Arnold, Janet and Bettie

Janet made a face. "That sexy, huh? pornographic, would you say?"

"Oh yes--definitely smutty--but just wonderful. You'll see."

"Now I am going to hug you. You're a sweetie. Arnold. I know you'd never take advantage of me." She came into his arms. He held her, feeling every curve; the filmy robe was nothing; she was essentially nude. His erection was back, of course. No need to fantasize what she was rubbing against him now; he'd memorized her furry cunt from behind the lens. "Arnold, you're a sweetie" she murmured again onto his neck; in her heels she was almost his height. Her lush, damp body plastered against him.

He shivered and reluctantly pulled his hands away from her ass. "Hold it! Now hold it a second! Janet, you scare the shit out of me, and that's a fact. i don't know anything about you, why a woman like you would want to--I'm just 28!" He stepped back half a step; her arms were still twined around his neck. "Now why did I tell you that?"

Janet blinked once,twice, much less Bettie now. She stared into his

eyes a long time, then sighed. She touched his cheek tenderly. "I don't plan to rape you, Arnold. I was too much in character--a character not that different from my own. I am a sensual woman, and I've not always been a prudent one. And I'm not 28, I'm-uh-37. And I'm not ashamed at being sexually attracted to you. But as you say, that can wait. Let's be businesslike again--at least for a while. Go edit that film, so I can see me making a fool out of myself. I think I had better get dressed." She wrapped the robe around her with a prim and totally futile gesture; the near transparent nylon was as enticing as stark nudity. She droped the flimsy robe, turned her back and struck one more provoctive pose. Arnold was totally smitten. *

THREE

Janet didn't shower, though she would have liked to; she was still damp and glowing from her frenzied dance, but the camera shop had no shower.

So she redressed--slowly, in her provocative Bettie outfit; garter belt, black hose, white blouse and skirt, and, yes, the tight black leather belt. She walked aimlessly through the store, too excited, too impatient, to sit quietly and await the results of her debut. Finally--it seemed only a few minutes--Arnold stuck his head out of the darkroom.

"Bettie! I mean, Janet!--whatever! This is just a rough cut, but you've got to see this! Come on in!"

They viewed the tape in silence; from the first seductive undressing to the delivery of the peignoir to Bettie's uninhibited and increasingly wild dance the tape was absolutely compelling; Arnold's side lighting and skillful closeups enhanced the sexual power of Bettie's dance. The monitor went dark; they both sat, silent for a long minute.

"Janet, that's the best thing I ever did! And I didn't do anything--I just shot--you! You are absolutely sensational!" He paused. "I'm being selfish, here. That's you, up there on the screen. And it's --pretty explicit, pretty raw, isn't it? So what do you want me to edit out?"

Janet,too, was shaken. She had no idea she could look that good--so sensual, so downright sexy. This had started as a kind of lark, a bit of defiance of the ashram's strict regime, but, suddenly, she was Bettie and Bettie was her, and--God knows where this could lead!

"Edit out! Nothing! That's me, that's Bettie Page. She's gorgeous, I'm

gorgeous, that's what you wanted, isn't it? " She was excited, turned on.

"Wow! I was really good, wasn't I? Ooh, Arnold, you must be the world's best photographer, to make my tired old bod look like that! Ooh, I have to hug you!" And she did.

"Oh God! Ummm! Please--just a second!" He put his hands on her shoulders and gently moved out of her embrace. He ran his hand through his hair again, sighed, and faced her.

"Look. Janet. Not Bettie for right now, OK? First of all, take off that goddamn wig, so I know who you are. Thanks. Now, we need to talk. Now, I'll admit it, I was kind of fooling around; sexy older lady, looks like Bettie, what the hell, shoot a little tape, you know? But this--this is the real thing! The dream I've had for years! So now I've got to calm down and talk about the nuts and bolts of this project. Cut me some slack, here, I'm trying hard not to be as excited and horny as that tape made me."

Arnold explained how he would send the tape to his friend, Sid, in LA. Duplicates would be made, the video would be packaged for legitimate video outlets and also a few marginal and downright porno ones; In ten days or so there'd be feed back on the sales and possible, no, probable, demand for more films. Janet should get a contract, maybe a lawyer: For now, he'd give her 500 dollars for today's work--just a screen test, after all--and a thousand for each later film , and 50% of all our profits and maybe...

"Arnold, shut up! I can use a few bucks, but I trust you on this business stuff; that's not what tonight is about, and you know it! Let's go out! Let's celebrate!"

"Sorry. You're right, of course. This mall is pretty pitiful, but there's a great little Thai place two doors down--how about it?"

"Sounds great! I'm famished!" Janet took his arm, snuggled against him as he locked up the store. His boyishness, his energy and mood changes were endearing, she thought; his skittishness and flight from her sexual advances were endearing, and challenging. Ah well, plenty of time. He was so cute, a bit skinny, but tall and good looking, a bit awkward--sexually naive, she guessed. Such fun to teach! And fun to tease in the meantime.

After the meal: satay, green papaya salad, and some strange but wonderful noodle and shrimp dish, plus two bottles of wine, Arnold proposed a toast, beaming, just a little drunk: "To all the Betties! Old Bettie, legendary Bettie, and now, Super Bettie, the sexiest, the loveliest of all!"

"Why, thank you, Sir. I'll drink to that! Arnold, drive me home. I want to offer you a nightcap--at the very least." She smiled enticingly, licking her lips as she did so.

Arnold stumbled out of the restaurant after her; his head was giddy with equal parts of elation and terror and wine. He was going to--fuck her! This weirdo! This goddess! Could he get it up? Silly question; his erection was already painfully hard. But--could he--satisfy her--what if...? They drove in silence the half mile to Janet's modest apartment; she, humming the bossa nova tune under her breath, her left hand just grazing his thigh; he, white-knuckled at the wheel.

They walked up the half flight of stairs, his arm around her waist, tentatively caressing her bottom. At her apartment, she stopped and frowned; there was a pale lavender envelope half tucked under the door. She stooped to retrieve it, paused. She shuddered, then opened the envelope and read the message inside by the hallway light. And sighed again.

"What is it? What's going on?" Something had happened, Arnold was sure of that. Janet's seductive mood had been turned off like a light switch.

"Arnold. This note is from my guru. She warns me of the perils of temporal fame and fortune. And also, sexual attraction to a young stranger-and my own vanity."

"C'mon! that's fortune teller stuff! Janet-my magical Janet--you can't believe...."

"Arnold. She knows. She does. I need to --deal with this. Take a day or two to decide in which direction I'll go. But--oh!" she closes to Arnold and gently hugs him. "Oh--this has nothing to do with what we created today! And what we will create again. I'm sure of that! And--I still want you. I know it will happen, but--not tonight. Now go, sweet Arnold. Before I get more confused. Go!"

Arnold drove home in a daze, almost hitting a shabby derelict pushing his stolen shopping cart into an intersection. He nodded meekly in apology as the bearded man shook his fist. On automatic pilot, he parked his seven year old Ford, climbed the stairs to his apartment, and turned on the coffee maker, almost forgetting to add water to rerun through this morning's grounds.

He turned on the TV, then clicked it off. And sat, trying to sort out his chaotic emotions. Janet! Holy Christ, what a woman! Was she really coming on to me? Hell, yes, she was. And that that letter--so weird! Is she some kind of religious nut? Or just--crazy! So watch out! But--I can't believe that dance--gorgeous--her tits, her ass, her pussy--those long legs--Bettie, Bettie, my jackoff stalwart for all these years--Janet's got you beat--unh! I'm hard again!

FOUR

Two days later, Arnold felt lousy. He knew he'd been curt with customers, abrupt with his sweet young assistant, Stacy. At first, he tried to blame it on the screwed-up invoice from Fuji, but he knew that was a cop-out. It was Janet. After that unsettling 'good`night' brushoff (what had been in that letter?), he had been mopey, bewildered, short-tempered. He had Fed-Ex'd the video to Sid the next morning; by nightfall, Sid's exuberant return call confirmed his first wild estimate of Janet's tape, but somehow, didn't lift his mood. Would she come back? Would she call? On the second day, he couldn't call her; he didn't even know her last name. He'd driven by her apartment, feeling furtive and a bit foolish, snuck up to the directory: no name. He had almost rung the bell, but was too--proud, or something--and drove away.

"Wow, Arnold, You're so grumpy these last few days--a real asshole! Pardon me, but..." Stacy, his assistant, finally confronted him. If you got past the 'bikers rule' t-shirt, the baggy shorts, orange sneakers, and bizarre hair-do--multiple pigtails in her blonde locks--she was lovely; California tanned and toned, and, as Arnold knew, bright and sensitive, too. He wondered, on occasion, why she bothered to work for him, though she was quickly learning the photo business.

"Stacy, You're right. I apologize. I--I've got a lot on my mind; personal stuff. I'm sorry." So--where was Janet?

Janet had gone through painful changes in the last three days. The morning after her glorious high following the Bettie screening--and the low that followed when she read the guru's note--she had appeared at the ashram, wearing her simple long white dress, asking for an audience. A young man--a new member, one she didn't know, coolly told her to wait, then twenty minutes later, he returned to inform her that she could not be seen today. "But do your meditations, recite your mantra--perhaps in a week or so.."

"Shit!" Janet muttered, and bowed her way out. A profoundly unspiritual utterance, she realized. And at the same time realized how constricting, how confining, the ashram --and even the devotional practices--had become. Three years earlier, strung out from her failed marriage, this had been a real haven--and still was. But she was stronger now, she suddenly saw, able to stand on her own two feet, make her own mistakes and--and even go for it! And go for it--that meant Bettie Page! She should have called Arnold, but for some reason held off. She did her meditation--distractedly--and finally saw that she was--reluctant, no, afraid, to continue the episode that had started so well. Go for it-don't be chickenshit! she told herself. And late in the afternoon, called the camera store.

"Arnold, it's me. Janet." she said when he answered the phone. "I'd like to come in to --you know-- talk about our future projects. About Bettie, If that's OK. Tonight. After you close."

"Whoooah!" He threw his arms up in glee; Stacy did an open-mouthed take. "Yes! Let's do it! " He said. "Right now! Where have you been?"

"Personal stuff, improving, it looks like. See you tonight, Arnold--good luck!" Stacy couldn't overhear the call, but she could read Arnold's mood. She grinned.

"Good night. And--hey, Stacy, thanks for putting up with my foul mood. See you. Allright!" He did a little triumphant little war dance as he locked up.

Twenty minutes later Janet--no, Bettie-- knocked and entered, in wig and full fifties makeup, wearing a raincoat over a sheer baby doll *

nightie. "Bettie's back" she cooed demurely,then opened her coat and flashed for a few seconds. "I think it's time we got back to work. And maybe not just remakes of those fifties films; we're supposed to be filming in the seventies, right? After Viet Nam. after hippies, after rock and roll. you know--nudity in Golden Gate park, LSD, grass for everyone--I mean, we can be more permissive --sexier-- I've given this a lot of serious thought in the last few days, and i think that Bettie's about to get just a little bit X-rated. What do you think?" She dropped her coat and posed.

"Just a second. You don't call, you drop out of sight, I'm going nuts, and now suddenly you're coming on like Cecil B. DeMille. It's my film, my idea, my Bettie, if you don't mind, even though it's your tits and ass, I admit. Now just calm down, and we'll decide--together--what we'll shoot next, OK? That nightie's gotta be a great start, though."

"You're absolutely right, Arnold! I --just came on too strong. First, I'm committed to you and Bettie, all the way. Second like you said, you're the boss. I'll be your--slave! Well, maybe not quite!" She wiggled deliciously. "But here's my idea for tonight. The cat burglar and his delectable victim: big time bondage. I've brought a bunch of rope and a ski mask for you to wear".

"Hey! Now wait a second! I'm a photographer, not an actor, remember? I don't think I can..."

"Of course you can! You come in, you're rifling the apartment, I blunder in, you grab me, tie me up, gag me, maybe fool around a little bit. Mainly, you're filming me all tied up and struggling with the ropes, all that Irving Klaw stuff. I know you'd love to--subdue me, be masterful--don't even give me an argument on this, Arnold. You know you want to do it!"

She was right, of course--Arnold was already excited. "Uh. well, maybe just this once. And the fewer people who know about these Bettie rip-offs the better, of course. But just this once. And if it doesn't work out...but if we're serious, we gotta have sound; give me a few minutes to set up a mike; i think if there's any dialogue, we can wing it. I don't intend to say anything; you can moan and protest, if you like."

"It will work. I know it!" She twirled, coquettishly, now in nothing but the sheer nightie and high heels. "Ooh! It's a mean burglar! Please don't tie me up!"

"Now stop kidding around. OK, I'll try. Give me that ski mask and stuff. Now I've got to set up the lights and camera. Quick, before I change my mind. This is crazy!" Still protesting, but secretly excited, he set up a side light, accentuating 'nighttime' shadows, rigged his tripod steady camera. He took a deep breath, then stepped into the set. "OK, let's go!" He had also turned on the microphone, though no dialogue had been planned.

As the scene opens, Arnold is ransacking Bettie's living room. The door opens; Bettie, sheer nightie back lit, enters from her bedroom and reacts with a scream; Arnold whirls and grabs her shoulders, twirls her and puts one hand over her mouth.

"Shut up, bitch!" he rasps. Bettie began to struggle and kick; Arnold feels the intensity and strength of her resistance; she was not acting anymore. His adrenaline surged as he wrestled her to the couch, pulled a bandana from his back pocket and roughly gagged her. At the same time, Janet was secretly thrilled--God --he's so strong!--and resisted even more fiercely. He pushed her face down on the couch and twisted her wrists behind her back and tied them tightly with a length of clothesline from his other pocket, not without difficulty; she struggled, bucked, kicked; he finally captured her ankles and tied them together as well. She twisted on the couch and glared at him, sputtering behind her gag. "Just lie still, honey, and I'll be out of here in no time." He returned to her desk drawers. "No jewelry here; I'll just check your bedroom." *

He goes out the door; Bettie rolls off the couch and shuffles on her knees to the phone on the end table; she knocks it onto the floor and is trying to dial, lying on her side, fumbling with her fingers, when Arnold reenters.

"Goddamn it! I told you not to move! Now you're going to get it, bitch!" They were both beyond acting now; Janet struggled furiously as Arnold reached for more ropes; many more ropes. He tied her wrists and arms in an intricate, almost Japanese bondage. and looped several turns of rope over her gag. 'Ouch! This was really tight!' she winced. He stood and gloated over his handiwork. Her nipples were erect as she struggled. He tried to ignore his erection as he continued to film, now taking close ups as she struggled, furious and afraid. Finally he stepped back into fixed camera range and resumed his role as cruel bondage freak. * Now he dragged her across his lap. holding her down with one hand as he began to spank her. Her flimsy nightie was already no factor; one shoulder strap pulled down, both breasts exposed, her bare bottom bisected by the cruel ropework; he rucked her nightgown above her waist as he pulled her roughly over his lap, squeezed her jutting cheeks, caressed them briefly, and began to punish her squirming ass, an irrestible target. . *

Bettie squealed through her gag, fought and twisted, to no avail. His heavy hand rained down, stroke after stroke. (The meaty sounds of his brutal spanking, it turned out, were the most memorable aspects of the sound track). Bettie's muffled whimpers and cries of rage continued as he methodically blistered her bottom; pink, then deeper red, then almost magenta as he completed his definitive spanking.

Arnold took a deep breath, then another, and pretended to be a professional photographer again, but he knew he was far from finished with the emotional turmoil he'd just experienced--that scary, lovely rush he'd felt while dominating and spanking Janet. He pretended otherwise.

"Bettie, I'm going to do the hand held closeups now; I want to zoom in on those knots and your luscious rosy ass--OK?" He tried to sound like a bored professional, but his voice quavered. The rope and bandana gag was still surprisingly effective; Arnold pretended he didn't hear her muffled "You bastard! turn me loose! Now! Oww! " as he spanked her vigorously until her ass was flaming red again, filmed leisurely, panning her voluptuous bound body, her bruised gagged lips, her eyes bright with tears of pain and fury; she was magnificent. Finally he backed away for a closing shot, faded to black, and sat for a long moment, not quite sure what to do next. In Janet, he knew he had a tiger by the tail--a very angry, roughly fucked-over tiger--and he didn't quite know where this was going.

He finally knelt beside her, awkwardly. He kissed her lips, undid the gag, and tried to kiss her again before she could speak.

She jerked away. "You--you crummy bastard! How could you? How dare you!" He held her and stroked her as she raged, unsure of himself. He untied her legs and eased the cinch digging into her crotch. She sighed with relief as she stretched her legs, rolled on her back and then howled once more as she put weight on her tender bottom.

"Bondage is trust! It's supposed to be mutual! What kind of script was that, you monster? Turn me loose! Now!"

He continued to hold her, caress her, even as her tirade continued. He was strangely exited at his mastery over this sexual goddess. He gently lifted her to her feet, holding her close. Her wrists were still roped behind her, but she seemed to be less angry, struggling less in his arms. He

kissed again; she tried to bite his lip, and then let her head rest on his shoulder, sobbing quietly.

He untied her wrists and stood there awaiting her--finally freed--reaction. Janet stepped back, glared once more, and slapped him, hard.

"Take you best shot. I deserve it." Arnold caught her eyes. She raised her arm again, but the slap never came. Suddenly she was in his arms again, now returning his caresses, still sobbing. His brain was in a complete jumble; his penis was not.