herself.
The walk to the hotel room was short. She knocked once and waited. A minute passed and Claire double-checked the room number. She was about to knock again when it finally opened.
Claire had to keep from smiling when she saw the man who answered. This guy was definitely a librarian. He wore a white button down shirt with a rather bland black tie. His slacks were an inoffensive gray and his shoes were polished brighter than Claire’s glasses. The little bit of brown hair he had on his head was cut down to a military inch of fine fuzz. Deep worry lines were etched on his forehead, sagging downwards to his deep brown eyes.
“Are you Ms. Currie?” he asked.
“Yes Sir. Please call me Claire.”
He frowned. “Ms. Currie, you shall address me as Mr. Dillon. I shall address you as Ms. Currie. A certain level of professionalism is essential in a good working relationship. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Claire kicked herself mentally. That’s what she gets for taking her father’s advice that Americans prefer first names. “I will follow your lead, Mr. Dillon.”
“Excellent.” Mr. Dillon stood at his doorway and looked her up and down. He nodded once to himself and then looked up at her face.
“The Collectors faxed me your scholastic credentials and I was impressed by the recommendation of your former employer. He said you were a credit to your library.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dillon,” Claire said. She looked around the hall way and asked, “May I come in please?”
“No, Ms. Currie,” he said. “Not until you understand something. The Colette-Ashbee Collection hired you, not I. They picked you because they enjoy the process and they want to feel like they can trust the person who maintains their erotica. In their eyes, you are perfect. In my eyes however, you are a book by a new author that my friends are begging me to read. Are you worth reading, Ms. Currie?”
She stood up straight and looked him straight in the eye. “Yes I am, Mr. Dillon.”
“Then answer a few questions for me. I’ve looked at your records and I don’t see any mention of work relating to erotica. What have you done in your life that would make you qualified to evaluate erotica?”
Claire bit her lip and took a deep breath. She had answered this question when the Collectors interviewed her, but apparently they hadn’t passed it on. It was not an easy thing to confess while standing in the hallway of a hotel.
“I used to write porn stories, on the Internet, Mr. Dillon. I wrote them when I was in college. My fan mail was quite large by the time I quit.”
Mr. Dillon rolled his eyes. “Internet smut? You wrote for a bunch of horny men on newsgroups? That is what qualifies for sexual experience now?”
“It wasn’t just newsgroups,” Claire protested. “I also wrote stories for a few pay sites.”
Mr. Dillon was still frowning. Desperate, Claire tried a more offensive tact.
“If I may ask sir, what did you do to qualify for sexual experience?”
Mr. Dillon’s stern face slowly melted into a wistful smile. “I used to be a towel boy for a swinger’s club in New York. That was living, Ms. Currie.”
He gave her a final look and he nodded reluctantly. “There are times when we must work with the books we have and not the books we want. Come on in, Ms. Currie.”
Claire grimaced at that comment but she forced a smile and walked into the hotel room. It was a gorgeous suite and it was clear that the Collection had a large expense account. It was bigger than her flat in London and the sunshine pouring in through the windows illuminated everything. On a table were a stack of about forty books of all shapes and sizes. Claire’s heart raced as she realized that these might be new acquisitions. What treasures were sitting a few feet away from her?
Mr. Dillon reached into a mini fridge and took out a bottle of water. He didn’t offer her one. Claire wasn’t terribly surprised by that. She knew that Mr. Dillon wasn’t going to offer her an inch till she proved herself. It was just a question of how was she going to do that?
“I can see you are hungering to take a look at those books,” Mr. Dillon said. “Excellent. Any true librarian couldn’t pass a stack without wanting to browse through them. I bought these from two estate sales in town. I have already evaluated them but I have discovered one of them is a forgery. Tell me which one it is, and I will waive my other reservations about your working for me.
Claire grinned. She seriously doubted he would be so generous, but she liked the opportunity to prove herself. She moved towards the table and was about to sit down on the couch in front of it, but Mr. Dillon was quick to correct her.
“There will be no sitting, Ms. Currie. This is a test of how well you think on your feet.”
She looked at him to see if he meant that as a pun, but the serious look on his face discouraged her from asking. Instead, she bent over and gently picked up a book from the top of the pile and examined it.
It was a French book, entitled “Ma Demure Femme” and the publishing date was 1952. Claire felt a singular thrill as she opened the book and smelled a mixture of perfume and old paper. Smudge marks were on every page, and you could almost see the fingerprints of the previous owner. The marks were so tiny and delicate but obviously this was a book that was read very often.
Claire turned the pages and compared the type setting; looking for obvious errors. She stopped flipping when she came across an illustration of a woman bound and suspended from a chandelier. The woman was nude, and there was an impossibly long dildo emerging from her sex. Claire admired the intricate details in the illustrations as the artist spent as much time drawing the tiny links of the chandelier chain as he did the many curls of the bound woman.
“You’re supposed to be examining the books, not looking at the dirty pictures,” Mr. Dillon snapped.
Claire looked up with a start and felt a blush darkening her face. His tone reminded her too much of her teacher’s disgust when they caught her reading an erotic book in class. She was about to say something in her defense when Mr. Dillon truly put her off balance.
“Remove your jacket, Ms. Currie. That should motivate you to move a little faster.”
“Remove your jacket,” Mr. Dillon said. He moved to sit on the couch with his bottle of water. “You will continue to remove clothes any time I think you are dallying.”
Claire stood up straight and pursed her lips. “That is hardly professional behavior,” she said in her sternest tone.
“Ms. Currie, it is perfectly professional behavior for the work we do. We shall be meeting with owners of erotic masterpieces. We shall be socializing with people who enjoy erotica and talk about it incessantly. If you can not comply with a simple act of exhibitionism, then you will most likely embarrass me in a social setting with people I am negotiating with.”
He took a sip of his water. “Granted, since you are only an Internet smut writer, it is very likely that you lack the sexual awareness to really be a Collection Librarian. It is no fault of your own.”
Claire bit back the first three things that came to mind. The people who interviewed her did warn her that an open mind would be necessary for her job, but she didn’t expect her immediate superior would be asking her to strip. It did make a kind of sense though. How was she going to be an authority on erotica if she came across as uptight? More importantly, that insult about Internet smut was getting on her nerves. She had been voted Hottest Writer of the Year by her readers!
She began by unbuttoning her jacket, but she paused part way through. How would one of her characters do this? Claire continued her unbuttoning, but a lot slower this time. Her fingers lingered, revealing her blouse and her chest one inch at a time. When her jacket was undone, she shed it in a fluid manner before setting it on a nearby chair. Claire turned around and faced Mr. Dillon and waited for some sort of reaction. His expression hadn’t changed, and Claire assumed that she might have achieved some sort of victory. He pointed to the books and circled her fingers for her to continue. She smiled and turned her attention back to the books.
The next book she tried was fairly new and had a copyright from 1998. It had a glossy photograph cover of a woman bending over a desk. Her skirt was lifted high and her white panties made the picture clean enough to go on a shelf. Claire decided it was too new to be worth faking and she put the book down. She sifted through three more books, looking for one old enough to be valuable. When she finally picked an old enough book, Mr. Dillon cleared his throat and spoke again.
“You’ve stalled long enough, Ms. Currie. Remove your skirt now.”
Claire almost complained about his comment about stalling, but she smiled instead. His comments were no worse than the unfair criticisms her more misogynistic professors sometimes heaped on her. If he thought she would break down and turn into a sobbing character from one of these novels, he was sadly mistaken.
“Yes, Mr. Dillon,” she said without shame. She turned around so that her ass was facing him. Her fingers unfastened the button on her skirt and then slowly unzipped. Claire breathed faster as she unzipped, becoming nervous despite her best attempts to remain calm and aloof. As much as she wanted to stay in control, there was something frightening and God help her, quite a bit arousing knowing her boss was looking at her ass. Well, he was looking at the white slip that was covering her brown ass, but she knew from previous boyfriends how well her dark skin shone through such material. Claire dropped the skirt and turned around quickly, her façade of being aloof and brave starting to crumble.
“Keep evaluating, Ms. Currie. You still haven’t found the fake yet.”
“Yes, sir,” Claire said. She turned back to the books and sifted them much faster than before. It was impossible to concentrate. She was standing in front of her new boss in garters, slip, high heels and a blouse. How did this happen? Worse, why was she getting turned on? Claire thought of herself as a writing exhibitionist, not a real one. Could she really be getting wet from this silly exercise?
She tried looking through the books but she was useless. He gave her longer this time but Claire was too lost in her own head to properly analyze whether the Spanish book with the bold green cover was really printed in 1933. When he gave the command for her to take off her blouse, Claire felt like she deserved to be stripped for her lack of ability.
Deserving it and being brave enough to do it are two different things. Claire couldn’t bring herself to look at her boss as she unbuttoned her blouse. Part of it was shame at being half dressed in front of her boss, but a greater part of the shame was from knowing that she was failing to find the book her requested. Her white bra clung to her heavy breasts and Claire frowned when she saw how much her chest was rising and falling from her nervous breathing. It was like she was a heaving bosom maiden from one of those books.
“As delightful as it is to watch you, Ms. Currie, you should really find that forgery now. Before things become really unprofessional.”
Claire nodded and attacked the pile of books with a new energy. She thought back on the few classes she had that dealt with fake books and found that she recalled very little. There were page fibers she could examine, and there were printing inconsistencies, but it had been a year since she last dealt with the subject. Bending over the table with her breasts hanging in her bra didn’t help her concentration, but it sure gave her motivation.
She narrowed it down to five books that seemed younger than their older publishing dates. Mr. Dillon’s face was impassive as he drank his bottled water. There would be no hints there.
“Ms. Currie, your slip.”
Perhaps she was getting close. There appeared to be no regularity to the time between stripping. Claire blushed as she realized that maybe she was getting close and Mr. Dillon wanted to see more of her before she succeeded. She wasn’t sure if the butterflies in her stomach were due to arousal or outrage.
Claire had to shimmy out of her slip, and each wiggle of her hips made her breasts bounce within their bra confines. She was self conscious about the wet spot that had formed on her white panties, but there was nothing to do about that now. Besides, maybe Mr. Dillon would take that as a sign that she wasn’t so much a prude after all. A quick glance at Mr. Dillon told her that he hadn’t even noticed. His eyes were gliding up and down her legs, admiring her stockings and her garter belt. A faint flush was crossing his face and Claire felt a little better knowing her boss was human after all.
She stepped out of her slip and bent over to put it in the pile of clothes she was gathering on the chair. Claire could feel Mr. Dillon’s eyes follow here as she walked, but the flush on his face had soothed her. A little calmer and more confident, she returned to the books and narrowed her list of possible frauds to one book.
The German book didn’t make the cut because it had water damage of the sort Claire had seen a dozen times before. Same for the American book about the secret agent except it’s damage was from bending and improper storage. She knew that forgeries were often distressed to make them look more authentic, but over the years Claire had seen enough damaged books to know the real abused books by now.
“Your bra, Ms. Currie,” he said. She kept her focus on the books as she reached behind her. Her bra came off in a snap and Claire tossed it aside. It bothered her a little that her breasts were now bare, but she took it as a sign that she was getting close. He obviously wanted to embarrass her as much as possible before she answered. Well, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
Claire returned to the pile of books before her bra had hit the pile of clothes. It was down to two books and Claire picked both of them up. One or the other and this silly game would be done with. She took a deep breath to clear her mind but it wasn’t helping. Her breasts felt larger than ever under Mr. Dillon’s scrutiny.
Not twenty seconds had passed when Mr. Dillon said, “Take your panties off. You are really taking far too much time.”
She snapped her head up and her lips pouted before she regained her composure. Too much time! Now he wasn’t even being fair. She set the books down and started to take her panties down, but her garter belt was in the way. Rather than argue or even try to reason with the man, Claire undid her garter belt and tossed them aside. As Mr. Dillon watched, she slipped her panties off next and added them to her clothes. She left the stockings on rather than engage in some sort of clichéd stocking striping scene.
“Have you picked a book yet, Ms. Currie?”
“I think it’s this one,” she said. “It has a crisp smell to it that doesn’t seem likely for a book printed in 1908.”
Mr. Dillon set down his bottle and stood up. He walked around the table and headed towards the windows. Claire was afraid he was going to open the blinds, but instead he simply unhooked the thin plastic rod from the blinds. Mr. Dillon swung the rod in an arc that sliced through the air.
“Are you sure, Ms. Currie? An incorrect answer will result in five strokes of the rod.”
“You can not be serious!” Claire said. “The removal of clothes, I can understand, but do you expect me to just stand here and let you hit me?”
Mr. Dillon shrugged. “Of course I do. Corporal punishment is a common penalty in erotic fiction. Why would you object?”
“Because this is not erotic fiction!” Claire replied.
“That is not a valid excuse,” Mr. Dillon said. “I will strike your posterior for every wrong answer you give me. Do you understand?”
“You can not do this,” she said. “This was not under my contract.”
Mr. Dillon smiled. “I suggest you look again. The eighth page has a lovely section about you fulfilling the needs of your immediate superiors in any way that is not illegal. It says it in very technical language that I couldn’t possibly start to quote, but that is the essential bit.”
Claire frowned. “And do you NEED to strike my bum?”
“Me? No, I do not. I do however need to see why you are so prudish about a simple switching. How are you going to deal with future sellers if you are going to show such disgust when the topic of spanking comes up?”
“Mr. Dillon, I do believe that you are exaggerating that scenario in an attempt to make me compliant to your desires.”
“I assure you, Ms. Currie, I do not. When I was hired to work for the collection, my superior was Ms. Wei. She attended the finest parties as she tried to convince the wealthiest people in the world to part with their pornography. I have seen servants required to suck a dozen men before being allowed to continue serving the next course in a meal. I have seen men whipped to the point that their screams shook my wine glass. Ms. Wei herself had a fondness for dressing men up like girls and bought me a uniform that consisted of a black evening dress. I wore that dress more times my first year with her than I did pants.”
Mr. Dillon took a deep breath before continuing. Claire almost smirked at the mention of him in an evening dress, but she wisely kept her face calm. It was the most Mr. Dillon had said at one time and his voice had risen towards the end. It was obviously not a pleasant memory for him to share.
“What I am trying to convey to you, Ms. Currie, is that the people we deal with do not collect erotica, they live it. We shall deal with more fetishes and perverts than you can imagine. With a little luck, we will also see pleasures that few people can imagine. My problem is that I need to know right now, how open minded are you?”
“I am very open minded, but-“
“That’s excellent, Ms. Currie,” he interrupted. “Then if I told you that it would give me immense pleasure to switch your bottom while you tried to identify the forgery, you will have no problem with that?”
“Yes, it would bother me if I knew you enjoyed it. Then we would not be playing a scene from erotica; we would be engaging in your own sexual fantasies. Consent is far more personal than mere tolerance, Mr. Dillon.”
“I know,” he said. “Which is why I demand the consent. It is a far better test.”
Claire processed everything he said. The first thing she realized was that she hadn’t been briefed entirely on what her job was going to be like. From what Mr. Dillon described, this could just be the start of a long series of sexual adventures. He apparently didn’t enjoy wearing the dress while he was working under Ms. Wei, but apparently he didn’t hate it enough to quit. It made her wonder how good the good experiences had to be to balance out the bad. Most prevalent though on her mind was the simple fact that she was standing in front of Mr. Dillon wearing only her stockings and she was as wet as she could ever remember being in her life.
She turned around till her ass was facing Mr. Dillon. “I believe the forged book is ‘Upstairs Maid, Downstairs Whore’.
The rod stung her bottom almost instantly. A long line of pain streaked across both cheeks. She barely had time to grit her teeth before the rod struck four more times, dropping lower on her bottom with each hit till she had five parallel lines burning on her ass.
“Try again Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said.
It had to be the other book. “My feeling is that it is ‘Confessions of a Marine Barber’.”
This time she cried out as the rod struck against her buttocks. He struck her five times, this time aiming a bit higher. It was much harder this time and Claire had to clench her fists to keep from covering her backside. It was humiliating to be switched like this, but more humiliating to be wrong about her selections.
“No, Ms. Currie!” His voice was an angry almost indignant yell. “Guess again.”
Claire stared down at the pile of books. Maybe the water damage on the German book was a little too typical. She said it’s name, and was taken back by how much her voice shook.
He replied with ten more swings. She couldn’t help it when the pain grew and she danced a little to the side in her heels. He kept swinging until she had received all ten but he was snarling as he did it. Mr. Dillon grabbed her by the arm and led her back to the table. He pushed her forward and Claire put her arms down to support herself as she was bent over the table. Her ass was in the air and she was humiliated, but she felt like it was what she had earned with her false guesses.
“This is pathetic, Ms. Currie!” Mr. Dillon said. “Tell me which one is the forgery!”
“Island of Dr. Yes!” she said. The curtain rod struck again. Claire whimpered from the pain and involuntarily flinched forward with each searing blow. This caused her breasts to sway forward and she watched them swing back and forth in a way that was terribly sexual. Did he bend her over so she could have support or did Mr. Dillon want to watch her heavy brown breasts jiggle? Claire decided it was the later reason and unexpectedly, that idea made her cunt clench in arousal.
“Use that brain you allegedly have and tell me which one is the forgery!”
Claire stared at the books as her the welts on her ass burned. She had picked all the ones she had been suspicious about. What could she have missed? Maybe it wasn’t the obvious ones, but one of the more recent ones. The bent over woman picked the newest most recent book she could find and told Mr. Dillon it’s name.
He growled this time and Claire closed her eyes in terror. The curtain rod fell on her bottom with a fury Claire could scarcely keep track of. She lost count of how many times it impacted as the pain blossomed into one large ache. Claire shifted as the pain grew and towards the end she was moving her hips back and forth as she tried to dodge the rod. As bad as the pain was, the young woman knew better than to rise or use her hands. That much obedience held through no matter how bad her ass ached.
When Mr. Dillon finally stopped, her bottom continued to throb. Claire opened her eyes and was surprised to blink away tears. Had she been crying? It was so hard to tell. Her bottom hurt but the rest of her body seemed to be in another place. Mr. Dillon had to repeat himself for her to hear.
“I said, pick another book, Ms. Currie.”
She swallowed. “I don’t know, Mr. Dillon. I just don’t know. They all look real to me.”
He sighed. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”
Claire didn’t fully understand what he had said till he walked away to put the rod back on the curtains. When she did understand, she felt a rush of relief, followed by betrayal and soon flushed away by pure anger. She stood up, ready to hurl insults, but the pain in her backside flared up and all she could do was whimper.
“Feel free to use the ice bucket, though I recommend using some aloe. I have some on the television set.”
She scowled and limped over to the television. Her nudity was bothering her but not nearly as much as how bad as the heat on her bottom. Every step sent fresh jolts of pain through her body. To her confusion, most of the jolts were traveling to her sex and her nipples, and transforming from pain to more pleasant stimulation.
“That was a juvenile thing to do,” Claire said. She turned around and looked at her ass. Red and purple lines flared out from a pink center on her brown buttocks. She had never seen her dark skin look so pink before and it both frightened and fascinated her.
“Nonsense,” Mr. Dillon said. He was sitting back down on the couch with his legs crossed. It was the picture of civility except for the fact that his eyes were staring at her ass. Claire turned slightly so that her boss couldn’t admire his handiwork. It meant he had a better view of her breasts but Claire wanted to take some control of her bottom back.
“As a librarian, you have to learn to trust your own instincts,” he said. “I told you there was a forgery. You believed me and started picking books. You didn’t trust your own opinion. It is no different than if a seller told you he had a rare first edition. Do you take him for his word? If another expert said it was a forgery, do you believe him instead? You need to trust your own judgment, even above my own, or else you will never be a true librarian.”
Claire winced as she rubbed the aloe on her welts. Some of the lines were turning purple and she wondered how long it would be before she could sit down again. As bad as the pain was, it wasn’t as bad as the shame she was feeling for what Mr. Dillon was saying. She had walked right into that and there was little she could say in her defense.
“Was it really necessary to abuse my bottom to prove that point?” she asked.
Mr. Dillon smiled. “No, but I enjoyed it. Now, put some clothes on and let’s discuss your background.”
Claire was sure that Mr. Dillon was going to insist she stay naked, so she was put off balance when he allowed her to get dressed. She was further confused when he was a gracious host for the rest of the day. He ordered her dinner and talked to her constantly about her college years. He never apologized for her bottom, but he didn’t gloat or bring it up either. Claire realized that she must have really earned his approval after all.
Mr. Dillon didn’t allow the conversation to come back to him at all. He seemed very uninterested in even discussing his past. For all his negative comments about Internet writing earlier, he kept insisting on knowing what kind of stories she wrote and what she did to avoid burn out. It was strange to discuss her writings with someone face to face as opposed to through e-mail, but Mr. Dillon was a friendly and honestly curious listener. It was hard to believe this was the man who transformed her bottom into the constant ache that it was now.
“You should fetch your luggage tonight from your hotel. You will stay here now,” Mr. Dillon said after dinner. Claire frowned and looked around the hotel room but she didn’t see another bed.
“Where will I sleep?” she asked.
“Traditionally, assistant librarians sleep on the floor. I however am a modern man and will generously let you sleep on the couch.”
Claire waited to see if Mr. Dillon smiled, but he appeared to be quite serious. “Why would I stay here?”
“It’s only logical. By living together you can learn at a faster rate and I can figure out your weaknesses quicker. It’s also traditional for the assistant librarian to wait on the senior librarian during the course of the day. Ms. Wei used to have me run her bath water every morning and then shave her legs. You are lucky in that all I need you to do is prepare the morning coffee and make my bed.”
“Make the bed? The one I will not be sleeping in?”
Mr. Dillon nodded. “Ms. Currie, the only way you will be sleeping in my bed is if you provide other services. Count yourself lucky that I am not as demanding as Ms. Wei was, and content yourself with the couch.”
Later, as Claire slept on the couch with her luggage sitting by the table and Mr. Dillon snoring several feet away from her, a question plagued her. It kept her awake far longer than her very tender bottom, or the excitement of her first day on the job. Claire stared at the ceiling and wondered; why didn’t Mr. Dillon demand other services from her?
“Good afternoon Mr. Springs. I’m Mr. Dillon and this is my assistant, Ms. Currie. We had an appointment with you?”
Mr. Springs smiled at them. He was ancient, but in a grandfatherly way that Claire found comforting. A few wisps of hair sprouted here and there on his otherwise bald head. His ears were too large for his head but when Claire considered how the thin the rest of his body was, she wondered if they acted as some sort of balancing mechanism.
“Please, come in! And call me Sparky, all my friends do.”
Mr. Dillon returned the warmth and said, “Then please call me, Oliver, Sparky. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Sparky snorted. “An old retired brush factory worker like me? You must have a boring life indeed.”
Claire was peeved that Mr. Dillon didn’t introduce her but when she walked into Sparky’s house, the giant portrait that hung in the foyer wiped away the annoyance she had felt. It was a black and white photograph that had been blown up to a size of eight feet tall. A woman stood naked with her back to the viewer. Her ass was bruised with the vivid lines of some sort of paddle but that was not the most noticeable part of the photo. The woman was half turned around at the waist, flashing the most cheerful smile Claire had ever seen. It was the smile of a woman who was showing off, proud of every mark and line on her ass.
“Quite the beauty, isn’t she?” Sparky said. He stood next to Claire and sighed. “Jessica would bruise faster than all the other girls, so we could really make her look beaten with just a few good whacks. She stopped posing for us when she married Don Jenks, that bastard.”
Claire was fascinated by how painful the marks looked. “Why was he a bastard? Did it end badly?”
“Shucks no. They got married and had three kids. I call him a bastard because he was a member of our club and he got all jealous of her when they got married. Wouldn’t let his buddies photograph her any more. That ain’t right.”
“Club?” Claire asked.
“I assume Sparky is referring to the illustrious Black Tie Photographers Club,” Mr. Dillon said.
Sparky laughed. “Illustrious? That’s quite a big word for a bunch of joes who liked to take pictures. Why don’t you two come into the living room and take a load off. I’ve got cranberry juice and some pop if you want something to drink?”
Mr. Dillon politely turned down refreshments for them as they walked into the living room. Claire was about to ask for water when once again she was struck dumb by the portraits Sparky decorated his house with. His living room was sparse in the way of furniture but a different picture dominated every wall. She spun around in the center of the living room, amazed by how life like each of them was.
On one wall was a picture of a woman bent over an elaborate bench. The woman was a blonde, and her body was covered in rope that secured her in dozen different ways to a irregular wooden bench. She wore a black bra and matching panties under all that rope but the way her legs were spread and the high angle of her hips were highly suggestive of sex. It looked as if she was arching up to meet some lover in mid thrust.
Above the fireplace hung a photo of a tall black haired beauty that was trapped in old fashioned stocks. The narrow plank of wood secured her head and hands while her breasts hung heavily drown from her body. She had a frown of absolute misery but the frown had hints of insincerity that made the image almost comical.
Next to a window was a photo of another blonde. This woman was trapped inside a wooden cage. The cage was made of sharpened stakes and looked like something that was constructed by angry natives. Inside, the blonde woman’s breasts were spilling out of the leopard skin bikini that was a size too small for her. She was biting her lip and looking more petulant than afraid.
The final photograph was the largest, as big as the one on the foyer. It depicted a tall brunette who was bound to a giant wooden ‘X’. Her hands and ankles were tied down to each arm of the ‘X’ and a rag had been stuffed into her mouth. Pink Lines marked her body, outlining where someone had whipped or caned her waist, thighs, arms and breasts. The only clothing she wore was a dark pair of panties that obscured her sex completely.
“Are these all yours?” Claire asked.
Sparky opened a Coke and took a sip. “All of them are mine except for Betty there,” he said as he pointed at the woman in the stocks. “Ed always took the best shots of her. He also took the most. When he died, me and the rest of the boys helped his mom clean out his attic. We found six boxes of developed pictures. Ears counted them all and found that there was over twelve hundred of them! Some of the photos were just her sitting around smoking.”
“Excuse me, did you say one of your friends was named, Ears?” Claire asked.
Sparky laughed. “The boy had bigger ears than Dumbo if you could believe that.”
Claire was having a harder time imaging Sparky knew someone who had ears big enough for Sparky not to have that nickname. Mr. Dillon was glaring at her, obviously thinking the same thing. Realizing that Sparky hadn’t noticed the comparison, she quickly changed the subject.
“This Black Tie club, were you professional fetish photographers?”
Sparky frowned. “Fetish isn’t a word I like much. Sounds dirty. We just liked taking pictures of girls, and we liked to take pictures of them tied up and spanked. There’s nothing dirty about that. Plus, we weren’t professionals. I worked at the broom factory, Ears and Barry were accountants, and Don was a barber. Everything we knew about photography, we had to teach ourselves.”
“You four had an amazing talent,” Claire said. “It reminds me of some of Ken Hughes’s pictures, or Tom Cho’s.”
“Thieving bastards!” Sparky said. “Bunch of rip off artists! I’ve seen them and their fancy websites. They act like the invented the damn X-frame! Barry and I worked every Saturday for a month to get that prop ready. I’ve seen pictures of fake-breasted porn stars in poses that Ears came up with and not a damn mention of credit. Excuse my harsh language Ms, I know you’re from England and all because of your accent, but it really chaps my legs it does.”
Claire was too stunned by his out burst to respond but Mr. Dillon was an old hand at this. “If there was any justice in the world, Ken Hughes would be paying your club royalties, Sparky.”
Sparky laughed at that. “Just me now left in the club, but I wouldn’t mind some of that scratch. I do well enough. I invested here and there and I can’t complain. It just burns me that kids now a days can steal our ideas but they don’t have any of our soul.”
“Have you considered going back into business?” Claire asked. “With your experience, I am sure you would be successful.”
“No, no, no,” Sparky said. “It’s not the same at all. When we started, things were different. See, Don was a big fan of pinup pictures, but they were never as good as he envisioned them, you know? He knew he could do better pictures but he didn’t have the money to hire models or the skill to make the things he wanted in the pictures. So he put an ad in the paper for other photography nuts and about twenty guys showed up to be in this new club. When he explained that he wanted to collect fees to hire models, the whole place went nuts. They called him a pervert and wanted nothing to do with him. When they all stormed out, it was me, Ears and Barry still sitting there. Barry asked if we could still hire models with only four people. That’s how we got started. We came up with the name Black Tie, so the modeling agencies would think we were upscale and not a bunch of perverts.”
Claire frowned. “I still don’t see why you couldn’t do something similar now. Wouldn’t it be easier now, actually? People are more tolerant of such an idea now.”
“People are too tolerant!” Sparky said. “Now you got the Internet and girls gone wild! Two years ago I put out an ad for models. Half of them were scared that I was working for an Internet site and that their dad was going to run across their pictures. The other half told me they could make more money getting spanked on their web cam. It is a total travesty.”
Sparky sighed and stared at the picture of the brunette in the X-frame. “They don’t make them like Mary anymore. That girl would get tied up just for us. She’d strip down, let Don take a dozen pictures of her breasts and let me tie her up any way I could imagine. She did it for fifty dollars and four polite men thanking her from the bottoms of their heart. She insisted that she keep her panties on, and even though we would have loved to see her unmentionables, we loved her all the more for keeping something from us. It made us feel like the rest of her body was all ours.”
An uneasy silence descended on Sparky. It was a moment of mourning and Claire regretted her questions. The old man’s smile was replaced with a frown that was twice as deep. She looked to Mr. Dillon for help and she noticed that he shared the photographer's grief. What loss moment was he pining for?
“It was a different time then,” Mr. Dillon said. “Which is why we are here. We understand that you have the only copy left of “Black Tie, Sweaty Hands”.
“Ears’ book?” Sparky laughed. His mood improved as he thought of his friend. “Good God, he printed all of those at his own expense in 1973. He thought if people heard our story, he could make some money and start an magazine like Playboy. The dumb fool. He knew nothing about publishing. He thought if he made some books and sold them at bus stations, he could get famous some how. His mom ended up burning most of them when he died.”
“The collection would be very interested in purchasing your copy,” Mr. Dillon said. “Most of our books are fiction, but it is the real life accounts that we really prize. If you sell to us, I can assure you that you and your club will never be forgotten.”
Sparky drank his Coke and set it down. “We can talk business later. Would you like to see my basement? That’s where I keep all the whole sets.”
Mr. Dillon was about to object but Claire cut him off. “I’d love to see them. I am impressed you held onto them.”
Sparky chuckled and got up faster than one would think a person of his age could move. He took his Coke with him and walked into the hallway to open the basement door. Mr. Dillon got up twice as fast to get close enough to Claire to whisper.
“Why on earth did you let him change the subject? I didn’t even get a chance to tell him how much we are offering.”
“He wasn’t in the mood to sell,” Claire said. “He was depressed about the glory days and you asked him to let go of a piece of it. Honestly, Mr. Dillon, you may know books you have a lot to learn about people.”
Mr. Dillon scowled at her and rolled his eyes. “You’re the one who recommended he go find some new young thing to photograph. Can’t you tell this man belonged to a better time? Next you will be telling him his ears are sexy.”
“You two coming?” Sparky yelled from downstairs. “I got the light working finally.”
Mr. Dillon stepped aside and let Claire go down first. She smiled politely and descended into the photographer’s basement. The narrow stairs led into a grand space that had the appearance of a showroom. Cages, benches, and strange contraptions Claire couldn’t begin to guess their function were arranged close together, but separated enough that you could admire each one. The light Sparky had referred to was actually an array of lights, each one spotlighting a particular piece.
The first piece to catch Claire’s eye was a giant hand, five feet tall in height and covered in fur. She walked over to it and ran her hand over the fur. It was coarse to the touch.
“That was Barry’s idea. He saw King Kong one night and wanted his own Fay Wray. We spent a year making that hand. It was hard work, but we learned a lot about construction. The fur kept coming off and the first time we had a girl climb into the hand, the whole thing tipped over.”
“It was a pain to make, but worth it in the end. Barry got to live his fantasy of a topless woman trapped in a giant’s hands, and the rest of us knew that if we could build that stupid hand and not kill anyone, we could make anything.”
Mr. Dillon walked over to an upright pole that had rings set in it for bondage play. “Quite remarkable that you still have all this. It’s hard to believe that decades ago, this pole held some young woman while the four of you snapped photos. These must be very special artifacts to you.”
Sparky sighed and nodded. It was Claire’s turn to glare at Mr. Dillon. They were supposed to be cheering the old man up and here he is talking about how long ago it had been since his glory days. Mr. Dillon rolled his eyes but he nodded impatiently as even he realized he was doing a poor job of it. He looked around to find something positive to say when he saw the row of paddles.
“That is an impressive collection of paddles. I recognize some of them from your photos. Where did you get them?”
“We made them,” Sparky replied. He picked one up and swung it. “We knew the kind of marks we wanted to make, so we experimented with different kinds of woods and shapes. There weren’t many places you could buy a paddle back then, and looking at some of the ones I see now, with the black leather and tacky tassles, I would still rather make my own than buy one of those pieces of crap. Here, try one out. Feel the weight in your hand.”
Mr. Dillon took a paddle and swung it. Claire involuntarily flinched when it arced through the air. She didn’t like the grin that was spreading on Mr. Dillon’s face. He was enjoying the paddle a bit too much for her comfort. She looked around the room for something to change the subject before Mr. Dillon decided to take the invitation to try out the paddle one step further.
“What is this odd thing?” she asked. Claire pointed at a contraption that defied her ability to understand it. It looked like a cross between an accordion and an X-frame. There were restraints on the arms, but there were so many joints and folds that she couldn’t figure out how a person could ever fit on it.
“Oh yes, Don’s greatest invention,” Sparky said. “We called it the Poser-matic. Don got tired of trying to describe positions to models. Now, those girls were sweet gals, but some of them were as dumb as a box of brushes. Don realized the only time we had no trouble with the models understanding us was when we tied them up. He had the idea of tying them to something that would let us pose them like we needed them. I came up with the joint design myself.”
“Interesting,” Mr. Dillon said and Claire’s hair stood up on the back of her neck. It was the same tone of voice he had yesterday during her forgery hunt.
“I don’t quite see how it works,” Mr. Dillon said. “Would you mind demonstrating for us? I’m sure Ms. Currie wouldn’t mind volunteering?”
Sparky looked at Claire and the excitement was plain on his face. She didn’t know if he was excited to see her tied up or just excited to get a chance to show off his invention, but there was no denying it would be cruel to turn him down now. The look on Mr. Dillon’s face was that of pure innocence, but she knew better. Still, it was clear that Sparky was excited by the idea and it would help keep him cheered up.
“I would be happy to. What shall I do?” she asked.
“Well, there’s no need to get naked like the girls would,” Sparky laughed. “Just ahh, step up here and put your feet next to those spots.”
Claire stood where she was told and let Sparky secure the leather straps around her ankles. Sparky instructed her to lean over the center hump and reach for the two rings that were on separate arms. She could feel her skirt rise up as she leaned and she felt a moment of panic. Could they see straight up to her knickers? The hump was making her ass stick out farther than she would have liked and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she in a perfect position for another spanking. Sparky secured her wrists to the rings and Claire was certain she had made a dreadful mistake.
“And you can now pose her any way you like?” Mr. Dillon said.
“Sure,” Sparky said. He turned a crank and Claire’s legs were pulled apart slowly but surely into a wide-open pose. Her skirt rose higher and she knew for sure that her knickers were exposed now. Oddly, neither man brought it up.
“Can you bend the knees?” Mr. Dillon asked.
“Easily, and both ways,” Sparky said. He reached down under Claire and removed a pin. She felt his hand guide her calf up and the joint under her knee moved with her. The pin was replaced and now Claire’s leg was locked in the half bent position.
“Excellent,” Mr. Dillon said. “What an impressive device. I take it the arms are just as movable?”
In response, Sparky turned a handle and Claire’s arms swung to the sides. She was conscious of how her bent over angle was making her breasts hang down. She was in no danger of falling out of her top, but the shift in weight made her more conscious of her breasts. If she were naked, they would close enough to kiss. This idea made her squirm a little before she remembered she was being watched. Neither man commented on her lewd movements but there was a pause in the conversation. She felt her face heat up from a blush and she couldn’t even move her hands to cover up.
“How flexible is the base?” Mr. Dillon asked. “Is it set at that angle?”
“Doesn’t have to be,” Sparky said. The cranking of a winch somewhere sent Claire’s head dipping forward. Her skirt was falling freely down her waist and her breasts were pushing her suit jacket down. She yelped a little as the blood rushed to her head but just as she was facing straight down to the ground, the frame reversed direction. Sparky kept turning the crank till Claire was upright again, though still bound in her odd bent over position.
Mr. Dillon walked around to her front and the look on his face shocked Claire. There was a smoldering lust in his eyes that told her he could think of a thousand different things to do to her right now. She could read the experiences behind his eyes, the countless books he had read and the endless sexual acts he must have witnessed. Claire knew she should have felt fear, outrage or at least a sense of impropriety, but instead she was just terribly aroused. What devious thoughts were lurking behind Mr. Dillon’s blue eyes?
“This is truly a wonderful invention,” Mr. Dillon said. “I can see how it would be perfect for unskilled models. Would you mind showing me more on how it works?”
“I would be happy to,” Sparky said. “But only if Ms. Currie doesn’t mind?” The joy in his voice was either from being able to talk shop, or the fact that he had a young woman bound to his invention. Claire’s wet knickers suspected it was the later.
“I don’t mind,” Claire said. Her voice cracked a little from her arousal but neither man seemed to notice.
“Great!” Sparky said. “As you can see, most of the joints work on pulleys. Take a look at this and I’ll show you how we move their legs.”
Claire lost track of the time as Mr. Dillon asked for a demonstration on every single part of the frame’s functions. She was tilted, spun around, bent over further and straightened out. Her legs were spread, closed, bent and positioned in all sort of lurid poses with no concern at all on how much her skirt rode up or how often her knickers were flashed. They turned cranks that lifted her ass so it would appear to be inviting a spanking. Another crank would arch her back so her breasts would surge forward to present cleavage that usually only appeared on romance novels. There was no end to the permutations that Mr. Dillon inquired about or what Sparky could fulfill with a turn of a wheel or the removal of a pin.
Through out it all, Claire kept quiet and lost herself in her helplessness. After the events of yesterday with that disastrous test, Claire was relieved to not have to have any answers. There was nothing she could do except accept what was happening and she found that freeing.
The secret Internet writer inside her that used to dream up fantasies to pass the boring classes was soaking in every moment. When her legs were spread and she felt vulnerable and open, the back of her mind was taking notes. How vulnerable was she? How soaked were her knickers? Could she be fucked in this position? What about just a good grope? She alternated between being horny and being curious, her moods shifting as easily as the positions they moved her into.
There was one moment that broke through her curiosity and reduced her to a horny bundle of nerves. Sparky had tilted her face down and was posing her legs. Her glasses started to slip and were hanging loosely on her face. She didn’t want to interrupt Sparky but she also didn’t want to smash her glasses her second day on the job. Right as she was about to say something, Mr. Dillon reached over and pushed her glasses back onto her face. He didn’t say anything and neither did Claire but she smiled at the kind gesture. For all the indecent posing she was doing, he was watching out for her in ways she hadn’t expected.
God, that made her wet.
After time, even Mr. Dillon ran out of permutations to pose Claire in. He complimented Sparky once more on the design and the old man enjoyed every word. Claire felt a little disappointed that she was about to be set free, but Sparky had one more thing to show Mr. Dillon.
“Since Ms. Currie here has been such a good sport, I hope she doesn’t mind if I show he one last function of the Poser-matic.”
“Go ahead,” Claire said. She heard a button click and then she felt something around the base that she was bent over. Vibrations were emanating from the base, striking directly against her sex! In her heightened state of arousal, Claire immediately moaned from the extra stimulation. As soon as she started to moan, Sparky turned it off.
“Uh, sorry about that,” he said with an embarrassed tone. “Don added that adjustment and some of the gals were fond of it. Jessica used to ask that we leave it on while we took photographs. She was a swell lady. I hope that wasn’t too forward of me?”
“No, no,” Claire said. “It was just, unexpected.”
Sparky sighed with relief and released her from her bonds. She tried to straighten out her clothes into some semblance of decency. Mr. Dillon engaged Sparky in a question about another piece while Claire straightened up. It was odd that now he chose to distract Sparky to allow her some privacy. She wondered if her moaning had somehow made Mr. Dillon uncomfortable. It was surprising to her how much she worried about it.
“Sparky, your club were masters of not only photography, but set design and bondage equipment,” Mr. Dillon said. “Could you please reconsider allowing me to purchase your friend’s book? I can assure you that the history of your work will be archived and treasured forever.”
Mr. Dillon named a price that made Sparky whistle. Claire was surprised too. She knew the Colette-Ashbee collection was serious about their collecting, but now she knew they didn’t let petty things like money stop their desires. The sum made Claire wish she had her own book to offer them.
Sparky looked around his basement and scratched his head nervously. “The thing is, Oliver, that’s my history too. Yes, I have all the photos and I have all the sets, but that book helps me remember all the good times we had. At my age and with the way times have changed, my memories are all I have left. Maybe when I die, you can have them, but in the mean time, I am going to have to say no.”
Mr. Dillon accepted his final answer and they spent another ten minutes looking things over. Claire was as aroused as a teenager after their first kiss, and looking at the other props in the basement did nothing to soothe her. She tried to keep an aura of professionalism going but she couldn’t stop the constant fidgeting. When they finally left and got into a cab, Claire caught Sparky looking wistfully at her long legs. He smiled at her with no hint of shame and Claire smiled back. She couldn’t begrudge him a peek after all she had been through.
Nothing was said on the cab ride back. Mr. Dillon looked out the window while Claire struggled to sit still. Her knickers were so wet it felt like she was sitting in a bucket of hot water. She looked over at her boss and wondered how he could be so calm. Maybe the years of experience he had jaded him to this sort of thing. Claire almost believed that till she remembered the look of lust he gave her earlier. He wasn’t completely jaded yet.
As they ascended in the elevator, Claire plotted on how to get in the bathroom first. She wanted to masturbate so badly, but she felt that if she ran straight into the bathroom, it would be too obvious. Would Mr. Dillon think less of her for giving into her urges? Would he think she was too inexperienced for the job? She knew she should just wait till the evening and masturbate quietly when Mr. Dillon was asleep, but she just couldn’t wait that long!
Mr. Dillon allowed Claire to enter the hotel room first and this time she was sure it was because he was being polite. Her eyes were focused on the bathroom door and she decided to go for it. She took one step before she felt a tug on her on her waist. As soon as she stopped moving, she felt Mr. Dillon step up to her and push her hair away from the back of her neck. He kissed her where her scalp met her neck and shivers went down her back.
“Ms. Currie, I am in need of release. I believe you are as well?”
Words choked in Claire’s mouth. Intelligent responses failed her so she just nodded. Mr. Dillon’s hand went around her waist and unbuttoned her skirt.
“Excellent,” he breathed on her neck. Mr. Dillon stayed behind her as he undressed her. She looked ahead as his hands pulled down her skirt. He groaned a little as he felt her wet knickers, but Claire groaned louder as he stripped them from her. When her bottom was bare, he gently pushed her towards the nearest wall. He stopped her a foot away from the wall, and gently pushed her torso towards the wall while holding onto her hips.
Claire sighed as she bent over towards the wall. She rested her elbows and head on the wall while Mr. Dillon put on a condom. After a long afternoon of bending over and being posed, it seemed only fitting that she be fucked in this position. Her hips moved from side to side, impatient for what did Mr. Dillon call it? Release. Yes, that was what Claire needed so badly, to be released from the sexual desire that was running rampant through her mind and body.
He slid into her and Claire’s groans filled the hotel room. It wasn’t the biggest cock she had ever had or the longest but it was exactly what she was craving. Her ass was still sore from yesterday but that didn’t stop him from slamming into her welts. Mr. Dillon’s fingers were around her waist, sinking deeply into her skin as his cock fucked her with an urgent speed. There was no foreplay, teasing or coaxing. This was just sex, the hurried pounding of bodies that cared only for the bliss that orgasm brought.
Claire’s back started to ache from the awkward angle. She moved to adjust herself and Mr. Dillon’s hand went to her hair and yanked harshly. She cried out and then struggled to resume her position.
“Stay just like that, Ms. Currie.” He growled.
Claire tried to nod her head but his grip in her hair prevented her. She moaned as he relentlessly fucked her cunt. Her back was still aching but now even that pain was adding to her enjoyment. The forced pose reminded her of her time on the Poser-matic. It was easy to close her eyes and imagine she was back on that contraption as Mr. Dillon used her.
She imagined herself naked and strapped to the clever device. Mr. Dillon would circle her, posing her till she was exactly where he wanted her to be. He would use her mouth, with the same harshness that he did everything. He would adjust her so he could play with her very sensitive nipples that were currently rubbing against her tight bra in the real world. He would spank her and oh how she would scream. Finally, he would turn her around and fuck her.
Claire climaxed and her cries vibrated the wall she was leaning on. She climaxed again and her knees shook. Her body tried to collapse but Mr. Dillon yanked her hair cruelly till she got back into proper form. Choked whimpers escaped her throat until they were drowned out by the forceful shout of Mr. Dillon’s own climax. He froze, shuddered, and slowly withdrew from her.
She stayed in her position, afraid to move.
“Get dressed, Ms. Currie, and order room service. I’m starving.”
Claire slowly rose back up. The sexual madness that had reduced her to a moaning slut was becoming a distant memory. Did she just have sex with her boss? Mr. Dillon went into the bathroom and she could hear him use the faucet. Part of her was upset that he didn’t stick around to cuddle or even thank her, but then again, Claire wasn’t sure what she would do if he did. She felt unsure of herself but at the same time the tension she had been building since she started this job was finally gone. Claire was lost, and had no idea what she should be feeling or doing.
“I would like the steak this time,” Mr. Dillon called out from the bathroom.
“There I go,” Claire said. She ordered dinner.
The rest of the night was annoyingly uneventful. Mr. Dillon ate his dinner and made a few calls to follow up on other purchases. He taught Claire how to use the online database the collection compiled. Later in the evening he sat on his bed and read ‘Bouncing Betty’, a tawdry looking erotic book that Claire guessed to be circa 1958.
Claire attempted conversation a few times but Mr. Dillon appeared to enjoy the quiet more. He wasn’t rude, he just wouldn’t offer anything more than a direct answer to a direct question. The only time Claire could draw him out was when she mentioned Sparky and his refusal to sell.
“There are always people who won’t sell to the collection,” he said. “Most of them won’t sell because they spent so long looking for the book themselves. Other won’t sell because they still derive pleasure from the book. It happens quite a bit in our line of work and all we can really do is set aside a note to future librarians to try again.”
“Don’t you find it strange though that he isn’t willing to part with a book about his own life?” Claire said.
“You would find it strange,” Mr. Dillon said. “You wrote erotica for strangers on the Internet. You want to share your thoughts on erotica and you can’t imagine someone else wanting to keep them to themselves.”
“No,“ she said. “I could understand if he was a private person but he is clearly not. He just thinks this book is all he has left and that’s silly. He has the photos, he has the props and he still has the talent that created everything.”
Mr. Dillon nodded and sighed. “I agree. A book like his would be invaluable to future generations of photographers and erotica lovers. I am afraid though that all we can do is hope that when he passes away, that the Colette-Ashbee Collection is able to pick it up before it is tossed in a landfill.”
Claire thought about what he said as she went to sleep that night. Mr. Dillon snored while she tossed and turned on the couch. It bothered her that he gave up on Sparky’s book so easily. Well, perhaps what bothered her most was the idea of Sparky’s unhappiness. He had a lifetime of adventures and he saw himself as a failure because he no longer was able to do what he loved. Claire wondered if that is how Mr. Dillon would feel when he retires. For that matter, is that how she will be when she is Sparky’s age.
“Bugger that,” she said but she wasn’t completely convinced.
The next morning, Mr. Dillon woke up to an empty hotel room. He frowned and wondered where the young woman could be. If she thought she could take off without telling him, he would have to inflict some sort of punishment to correct her of that misnomer. He smiled as he settled on reenacting a scene from ‘The Governor’s Kidnapped Daughter’. That would teach her!
He frowned when he saw her note. Alas, she hadn’t earned a punishment after all. When he read where she was going, he frowned even more.
“Damn, if it works, I’ll have to come up with a reward instead!”
Reward scenes were never as good as punishment.
Sparky answered his door and started shaking his head as soon as he saw Claire.
“Ms. Currie was it? I’m sorry, but I have not changed my mind. I am not selling Ears’ book.”
“Please, call me Claire. Sir, I realized that offering you money was an inadequate payment for the record of your club’s history. Instead, I am here to volunteer to model for you.”
“Model?” Sparky said. “You’d be willing to pose for me in return for the book?”
“Absolutely,” she said.
He looked skeptical. Claire wondered if she should have brought a camera or something. She was about to make a speech about revitalizing his art when he asked another question.
“What about bondage? Do you have a problem with that?”
“Of course not. You could put me in the Poser-matic if you like.”
“What about release rights? Do you want to limit what I do with the pictures?”
“I trust that I will be happy with whatever you decide to do.”
“How about full nudity?”
Claire almost answered yes but then remembered what Sparky said yesterday about his favorite models. “I would prefer if I covered my sex. I can wear a thong, but I would like to hide my pubic region.”
Sparky’s smile was almost as big as his ears. “Well come on in then.”
They went downstairs where Sparky dusted off his equipment. Most of it was older items but he had a few new pieces here and there. Claire smiled as she realized that he didn’t give up on photography completely through the years.
“What set do you want to work at?” he asked her.
“I place myself completely in your capable hands,” Claire responded.
Sparky looked around and mumbled a monologue to himself as he judged the sets. Claire could hear him mention the names of his friends from time to time. He was consulting their opinions, knowing what they would respond from his memories but needing to ask them in order to complete his thought process.
“Here we go,” he said. Claire smiled at his choice. It was surprising it took him so long. It was a mock up of a library. There was a tall bookshelf filled with leather bound volumes. There was a ladder that scaled up the length of the shelf. A small desk sat to the side, complete with a globe and several stacked books. The entire area took up no more than six square feet but it was a tiny oasis of everything you would expect from a library.
“Have you ever modeled before?” Sparky asked.
“No,” Claire said. She expected him to be upset but instead he smiled.
“Good, then I’ll just have to teach you.”
He started by moving the desk in front of the bookshelf and having her sit down on he desk. The first time she hoped on the desk, Sparky shook his head and taught her how to do it right. It involved mostly making sure her skirt rode very high up and flashed the top of her stockings. He asked her to read one of the books while he took pictures, and Claire picked ‘Moby Dick’. Such a silly dirty joke fit the mood she was in.
She must have crossed and recrossed her legs a dozen times at his command. At one point she dangled her shoe from her foot while another time she winked boldly at the camera. It amazed her how many times he took pictures. Sparky wasn’t satisfied with just shooting her stockings; he had to have the same shot from multiple angles, with different lighting and at different distances away. When she strayed from her pose, the old man was quick to snap out a reprimand and she quickly returned to her place. There was no bondage involved but his commands and tone kept her pinned tighter than any rope.
The next pose she assumed was without her jacket, and with a few buttons undone on her blouse. Sparky examined her through the scrutiny of his camera and decided that the shirt was perfect, but the bra underneath had to go. Claire stripped and was surprised that Sparky paid her little mind when her breasts were exposed but as soon as she put her blouse back on, he was grinning ear-to-ear and zooming in for better close-ups.
When Claire looked down, she saw exactly what had him so excited. Her large brown breasts were surging against the white blouse and the intense lights in the studio were making the shirt nearly transparent. With the undone buttons revealing her cleavage, Claire felt more lewd than if she had been wearing lingerie. Which is exactly what Sparky wanted.
Sparky put her through her paces, rattling off poses he had perfected over the years. He had Claire bend over the desk to read a book. He shot many pictures of the canyon between her breasts. She sat in the chair with her legs crossed while she cleaned her glasses. Claire nibbled a pencil innocently except for the fact that one hand stroked the opening of her blouse. She lost count of the number of times he asked her to pick up a book from the floor.
Eventually, Sparky moved the desk aside and had her stand in front of the bookshelf. With three cameras pointed at her, he asked her simply strip. His only request was that she go slowly so that he could have time to click the switch that would activate all the cameras.
Claire swallowed and surprisingly felt her courage falter a bit. It was different with all the cameras covering her from different angles. Every movement she made and every inch of her body was about to be recorded forever. The film would be kept, duplicated and images of her would be reproduced potentially forever. It was a little daunting and made her wonder if she was willing to give such a gift of herself. She also wondered if she was worthy of such an honor.
Sparky waited patiently for her and Claire looked to him for an answer. The sheer joy on his face was enough. He found her beautiful. Maybe he would hang her photographs on his walls and tell future visitors of the young British woman who consented to be his model for the morning. Claire’s anxiety was replaced by the same excitement she used to feel when she posted her erotica. The choice was easy.
First she undid her skirt. Claire felt her face blush when she realized this was the second time in three days she was stripping for someone she barely knew. The cameras clicked incessantly as she dropped her slip. She put one foot on the lowest rung of the ladder and slowly unrolled her stocking down. The slowness of the act seemed unnatural to Claire but the groan she heard from Sparky gave her the confidence she needed. She looked up at Sparky with wicked smile on her face and of course, that was when the cameras all clicked together.
She left her white knickers on though she could see that with the intense lights, her dark skin and sex were clearly visible through her underwear. Claire tried not to think about it too much as she unbuttoned the rest of her blouse. The rapid clicking of the cameras helped distract her. It was as if they wanted to record every extra inch of breasts she revealed so they could be replayed later in some sort of erotic countdown.
When she shed her blouse, Claire moved to remove her glasses. Sparky shook his head violently and stopped the cameras. He stepped towards her laughing.
“The glasses stay on,” he said.
“All right,” Claire said. Except for glasses and knickers, she was stark naked but oddly at ease with herself. “What’s next?”
“Now we set up for the bondage scene,” Sparky said. He was as giddy as a boy at Christmas.
Setting up for bondage meant more cameras were moved around and Sparky had to dig out some rope. He produced some thick red rope that once tied up two girls to a see-saw. He told the story to Claire including the part where Barry got too excited and bound the redhead’s legs a bit too tightly. Claire laughed as Sparky recounted how the redhead’s feet turned blue and started screaming that they were going to fall off. Sparky promised that he would be a little less excitable.
He had her face the ladder and he bound her hands to each side of the ladder, above her head. She leaned against the ladder with her breasts sitting on one of the rungs. He bound each ankle to a side too and then pulled her knickers up in a wedge so her sex would be covered but her ass revealed. He stopped when he saw her ass and whistled.
“It looks like you’ve just been spanked,” Sparky said. “Wow, what a beating!”
“Yes, it was ahh, two days ago,” Claire said.
“Good, it’s always easier to spank someone who does it for fun. You can get much better welts.”
She didn’t correct his assumption. The alternative would have been too embarrassing. She only hoped that the welts he wanted wouldn’t take too many spankings to create.
A camera was placed at the side of the ladder and zoomed in on Claire’s torso. Another camera focused on her face while the last camera was aimed her at her behind. She could only imagine how her bottom looked and how tightly focused the camera was. Her knickers were just barely clinging to the curve of her bottom and she was afraid that if she moved too much, her knickers would slip completely down.
“This is the paddle I would like to use,” Sparky said. It was a long piece of wood with the word, ‘Overdue’ spelled out with metal caps. Claire shuddered when she saw the caps. Sparky mistook her shudder for approval.
“Yes, it is quite impressive,” he said. “What I want to do is smack your backside once, and activate all the cameras at the same time. That way we can get a shot of your butt, your face and your chest right at the moment of impact. Course, I’ll take extra shots depending on much you struggle.”
“Would you like me to struggle?” Claire asked.
“Oh God yes.”
Sparky began with light taps on Claire’s ass but she was still tender from the abuse she suffered the day before. The metal caps added a texture to each swing that further enflamed her backside. She squirmed against the ladder with each hit, and the cameras clicked every wiggle for posterity.
The force of the blows increased as well as the speed. Claire bit down hard on her bottom lip while staring at the clicking camera. Sparky was really laying into her, spanking her with a vigor she wouldn’t have guessed for his age. It was as if he was making up for the years he had been denied his hobby. Or Claire speculated, he was punishing her for all the silly women her age who would rather flash their tits at Mardi Gras rather than contribute to a real art form. As the paddling intensified, Claire started cursing those drunk bar girls herself.
The rope held her tightly no matter how much she pulled, and when the spankings increased, Claire did nothing but pull. At first she was afraid of pulling the ladder from its mooring but as the pain escalated, Claire cared less about disturbing the ladder and more about escaping her bonds. Sparky did his job well; the rope held her ankles and wrists securely leaving Claire with no outlet but to squirm and hope she could somehow dodge the next paddle strike.
Claire opened her eyes after one vicious whack and found herself staring right at the camera. It clicked as Claire groaned in pain, and it clicked again as another blow landed on her ass and she arched her back in pain. She looked back at the camera but there was no sympathy from its recording eye.
The spankings stopped and Claire breathed a sigh of relief. Her bottom was one large circle of pain separated only by the tight bit of cloth that was riding up her ass. The pull of the knickers was also tugging against her sex. Claire’s cunt was a sensitive bundle of nerves and she had to consciously stop herself from grinding her hips. It would have been no use anyway, there was no ladder rung next to her crotch and Claire had to wonder how deliberate that was. She was tired from all her struggling and yet at the same time she would have ran a marathon if that was the only way she could get a climax.
“I should stop there,” Sparky said. “You bottom is very purple. I have never seen that shade on a person before. You have a wonderful ass.”
Claire nodded, not sure what else to say. She waited to be released but Sparky walked away instead. Twisting her body as far as the ropes would allow, she saw that he had another camera and was taking a close up shot of her ass. The scrutiny he was giving her bottom made her blush. Not only was her ass hurting, but now he was taking photos of only her ass. He was reducing her to a purple bottom. Humiliation rolled over her followed by the realization that her cunt was just as wet as it ever was. God, did she have any shame at all?
“Thank you very much, Claire,” Sparky said. He worked on undoing her rope. She had her ankles free before she realized that he was done. He was stopping now? But she was so turned on! Claire looked at the old man with her best saucy expression but Sparky’s face had that grin that only came from afterglow. His photos were enough for him and more than likely, he had no idea of the molten heat between her thighs.
“I had no idea that there were still some women willing to pose like that,” he said.
“With the money the Colette-Ashbee Collection is willing to pay you, I’m sure you could afford to go looking again,” Claire said.
“What? You’re still going to give me the money for the book? You don’t have to do that. What you gave me was much better than money.”
Claire put her clothes back on and winced as the skirt wrapped around her ass. “The Collection hopes you take your money and get back to work,” she lied. “The original offer will be honored. I’ll have Mr. Dillon mail you the check and then you can mail us the book.”
“That’s all right. Take the book with you. I trust you, and hopefully, I will be too busy working to have the time.”
Mr. Dillon was on the couch when Ms. Currie walked in. He looked up at her as she silently handed him ‘Black Tie, Sweaty Hands’. A sense of achievement spread through him like it always did when he acquired a book for the collection. He opened the book and read a page at random. Halfway through, he realized that Ms. Currie was still standing before him.
She was a gorgeous creature usually but right at this moment she was more beautiful from the flush on her face that crept down her throat. A button was undone on her blouse and he saw a peek of dark skin that made him stir. Her lips were pressed together with the anxiety of an unspoken question.
“Yes, Ms. Currie?”
“I told him that we would pay what we offered yesterday.”
“Of course. I will make out the check right now.”
“Sir-?” she said. Mr. Dillon paused in the act of getting up and looked up at her. She was biting her lip again.
“Yes, Ms. Currie?”
“I require release.” Her British accent sent a shiver down Mr. Dillon’s spine but he retained his professionalism. He did allow one of his eyebrows to arch and he enjoyed the nervous blush that darkened her face even more.
“Certainly, Ms. Currie. Lay on the bed.”
She moved to the bed and stripped off her skirt. He noticed she wasn’t wearing her slip. Her underwear came off next and then she reclined on the bed. Mr. Dillon ran his hands along her stocking covered legs and gently parted them. Ms. Currie complied easily and offered her pubis to him. The black hair on her sex was curly and inviting. He didn’t need a second invitation.
Mr. Dillon dropped his mouth on her cunt and licked the incredible juices that were waiting for him. Ms. Currie cried out as soon as his tongue met her sex. Her hands went to his head and Mr. Dillon decided that her reward was that he was going to let her use her hands. She pulled his mouth harder onto him and her hips bucked. Mr. Dillon rode her undulations and kept licking.
It didn’t take long. Ms. Currie cried out a second time and then whimpered as the orgasm blossomed in her body. Mr. Dillon lifted his mouth while her hands moved away and gripped the bedspread. He took one long look at her slick cunt and impulsively kissed her swollen clit briefly. Ms. Currie moaned but Mr. Dillon decided that one orgasm was enough for her.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“When a fellow librarian needs release, it is only proper to give it,” he said.
“Am I a librarian now?”
Mr. Dillon flinched as he realized what he gave her. “Yes, but I am still your superior.”
Ms. Currie's low throaty chuckle was not professional in the least.