Arnold, Janet and Bettie

Janet felt him harden against her belly and moaned, hugging him tighter. Arnold clawed open his fly as Janet sank to her knees, elbows on the couch as she offered her rosy buttocks and the moist cleft between them. Arnold knelt and penetrated her warm wetness from behind.

"Be gentle--my ass is so tender, you brute" Janet murmured; Arnold didn't hear her, lost in his thrusting, giddily spiraling to a quick climax. She moved to match his strokes, and moments later, to her surprise, she found herself throbbing and melting; she moaned hoarsely, whipping her head from side to side, Bettie wig slipping to the floor, caught up in a series of powerful orgasms.

Arnold had exploded deep in her cunt at the same moment. The whole act had lasted only five or six minutes; both were shaken and silent as they held each other.

Arnold cleared his throat several times, realized he had no idea what to say, and wisely kept his mouth shut.

Janet glanced over her shoulder, nude, moist, posing coquettishly, and spoke softly: "You sneaky bastard. You're really into S and M, aren't you? Maybe you didn't know it. And just because I wanted to fuck you and I loved it--doesn't mean I completely forgive you for blistering my ass--and its not just because I'm turned on by all that humiliation and pain and --Oh . hell, we need to talk about this stuff later. I'm going to take you home and feed you, my very special kinky cameraman; we need to keep your strength up." .

* Janet unlocked her apartment door and turned on the overhead light, muted with a large Japanese paper lantern. Arnold had gotten but a glimpse on his one prior visit, before the guru's letter had changed everything. Now he took in the simple furniture, the futons, the frayed oriental rug, the brick and board bookcases. On the walls, funny looking posters--Hindu? oriental?--he wasn't sure. A shrine, or altar, maybe, with candles and incense sticks at the feet of a six armed statue was at one end of the room. it was weird, Arnold thought, but somehow comfortable.

"Sit down, love--I'll just be a minute." Janet waved him into one of the low backless chairs and disappeared behind a beaded curtain. Moments later she reappeared in a pale green silk robe, belted at the waist, holding two glasses and a jug of inexpensive white wine. She sat next to him and smiled into his eyes. Her grin broadened and then she laughed as she reached for and held his hands.

"You should see your face! Arnold, my dear young stud, you don't know what to make of me, do you? You haven't a clue!"

"I--uh--I--" Arnold realized that she was right and shut up one more time. "As far as you were concerned, I was Bettie Page, OK? Your sexual fantasy in the flesh. Suddenly here I am, a bit mature, perhaps, but lush, lovely, fuckable, ready for bondage, spanking, anything! What a good sport! Right?" She leaned towards him, still amused, but intense.

"Yeah. Right." Arnold had found his voice. "You have knocked my universe on its ass in the last few days, if that's what you want to hear. When you didn't call, when I thought I'd never see you again--and then tonight--Omigod! My--my heart is in your hands--and I know that no one talks like that--but Bettie, I mean Janet, if you're just messing with my head, tell me now!"

Janet leaned closer and brushed her lips against his. Her robe fell open. "Arnold, you are so sweet. That's no put down. I love it. I--love you, I think. But maybe only as Bettie. You are Dr. Frankenstein and I'm your sexy monster. I'm messing with my own head now, don't you see? Playing this delicious role. I-- do that sort of thing. I have a history of getting over involved in fantasies; I'll tell you all about it sometime. i haven't led a very--careful--life."

"Right now, I don't care; I really don't. I just want to--" he cradled her breasts, softly protruding from her opened robe. She withdrew gently, let her robe slip to the floor and posed seductively, glancing over her shoulder. *

She was breathtakingly beautiful. She knew it, and knew that he was hopelessly stricken. He didn't care. He was in love. Janet knew all this; she affected casualness.

"Let's have a little wine and then I'll heat up some leftover cassoulet, and then--we're in no hurry now, dear--and Janet--and maybe Bettie--have such delicious plans for you!"

The white bean duck and sausage casserole, tasty as it was, was scarcely touched, as was the wine. In bed, Arnold was overwhelmed. She was as passionate, as avid for torrid, sweaty sex as he was, but also gentle and languorous, and then, minutes later, a tigress again. He tried to memorize, to catalog his bliss, but knew it was hopeless even as she reached for him again. It was hours before they both finally slept.

FIVE

Arnold awoke, confused. The sun was shining through the window on the wrong side. Then he realized he was not in his own bed, but Janet's. He smelled her--and both of them --on the sheets, and smiled blissfully as he recalled his memorable night. He also smelled fresh coffee.

Janet--or maybe Bettie--flounced through the bedroom doorway. Frilly little silk robe, high heels--in the morning?--and, Oh God--that wig. "Breakfast? coffee, tea, or me? Lahk they say." She was starting to mimic Bettie's Carolina drawl.

"Janet--i know you're Janet--how could I not after last night--take off that Goddam wig. Coffee first, yes, but then we've got to talk. " He looked at his watch. "Omigod! I've got to open the store! Where did you put my pants?"

Driving to the store. Arnold was beaming, but largely silent. Janet, on the other hand was bubbly, excited: "I cant wait to see that tape! Ooh, I bet its just great! Ol' Bettie Page rides again! We're on our way, Arnold, honey! Ah jes know it!"

Arnold winced slightly at the accent. Who is this chameleon I've created, he wondered. This was going to be a long, wild ride. And then he grinned again. He didn't regret a thing so far.

Stacy had opened the shop; slightly surprised that Arnold was late., that wasn't his usual style. She was more surprised when he entered, a bit sheepishly, followed by a statuesque brunette.

"Uh. Stacy--sorry I'm a little late, glad you opened up. Uh--this is Bettie--I mean Janet. She's going to be in and out for the next little while--we're working on --a film project. And this is Stacy, my good right hand--Stacy--Janet--" Arnold wasn't quite sure why he was so embarrassed; he suspected the legend 'I'm fucking this woman' was somehow etched on his forehead.

Tan. blonde, with an impeccable white toothed smile, Stacy was the quintessential California girl. Today she wore an oversized man's oxford shirt, black tights and Dr. Marten high tops; the outfit did not hide her perky loveliness. She assessed Jane with the candid stare of a lioness protecting her territory. Janet met her gaze, calmly.

"Nice to meet you, Janet. Arnold, that Canon shipment is late, and we've got some new orders--but hey, don't let me interrupt your--project." Stacy said sweetly.

"I'm sure you're a great help to Arnold, dear. It's wonderful to have good help these days." Janet replied just as sweetly. "Arnold, shall we?"

In the back room they watched the burglar tape almost in silence. Arnold felt himself getting hard again, and Janet sighed several times, especially at the hand held camera closeups of her tight bondage and her rosy, thoroughly spanked bottom.

Arnold finally spoke. "it's fantastic! And way too hot. This is hard core stuff. Maybe if we cut--"

"Don't you dare cut any of it! It's great! It makes me feel so sexy and gooshy--you know!" She put her hand on his thigh.

"Janet--C'mon. OK, it's too good to cut. I'll intersperse the closeups, tighten up the opening scene--OK, we won't cut it. But--it's too soon! If we market this, there's no place to go but hard core! It wouldn't be Bettie--It wouldn't be you--uh, would it?"

Janet snuggled against him. "You're in charge, Arnold. I guess I just have to trust you on this. But I really need to be Bettie some more and I want to do it right. So, what do we do?"

"I need to think this through--and call Sid," Arnold said. "But lets film two or three -uh--milder tapes. Dances, maybe, like Bettie's older stuff, or Bettie the maid, or some light bondage --one a week, maybe, and save the burglar for the block buster, There's all kind of business shit involved; copyrights, distribution, boring stuff, but we don't even have a contract yet. But if we do this right, we'll be rich!"

"Rich! Is this all about money?" Janet stiffened.

"Janet! You know the answer to that! Money's great and we--I mean both of us are going to make a lot of it, if I don't mess up. What this is really about is my fantasy come true, with this weird, incredibly sexy woman--super Bettie --in my life. That's what important. and I want to do it right. I'm scared--you scare me a little bit--shit! I keep saying that!--And--"

Janet leaned forward and kissed him. For a while. Then said: "It's my fantasy, too, and I need for you to be in charge. That's part of the turn on. And if I get too pushy, or do something naughty, I guess you'll have to spank me again. Until I learn to behave!" She got to her feet and wiggled mischievously, turned her back and flounced up her skirt; Bettie to the core.

Arnold had her over his lap is seconds; Janet kicking her legs and

squealing with glee as he held her wrists and roughly tugged down her panties. She squirmed as his big hand came down: three swats and her still tender cheeks were splotched crimson. She kicked futilely, shrieking; "Ooh! Ow! Stop! I'll be good! OW!"

*

"Arnold! Mr. Dworkin! What are you...?" It was Stacy in the doorway. 'There's a customer up front--I thought--wow! this is so--kinky!"

Arnold froze, his hand poised over Janet's smarting ass. He cleared his throat , weakly. "Uhh--Stacy. I'll be with you in a moment."

The blonde stood frozen, her slack-jawed gape slowly turning to a wide grin. "Right! Oh wow! Right!"

"Stacy! Close the fucking door!"

"I guess I got caught with my pants down. I'm sorry Arnold, I'm not using very good judgment, am I?" Janet's voice was abashed as she tugged her briefs over her pink bottom.

Arnold wasn't listening. "Shit! Shit oh dear! What can I tell her?"

Janet smoothed down her tight denim skirt, rubbing her tender ass absently. She was calm, assured, no Bettie Page camping now. "You don't tell her anything. This twenty-something little Valley girl's got the hots for you--I could see it the moment we walked in. Did you hear what she said? "Kinky! WOW!" --just be cool and you'll have no problem--except her maybe coming on to you. Voice of experience, Arnold."

Arnold rubbed his chin, thinking how little he knew about this mercurial woman so suddenly the most important thing in his life, or come to think of it, how little he knew about women in general. "Yeah, maybe you're right. Just pretend nothing was going down. Ahh--you think she's hot for me, huh?"

"Don't push it, hon. You don't need a jealous Bettie Page on your hands, do you? You'd better see to that customer; I'm off to the leather shop again; I've got a few nasty script ideas that need costumes. Give me a hug." They embraced. "Easy. we'll continue this tonight, OK? My place."

As Arnold discussed Polaroid filters with his customer, Janet sashayed through the store, exchanging cool stares with Stacy. The day was

unusually busy; there was a run on the throwaway cardboard cameras Arnold had put on sale. Throughout the day, though, Arnold was very aware of Stacy's slightly amused regard.

As they were closing up, Stacy eyed Arnold and said: "I probably should have knocked louder--you know, this morning. I was, like, totally surprised." Arnold was silent. "She's really attractive. if you like, you know, older women. I guess they know all about that weird stuff, right? Spanking, and like that--"

"Stacy. I agree you should have knocked louder. Anything else is none of your business."

"Yeah. Right. Like, I said, I was sorry. I really like working here--with you--and all." She bit her lip.

Arnold had an urge to give her a reassuring hug, and stopped himself just in time. Why was she standing so close? he remembered what Janet had said. "Let's both just forget it, Stacy. You are a --uh--valued employee; I wouldn't want to do anything to change that, OK?. I mean that. See you Monday morning, Take care."

SIX

The next afternoon Sid, the LA distributor, was on the phone: "Hey! Dworkin! How's it going? Sid here. Listen! this Bettie Page thing is flying outta the store! Word of mouth, i guess. I had to tape 5000 more copies--big bucks for you and me, my friend! Now, I gotta ask you--can you possibly get me some follow up tapes? The woods down here are full of old farts frantic to jerk off with Bettie! How about it?"

"Well, Sid, good news. My --uh--source has some more old 16mm stuff. I haven't screened it yet, but if its any good, I'll Fed Ex it right down to you."

Later, at Janet's apartment--she was busy trying on a laced leather corset and straps and bondage gear--he gave her the good news. "I think we should move ahead with this--like tomorrow! How about that weird Hawaiian hula idea you had? We'll need to make the audio tape. What's that--Wow!--that leather thing? Don't put that in--hey!"

Janet smiled sweetly, brandishing the dildo. "Just fooling around, dear. You know you're the man!"

After fortyfive minutes of sex, stupefying again for Arnold, they got down to business: they would do the Hula dance, then a patient--doctor skit, and then--maybe--a self-bondage episode that Janet loved; Arnold was a bit leery; it sounded like severe S and M , maybe too much.

In the back room studio the next night, they filmed the Hawaiian hula; Arnold's initial idea, Janet's kinky finish. Arnold had prerecorded the music and his voice-over dialogue, doing a passable job with a plummy, unctuous travelogue type voice.

Bettie enters the same tacky set, wearing a short rayon print dress with Joan Crawford type shoulder pads, platform high heels, gartered black

seamed hose, and a foolish Hawaiian straw hat--very nineteen sixties. She unloads a shopping bag on the coffee table. "I'm going to learn me a genuine hula dance--got all the stuff right here! Instruction record, grass skirt, the whole nine yards!"

She shrugs out of her dress; she's wearing her lacy black bra and wispy panties again. Sitting on the couch, she kicks off her shoes and slowly peels off her stockings. Rummaging through her purchases, she slips on plastic flower anklets and wrist bands and drapes a plastic hibiscus lei around her neck. She fastens on a short, bushy grass skirt, low on her hips, and starts the instruction record on the turntable.

Announcer: "Aloha, students. The hula is an ancient form of Polynesian story telling. Every little movement has a meaning all its own.."

Bettie: "Get on with it!"

Announcer: "Don't rush me. Let's start with Lovely Hula Hands. Don't forget to rotate your hips." Bettie does indeed rotate her hips as the music begins, hokey hand movements and all. Just as she's getting into it, the music stops.

Bettie: "What now?"

Announcer: "The authentic hula can only be danced in grass skirt, lei, and nothing else! So, if you're trying this in your long underwear or three piece suit, we'll pause so you can get naked now!"

Bettie: "Well, why didn't you say so?" She unhooks and discards her bra ,then turns away from the camera, arches her rump and slides off her panties, and moons the camera with a delicious shimmy. The grass skirt is short and full, almost a tutu; her bare ass and perineal cleft flirt with the camera. * Bettie: "I think I'm ready now; naked as a jay bird!"

Announcer: "Good! May I say you look lovely. Music, please!"

Three minutes or so of hula music; Bettie dances. Janet has the old dance routines from Bettie's film clips down cold; the easy smile, twinkling eyes, the sweet and salacious bumps and grinds, the pirouettes as she rotates her bottom. Her breasts bounce perkily, only intermittently hidden by the lei.

Announcer: "Excellent! the hula has the mystical power to bring new sensations to your loins--hot, throbbing--now for a faster beat!" New music: Hawaiian War Chant.

Bettie dances with abandon for a minute or two, then her graceful hand motions change. She is scratching; first one hip, then the other, then reaching under the brief grass skirt, her inner thighs. She continues to dance, but more and more frantically. "Tarnation! I got new sensations all right! That's a big time itch!" She turns away from the camera spreads her legs and scratches furiously at her furry crotch.

Announcer (over the continuing music): "Your skirt is made of authentic Hawaiian crab grass, and contains --authentic Hawaiian crabs--pubic lice, if you will--live and lively. Should you have any itching or burning problems, now's the time to use the tiki idol in your kit--it's lightly medicated--or consult your friendly neighborhood druggist. But now; on with the dance!"

Bettie tears off the grass skirt and reaches for the tiki--about two feet long, carved wood with a grinning hook nosed face and a spiky headdress. She rubs it between her legs, scratching at first, then faster and deeper still dancing to the torrid beat. Now she sinks to her knees, manipulating the phallic shaft back and forth, up and down, between her thighs. Finally she is flat on her back, arching, legs splayed and kicking as she rubs herself in time to the ongoing music; her eyes are now half closed, lips parted.* Announcer (over music fade to Aloha Oe): "Aloha, students! As the sun sinks in the west and the tiki slowly sinks into your nukinuki, we hope this lesson has given you the itch to visit the islands. Aloha, Bettie, and keep humping!"

Bettie: (on the floor,, frantically sawing the tiki between her cuntlips): "That son of a bitch! Ooh!" Fade.

Fade in: Betty is on the couch, dreamy, relaxed. Shot is not explicit as she holds the tiki in one hand, moving it gently in and out, her left knee coyly flexed. The camera angle makes it clear that the bulk of the wooden shaft is buried in her vagina.

Bettie (smiles dreamily at the camera): "Umm--I don't think my friendly neighborhood druggist could do this! If you itch, you gotta scratch, right? Umm! Aloha! Come on, tiki god!"

SEVEN

Arnold put down the camcorder and knelt alongside Janet on the couch, still thrusting at the tiki. "Uhh--we're though shooting now, I mean. you can quit--goddammit, take that wooden dildo out of your--"

Janet smiled dreamily. "Right. Hey, this was fun. Now don't be jealous, just help me slide this--ooh!-that was a turn on!--thing out. Umm! How did I do?"

Arnold ; slightly grumpy: "Great, I think it was great. I'll edit it tonight, and send to Sid in the morning. So let's get a good night's rest."

Janet got up from the couch, snuggled against him. "Arnold. C'mon. It's only eight o'clock, and I've got all this kinky leather gear --so let's do another quick video! Come on! I really want to! I'm kinda--you know--into it! "

"What leather gear?" Arnold asked as she dumped the contents of a big plastic shopping bag onto the tabletop. "What in hell is all this? And all that stuff you had at your apartment, come to think of it." He stared at the jumble of straps, cuffs, buckles and other leather paraphernalia.

"Oh, just some ideas that Kevin and I thought up this afternoon..." Janet giggled, still nude, still stroking the wet tiki dildo.

"Kevin! Who in hell is Kevin?" Arnold exploded. "What's going on here? Where were you this afternoon?"

Janet giggled again. "Wow! You should see your face! Don't be jealous, dear--Kevin's the neat guy down at the kinky costume and leather store you sent me to on that first day--remember? Look what he sold me today." She slipped into an extreme fetish getup: patent leather boots and gloves, a leather garterbelt and block stockings. She posed. pouting. Arnold was transfixed. She wriggled salaciously, then smiled.