“First day on the job?”
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.