Taking the Shoot Ch. 11

Chapter 11

A model takes a part in a FF bondage wrestling shoot

I could not call anymore. Sharon's card was certainly no good. The phone numbers long dead.

I dug around and watched the existing films on line. I won't tell you what my fingers were doing in my lap as I watched all the visons the public could see while personally playing out the back-room endings to those films in my head. The orgasms I had doing that were disconcerting to me in their intensity.

I finally got what I needed around the viewing though, other than getting my ticket punched. The bikini Part 1 films listed a company name and copyright in the credits at the end. Credits where I was listed simply as 'MJ' I noted.

I hired a private dick firm and they discretely began to snoop around for me about the company.

They got back with me after two weeks with a surprisingly thick report.

The company behind the films had been incorporated in Van Nuys, which wasn't far from where I lived these days. I had put together enough money in my career to be able to buy a fairly mid-level movie star kind of house in Tujunga to the North and East edge of the LA Basin and still be close to the Burbank and Hollywood action where I was making most of my living now.

To be clear, my home cost millions and I could afford it.

The financial portion of the detective report told me the Bikini film firm had shown steady profits for several years before I made the films with Sharon and for approximately two years after I made them. The profits were a matter of public record and frankly I was surprised by that. And their varied content. It was a sizable amount of dough. There had been a lot of money in the production end of niche films like theirs apparently if you had some strong savings or investment instincts.

Then, suddenly, the company had closed up shop and ceased to exist as a corporate entity just under two years after my last shoot with them.

Essentially it had vanished overnight and its tangible assets had vaporized along with it. The films of me being taken sexually by Sharon clearly belonged to the company and with the company now gone; there was no way to say really where they had disappeared to.

A corporate black hole had been created that pulled all knowledge of the Part Two films into it.

Luckily, my guys were thorough.

Buried near the end of their report was a footnote that the company was still making royalty money for the Part 1 films out there on the net. Anyone who ran their stuff on the internet had to track web advertising clicks and push a part of the money on. There had been a huge uptick in views recently when a certain actress had been found to be in some of their films. A portion of that advertising income was still being shunted to an address. In other words, the Part 1 films were still paying off like little cash cows even though the company had ceased doing business and making new films.

That dough had to flow somewhere.

I told the detectives I hired to find out where the money was going specifically at or after that address they had found and to get back with me.

Rule one in politics and religion. Always 'follow the money.'

The report they had given me had also listed the company officers for the film company. Oddly, there were only two. One was a Frederick Reynolds. I had never caught Fred the cameraman's last name, but wondered if a shoestring outfit like theirs had that many options around staffing. I assumed the Frederick Reynolds on the paperwork was the cameraman. The guy who was Lisa's dom.

The other officer listed on the paperwork was of course 'Sharon Tarkenton.' Sweet Sharon. She was my target too.

I told my detectives to 'sic 'em'' around her name as well as that river of the money from advertising. I asked them to get a list of anyone with that name in the nation with their best guess about which one she might be. Also, where she was located too.

The detectives cost a fair amount, but by now I was making a lot of money from my own film career and it was peanuts to me. Good thing too. It took them almost two more weeks to get back with me with a follow-on report and it came with another hefty bill attached.

I ignored the invoice and got right to the information.

It turned out that what had slowed them down for those two weeks was a sense of proper professionalism. They wanted to check and double fact check their findings. They were now sure. The royalty and advertising money was being shunted through three banks including one which was off-shore, but was ultimately ending up in an account in a bank over in Flintridge which was actually not all that far from me either...just a few miles south and east.

Then they gave me the kicker. The reason they had needed time to find Sharon was that she had married and had changed her name. Since our filming together, Sharon Tarkenton had become Sharon Rivera. She had gotten married about a year before they shut the company down. The detectives had done their math. Apparently, she had gotten pregnant, gotten married, shut the company down and then settled down in the La Cañada - Flintridge area with her new hubby. In that order. So, she had been married for four plus years... almost five.

Then they fed me the final big fact. She'd had two kids now and clearly gone the mom route with Mr. Rivera for those years; but something had ultimately broken in the relationship and she had divorced him. I knew that feeling.

The divorce had gone final six months ago.

I had to admire her in a way. The porn money she had made was still flowing into an account she still controlled. I had grown up a lot since those wrestling films. I knew about money flow and divorce laws in California. Sharon had seemed savvy too. I suspected somehow that Mr. Rivera or his lawyers were unaware of that mountain of cash she undoubtedly sat on like a guard dragon in some cave. It would have been invisible to the divorce process.

With interest or intelligent investment, she had a nice little fortune squirreled away just from that. Which naturally made me wonder how she had done out of the divorce. I figured as smart a businesswoman she was looking in the report, that she would have been brainy enough to be getting a nice settlement from the divorce too.

I googled her address from the report.

With a fine sense of Irony, I realized I had spent a lot of money hiring a firm to find someone who only lived a few towns away from me.

I drove over to her house.

From the sight of the home, it was obvious I was right. The divorce had gone well for her too.

She had this clearly upper-class home with all the amenities. One of the nicest in town from all accounts and I knew from experience that houses in North LA and suburbs cost a freaking fortune. Enough to make Rockefeller blush.

My detectives had told me that Mr. Rivera had been quite wealthy too.

They's also indicated that they had used the 'no fault' route for the divorce so it was likely that Sharon had gotten 50% of everything he had in cash and assets to add to the house and her Porn assets empire.

Our Sharon had landed on her feet.

I had looked up some of her current on-line pictures on personal and private media.

I was in Hollywood. The biz. I had a practiced eye.

She looked a lot more professionally done these days than when I had known her.

Her official birthday made her out to be only a year and half older than me, but she looked almost as pretty as me now even though I had some of the best look builders that Hollywood could buy these days jacking up and lubing my face for the big screen. I noted casually that she didn't look quite as bulked up as she had been when we wrestled. It took me a minute, but I figured out she had less upper body muscle tone. Motherhood comes with decreased hours at the gym apparently. Fewer wrestling events with other girls to keep you fit and sweat the pounds off.

I searched the net and found her listed as Sharon Rivera on several websites as a community booster. Chamber of Commerce, Lions Club Auxiliary and PTA stuff. That kind of thing. She currently held office in a couple places including a local school board. Her oldest would be in second grade or something.

Talk about reinventing herself. From bondage wrestling porn maker and lesbian molester to pillar of the community and local politician.

I still had to know though.

I wanted some kind of control over the damned sword of Damocles hanging over the head of my career.

The question lurking out there was - where were the Part Twos?

I put on my plain and ordinary person disguise complete with dark glasses and a hat. I drove around that area of La Cañada. I met one of my detectives who had been tasked to follow her outside her house. He told me she had made a weekly spa appointment today and had shown up for it, then driven home afterward about a half hour before. Her oldest was at school and the youngest was with a professional nanny who took the child on all day for Sharon's Spa days.

Full time mommy with nice breaks between apparently.

I thanked him and sent him on his way.

I squared my shoulders, got out of my BMW and walked up to her front door resolutely.

I rang the doorbell.

Sharon answered and I was staring into her face again after those many years.

She recognized me almost instantly.

"MJ!" She exclaimed looking astonished -- clearly she knew me even out of context of our niche films. I get the look on her face a lot now that I am famous.

"Sharon." I answered resolvedly and I walked straight into her house without asking and marched in a b-line into her living room.

It was grand as you would expect of the address. Lots of white. Walls, couches, chairs. Scandinavian, clinical and hard to keep clean.

Through a couple of French doors to one side I could see an office with a laptop.

She closed the front door behind me and kind of hurried a bit to catch up.

"Ehhh! MJ!" She said to my back, sounding just a bit annoyed I had not asked to come in. "Wow! What are you...?"

"The Part 2 films!" I said tersely turning to face her. "The ones of you molesting me. Where are they?" I was acting now. I had put on my hard, uncompromising bitch voice. Backing it up with my deadly killer face I had used two films back.

I could see her thinking about them. The voice and my face. Thinking about me. Thinking about her past.

"Look..." She said. "I... I... made sure they never got out. Ever."

"Not what I asked. Where are they?"

She looked uncertain, but her eyes glanced at the study without thinking.

"Ah!" I said and marched into the study without asking again. She followed, obviously getting ready to be really insulted at someone marching into her house without invitation.

"Where?" I said and stared at her. It was my 'I own you' look that I had used in a couple movies. It worked with my eyes and she clearly felt it. She almost glared back but then had trouble meeting my eyes for a moment.

Finally, she gathered herself and answered looking at me a bit defiantly, I thought.

"On Line. In a tor dark cloud vault. They are safe there. It is encrypted and password protected."

"Show me!" I commanded. No magic word.

She didn't really hesitate. She sat down in the chair eyeballed the screen whose facial recognition allowed her access. She logged in using a secure browser. She entered her password and then picked up her phone and entered a level two code it texted her to verify it was her. The process took almost a couple minutes, but eventually a file appeared with the name of her old company on it. She had not lied and I was satisfied by all this rigmarole that it was hard to get to. Noone could do it by accident. She double clicked it and it opened only to reveal a mountain of additional files inside it.

"What is all this?" I asked a bit taken aback by how many there were.

She glanced up at me.

"It is all the intellectual property of the company. There is company paperwork in there. Pay records. We also did a lot of film volume each year. Some straight sex. Some girl-girl wrestling, some girl-girl two ways and three ways. And of course..." She let a bit of smugness drip into her voice. "Girl-girl wrestling bondage!" She looked up at me just a tiny bit smugly.

I didn't like her tone. It made me mad. I didn't think very hard, I just reacted. I grabbed the belt at the waist of my designer pants, unclipped it, ran the tongue through the buckle and in a flash, I lowered it around her neck and pulled it back over the edge of the executive chair she was sitting in and held it there. She clawed at the thin leather leash and tried to rise. I swung my legs and settled my butt on her knees while keeping one hand at the back of the chair. It left me straddling her lap and leaning in close to keep her belt leash tight over the back of the chair in my fist there.

"Ouff. Get off!" She pushed against my shoulders. Then moved them to clutch at the leather of the belt. My face inches from her own. She glared up into my eyes.

I shook my head.

"Not this time, Sharon." I said in a low, but dangerous sounding voice. "I am going to need to see those Part 2 films." I leaned back a bit and put my hand at her waist. She was wearing a girly-girl short summer dress. The pinched waist on it held in place by its own thin leather belt. I unbuckled it in a sweep and pulled it from around her as if it was a whip. She stared at me in astonishment mized with just a trace of fear. I held it up in front of her eyes.

Her face screwed up...half anger and half anxiety.

"What are you doing?" She demanded, tugging on the leather that held her neck.

I tugged down on the belt around her neck and she moved both hand hands up to where it pressed into her neck. She cocked a fist. Obviously contemplating punching my face.

"Don't even try!" I commanded and she hesitated.

I flipped her belt around the chair and then re-buckled it at her waist. It barely made it. Tight. I had to tug it very hard to get the prong into the belt's last hole. It now pinned her to the chair at the bottom of her rib cage. She looked down in shock at it. Then met my eyes. Her face was screwed up. I smiled at her. Then I stood up and walked around to the back of chair keeping a firm hold on her leash. I stood at the back of the chair and kept pressure on her neck. She gripped her leash with both hands again, trying to relieve the pressure on her throat. She looked up at me pleadingly.

"Stay still! Stay right where you are or I yank this so tight you will pass out! Understand?"

I'd like to say I was surprised at how rough I was being on her, but I understood myself now. I am a natural born actress. I was in domination mode and I had learned to sense audience reactions andknew she was buying my performance. I eased off on the belt tension. She gave something between a whimper and a sigh. I let the leash end dangle and eased across the room swiftly.

Mom Sharon was big into her own role. Mom and mother.

She had a sewing machine there and had a lot of scrape cloth laying around it and some strong light stuff like scarves...chiffon I think. I grabbed a bunch of material and eased back by her chair.

"Please, MJ. There is no need for you to do this rough stuff... can't we just talk about this?" She was trying to unbuckle the belt around her waist. Securing her to the chair back.

I tugged on her leash again by way of answer.

"Stick your right hand behind the chair back!" I commanded.

"Whaaat?" She craned her neck holding onto the collar that leash belt made around the neck. Straining her eyes to look up at me and then moved her hands to the buckle of her long belt that pinned her waist to the chair, scrabbling to feel it without being able to lower he chin to look.

A desperation move.

I yanked the leash hard. Her hands flew back up to grab the leather at her neck instead and make it leave a gap to stop choking her.

Then I eased it off a bit.

"Ah-Ah! No touching the belt around your waist!" I commanded. "Now stick your right hand back!"

She could hear my tone and after a pair of false starts, she tentatively stuck her right hand back behind the chair. I had already made a slip knot loop in one end of a cloth bit of material and slipped it around her wrist and pulled it tight. Then I used the end of it to drag it up to the end of her leash and tied the leather end of the leash to the cloth that now held her wrist high up on the back of the chair.

She grunted twice loudly and jerked on the tied hand only to find the movement tightened the collar around her neck and cut off her air supply. She thrust her hand back up higher with a whimper and froze her head position.

"The other hand, Sharon! Back behind the chair!" I commanded. She whimpered again in apparent self-pity, but complied ever so slowly with every show reluctance a woman is possible of.

I had another cloth strip ready and used it to tie her remaining wrist firmly and then tied it to the previous binding so now she was belted to her chair. Her hands tied high at the back of the chair and connected to the leash. With the belt tight around her middle, she was quite helpless. I did not trust the rigging completely though so I proceeded to double everything up in the wrist department and tie one wrist across to opposite wrist twice as well. Her hands were pretty well tied with ragged, but strong enough cloth strips and she was not going anywhere. She was squirming and whimpering a lot now and getting red in the face, so I released the leash from being tied to her hands and eased it at her neck with my fingers so it wasn't threatening to choke her anymore. I left it dangling there between her breasts. All I had to do was yank on it to cut off her air and she stared at it, clearly aware herself. She tugged at her tied wrist and wriggled inside the belt that held her to the chair.

I rolled her back from the desk and stood with my hands on my hips looking down at her.

She looked up at me rather guiltily and jerked on her hands bound behind the chair and the belt around her middle, realized there was no way she could easily free herself though and subsided sulkily.

I smiled.