Chet & Kim

Chet had responded on a whim. It was in the "platonic" section of Craig's List, apparently innocent enough but with the slightest suggestion of something more:

"LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION...Can anyone help a young woman who needs studio photos to apply for acting positions? Can't afford proof shoot now but would be most grateful"

He'd answered, accurately, that he was a photo hobbyist with professional equipment and a home studio and was, himself, seeking to expand his portfolio for use to solicit more freelance assignments.

Now, not a week later, in walked Kim. She was quite attractive in the kind of comfortably familiar girl-next-door, understated-woman-behind-the-eyeglasses-at-the-library way that seems increasingly popular these days. No glasses, but a modest skirt and sweater and refreshingly little apparent makeup.

At first, after the pleasantries and a glass of wine, he posed her this way and that, only the flash of her bare and shapely legs providing a hint of more to come.

"Exactly what kind of acting roles are we shooting for?" he asked after a while.

"Well, Chet, I'm actually glad you asked that," she said in a tone of voice that conveyed a bit of nervousness or at least ambivalence. "The picture I'm interested in right now involves a kidnapping scene. Three men snatch a secretary right off the street as she reaches the parking garage after work and try to get her to give them the combination to her boss's safe. They take her to some hideaway and tie her up and try to scare her out of her wits. It's kind of a suspense mystery with a sadistic twist."

"Well, then, this might come in handy," he said, reaching for a length of clothesline and some tie-downs he kept at hand to secure his equipment for road shoots. "Why don't we give them a look at how you'd be in the movie?"

"Wow," she said. "I don't know. I would want them to get the wrong idea about me -- although now that you mention it, it might help get me in the door."

Chet tried to appear and act as clinical as possible as Kim pulled off the sweater and stepped out of her skirt. She was wearing fairly modest underwear -- perfect for the part of the secretary in distress. "Come over here and climb on the table," he suggested matter-of-factly. He looped the rope around her wrists and ankles and knotted it at the table legs. In an instant, there she was, spread-eagled, like the victim on the cover of a trashy pulp fiction novel. "I have no blindfold, but we do want to see some terror in your eyes so that's all right, too," he said, as she nodded.

It was time to see whether he could go a little farther. "I'm looking for a little wantonness, too, Kim," he said casually. "Have you ever been tied down like this before"?

"Well I had a boyfriend who did it as a joke once," she said, forcing a smile, "but I wasn't really tied the way you have me. This is much more realistic."

"Realism is what we're after," he said. "And I'm guessing the way most low-budget movies are shot these days that we'll have to show them what you're made of, Kim. Do you think we can get these nipples to stand out a little?"

`Once her sweater was off, he had been momentarily distracted by her breasts. Larger than he'd expected and very well formed. Now, almost innocently he reached behind her and undid the bra. It happened so quickly she had no time to react and he continued his façade of detached professionalism, adding before she could speak, "I find that some women get more excited by the hint of touch than touch itself," teasing her with his fingers surrounding but not touching one of her nipples. "Please try to affect an air of arousal. It will really help the shot. Can you?" She could only nod. God, he was good at this, he thought, denying himself the self-satisfied smile that might blow his cover.

"Maybe this will help thing along, Kim, eh?" he said, dropping the other hand to the mound beneath her panties. "Here, too, penetration is not the issue so much as the slightest pressure, stimulating you and giving you a mere hint of more to come."

With her legs spread wide he could see that her pubis was unshaved. He liked them that way -- au natural -- and son of a gun if she was not responding. "Good girl!" he said, still casual but now encouraging and seemingly affirming the appropriateness of the entirely outrageous scene, "Now you're getting it! Well, maybe just a little tweak to help things along," he said, " rolling first one and then the other of her titties between the thumb and index finger of his right hand as his left continued its work down below,

If she could see anything but the ceiling from flat on her back on his table, at that point Kim might have noticed that Chet's camera was nowhere in sight.

* * *

Kim had been spread-eagled, lashed to the table nearly an hour, arms and legs secured at the wrists and ankles, naked except for the little-girl panties that seemed almost a non sequitar given the wanton picture she presented as he worked over her body, using his hands and occasionally his lips now, finding sensitive places to touch and rub, caress and stroke, often barely allowing her to feel the tips of his fingers behind her knees, inside her thighs, at the band of the panties under her navel, under her neck, fingers exploring her mouth, and, of course, all over her breasts. Every time he would give her just enough to elicit the desired reaction -- quickened breath, stirring against the rope, moans and then as he pulled back the word "please," first almost an imperceptible part of a moan, then more pronounced, and finally nearly desperate.

"Your doing fine, Kim!" he assured her, trying to hide the irony as he added, "I had no idea how accomplished an actress you really are! I want to get a few shots now and then we'll try to work you up a little more to give the producers a sense of progression -- innocent young woman to anxious victim reacting despite yourself to your captor's advances to desperate submissive who would do anything to feel his stimulation and serve his needs."

The photos, he thought to himself, would come in handy should she feel regrets later and not want to return for further sessions or, worse, complain to someone about her experience. He doubted either would happen. Based on what he sensed, her ad placement in the platonic section of Craig's List had been designed to elicit only respectable responses and eliminate the perverts, but it was clear that she wanted more.

He was careful to capture her face in each shot and now, to punctuate the series, he mounted the table, unsheathed his penis, and teased each of her nipples with its head. "Want a taste?" he asked, and almost reflexively her mouth opened. There was such temptation for him to go full bore -- after all he had been denying himself as well as her this last hour -- but playing this scene for all it was worth required self-discipline. And, after all, unlike Kim, Chet was delaying sexual satisfaction (and surely heightening it) by choice. So, again, he allowed her just enough of him to want much more and then receded, tempting, teasing, tantalizing, even torturing might not be too strong a word given the look in her eyes.

"Are your arms and legs cramping at all?" he asked, and could see a look of revelation momentarily replace desire. In her frenzied state she had withstood considerable discomfort, even pain, to keep her eyes on the elusive prize -- satisfaction leading to eruption after eruption when -- if -- he finally allowed her to reach fulfillment. "It might help to change positions," Chet said matter-of-factly, starting to untie the cords from the table legs but keeping them secured around her wrists and ankles. Even free of restraint she was motionless, allowing him to reposition her, tracing her breasts and whispering in her ear to retain her motivation. There was no denying it. She seemed nearly in a trance.

He hardly ever used his attic for storage, but now the trap door that led there presented a new anchor for the ropes on her wrists. Chet opened a step stool he normally used to reach the top shelves of his cabinets and lifted her, half standing, half leaning against him, so he could loop the other ends of the rope around the folding steps and then allow the door to spring back into the ceiling. Perfect, he thought. When he pulled the stool out from under her, her toes barely reached the floor. She looked like one of those women imprisoned by a band of pirates in the hold of a ship, arms overhead, helpless, exposed, almost panic-stricken,

`I guess these don't matter much any more," he said, slowly pulled down the panties. Now he was all over her body again, but this time he positioned himself behind her so she could not see him, and his voice became as much a stimulant as his hands and lips and penis. "You're so wet, Kim," he whispered. "and your nipples and clitoris are so excitable to the touch. Should I stop for a bit so you can regain your composure?"

"Nooooo," she begged -- and that was not too strong a word, "Please. Pleeeeze."

"Please what, Kim?" he asked,

"Please touch me, please fuck me!" she just about shrieked.

"Kim, I'm not sure that would be very ethical under the circumstances. But I really am happy that this is working out so well. Let's get some more pictures and see what else we can do to motivate you. We do have all night."

* * *

He decided to return to the breasts. As wet as her vagina was, he felt Kim was most excitable, and thus most vulnerable, there. For one thing, her breasts were somewhat proportionately oversized and for another, as obviously turned on as she was by just about everything he did to her, she seemed especially excited whenever he would tease and then manipulate her nipples. They were fairly large and centered with tips that extended at least an extra half-inch after he went to work on them.

It was not normally part of his game, but now Chet decided to experiment with a hint of roughness. Though she had been tied first to the table and now arms akimbo and toes barely touching the floor, he had been very gentle, That was the height of his own pleasure -- teasing her, making her urge him and then plead and, eventually, just about beg. Would it catch her off guard if he changed course and manhandled those titties a bit? Would it terrify her and destroy the mood?

His goal now -- if he had one short of doing this in position after position for hours on end until she was half mad -- was to turn her into a sort of love slave, someone who thought of little else but returning after this session was over and they had parted. Failing that, he knew had the photos to lure her back, the whole scene really worked well with respectable young women, he thought to himself. The release she'd signed at the outset gave him ownership of the photos -- that had been the "price" of taking them for free -- so it was hardly extortion for him to put her obviously identifiable face up on a web site, begging to suck his own utterly anonymous member.

He started with his fingers; squeezing the nipples and hearing her breath shorten, almost as if she was panting. But as he applied more pressure, first to one and then the other and finally both simultaneously, her response caught him off guard. "Yes," she whispered, "yes,yes,yes,yes..."

Desperate to feel him inside her, or at least to move from the slow, tortuous, sexual teasing that after a time bordered on humiliation, Kim was gratified by the force of his fingers on her nipples. Scientists know that unexpected results in a lab experiment can be the most important of all, so Chet maintained his equilibrium and decided to determine how far he could push this new development his advantage. He reached for another piece of rope (which was actually a smooth laundry line cord) and tied it around her so as to encircle and cordon her breasts. He'd seen this in porn photos, but never in person. She was swaying a bit, biting her lip -- it had to hurt at least a little, he thought -- but clearly more aroused than discomfited.

There was one more thing he wanted to try. He went to his supply drawer and found a couple of rubber-coated spring clips of the sort used to keep plastic packages secured. First he started toying with the nipples again -- they really stood out in an exaggerated way with her breasts tied as they were. It worked. Despite the ropes she was immediately clamoring for more attention than the gentle flicks of his fingertips and then his tongue.

"Delicious," he said to her, licking the distended nipples like little lollipops. "Would you like to feel something harder, Kim?"

"Oh, yes," she said, "Please. Yes. Harder. Why are you doing this to me? Why are you making me wait so long? Harder!"

Swiftly, he attached each clip to a nipple, careful to loosen the springs so the pressure would be relatively mild, and watched as that listed slightly downward. To compensate for any pain she might feel -- and he was not sure at all now that she could distinguish pain from arousal -- he reached down and began attending to her down below, running his fingers along her swollen labia and now, for the first time along the crack of her bottom. Chet had never been particularly turned on by the thought of anal penetration -- he'd once ended a relationship because a woman he dated wanted that and it was not in his repertoire, but he knew ho excited he was during sex when a partner merely traced a moist finger and hen licked at the edge of his ass. Sure enough, as Kim fairly dangled from the ceiling, her breasts receiving constant stimulation via artificial means, as he worked from the top of her vagina down and over her anus and back again, ever so gently back in his tantalizing mode, she began to moan and sob again and beg for more.

"All in good time, my sweet," he said. "We want this to last, don't we?"

She said nothing, presumably resigned to her fate, and after a good -- a very good -- 10 minutes or so, he stopped and freed her breasts from the ropes and clips after taking the requisite photos.

"I'm going to untie you now, Kim," he said, "and give you a reward for your patience."

* * *

It was fortunate, Kim thought, as she dangled there from the ceiling, that she was in such good shape. On one level this little escapade was proving to be a pretty fair workout in more ways than one. She smiled to herself at what the women at the gym, let along her office colleagues, would think if they saw her now. She had no idea how long she had been here. She'd lost track of time, among other things, but she did know it was Friday or maybe early Saturday by now, so there was no need to worry.

Kim thought too, that this ultra-confident, faux cool photographer (or whatever he really was) might be surprised to learn that there really was a movie and, whatever plans he might have for the photos he was clicking off, she would come away with at least a couple of new poses for her electronic portfolio. A few months before she had auditioned as an extra for a Hollywood film starring Bruce Willis -- the real deal, though she never even saw Willis or any other big-name actor in her two days of shooting. She had connected with a number of aspiring actors and actresses serving as extras for some rent money and that led to a call from one about this possible small role in a very low-budget film to be shot in a few weeks. Cast call was Monday. Why not, she thought. And, of course, when Chet came on to her (as she suspected he might), she thought precisely the same thing. She secretly (maybe not so secretly?) craved such attention -- not to mention the sexual release it portended -- and it had been a while. And there was no doubt that this role -- submitting to an attractive man, loosing control, pleasing him -- was her own ticket to sexual fulfillment.

Kim did not know if she had been born with these desires or conditioned to respond almost instinctively to such treatment. Certainly, there was no lack of evidence that some of her earliest sexual experiences were, as they say, formative. The breasts had developed early, so soon that they had actually hindered her normal social life in junior high school and high school. They were the elephant(s?) in the room. Boys might masturbate three times s day to photos of girls like her but were obviously uneasy if not intimidated by the real thing(s). So when Mr. Reston, her ninth grade math teacher who doubled as the drama coach, became her first lover the stage was set, so to speak, for a lifetime of relationships with ruthless men who were in positions to use her to their own advantage.

She could still recall every detail about that other Friday, the first time with Chris Reston, and, looking back, still wondered who had seduced whom. One on one work with the director in the days leading up to a school play was not unusual, but she must have had a hunch because instead of jeans and an oversized, unisex shirt — the uniform du jour pretty much every day in junior high — Kim had worn a skirt and a button-up blouse that was, yes, maybe a half-size too small. Nobody else was even in the corridor by 4:30 or so, let alone the utility room that served as a rehearsal studio. Almost on cue, he walked behind her as she worked on her lines and reached for her arm, saying, "Kim, when you deliver that line try to throw yourself into it, don't just look at Bobby but reach out for him like this..."

She could feel his corduroy sport coat on her shoulder and arm and when she turned to her left looked up at him she caught his eyes on her breasts. "Do you think we could rehearse the kissing scene now?" she asked. It was a pretty clever come-on for a girl just-turned 15. There was no kissing scene. But Chris Reston took the cue and then some. She had not been kissed like that before or since and in almost no time his hands were in her hair, around her waist, and on her breasts. "God, Kim, look what you are doing to me," he said, and for an instant they both looked down at the bulge in his slacks. She still marveled at how naturally she unzipped him and felt for his manhood. Who needed gawky, self-conscious 16-year-olds? They had somehow gravitated to an old couch in the corner of the room and he was soon reciprocating, under her skirt, gently exciting her in ways that were not unlike the teasing, toying work over she had gotten from Chet this very evening. Maybe that's why she was flashing back now to the first time with Mr. Reston.

The memory of that afternoon nearly 10 years before could still be enough to arouse her on lonely nights. But no vibrator in the world could match Mr. Reston's erect penis or, for that matter, Chet's. For a few moments, as she thought about all this, Kim had almost forgotten her present circumstance, but now Chet was holding her with one arm and untying her wrists with the other and half leading, half-carrying her to another room, a bedroom, But if there was a bed in her future it would come later. "Ready for your reward?" he asked her -- really ordered would be a better word -- and positioned her on her knees in front of him as he sat on the side of the bed. "You've earned this, Kim, enjoy it."

Smug bastard, she thought, but the truth was, she did. For the next 10 or 15 minutes, her newly liberated hands, her lips and tongue and even her teeth set about to do what she had learned to do very well starting with that afternoon in junior high— make a man feel as good as he could for as long as he could and absolutely revel in that ability. As she brought Chet to the edge of ecstasy and kept him there, he reached down and cupped her dangling breasts, in effect directing her pace by signaling her when to go harder or softer or just maintain. "I love it, I love it, I love it," she murmured, knowing it would be what he wanted to hear but tell the truth all the same.