Stage Eleven B

Donna pulled at the sliding warehouse door. The wheels scraped, pouring echos across the studio lot. She froze, listening for guards. There was warm light spilling out of the warehouse -- the kind they used before shooting began, before the bright, hot lights started making her makeup run. Satisfied she hadn't alerted anyone, she stepped inside.

She heaved the door shut behind her, taking a moment to smooth her skirt and blouse; white top with a tan bottom. Tasteful, and tailored to highlight her figure. The studio provided new outfits every month, each one crafted to give that "RKO look". Some of the girls made alterations, pushing the dress code. They hiked skirts, cinched blouses, and "lost" buttons. Donna loved the outfits as they were though, just like she loved her new last name, "Landon". They were symbols of her new life.

She had been studio girl for three months now, and was getting used to the bustle. On set by seven, shoot until well past dark. Some days broken up by interviews with the press men, always carefully handled by the suits, of course. There were parties most nights. Tonight was no different. She only went to one or two a week. She preferred the quiet of the bungalow, which she was able to enjoy since her roommate loved going to the parties.

The old warehouse wasn't used for much. Old equipment and set props were stacked in the kind of ordered chaos that movies produced. Past the bric-a-brac was an aging set. It was a Western scene with a train depot. She thought she recognized it from a couple of pictures. There was no gaffing or lights set up, and there was a fair amount of dust. It probably hadn't been used in years. She wondered if anyone remembered it was here. An unassuming yellowed paper sign labeled it as "Stage 11b"

The scratch of a match pulled her attention. Standing just off set was Bert James. He looked over his cupped hands at her as he lit his cigarette, eyes crinkling in a smile. She had met him at the party. Had barely managed to hold her composure. She had watched his pictures. He had been her first crush. She had seen him swashbuckle, ride horses, give monologues, dance a bit, and seduce (oh could he seduce), all in her home town theater.

He was older now. His chest more barrel shaped, and hair sandy with grey. He hadn't starred in anything in for a while. He had moved into producing, he had told her. Her eyes had narrowed involuntarily when he had told her this. She waited for the promise to put her in his next picture if only she would... But he never did. In fact, he spent most of the evening asking her questions. They had talked for over an hour without mentioning the business. He wanted to know what books she read, where she liked to go walking, what it was like growing up with four sisters. She liked how quickly Bert had taken her from starstruck infatuation to feeling they had been dating for months. She felt safe with him, and her girlish fascination had turned to a much more real desire. When he had offered to give her a private tour of some of his favorite secret spots on the studio lot, she didn't hesitate. They arranged the meeting and she left the party shortly after he did, leaving the revelers in full swing.

He looked so debonaire in the subdued light. As he stood there, she remembered where she had seen the set before. "Kiss Me Before You Go," she said with a little smile. It had been an odd little western. More love story than shoot-'em-up. Mostly forgettable, except for that kiss Bert had with Doris Anderson. There had been many nights that kiss had kept her company as she explored herself.

He grinned back, dragging on his cigarette. "I wasn't sure if you'd come."

"Why not?"

Bert stepped down from the set and walked towards her. "It's dark. It's late. And most women would assume that an older gentleman asking to meet alone had wicked thoughts." He was right in front of her now, not quite as tall as he seemed in the movies, but had every shred of suave confidence.

"Who says I don't assume you have wicked thoughts?" She looked at him under her lashes. Just enough to playfully chide.

He paused, considering her. Reassessing. She felt him shift, like she was somehow more interesting, and she liked to think more dangerous.

"Would you like a tour?" He asked, holding out his arm for her to take?

She tilted her head and slid her arm through his, enjoying the feel of his fine wool jacket. It was a little chilly this evening and she hadn't brought a shawl. She pressed herself against him for warmth.

He showed her around the set, talking about different films it had been used on, going back to the silent era. He showed her the spot on the mock tracks where Gertrude LaMonte had been tied down in "Goldrush!" He spent a long while wistfully showing her how the camera would be positioned to emphasize Gertrude's darling figure straining against the ropes, all while making the model locomotive on the set look like a giant steam engine bearing down on her.

"I didn't know you were in that picture." Donna said, interrupting his reminisce.

He came back to the moment, looking a little bashful. "No, I was only fifteen when that came out. Wouldn't start in pictures for another couple of years. But I must have seen Goldrush! Ten times. I even stole the old man's car a couple of times once it moved to the next town. I've got a copy of the reels at home now. Still watch it some nights. Especially that scene."

"You must be quite a fan of Miss LaMonte."

He looked at her to see if she was teasing, and she was. But not for his infatuation with a silly old movie. She felt he was telling her something. She was probing to find the secret. Her eyebrows raised meaningfully.

"Something like that," he replied with a knowing smile.

The tour continued, but Donna grew distracted. Bert was so knowledgeable, and his enthusiasm was catching, but she kept considering that scene. She put herself in Gertrude LaMonte's place (interesting that they shared a name), bound and immobile. Unable to move, and in desperate peril, but at the same time safe and cared for. She imagined her image captured on film, and Bert yearning over it through the years. She imagined him watching her alone in his den, only the sound of the projector to keep him company, watching her struggle helplessly as he undid his pants...

"Donna?" Bert asked, pulling her out of her thoughts. She blushed, though only for a moment.

"Sorry, Bert," she replied, still surprised at the comfort she felt with him. "I was thinking of something you had said earlier." She walked over to the nearby riding hitch next to the train platform. She ran her hand along it, lingering on the old coiled rope that still hung there.

"Oh yes?" His voice was more hoarse now. Husky.

"How many westerns have you starred in?"

He looked a little confused. "Well, I don't know. I stopped counting."

Donna nodded her head knowingly. "And in all of those films, did you ever learn to tie a lasso?" She asked, pulling the coil from its peg.

Bert's smile flashed from amazed to mischievous. "Oh yes," he breathed, "Among other things."

The next few minutes proved Bert did know other things that could be done with rope. He had sat her down on an old wooden chair up on the train platform, bolted to the floor. The seat was contoured and when she sat down squarely, the contour pressed comfortably against her. If she leaned forward a bit, she could nearly press her clitorus against it.

Bert started with her hands, tying them behind her back so they rested between her and the chair's back. He was well practiced, the rope seeming to flow through his hands. "How many times have you done this?" She asked with a sly smirk. She didn't care. She was pleased he was doing it with her right now.

"Not as often as you might think," he replied. "Not that many people are interested in being tied down. Especially by someone they just met. Most women I courted were at best indulgent. Mostly I've practiced on an old mannequin I keep in my attic. It's hard to feel secure bringing it up. It wouldn't help my career if women started talking about how much Bert James liked tying them up."

"Do you now?"

Bert paused mid-knot, "I think it's obvious that I enjoy it."

Donna chuckled. "No, silly. Do you feel secure with me?"

The pause lengthened. "You know, I hadn't considered, but yes. I don't know if I've ever felt safer."

She smiled and nodded, "Me too."

Bert continued with her ankles, tying them securely to the legs of the chair, before moving to her torso. He bound her waist and chest several times round, checking in to make sure it wasn't too tight. At one point she asked if he could tighten the ropes around her chest which made him double take, before doing as she asked. The bindings served to accentuate her figure, especially her breasts, though he never once touched them. Just like his press releases described him, a consummate professional.

When he was done, she was securely tied to the chair. It was quite ingenious, leaving her the freedom to wriggle around as she wished in the chair, but impossible to leave it.

Bert stepped back and lit another cigarette while admiring his handiwork. Donna felt like she was being consumed by his gaze. The feeling of being admired by this man she had ached for made her flush with pride. The fact she was helpless made her grow warm and wet between her legs.

She kept her composure enough to ask without stammering, "So, now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?"

Bert put out his cigarette and walked closer, leaning down so his face was level with hers. His eyes were serous. "I want you to know, any time you want to stop, you only need to say so. I won't think any less of you. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Tell me."

"If I want to stop, I can say so. You won't be upset."

"Good girl."

The simple phrase made her blush. She had never wanted so badly to be someone's good girl.

Bert continued, "If I feel like you're not fully enjoying yourself, we'll stop and I'll check on you. It's so important to me that this makes you feel good."

Donna nodded, looking up at him through her lashes. "I think I will enjoy myself," she breathed. "When do we get started?"

Bert knelt down on one knee in front of her, looking up into her face once more, checking. Donna returned his stare with a hunger, trying not to writhe. She wanted to be enthusiastic but not appear too eager... yet. Still, she pushed her chest out a bit more, allowing the rope to bite into her.

It was all the encouragement he needed. Bert hitched up her skirt and rolled down her hose. Donna wished she had worn stockings, but how could she have predicted her current situation? She considered for a moment if she should stop, defer until she had a moment to trim and preen everything. But Bert's mouth closing on her pulled her into the present. The smell of his cologne and tobacco, mixed with the pressure of his tongue on her stole all of her attention. She tilted her bottom forward, exposing more for him to work. He pressed firmer in response.

As he continued his attentions, Donna began to rock back and forth, trying to find a rhythm that would bring her over the edge, but was frustrated by her bonds. Her breathing grew labored. She allowed a small, frustrated "fuck" to escape. Bert laughed at this from between her legs, infuriating her. For the first time, she thrashed at her bonds in earnest. In response, he reached both hands under her, sliding them around her buttocks, and pulled her into him. His efforts redoubled and after a few moments of this Donna was falling to pieces, clenching every muscle to stay quiet as she rode his face through climax.

He waited several moments before coming out from below her. He used his handkerchief to wipe his mouth, then came up to give her a single kiss on the forehead. "Very good," He cooed in admiration. "Now stay right there."

He stood and strode over to a nearby closet, humming tunelessly to himself as he scanned the shelves, looking for something.

Donna had come back to earth, setting herself back up straight. The ropes has slackened a bit and she could breath more easily. She missed the restriction. She fussed with the bonds behind her, hoping to find a way to reclaim that satisfying tightness.

"Trying to get away so soon?" Bert returned, carrying what looked a little like a rotery phone. A couple of wires dangled from it.

"Hardly," she replied, looking both interested and suspicious. "What do you have there?"

"Something I've always wanted to try, and I think this might be just the occasion." He bent down next to the train platform and opened a small cabinet. Squinting, he clipped the wires of the contraption to something inside. "You see, many years ago, when they built this stage, they needed a way to simulate the feeling of a train approaching. They needed the the stage to actually shake beneath our feet"

He turned the dial a bit, and Donna could feel the stage begin to vibrate beneath her. It was a gentle buzzing that she could feel in her feet. She looked at him, "Is that it?"

Bert smiled and turned the dial further. Donna's eyes widened as the vibrations intensified. The buzzing became a rhythmic thrum that worked it's way up into the chair and the contoured seat. She clenched as she realized what Bert was doing. "Oh my," she said, her eyes going wide.

His smile turned wicked and mischievous. He turned the dial more. Donna took a moment to adjust before shifting her weight to press more firmly down on the seat. The fire was building within her again. The ropes held her in place as she tied to find the best position. She didn't bother to hold in a quail of frustration.

"May I turn it up?" He asked.

"God, please."

Bert hesitated, holding his hand over the dial and watched her, waiting. When she realized he was teasing her, her expression changed from want to fury. "Damn you!" she hissed at him, trying to press herself down harder.

He turned the dial, slowly but firmly, watching her face as the intensity increased. Donna could feel the connection between her own pleasure and his working of the device. It was both disconnected and intimate. She watched him watching her. It made her wetter

One last push of the dial and she stopped him. "Right there," she said, grinding into the chair with abandon, all decorum thrown to the wind.

Bert climbed onto the stage, undoing his pants as he approached. She was fascinated as he pulled himself from his trousers, freeing his erection. His hand slowly pumped his shaft as he stood tall in front of her. She leaned forward and opened her mouth, eager to have him inside her, but the ropes held. She looked up at him, waiting for him to press forward. He looked back at her and waited. "You can do it," he said quietly.

A moment of defiance shot through her. Donna felt her next climax slipping as she creased her eyebrows at him. The naked lust in his face brought her back. She saw what he needed. He wanted a performance. A struggle. He wanted to see how badly she wanted him. Her frustration was replaced with pride at how much she knew she was turning him on. She was in control, and she wanted so badly to give this to him.

Careful to keep herself on that amazing spot in the chair, she pressed slowly but firmly against the ropes. She adjusted and writhed, slipping the ropes just enough to give her just a little more slack. Glancing up to make sure Burt was enjoying the show, she imagined her neck like a swan's and stretched it forward. She found if she relaxed into it, she reached further without straining.

She was rewarded with the head of his cock. Her eyes closed as she savored the small victory of his soft moan, just audible over the vibrating. It was enough to push her to a new plateau. She pressed her hips more firmly into the chair. But the angle wasn't quite right. Her desire to enjoy more of his cock while simultaneously riding the chair to orgasm was overwhelming. She gave him a pleading look, letting out a muffled gasp of exasperation.

Bert responded with a smirk that was both cocky and grateful, like she had just done some dirty thing that he had always fantasized about, but never told anyone. With one hand he reached down and held her hair aside, with the other he held the back of her head. She relaxed as he took over control. All of her concentration fell to the buzzing on her cunt, finding the perfect position while Bert worked himself gently into her mouth.

Donna couldn't fathom how he kept control, and she didn't much care as she started rhythmically working her hips, finding that perfect pace she knew would crack her open. Bert increased his own pace to match, probing a bit further each time to learn how far he could go. Donna wondered if she would gag, but didn't care as her orgasm began to overwhelm her. What was destined to be her deep groan was stuffed back as Bert pressed himself deeper. She wished he could go on using her mouth like this forever.

She was dimly aware that he was cumming as she crested the wave of her own orgasm, releasing himself more deeply than she would have thought possible. She moaned around him and her whole body began to shake. The chair grew wet and slick beneath her.

A soft, "Oh fuck..." from Bert was all that escaped into the room, as they both started to descend from their convulsions. Donna felt like a wrung out washcloth. She brought her breathing under control as he stepped away to turn off the vibrations. The resulting quiet was shocking. Bert came back and knelt next to her, undoing the knots. As the ropes slackened she leaned against him for support, relishing that she could still taste him.

He rubbed her sore places gently, checking to make sure she was OK. His face searched hers. "Please tell me that was fun for you?"

His face broke into the most sincere smile of gratitude as she nodded in enthusiastic agreement. "That was amazing," she responded, her voice hoarse. She looked down and laughed. "But I appear to be terribly disheveled."

"I have a car outside. I'll make sure you get home unseen."

Donna's nose wrinkled at the tawdriness of the statement. She realized the irony considering what they had just done together, but still...

"Then maybe I can pick you up tomorrow for lunch?"

Donna was pulled up short. Bert James did not have a reputation for taking women out often. She arched an eyebrow wryly. "Why Mr. James, I do believe you might just like me."

He leaned forward and kissed her gently. "Yes, Miss Landon. I think I like you very much."