The Model
by Belisarius
part 4
Every day I desperately wanted to visit the “studio”, but managed to contain myself. I tossed and turned in bed every night wondering what Tex was doing with and to Moira and crucially, was she enjoying it. I was hoping not.
A fortnight later, unable to resist any longer, I drove down to Gloucestershire full of hope that the whole enterprise had collapsed, leaving Tex with a big bill and Moira in my arms. However, I was expecting to be disappointed.
“Well, look what’s flown in…” Tex smiled broadly as I entered the old farm house that had become office, residence, and store room for the studio.
Moira appeared behind him, “Oh, we’re so pleased to see you, aren’t we Aubrey.”
“Sure, sure,” agreed Tex.
“Thought she might have had her head cut off by now,” I said lightly.
Moira felt her throat, “Not yet, but he’s working up to it.”
“You wanna see the rushes?”
“Wouldn’t miss them.”
A few minutes later I sat absorbed as monochrome images flickered across the screen.
“Got a hard on yet?” asked Tex.
“Don’t be so crude,” said Moira sharply.
Tex looked shamefaced, a reaction I hardly expected from him.
“What do you truly think?” asked Moira.
I shook my head, trying to assemble my thoughts into coherence.
“You don’t like it...”
“No, no... It’s just I never believed that Tex could ever produce a work like this.”
“You’ve sure got some nerve...” began Tex.
Moira shushed him and he stayed shushed, “Do you think we can get it past the censors?”
“It seems to be more a work of art than one of pornography to me.”
“Pornography’s paid you pretty well for quite a while,” said Tex cynically.
“What about my role… What did you think…. Am I good enough, convincing enough?” She was almost begging for a positive response.
“Superb, I can say nothing else. When the baron sends you for torture and we hear your screams and moans, it’s electric.”
“You’ve got to have an imagination to appreciate it, though,” put in Tex, “Don’t know if my customers are up to that.”
“Aren’t you making the graphic version?” I asked.
“Nope, this one’s taken all the money I have. Hiring actors, improving the sets, borrowing castles, better sound... It goes on and on.”
It was then that I realised that Moira was in full charge, of Tex and of everything he owned.
“What about the ending? Does it work?” asked Moira urgently.
“It’s the best bit. When you return to your village, your clothes ripped, your maidenhood gone, to find that your neighbours will have nothing to do with you... I was just about in tears.”
“Christ, give her the Oscar now, why don’t you,” said Tex, though he was carefully watching for Moira’s reaction at the same time.
“Really?” her face shone.
“Yes, really.”
“Yeah, this has gone from a bondage flick to a cry against the historical subjugation of womanhood,” muttered Tex, “I just hope it works.”
“It will,” I was convinced. “It’s so good, over time, it could become a classic.”
At that moment the telephone rang and Tex was called away to deal with some emergency to do with the non-return of sound equipment.
“Come and have a coffee,” Moira invited and she led me upstairs to the living quarters she shared with Tex.
“You’ve really got a grip on Aubrey,” I suggested.
“I had to, otherwise the movie would have been ruined.”
“From your point of view, but not from his, I suspect.”
She smiled, “I talked westerns with him and, amongst other illustrations, I pointed out how John Ford links vignette with vignette and comes out with a superb realisation.”
“John Ford, eh?”
“Well, you’ve seen the end result – you didn’t say you liked it merely to please me, did you?”
“No, it’s not John Ford, but it’s very good, especially in the circumstances.”
She clapped her hands in that little girl way that women sometimes adopt, “Oh, good and we’ll be all done down here by the end of next week.”
My ears pricked up, “So you’ll be coming back to town, how about lunch?”
“How about a good seeing to instead?”
I gulped. In Fifties terminology a “seeing to” was the equivalent of a good fuck.
She gazed at me full on, her eyes intense.
I gulped again, “What about Tex, I thought you and he...”
She sighed deeply, “It’s becoming so tiresome. You see, he has to worship me and I have to treat him badly, scold him all the time and find continuous faults with him that have to be punished.”
“I see...”
“Do you know how tiring it is taking on such a role? It never stops from getting up to going to bed. He’s so selfish.”
“I can quite see that.”
“And he’s always wanting me to trample him and then he must kiss my, always nyloned, feet and then, as soon as he gets close to my fanny I have to push him away and cane him.”
“Not my cup of tea, but whatever suits him, I suppose.”
“So, now, how about a bondage fuck?”
“I’ll take a room at our favourite hotel as soon as I get back. When for?”
“I can’t wait a week! I’m desperate.”
“Is there anywhere on site we could go?”
“No, I need it to be cosy and warm. Look, tomorrow book into the Old White Boar Hotel at Evesham, they’ve got four posters, and I’ll be there the following day.”
“How will you get away?”
“I’ll tell him I must visit my aunt in Stratford.”
“Have you an aunt there?”
She winked, “Yes, I do, as it happens, and I shall visit her.”
* * *
I got to Evesham before lunch the following day and booked into the Old White Boar, taking a four poster bedroom and telling the receptionist that I was expecting my wife to arrive soon.
Then I made a tour of the town’s hardware shops and purchased quite a few yards of rope, some bailing twine, and one or two clips of various designs which I felt might come in useful.
The local sports goods store provided me with some of those light, airflow table-tennis balls that were popular in those days, from one of which I managed to botch together a harness gag. To complete my shopping there I bought a pair of ping-pong bats and a set of cricket stumps which I thought might come in useful.
For someone who was in love with Moira you may think that I had strangely diverted from my “no-bondage-because-I-love-you-so-much” stance, but you’d be wrong. Think about it. A bondage enthusiast offered it on a plate with a fucking included. What would you do?
The following day I began to believe that Moira wasn’t coming as it had got to tea time with no sign of her. I hung about in the resident’s lounge of the hotel which had a clear view of reception and didn’t know whether to feel relieved or unhappy that she hadn’t turned up. Unhappy because I would be denied a good session of bondage sex and relieved that I wouldn’t be betraying Tex, not that he really had any prior claim on her.
Just as the room’s grandfather clock struck six she turned up, looking gorgeous. She was wearing a long leather coat, half fastened by a belt of the same material, under which I could see a crisp white blouse and a straight, green skirt. Her legs were encased in shiny black nylon and a pair of patent leather court shoes made up her ensemble.
I waved, “Darling...”
She returned my wave and gave me a tight lipped smile.
I went to her and took her in my arms.
She gave me a perfunctionary kiss, saying afterward, “God, what a journey, I’ve trailed behind every tractor in multiple counties. I must have a bath and what time can we eat?”
The receptionist chimed in, “Dinner’s between six-thirty and eight-thirty. I could order for you a round of sandwiches, if you wish.”
“No, thanks, I’ll wait for dinner,” replied Moira.
I took hold of her arm. An hour or so of stringent bondage would just about set me up, I thought.
“Can’t we have a drink?”
“Out of hours yet, isn’t it,” I muttered.
The blessed receptionist put her oar in again, “Oh, no, sir, you’re residents, you can have a drink at any time. I’ll send for the porter, he’ll get whatever you want.”
“Thanks,” I said sulkily.
“Make mine a gin and tonic, in fact make it two – doubles.”
“Small whisky for me, no ice.”
The receptionist smiled to herself, she recognised the state of a man who’s been expecting sex and being disappointed.
“What’s the trouble?” I asked once our drinks had been served.
“Tex wants to marry me.”
“You said no, of course.”
“I said nothing, neither positive nor negative.”
“Then don’t go back to him, you’ve no need to.”
“Yes I do. He’s pretty serious about the whole thing, says he can’t do without me and is threatening to burn the film.”
“So what? One blue film more or less isn’t going to make much difference.”
“But it’s more than that. You said so yourself, you said it was good.”
I had to cover my tracks quickly, “I did and I meant it, but it’s not going to get you to sunny California, is it?”
“Who knows?” she shrugged her shoulders and took a gulp of gin.
“But you’d have to marry Tex and still have no guarantee that the whole project wouldn’t sink without trace.”
“I know,” she said miserably.
“But you got here, you came. Forget about him, come to bed.”
She shook her head, “I don’t know if I can stay the night, Tex is at my aunt’s.”
“What!” I didn’t like the way this was shaping up.
“He didn’t want me to visit Aunt Clara, then agreed to it as long as I took the train. Next morning we set off, but, instead of driving me to the station he carried right on to Stratford.”
“Ohhh...” I muttered, this sounded serious.
“The old dear gave us tea, Tex was charm itself, but I could tell that he expected me to drive straight back to the studio with him.”
“A pretty pickle.”
“Anyway, I sent him off to the corner shop to collect one or two things for aunty whilst I ostensibly made some tea. Once he was gone, I left a note for him explaining that I needed time to think over his offer and that I had taken the car and hoped he wouldn’t report it as stolen.”
I felt pleased and rather smug that she’d run to me, though she soon disabused me.
“Don’t think I came just for you, it was more of getting away from him,” she shook her head, “Now I know how Penelope felt about her suitors.”
“When are you going back? Not to-night, surely.”
“I can’t see how I can leave him overnight with Aunty Clara.”
“Telephone him, tell him where you are and that you need a little more time to think it over. You’ve got his car, he can’t follow you.”
“Never heard of taxis, hire cars, trains, buses?”
“Well, we’ve an hour and a half before dinner, why don’t we get on with what we came for?”
She smiled properly for the first time and the setting sun suddenly filled the room the light, “Why not?” she said.
Twenty minutes later I stood naked, my cock throbbing, looking down at my captive lying long and sensuously on a settee. She was still fully clothed, gagged (the airflow ball had worked quite well) and blindfolded. I began to test the knots of her bondage, which I feel always adds to the captive’s feeling of helplessness. I’d tied her wrists in front of her, whilst her arms were quite loosely fettered with a single strand that circled her waist. A further rope had been wound round and around her trim, nylon encased ankles and cinched off.
“Well, my dear, time to go to work, I think,” I said as coldly as I could manage.
She whimpered through her gag and made an ineffective attempt at getting loose.
I began to stroke her breasts through the white blouse she wore and could feel her nipples hardening, I then moved the focus of my attention to her knees, raising her skirt slightly in order to caress them.
Again she tried to pull away from me, but I pulled her roughly closer, “Be still, woman,” I commanded but still she struggled.
“Mmmmmmgggghhhhhh,” she tried to speak.
“Very well then, you must be taught manners,” as I spoke I rolled her over my knees and hauled her skirt up until it lay in folds around her waist. She wore soft, white cotton panties through which the outline of a white suspender belt could be seen, the snaps of which were attached to very, very black stocking tops. I began to fondle her bottom and then, without warning, I took up one of the bats I’d bought and gave her seven or eight sharp slaps. She tried to wriggle away, but I held her firmly and when I stopped I could see, even through the material of her knickers, that her bottom had pinkened.
When I rolled her over again on to her back she made no attempt to fend of my fingers which had begun to rub up and down the slit of her cunt which quickly began to dampen. Though I had intended to proceed very slowly with her I was overcome by an urgent desire to draw down her briefs, which I did, pulling them right down to her ankle bindings.
I began to stroke the inside of her thighs feeling the wonderful softness of them; next to breasts, probably the softest things on earth. Then my busy fingers entered her and were soon sopping with pussy juices. Despite her bonds she started pushing her hips towards my fingers and groaning through her gag.
I then set-to with my mouth, nipping, sucking, blowing and licking her cunt, tasting her warm, salty wetness as she her gash began to flood. The cries of a woman in heat became louder and louder until it seemed as though her gag had become totally ineffective (which is the way with most gags, don’t you think?).
This being the case I removed the makeshift harness gag and stuck my cock into her mouth. She sucked and licked it and it was all I could do to hold back my cum for any more than two minutes.
“Untie me, now,” she requested just after she’d swallowed my seed.
“No, not yet, you haven’t been fucked,” I replied as I removed her blindfold.
“You can tie me again once I’m ready.”
“You are my prisoner and you’re not leaving.”
“I hope you realise that this is false imprisonment, a criminal offence.”
“Hardly, you entered quite happily into this game.”
She smiled and tilted her head to one side, her voice became husky, “Be reasonable, untie me, let me have a bath and some dinner and I’ll see if I have enough time left to give you a good ride.”
“You have time now,” I said as I stuffed her panties into her mouth, tied them in place with my necktie which was reinforced by the replacement of the ball-gag. I then proceeded to undo her blouse, pushing it off her shoulders and pulling her breasts from her brassiere. I began to tease them, sucking as much of the bulk of them into my mouth as I could, one after the other, again and again. Had she been ungagged her howls would have been audible in Birmingham. Then, taking a couple of clothes pegs I clipped her nipples. As she was protesting through her gag I gave her breasts a slap and began to wind twine around the bases of both of them. In a minute or two they stood proud in their constraints and had already begun to turn red.
Then I tied her just above her knees and, again, tightly cinched them together. You know, it really is careless not to cinch bonds, for without such tying-off the woman merely has to shrug her shoulders or waggle her legs and she’s just about free. Yet, the number of times one sees such inefficiency in photographs or films that good money has been paid for is disgraceful.
As I stood back to review my handiwork I noticed her leather coat, from which I quickly took the sensuously soft belt. I dangled the belt from the rear of her waist rope and then carefully drew it between her thighs, pulling carefully up into her gaping twat and tying it off at her wrists, which you will recall were in front of her. She cried out as loudly as she could when the next thing I did was to pull her elbows together, fastening them rigidly, thus increasing the tension on the cunt-belt. Without further ado I pulled her to her feet and secured her face-to one of the end posters of the bed, while I went off to the bathroom. While I was there I tossed myself off and considered how next I would enjoy myself.
Once I’d begun to harden again I remembered the cricket stumps and decided to use them. I untied her from the post, turned her around so that her back was against it and attached her to it again.
I then set to pushing her blouse as far out of the way of her breasts as I could. I reached behind her and undid her bra and pulled it up around her neck, which I must admit wasn’t very tidy or attractive to look at, but it did the job.
I now had enough space to bring the wooden stumps into play. I tied one in place above her tits and the other below them. Once I was sure that they were secure I took some of the twine and began to pull them together from top and bottom. It worked remarkably well, considering it was such a lash-up job, and her breasts; already restrained, bulged out very satisfactorily.
She whimpered through her gag, at least I think it was a whimper.
I pulled up a chair and began to study her intensely, from top to bottom. My penis grew to maximum size (I’m not saying what that is) as I took in the redness of her pouting breasts, her stockings pulling hard against the anchors of her suspenders and the way the nylon shimmered as her thighs and calves attempted movement.
“Some tit torture now, I think,” I said, breathing hard.
Her eyes smouldered and I thought, she’s looking forward to this as much as I am.
It was then that the telephone rang.
End of part 4
Copyright© 2011 by Belisarius. All rights reserved.