Kitty & Teddy, LLC Ch. 03

Sean looked into my eyes for a moment, then nodded. He said simply, "Do it."

I took a deep breath, "This is what I need. First, give me two security guys to act as muscle. The two at the bottom of the stairs will do. Have them come up when their relief arrives. I also need to take some of the pieces off site. Explain that to your security guys, but it is very important that they understand they are also to be muscle. I expect there is paperwork involved. Get it started and leave word with the guards.

"I will be going over to my studio, and I am on a clock. There are two clients on the schedule. Your guards will be leaving me there. If they can also bring my car back, I would appreciate it. Don't worry, if this will work at all, it will be quick. Now kiss me and get started."

Sean held me. His kiss was all about care and compassion, rather than passion. One thing I liked about Sean, was that he could put others first. We broke the embrace and I shooed him away. Once more unto the breach.

By the time I returned, Peter and Justin were ready for action. As expected, Jason was hanging well back. I gave Jason my best predator smile and winked, then turned to Justin.

I said, "Justin, I want you to get the entire Marquis letter and reshoot it. This time I want you to focus on effect over clarity. This will be used as background for other art work. I want to do an art gallery, by period, with the letter signifying its own period. Give me arms length to readable, in an assortment of light, including oil lamp or candle. Is that clear enough?" It was clear. The wheels were turning already in Justin's head.

I moved on, "Peter, your task is digital. To do a gallery, I need frames. Created them any way you feel workable. We need frames for really old pieces, frames for pre 1850, like the Marquis letter, frames for the early photography era, and frames for more recent work. The other key item in the sale is the Hollywood gear. Think silent movies for that recent stuff. Do you have enough to get started?" I had not needed to ask. Peter had been nodding as I spoke.

That left Jason, who was looking like a cornered mouse. In fairness, he was basically justified. I would not do any bodily harm, but he was in for a rough ride. The tent in his slacks said that he would be ready when I was. I stepped closer, to be inside his social radius, and inhaled deeply. It was theatrical, but I could smell his arousal as we stood.

I very consciously purred to him. "That brings me to you Jason. What is your dress code?" He knew I was just talking about the bondage gear. This was theatrical foreshadowing. I wanted him tied up for the shots, and this was a foretaste.

He mumbled, "Um, I usually choose whatever was best for the shot. Justin always took my lead." I could believe that Justin let Jason pose female models. Jason spoke the language and Justin did not. Also, Jason may have been just a boy in a man's body, but he was not stupid.

I replied, "Well then, why don't you and I go look over the material? Justin and Peter have enough to keep them busy for a while." I could say that again, every hour, for a the next day or more. It would be just as true. Jason was firmly in my sights and he knew it. All of his squirming would serve as tenderizer.

As I led Jason out of the room, two security men came over. They introduced themselves as Paul and Richard. I told them what I wanted, and they escorted us to the vault. I was happy to see that Jason was not allowed to bring up the rear. A little prodding was all to the good.

First, I had a hook to set. "Jason dear, I have in mind a little drama. Cinema in fact. My studio is equipped with four digital cameras. I think that the two of us, with a few props, might make some usable shots. I had in mind choosing a few of these for you. For myself I have a custom made undergarment that I want to try out. A corset actually. Why don't you pick out a few things that you find interesting?"

Once inside the vault, I was speechless. Being in the business, I knew what good leatherwork cost. This was much better than merely "good" work. Some of the pieces were custom made, and tagged as such. Those would not work for what I had in mind. This detail served to thin the choices. I had all three men searching for items with the proper tags. Once assembled, I picked out some items, for which I knew had comparable pieces in my prop room. Then, it was time to go sign paperwork.

Heaven knew I trusted Sean by then, but it was gratifying to see how he smoothed my path. The log out was done using video, and everything was set to record. The three men followed me out, carrying the chosen items. At each guard post, we were waved on. We drove across town to Sean's offices, where Helen had all the forms ready to sign. It was all moving like clockwork.

We pulled into my studio parking with almost an hour to spare. I spent a third of that in the prop room, pulling things down and sorting things out. It would save me a Saturday project down the line, and I wanted Jason warm and sweaty. Eventually we had a small selection of things for him to wear. I sent him to the changing room to put them on. Even while he was absent, I still had an audience. So, I tapped my toe and tried to look like I was restraining impatience.

Jason made it easy for me, by taking his time. This is not uncommon, under these circumstances, but it gave me a lever. I sent Richard and Paul to fetch him. Shortly after they returned, I sent Paul to get the gag, which Jason had chosen not to wear. With a few long practiced moves, I had him trussed, gagged and ready for mounting. I have a custom built wall for just that purpose.

First, I picked a riding crop. Floggers will inflict pain and leave marks, but a crop can cause scarring injuries. Jason had been around enough to know this little detail. I had left him with a jock strap for modesty, but his member was straining against it. I touched the top of the tent with the end of the crop and Jason's knees buckled. He would have fallen, had not Paul and Richard caught him. The moment was too good to pass.

I said, "Dear boy, you must learn to trust me to take care of these little details. If I were to want you to fall, you would fall. As you will have noticed, Richard and Paul have had training in handling hobbled men." It was pure bullshit, but it worked in the situation, and Jason was past the point of thinking clearly. Everything was ready for a big moment, so I carefully retrieved the Stick from its place of honor.

The Stick is only used for extreme scenes, and only with prior counseling. At that time, I had used it exactly in four scenes, and each occasion had left an impression. None of my clients ever asked for a second scene with it. In fact, four scenes had been enough to create a minor legend among my clients.

The Stick is nothing more, or less, than a four foot piece of oak banister railing. In function, it is simple. I put it under a body part, and then support almost all the body's weight with it. Today it was going to be under the armpits.

I had Paul and Richard position Jason with his back to the support wall. I slipped the stick through his elbows and had Richard and Paul each take an end. They raised him up, and I lashed the ends of stick to support rings. (Author's note: For Jason's viewpoint, see Foreplay. Warning: it is in Nonconsent/Reluctance far a reason).

I had been working continuously for over an hour to create expressions for the cameras. The look on Jason's face was everything hoped for and more. Jason was already well past what he would have marked his limits. I knew the feeling intimately, but I had to push further. At this point, I could have disrobed to show the corset I was wearing, but I could not do it. Jason would only tenderize, for a while, so I took a moment for myself. But, the show must go on.

So, I patted Jason on the cheek. Fully understanding what I effect my leaving would have, I said, "There. That should keep you out of trouble while I change. Don't go anywhere."

I fled, as gracefully as possible, but I fled. Once in my office I dropped in a chair and let it go. It is funny how the mind plays tricks. I thought, there are no cameras in this office, or I could have great pictures of a distraught woman. My involuntary laughter helped, but it threatened to expand into hysterics. I firmly fixed Jason's face in my mind and forced down the rest. I had a clock ticking.

First I kicked off my shoes. Then unzipped my blouse. It was costume, so the buttons down the back are fake and there is a zipper hidden in the pleats. Once the top was off, I had to remove the corset, which was not trivial without assistance.

Eventually, I manage to get the corset off and then the skirt. This left me standing in bra, panties and stockings. I counted myself lucky I worn a bra. None of Julian's other pieces require one. The white bra and panties would have to do, but I had better stockings available. I peeled out of the ones I was wearing and took some patterned silk stockings from the closet, and a pair of white shoes as well. I checked the look in the mirror and decided it needed something. I let my hair down, then tied it back with a large white bow. That improved the look, and I was out of time.

I grabbed a letter basket, dumped in the shoes, stockings and corset, and went out for the final act. As I opened my office door, I wished the words "final act" did not seem so ominous.

Jason was, necessarily, exactly where I left him. He was not exactly as I left him. His face had an unfocussed, vaguely dreamy quality about it. Once I came close, he became more attentive, but something was definitely different about him. I worried that something was broken, but pushed the thought aside for more theatrics.

I handed Paul the basket and removed a stocking. Then I stepped to a nearby stool, put one foot on it, and started to roll the stocking. After I slipped the stocking over my toe, I returned the toe to the stool and slowly rolled the stocking up my leg. I repeated the process with the other leg and followed with the shoes. The very practical moment did as much to settle me as the time in my office.

I paused for a moment, smoothing out wrinkles in the silk. Then I took the basket back from Paul, removed the corset and set the basket aside. I pulled it around and fastened the busks. All three of the men were watching me very intently, so a line needed to be drawn.

I said, "Paul, don't ask. You cannot afford it. If you do the rest of your job as well as you have so far, I might give you a photo. You too Richard. I do insist, by the way, that they not be sold. Jason, my sweet, you are already being paid rather well. Let us see if you are, maybe, worth some of it. Now, Paul, if you would give me a hand with the strings, I would appreciate it."

I went over to the pommel horse, and grasped the pommels with both hands. Paul pulled the strings taught, then starting at the top, pulled them tight. Properly tightening a corset requires strength, but even more, it requires patience. Paul seemed to have both. When everything was properly pulled and tied, I stood and tested the fit. At a guess, I was drawn a full inch smaller than Francine had that morning, which meant three to four inches in all. It was a good thing I would not need any strength.

Next I went to my stretching bar and did a full evolution of First Position. The rigidity of the corset stays required that all bending come from the hips. It was far more difficult, but the burning in my hamstrings gave me comfort. In a situation like this it seemed appropriate that I also suffer discomfort. This thought brought me back to my subject.

I could put the climax off no longer. Turning to Jason, I gave him my best Ice Bitch smile. He had been hanging, half supported by a bar under his armpits, for almost ten minutes. To him it would have seemed hours. All traces of the cocky kid were long gone from his face. What was left had almost a Zen quality. A different part of his anatomy told a different story. The tent in his supporter was so hard, and long, that it was pulling the leg hole clear of his leg. Very little pushing would be required, at this point.

I picked up the crop and walk up to Jason. A crop is a dangerous device, but I used it to tickle his nose, then his nipples. Breasts are a much neglected erogenous zone for men. Once I had his full attention on the crop, I stepped close and ran the braiding along his thighs and under his balls. Then I stepped back, to get room to swing. I raised the crop up high and made eye contact with Jason. His eyes met mine, but flicked in the direction of the raised crop. I brought the crop down sharply, pulling back at the last so that it only flicked the head of his penis.

Jason's climax spurted so hard, that it spewed cum through the layerd cloth of the athletic supporter. His entire body jerked and jerked again. Finally he slumped forward, unable to stand. He had done well. In fact, he had done so well, I doubted he would ever understand just how well. I reached out and caressed his cheek.

Turning to Richard and Paul, I said, "Richard, Paul, please let him down. I think we have sufficient footage for our purposes. You can get him cleaned up through there." They removed The Stick and carried him to the showers. I followed with the keys. Once Richard and Paul had stripped off the hardwear, we left him find his way to the showers.

I went back to my office. After the door as closed I allowed myself a moment of emotion, but quickly stuffed it back in. I had work to do and the clock was still ticking. First I called Sean to tell him the shoot was a success. Then it was into the editing room, where I burned a disk of the raw imagery from the session. This I gave to Richard, while Paul checked on Jason. I informed them that I needed the studio in ten minutes, for another client.

Finally, I went back to pull on another costume. The corset could not be removed in the time I had available, and the strictness seemed appropriate. I resolved to wear it the rest of the day and chose my costumes accordingly. Jack and Gillian were a retired married couple. They would be meeting a stern Governess. Gratefully, I pulled the role around myself, and went to meet them.

Jason would not be so lucky.

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy: "There are so many stories about that week. Everyone seems to have one, but none of them agree. Mom says she crossed some lines, and learned some humility. Justin, that's the Justin Immons, claims Mom is a genius, and that he had no chance of pulling it off without her. Uncle Jason says he learned his profession that week, but he was hurt and convalescing most of the time. Back before Miss Helen died, she would only shake her head and hold me tight.

Dad, on the other hand, had his famous fling with Aunt Francine.

Chapter 7 – To Protect and Serve

Sean:

Sheila justified her hiring within the first five minutes. Justin had already agreed to work for her, based on what he had seen at the diner. Her portfolio had him drooling. It was a bit embarrassing, til he noticed and pulled out a handkerchief. Peter would have been easy in any case, since he was Justin's guy, and Justin was now hers. She won him over anyway. I had never had any worries about Jason. Sheila could wrap him around her pinkie.

All that was important, but the next thing was critical. She supplied what I had never offered: a theme. It was sort of Versailles meets Night Gallery. Suddenly, everyone knew what he had to do. Justin disappeared into his work area, with every appearance of an all-nighter coming. Peter went to their image files and started pulling out samples. Once he had a dozen or so, he started a browser and was searching images of frames. He no longer noticed that anyone else was in the room. Soon Sheila left with Richard, Paul and Jason.

Now it was my turn to wait. I called Helen and asked her to send over food at the proper times. I talked to Security and told them to expect a late night. It was not their job to be messengers, but I asked them to carry up the food when it came, and make sure someone ate it. At that point I realized I was spinning wheels, so I headed back to the main office.

What I did not do was call or text Sheila. I had only a vague idea of what she had in mind, but I could tell it scared her badly. Asking for status updates was not going to improve matters. She would tell me when she told me.

Fortunately, there was a stack of work to do when I reached my office. I told Helen I was still out, except for Justin, Peter or Sheila's group. Then I tried to bury myself in paperwork. I tried hard. Sixty minutes later, an hour had passed. It was that kind of day.

Finally I received a text from Richard, saying that they had finished and that Jason was pretty strung out. I had them take Jason back to the motel and put him to bed. This is not the sort of thing security people are normally willing to do, especially for punk teenagers. Richard did not give any sort of protest, so I figured strung out was not just an expression.

Shortly after, I had a call from Sheila, saying it had gone well. They had, she said, all they needed to finish the job. Before I could say anything, she told me she had a client coming and signed off. While on that call, Paul text me to say that they had a disk of the imagery, and would bring it back after dropping off Jason.

All that took a moment to sink in. The nature of the news was an enormous relief, but clearly there was fallout. I called Helen into the office and put George on the speaker. I asked them what they had heard. George went first, and he used an acronym Marines hate with passion: PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). When Helen did not so much as raise an eyebrow, I groaned inwardly. That made three confirmations.

Jason was going to need some careful handling. I told George to get someone on it, and sign the bill. In our company, that means get it done, get it done now and let the boss, meaning me, worry about the cost. Helen nodded approval. I asked George to have Sheila's building watched, so that we received notice that she was leaving the building. Then I let him go.

I turned to Helen. We looked each other in the eye, then she shook her head. I raised an eyebrow, and she nodded. I hunched my head, and she looked pointedly at my In box. I sighed and nodded, then Helen went back to her desk. Roughly translated, I asked if I should go comfort Sheila. She said no. I asked if she, Helen, would go see how she was doing. That she emphatically agreed to do. I asked what I should do. She said to stop whining and get to work. There are reasons I like my battle ax of a secretary. That last comment is not one of them.

Getting back to work, I started with my voice mail. The first ten were nothing much, then I got this one:

Phone: Ricky, this is Francine Martel. We are doing a run about thirty miles up the road, and some of the troupe will be in town tonight. I am the odd man out, so be my date. Meet me at 6:30 in front of Albert's. Ciao.

It was a voice I had not heard, except on stage, for over a decade. I had followed her career for years. In fact, I knew of the show she was doing, though not that she had a part. Helen had arranged for tickets Saturday night.

I checked the time, then rechecked. I was only 2:47 PM. I had snubbed Chuck Blanding, learned a gyro joint, hired Sheila to play Cynthia, turned her loose in the middle of my biggest headache, waited an hour for any word and sent the doctors out to triage the wounded. All that ought to have taken longer than three hours, but apparently not. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, forgive us our sins. Somehow viewing zoning proposals as penance made things easier.