I've never been one of those ultra-kink guys. You know the type: full latex catsuits, masks, leather basements with ceiling hooks... So, when Neil asked me to tag along with her to do a shoot for some upstart fetish company near the hub, I was a bit hesitant. Beside the obvious, the hub was almost twenty hours out of sub-light, and that meant I not only had to convince my wife that I wasn't making a run to some high-end casino with my secretary, I also had to pack all my camera gear, and then make the travel arrangements. Neil told me to stop whining, and that she'd do it, but the last time I let her drive--was the last time I let her drive. I made a silent deal with God that if we survived, I'd never let her behind the wheel with me again.
Now, Neil and I went way back a little more than twenty-five years. We met at a coffee social for some backwater political cause to benefit 'sentient mico-algae.' She was part of the press corp, taking archive stills for Global Press, and I was writing for a sub-net column making about eighty cents a line. We were both miserable, and like the story goes, we loved each other's company. She always had a razor wit, and never gave a damn what might shock anyone listening in. Her philosophy was if they were eavesdropping, they deserved a shock to their senses.
When I picked her up the night before the shoot, the first thing I noticed was she wasn't her usual super-chatty self. She didn't even look pissed off about anything in particular. She looked a bit rough, like she hadn't slept much, and she never looked back once the car was packed. She even tossed her phone in the bin in the center console without looking at it. Yeah, something was up, but I didn't press her on it. She always internalized everything, and if you tried to dig it out before it was ready to surface, well, let's just say it was a lot like banging a hammer on a landmine.
So I didn't ask her about it. Thinking back, maybe I should have. The fireworks would have built a good strong wall of animosity that I could have used. Anyway, within an hour, Neil was passed out next to me, curled into the door with her knees drawn up under her. She was always a small woman, but her endless fountain of energy gave me the impression that a firestorm always brewed under her skin, ready to explode at a moment's notice.
From the glow of the dashboard lights, she just looked fragile. It was one of those contradictory moments, like a total eclipse, and it struck me as hard as a slap to my face. I wanted to pull over and drag out my camera to snap a picture, but I knew if the car stopped, she'd just wake up and wonder what the hell I was up to. I tried to get a few with my phone before I hit the jet-way, but the light was horrid. It looked less artistic than creepy. She looked less like a fragile angel and more like a runaway kidnap victim.
I gave up before the last merge sign faded into sight and decided to steel my nerves at the base of the on-ramp. I took a deep breath and slowly pressed the accelerator against the floor. The car rocked back as the passing gear kicked in, and I felt like I might have even left the ground near the top of merge lane. The streetlights blurred for an instant, and I sighed when I saw a clear lane ahead of me. I eased my foot up and thumbed through the auto-route controller on the steering wheel. The magnetic rails under the car energized, and the car jerked a little before it settled into the groove. I checked the computer before I leaned back to stretch. I heard my shoulder pop, and Neil stirred, "You drive like shit."
I glared across at her, but she hadn't moved. "Yeah, well, at least I stay in my own lane."
"Whatever, just wake me up for coffee at the junction."
"I see how it is, you just brought me along to be your chauffeur, is that it?"
The junction was a connecting set of leylines that were scattered all over Seriph like freight rail lines. The kicker was that leylines tended to move from time to time. Not by drastic amounts, usually only a few feet at a time, but it was enough that permanent buildings couldn't be all that permanent. The skeleton of a wrecked freight depot was still huddled out there to prove it. Nothing like coming in to work one day to find the leyline running straight through middle of your lobby. A lot of folks thought the guy who owned the building staged the whole thing as some kind of insurance scam. I think the jury's still out...
About nine hours into the drive, I pulled myself from the pages of a history novel and slapped Neil on the thigh. It gave a satisfying 'thwak' sound that should have sat her straight up screaming at me, but she only made a little grunt in her sleep. I dog-eared my page and set the book aside and did it again, only a little higher on her thigh just under her hip. The sound was twice as loud, but Neil still didn't wake up. She snorted a little, and her leg stretched out toward me. I could swear I heard her whimper a little bit, too. Her shirt lifted off her hip, and I saw the top edge of her panties. The tiny lace strip dug into her flesh, and I saw the bottom edge of a dark spot on her skin. I reached over and lifted her shirt gently, and I saw a dark bruise run up her entire flank. The back of my finger barely touched her ribs, and she startled awake.
She spun around like a fucking demon. Her face had a look dredged up from the bowels of Hell. "What the fuck was that for, Peyton? Jesus..." She rubbed her ribs, and when she sat up straight, she winced a little as her thigh settled against the leather seat again.
I leaned back and watched her face closely. "That was for waking me up in the middle of the night and making me drive like a fucking cabbie while you got your forty winks. Besides, you didn't wake up when I gently rubbed your shoulder and called you 'Princess'. And, we're at the junction," I said and pointed toward the floating sea of billboard lights.
The lights glared against the black. Neon and sodium vapor merged into a solid writhing mass. There were dozens of other cars and trucks, buzzing around the flotillas of coffee shops, fueling stations, and restaurants. I shifted lines and started circling the outward edge of the hub and veered onto a station about halfway out on the junction's far end. The traffic was lighter, and it gave Neil enough time to stop looking like a damn zombie.
With a tall coffee in her hand, and a lap full of cellophane-wrapped pastries in her lap, Neil seemed to bounce back a bit. She was her old self by the time the computer resumed control of the car. Neil kept up a running commentary on what she'd been up to since I saw her last month, and when she took a breath long enough to bite into an apple-cinnamon tart, I rattled off a list of complaints I had about my wife's empty-nest syndrome.
"You guys should find something to do together," she said and took a long pull from her cup. She closed her eyes and sighed deeply.
"Yeah, I thought about that." I took the lid off my coffee and blew on the surface to cool it down. "You know she's not into taking pictures or scribbling out stories. And God knows I'm not much into horticulture..."
"I meant something new to the both of you. Expand your horizons a little."
"I think I have enough shit to deal with right now without adding another layer of time-sink to my life. I mean, it was hard enough squeezing out this little chunk of time, Neil."
She rolled her eyes and opened a lemon-poppy muffin. "Fuck you, Peyton. I knew you'd jump at this the moment I heard you answer the phone."
"I was actually busy when I answered the phone," I said and took another sip of my coffee. Granted, I was only busy getting a rather intense blowjob from my wife. The moment the twins left for college, she started turning her extra attention on me. At first, it was micro-managing the loose details of my life, but then she started going ballistic, sexually. I wasn't too thrilled about the former, but I sure as Hell wasn't about to complain about the latter.
"Yeah, I bet," Neil said between bites. "You know I heard Jenna in the background, right?"
I coughed, and it forced coffee up into my sinuses. It burned, my eyes watered, and when I finally recovered enough to glare at her, Niel laughed so hard she almost peed herself.
"Fuck you, Neil."
"Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you, but you can't handle me, Peyton. I've got kinks..."
"Mental issues don't count."
Once I cleaned myself up a bit with the napkins stuck to the bottom of the bag, I tried to change the subject. "So what does 'Cloister' make, anyway?"
Neil sighed and dumped her trash on top of my crumpled napkins. "They deal in fetish clothing."
I raised my eyebrows at her. "And?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. Stuff. Whips, chains, ball gags. Stuff. Their catalog is full of crap. Toys, lube, that kind of thing. I'm not sure how much of it they actually make themselves, but they certainly market a whole fuckload of it."
"So we're doing what, exactly? Models or product stills?"
She took another long pull from her cup and waved the question aside. "Casey said there were about a few dozen new outfits to model, and then some new products for the winter catalog. I'd expect we'll get a good mix of the two. I figure If we shoot the models first, we can get them out of the way and take our time with the stills."
"Maybe set up while we wait for outfit changes?"
"Exactly. But do me a favor..."
"For you my delicate flower of the night, anything."
"Try not to fuck with the lights this time."
I felt a dam burst behind me, "Your light is made for vampires, werewolves, and creatures from the black fucking lagoon!"
Neil doubled over laughing, clutching a stitch in her side, and winced.
"Fuck you, Neil."
She laughed even harder.
Unloading the car, shuffling all the gear through the maze of corridors, and the parade of faces we were introduced to became a blur of social awkwardness. I focused on my shoulder straps, and the weight of the lighting cases trying to rip themselves from my fingertips. By the time we were finally set up in a makeshift studio in the back of a heated storeroom, I was almost oblivious to what was happening behind me. It wasn't until I heard Neil talking to Casey, the model wrangler, that I broke out of my daze.
"Oh, that's not a problem at all. Peyton and I have very open minds. Anything you want us to photograph is cool with us."
"I just didn't want to have anyone overstep any boundaries. The last photographer we had for the spring catalog almost bolted once the pony gear started walking in."
Neil laughed. "Well, you won't have that problem with us." Neil sighed. I swear she did. I was clearing the floor in front of the lights, and I caught her looking at me from the corner of my eye. She looked back at Casey again. "Are we allowed to touch the models?"
"Absolutely, as long as it's not in an intimate way. If it's arm positions, or the tilt of a chin, no big deal. Both of the men told me they don't care about any contact, but since all three women are putting restrictions on their nipples, inner thighs, and asses, I'd just assume everyone followed the same standard."
"Cool, that works for me. Are we shooting the props separately after the clothing?" She looked at the open crates of fetish accessories like a kid in a candy store.
"A little bit of it. I think our crop of models this time around are a bit more daring than last time, so there isn't much they're not willing to be photographed using."
I felt my pulse start to race. Like I said, I'm not a fetish guy, and I felt like I was standing in the eye of a storm. I decided thinking about it was probably bad for my health, so I powered up the lights and reached for my camera to start taking a few balance shots. Neil sidled up to me with her camera, and handed me a light trigger.
"You going to be okay, Peyton?"
I glared at her while I adjusted the lights. I'm not sure if it was the overly cute tone of her voice, or that she sensed my nervousness, but either way, I bristled. "I think I have a handle on it, yeah."
"You know, I don't think you were even this nervous at your bachelor party..."
I felt my mind reel back. My wife thought having Neil take me and a few friends out the night before my wedding was a good idea. It would be safer than having Rick do it, she said. Better than having my cousin do it, she said. But neither of them would have actually taken me on a pub crawl of strip clubs. Considered it, maybe, but they never would have done it. The retribution my wife could have dished out would have made World War III look like a water balloon fight. Even all these years later, I don't know if my wife ever found out all the details of that night. "You're an asshole."
"Ooh, so angry." She gave me a pouty face and then smiled wickedly. "I think I'm going to like this shoot. Have you seen the models? H-A-W-T!"
"Oh, so you're already browsing for your Christmas presents? I heard someone say something about ponies – maybe I'll get you a bit, just so I don't have to listen to you."
"A bit wouldn't help, Peyton, I'd still be able to moan like this –" She stuck her finger sideways between her teeth. "Mmmmmmm, hhhhhhhharder, mmmmmmooooore."
"You're right, you'd need to be gagged."
"Still wouldn't work – if I relax my throat enough, I can stop myself from gagging."
"Trust me, I'd find something that would shut you up."
"You could try, Vanny."
"'Vanny'? What the fuck is 'Vanny?'"
Neil set her camera aside to cup my face in her palms and looked up at me with a tender, serious look in her eyes. "It's the pet name I just came up with for you. It's short for Vanilla."
I pulled back and glared at her. "Fuck you, Neil."
"Even if you could, you couldn't," she said and winked. I felt my head turn in circles while I worked through what she said and was about to tell her to go fuck herself when the models started filing in.
"Saved by the fucking bell, Neil."
"You know, you're kind of cute when you're angry..." She picked up her camera and snapped a picture of me.
I fell into position behind Neil and kept working between her triggers. Every now and again, we shot over the top of each other, which wasn't anything unusual, but after the third or fourth time, Neil started letting her playful side slip out again. It didn't happen a lot, or even enough that anyone else at the shoot noticed, but she started bending over in front of me, putting her ass right in front of my lens and then shook her hips just long enough to kill my shot. Another time, she stood next to me while I lined up my shot, and at the last second, she dropped her hand right in front of my lens and wiggled her fingers. It drove me fucking crazy. I glared up at her with my worst death gaze, but she was too busy looking through her viewfinder to even notice.
Like I said, it didn't happen enough to make me blow up at her. About halfway through the shoot, I slipped behind her and knelt down for a great shot of two models pressed up against a new leather-clad fetish bench. The thing had more belts, metal rings, and chains than a biker rally, and the models were loving it. Neil was snapping away, oblivious that her shirt rose up a little. I didn't even notice it at first, because I was dialed in on a latex-suited blonde using a studded crop on the ass of a man bent over the bench. The blonde had a fist wrapped around his cock and stroked him roughly between each hit. It was intense, and Casey kept asking us if we were okay with it, but the flash of the bulbs were all the answer she got. After a handful of shots, my eyes strayed up, and I could easily see a map of bruises on Neil's skin. They circled around her lower back before disappearing under her jeans.
I blinked, and before anyone moved, I felt a lump rise in my throat. When Neil shifted for a better angle, the spell I was under shattered, and we just rolled through the rest of the shoot. We didn't stop for nearly three hours. The models came and went, the outfits changed, the scenes grew bolder, and by the time the last outfits came out, even I could tell the models were at the breaking point. They openly groped each other as they passed, and not ten feet from me, the blonde who whipped the man's ass earlier was giving him a furious blowjob.
I'd seen my fair share of porn over the years, and thanks to Neil, even been to a few kinky photo shoots, but there was something about the way that blonde knelt before him that was different. She was so focused on his cock, so intent on his pleasure. The concrete under her knees had to be brutally hard, cold, and uncomfortable, but she acted like she didn't even notice. Her bones were pressed against it while she tried to cover every inch of him with her mouth. I started taking pictures of them. I only took a few and timed my shots between Neil's.
When he came, his balls tightened up under the blonde's hands, and she froze. The only thing that moved was her throat, swallowing, milking him slowly. I heard her breathing through her nose, and as she drank, my own throat went dry. I was trapped by the scene until Neil kicked me in the shin and raised her eyebrow. "Care to focus on the job?"
I blinked, tried to think of something snappy to say, and failed miserably. When I turned back to the set, Neil was shooting a trio playing with a new line of vibrators. The lights were dimmer, and the glowing shafts were pulsing and vibrating against vinyl-covered nipples, leaning against leather-covered crotches, and wetly pressed against the lips of every model. They kissed the shafts like a lover, held the toys like craven whores, but always with the product logo on display. I circled like a vulture and captured about sixty stills before Neil lowered her camera. Casey beamed, and a brunette wearing a leather catsuit started to applaud. The other models joined in, and the brunette looked around the room. "Now, why don't you all show your appreciation to our lovely photographers."
A few smiled and waved as they passed us, but the blonde poised to fuel my masturbatory sessions for months stopped in front of Neil and knelt down. She bent over so she could kiss the tips of Neil's shoes. Neil smiled and looked over at me. She lifted her foot up a bit and turned her shoe so the blonde could kiss it on each side of the toe, then switched feet. When she was done, Neil laughed and gently took the blonde by the head, clenched her fists in her hair, and kissed her hard on the mouth. My eyes nearly fell out of my head, and my heart started hammering in my chest. I couldn't fucking believe what I was seeing, and it didn't look like it was the first time Neil kissed another woman.
When Neil finally pulled back, she turned the blonde by the head toward me and let her go. The woman's shoulders slumped, and I heard her sigh as she crawled across the floor toward me. I felt frozen when she looked up at me. I saw a mix of angel and vixen, hunter and prey. I watched her slowly bend to kiss the tips of my shoes, and I barely felt the pressure of her lips against the leather.
When she finished, she looked up at me, and there was such a pleading look in her eyes. I felt a rush of conflicting emotions: the first was a surging fear, but of what, I couldn't even begin to explain. I felt like wanted to run screaming from the room and hide in a hole somewhere. It was ridiculous that someone so beautiful, so compliant, could make me feel so damned stupid. The other thing I felt though, the thing that really confused me, was that I wanted to grab a hold of her just like Neil did. I wanted to kiss her just as hard and make her wilt under the heat in my veins. I felt like a god among mortals, the center of her universe, and I wanted to make her understand that I got it, that I understood it, too. It was lightning in a bottle at the crest of a roller coaster, and it started a plunge into oblivion. My God, I fucking loved it!
Neil smirked. "I think you're supposed to say 'you're welcome' after someone thanks you so beautifully, Peyton."
I stammered, blushed like mad, and blinked myself back into reality as I backed away from her. My fear won out, and I turned away so I could start changing the lights on the set for the product stills. My hands shook while I adjusted the height of the light boxes and turned them toward the center of the studio. The models filed out behind me, and between my ragged breaths, I heard the sound of token affections being shared between them. While the sound of the chatter died away, I heard Neil behind me, moving the boxes of product into groups we could manage.
After an hour of shooting vibrator boxes, whips, chains, and lubricants, Casey stopped in to thank us again and tell us the place was cleared out. She said when we were finished, all we had to do was make sure the warehouse door was closed behind us. The sales office was still churning out orders in the other half of the building, so we didn't need to worry about the alarms.
I swear the door barely closed behind her when Neil glanced sideways at me. "You liked it, didn't you..."
"Are you asking, or telling me?" I said and turned a bottle of 'Astro-Lube' so the logo didn't catch too much glare.
"Oh come on, Peyton, I saw the way you looked at her. You almost ripped her damned throat out."
"I did not!" I said, then realized I shouted. I cleared my throat and took a deep breath. "It just took me by surprise, that's all."
"Uh-huh. I bet." She turned the light box, and it put the logo back into the glare again. "So tell me, Peyton, have you ever tied up Jenna?"
I turned the bottle and glared at the lights. "Of course," I said, even though I felt my cheeks redden a bit.
Neil fucking smirked again. "I'm not talking about silk scarves and bathrobe ties, Peyton." She turned to look at me squarely. "I mean really tied her up. Thick rope, leather cuffs, a spreader bar between her legs." Neil's voice dropped to a whisper. "Have you ever let the animal inside you out?"
I wanted to say yes, to just make shit up, anything to wipe that damn smirk off her face, but I didn't. I stared at her instead and then looked down at the hem of her shirt. "You mean like you do? I saw the bruises, Neil. What the fuck is that all about?"
She glanced away and bit her bottom lip, but it wasn't in shame. "I don't know if you can handle it, Peyton." She saw the look on my face, and her tone went really cold. "No, really, I don't... There are some things that you just can't un-say."
"Is it Patrick? Is he hurting you, 'cause I swear I'll knock the fuck out of that little shit–"
Neil laughed, and it felt like a slap in my face. I've never been a bruiser, not even when I was power-lifting in college. I did the usual drunken bouts of horsing around and had my share of stupid fights, so I knew I could hold my own in a brawl, but the way Neil laughed, it was like I was just some wimpy kid on a beach who'd just had sand kicked in his face. I felt lava flood my veins. Patrick was an annoying, wiry little bastard. What Neil saw in him was beyond me, and if he somehow got something over on her, I would gladly knock out all his teeth.
"No, oh God, no..." and she laughed again. "Patrick doesn't even know about it, Peyton."
I felt something snap in me, and I grabbed a hold of Neil's arm as she moved to turn the light box again. "Would you just stop with the fucking games already?"
Her breath caught in her throat as she turned to look up at me. That's when I knew. My god, I'd been so damned blind all these years. She bit the corner of her bottom lip, and her eyes teared up. She twisted slowly in my grip, but not to pull away. She moved so there was even more pressure on her elbow, and I felt the joint tighten even more. The pain must have been excruciating, but the way she looked at me, the pleading in her face – not to stop, but to never stop.
She looked so damn vulnerable, so fragile. It was as angelic as the car ride up here, and just as impossible to capture in a picture. It was something you could only see to believe. The moment I loosened my grip on her, her eyes shifted from pleasure-pain to resentment, to anger, and she yanked her arm free. Her fist hit me out of nowhere, and in the blur of everything, I heard her screaming, but her voice sounded distorted and out of place. I put my arms up to block her, and adrenaline surged through me. I caught her arm, turned to avoid her knee to my groin, and I pushed my hip out to meet her. Neil's compact body spun under my grip like a ballerina, and before either of us knew what happened, she was struggling in my arms with her back pressed against my chest. The moment she realized she couldn't move, she went limp, and her weight threw me off balance enough that we both crashed to the floor, knocking the table of props and merchandise everywhere.
We thrashed together until I was able to pin her under me. "God damn it, Peyton--"
I kissed her savagely, and I felt my tongue press against her teeth. Air hissed through her nose as she opened her mouth to me, sucking my tongue into her mouth like a cock. I felt her fingernails dig into the sides of my wrists, and it hurt like Hell, so I slammed her hands against the cold concrete until her grip broke. I felt fire pouring up out of the wounds. She gasped and bit her bottom lip again. "God, I knew it was in you," she whispered. I was about to say something, but she wrenched her legs free and tried to knee me in the balls.
I moved out of the way, and in the process, she got a hand loose and raked her fingernails down my face. I managed to back away enough that she didn't gouge out my eye, but the scratches burned white-hot. Before I even knew what happened, I pulled back and slapped her across the face as hard as I could. Her head snapped to the side, and I swear I saw her smile between gasps. Her body spasmed, and then she wrenched herself free from beneath me. I felt stabbing pains against my back and along my sides, so I slapped her again, then took her hair in my fist and knocked her head against the floor, just hard enough to daze her. She moaned aloud.
"You're going to fuck me, aren't you, Peyton..." she hissed, "You're going to take my pussy whether I want it or not..." She grabbed the back of my neck and pulled as hard as she could against the grip I had on her head. The pain made her grit her teeth, "But don't worry, I want you to. I want you to fuck me, Peyton. Make me remember it. Make me remember the feel your cock in me every time I look in the mirror. Every time I take a shower, I want to feel the water slam against the bruises..."
She tried to kick up at me again, but I forced my knee between her legs and pressed up toward the fist I used to hold onto her head. I felt her heat through our clothes, and in seconds, her moisture was soaking my leg. "Come on, do it! Do it, you fucking bastard!" She snapped at my neck like a vampire, and I felt her teeth break my skin.
I tore back and pulled her shirt up until it bunched up under her chin. I slapped her again, then grabbed the wadded hem and forced it into her mouth. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and I saw her nipples poke like diamonds through her bra. I pulled her head back to the floor and bit at her nipples. I soaked the cloth covering them with my tongue before biting each one hard enough to make her scream against the gag. Her hips writhed against my thigh, riding up and down on me. I felt her stiffen as an orgasm tore across her. Before she could come down, I rolled her onto her stomach and practically tore her pants down to her knees. I could smell her, and the sheen of wetness coating her thighs was so rich, so succulent...
She tried to push herself up and flip back over, but I just pushed her back down while I opened the fly of my jeans and reached for my cock. Once I felt the air hit my swollen head, I let her up onto her hands and knees, but only let go long enough to reach for her throat and pull her up. I held her so she was standing on her knees in front of me with her ass pressed against my cock. I held her, listening to her moan through the gag in her mouth. I kept an elbow in each fist and pulled her back into me, over and over, until she started mewling like a wounded animal, rutting against my cock, begging for it like a bitch in heat.
I pushed her forward again, and she arched her hips just enough to align my cock against her moist heat. When she felt me press against the space just under clit, she slammed back against me, and I felt my cock sink into her all the way to my balls. She bucked and groaned, turning her hips to add more tension to her arms while I gave her everything she wanted. Neil groaned, and I felt her walls convulse on me. When she tried to pull away, I let go of one of her elbows and seized her throat again and squeezed just enough that I could feel her breathe, holding her tight against me. When I looked down, I could just see her nipples straining against her bra beneath me, and I started to fuck her. I fucked her as hard as I've ever fucked a woman.
Neil's body convulsed again while I thrust into her. One of her hands found my thigh, and she dug her fingers into the meat of my flesh, piercing me, and I drove into her even harder than before. I screamed and slammed her into the floor, then pressed my hand into the back of her head so her face was pressed trapped against the concrete. I could hear how wet she was every time I pulled out of her, and she growled every time I bottomed out against her cervix. When I finally felt my balls tighten up, I started slapping the bruises on her back, and she clenched against my cock as I emptied everything I had into her. But everything I had wasn't enough. I pulled out and filled her with my fingers, stuffing as much of my hand into as I could, pumping into her hard enough to lift her knees off the floor. She groaned, growled, screamed against the gag, and then clawed against the concrete until her body clenched and suddenly went limp.
I fell back on my heels and tried to catch my breath, panting, while my pulse raced. My fingers were soaked by our orgasms, and I wiped my hand on her bare, upturned ass. She was breathing just as hard as I was, and even though her eyes were closed, around the edges of her bunched up shirt, I could see the smile on her lips.