Arnold, Janet and Bettie

* "About Kevin, since you asked. He's young, blonde, and as queer as a three dollar bill. When he's strapping some of this gear onto my gorgeous

bod, he's thinking about his boyfriend--probably." She laughed again. "Oh, come on. He even made me a tape for this little skit --it's kind of a challenge, see? I strap myself up and see if I can escape. Lots of erotic writhing and struggling, OK? A chance for some great camera work, I'm thinking. How about it?" She got up from the couch and hugged him, squirming just a bit. "Struggling--ooh! help! I can't get free!"

"Why not? That's just ditzy enough to be a Bettie thing. I'll set up my lights; you get ready. But we should really work these scripts out in advance--oh hell, you've had all the good ideas so far--let's do it."

Janet carefully packed all the leather gear and the tape casette into a large mailing container and taped it shut. She donned 5 inch high heels and her diaphanous grey negligee,and handed the package to Arnold. "Knock, and hand me this through the door, just like the first film, OK?" She shot him a dazzling smile, adjusted her wig, and gave him a little flirtatious bump and grind.

Arnold felt just a bit depressed; Janet seemed to be running the show; the phrase 'pussy-whipped' passed through his mind. But the concept seemed sound, even exciting; with a little bit of creative lighting, maybe a yellow filter for a slightly sinister effect--he started to set up his cameras.

The scene begins. Knock at the door. Messenger: "UPS package for Bettie Page."

"Why thank you. Just hand it through the door; I'm not dressed." (To the camera:) "I'm not sure I should have sent for this, but the phone call said it was a free trial offer, and it sounded --kinda kinky!" She unpacks the box, looking in turn at the leather straps, the collar, the belt and its attachments, the funny looking ball on a strap, and the cuffs. "Whoa! What is all this stuff? I'd better play the tape."

The tape begins: A deep, melliflous man's voice: "Congratulations! You have elected to experience our sensational home leather=tether kit! Become an escape artist! Astound your friends! Or--just fool around with this erotic bondage challenge. Do you dare to try it? Not for the faint of heart,

this one time offer comes with absolutely no obligation. Try it in the privacy of your boudoir; enhance your sensual awareness. Leather--caressing, confining, dominating. Curious? Intrigued? Check the illustration. Then just follow the taped instructions--if you dare." *

"Hell yes, I dare! Let's go, mister!" Bettie slips off her robe and fingers the collar defiantly.

"Let's start with the collar--symbol of submission. Buckle it around your neck tightly, making sure that the two leather thongs and their nooses are in front--we'll get back to them later."

From this point on, Bettie follows the taped instructions. The collar is three inches high, thick and tight. It forces her neck and head severely erect; she can scarcely move her jaw. Next she buckles on wide wrist cuffs, one with a slot, the other with a protruding metal ring. "Don't put ring A into slot B--not just yet.' the tape warns. Now she buckles on the massive leather belt with the inch wide steel studded strap dangling in back. The buckle fastening at her waist is a toothed ratchet with no obvious release, she notes uneasily, as she tightens it--click. click. click. "You can do better than that! Another notch! and one more!" exhorts the tape, and Bettie obeys, sucking in her breath and painfully constricting her waist, her soft flesh bulging above and below the leather band.

"Now the gag. It's that big ball thing. We don't want you biting at your straps or howling piteously and disturbing your neighbors later, do we? Open your mouth--wide, wider--it will just fit behind your teeth--now buckle the strap behind your neck. Fine!" The voice purred.

Bettie nearly choked, but managed the gag and turned to the dangling thongs. Following instructions, she fondled her nipples until they were erect, then slipped one of the nooses over one nipple and cinched it tight--and gasped in pain and surprise. As it tightened a concealed ring of metal spines embedded themselves in the soft areolar tissue at the base of her nipple; the noose would not slip off. She grimaced, then shrugged, and repeated the process with her other engorged nipple. The double thong, running through a ring in the front of her collar, was short enough so that both breasts were tugged and lifted, up and together, creating a dramatic and soon-to-be uncomfortable cleavage. Bettie arched her back, then swayed from side to side, relishing the painful tug on her nipples as her tethered breasts bounced. "Better than a wonderbra " she tried to say; the gag allowed only a stifled mumble.

Now for the heavy metal studded strap dangling between her buttocks. Bettie has already figured out where that was about to go when the tape told her to spread her legs slightly, reach behind her, and tug the

strap between her legs, tight against her anus (one cold metal stud was already lodging there) and up between her labia. Now she tugs the strap through a fastening on her belt in front--another ratchet, tightening notch after notch, with no possible release. Click. Click. Click. She moans and squirms as she tugs, the metal studs are deep inside her now, sliding between her sensitive inner lips and rubbing against her clitoris. The tape taunts her to pull tighter, tighter, one more notch, and she complies, feeling a mixture of pain, bravado, and sexual excitement. She does a tentative dance step, experiencing the shifting pressures in her intimate tissues, now starting to swell and lubricate, and the tension on her pinioned, swaying breasts; her nipples are now engorged and swollen to the color and size of large raspberries.

Now she sits on the bed and, as instructed by the persuasive voice from the tape, tightens wide leather straps around her ankles, her calves, and then her thighs, pulling each ratcheted buckle as tight as possible. Then she maneuvers her upper arms into a wide leather circlet that brings her shoulders back and her elbows nearly together and hooks into a ring on the back of her collar. This tightens the pull on her breasts; the thongs now tight as bowstrings as the punishing toothed nooses clench her nipples. "At last!" says the tape. "You get to put ring A into slot B! Lock your wrists together. I dare you to do it!"

"What the hell" Bettie, too proud and stubborn to quit now, slobbers behind her gag, and crosses her wrists behind her, fumbling until the ring slides into the slot with a final -sounding click. She fastens the short strap between the cuff and her ankles. She twists her wrists 90 degrees, there is another series of clicks. Now she begins to explore the seriousness of her predicament; arms bound tightly behind her, legs immobilized, almost hogtied, (her tightly bound feet and ankles already numb) her swollen nipples and violated cunt throbbing.

'I should have told you' the deep vioce conncluded. 'there is no escape , you are helpless. Twist, turn, writhe; it's no use, And, by the way, the rawhided leather that encaseds you, will harden, shrink and punish you even more in the next few hours! Happy bondage!~

Janet squirmed, struggled against her leather cocoon.

*

Worse, much worse is yet to come. There is a new voice, a female voice, dripping with malice, on the tape. "Hi there, Bettie, you slut! This is Darlene, your old roommate. You tried to steal my boyfriend, Tony, remember? Well, tonight's my night to get even! This whole thing is a setup, a trap! I knew you were a little bit kinky about bondage and such, and dumb enough to fall for this leather thing. No way you're gonna get loose. But, squirm and wiggle and sweat, because in about three hours, Tony and a bunch of his biker pals are going to come over and give you a little party--yeah, I've still got a key to your place--a party your tired old pussy will never forget! I think I'll come along with my movie camera--you always did want to be in pictures, didn't you, you stuck up bitch. See you soon!"

`As the tape ends, Bettie reacts with horror and dismay. At first she struggles frantically with her wrist cuffs, then begins to twist and turn in every possible direction, sliding off the couch onto the floor, kneeling, trying to shuffle to the coffee table, to rub the ankle and leg straps against the table legs to no avail, then rolling and writhing and inching painfully to the armchair along the cold hardwood floor, bruising her tethered breasts with each small lurch forward, her swollen pussy throbbing now with each futile shift of her hips. As she crawls around the room , it is soon clear that there are no sharp edges, nothing to saw against the leather straps.

She finally crawls, squirms--slowly, pitifully, like a beached dolphin, to the kitchenette--in the top drawer there are knives, she knows. But gagged, she can't use her teeth on the drawer pull. And her legs are cramping now, and so are her fingers; she can't get to her feet, even leaning against the sink (she tries, but falls heavily landing on her breasts), and her strapped arms and flailing fingers can't reach the drawer. Exhausted, slick with sweat, she slumps to the linoleum floor, curls up on her side, and begins to weep--for the first time.

*

The camera pans to the kitchen clock: 9:05. Fade. Fade in. The clock now reads 11:42. Bettie is still on the floor, now on her back, now on her side, still struggling, but in a slow, defeated way. Her trapped nipples have engorged even further, and are now nearly purple; a few rivulets of blood have dripped down from her pierced breast tissue; the studded strap has virtually disappeared between her swollen labia. There is a loud knocking at the door and a boisterous male voice. "Bettie? Hey Bettie! We're coming in! It's party time!"

EIGHT

Arnold had filmed all this almost without interruption, changing angles, moving in for closeups of the breast bondage and pelvic strap, and Bettie's agonized face fighting the gag. He intervened once, to tighten the upper arm straps, making the bondage much more realistic, and more painful, too--but Bettie had nodded her OK. For the scenes of her extended, futile struggle, he had used a low side light with a light purple filter to highlight her sweaty gleaming body and deep shadows and had shot from floor level to accentuate her misery and helplessness. Unenthusiastic at the onset, he found himself more and more aroused as the script played itself out--the taped dialogue was solid--who was this Kevin, anyway?--and the final switch to 'Darlene'--Janet's own altered voice, he was pretty sure--was a masterful plot switch. And he was just a bit pumped up by his own camera work. So as he began to free Janet from the cruel leather bindings, he was perhaps a bit too cheerful.--and a bit too randy. "Great! Just great, Bettie--er, Janet! I didn't go for the concept at first, but--wow! what a great script! let me get that gag first..."

Janet stretched her aching jaws, trying to get some saliva in her dry mouth before she spoke in a whispered rasp ; she was still on her side on the cold floor, immobilized in her sweaty leather bonds. "Just get me out of --this. And don't be so fucking upbeat! Just--help me!"

"Sure! as fast as I can. I'm sorry--I didn't realize..." Arnold knelt at her side, cradling her as he fumbled first with the wrist cuffs, then the constricting belt and the steel studded strap lodged deep in her crotch--to no avail. "Damn! I can't find any release on these ratchets! These nipple clamps, too--what was your buddy Kevin thinking of?'

"Ow! You're hurting me!" Janet moaned, as he tried to free her breasts, "Be careful! Ow--ouch!"

"I've got to get a knife, or scissors, or something. Just hang in

there!" He found some shears and a box knife in his darkroom; it took ten agonizing minutes of sawing before the thick leather bonds yielded. He cut through the taut thongs that held her breasts suspended, and gently pried off the spiked nippple nooses; a perfect circle of punctate bloody wounds surrounded each engorged nipple where the spikes had bitten into her pink areolae. The steel studded thong, now damp, when pulled out between her swollen labia evoked another series of moans. The leg and shoulder straps were easy, but the thick collar and waist-constricting belt took minutes of cutting and sawing before they finally were severed. When he was finished, Arnold held her in his arms for a long minute, silent and much subdued. Finally he spoke, caressing her gently, carefully. " Janet, there's a hot tub and sauna place about two miles from here--I think that's what you need. I'll get you a robe and we'll go there. OK?"

She nodded, with a feeble, grateful smile.

Two hours later, at Janet's apartment, they cuddled on the couch. Stan Getz bossa nova and Miles Davis played quietly; Janet had lit some incense. The remains of a pizza Arnold had picked up on the way and a half emptied bottle of red wine sat on the coffee table: there was candlelight.

Finally Arnold spoke: "Janet--I think we need to talk. About tonight, and about this whole thing, this Bettie thing. I'm worried about you--all this S and M stuff, like that studded strap in your pussy, and those nipple clamps--even that big wooden hawaiian dildo--it's, I don't know, it's like you're beating up on yourself, punishing your body way more than Bettie ever did. So where is all that coming from? I mean, sometimes I don't think I know you at all. And it's scary. Because I really care about you."

She kissed him softly. "You're very sweet. Arnold. And kind--I'm not used to that. No, you don't know me. I'm not insulting you. But I've gone through lots of changes in my life, some of them really dark and strange."

She took a long breath and continued. "No. don't shush me; I need to tell you this. For two or three years the man I was with was heavily into bondage--and so was I. I was exploited, even brutalized, always the bottom, always the tortured victim, fucked over, derided, made to feel like an

unworthy piece of shit--I see that now. But like an exotic appetite--raw oysters, maybe--the pull is there, the attraction, OK. the addiction, the crazy sexual high of absolute abasement and helplessness; it never quite goes away."

Arnold gulped as she continued, but was silent.

"I've done lots of meditation and searching since then--this Hindu ashram I am sort of connected with now has been--very calming. But I'm still hooked. The minute you showed me those scratchy old films of Bettie in her black undies, tied up tight, that was it! You didn't have to say another word. And Bettie is good for me, I'm sure of it. I can go back to some of those dangerous places and feelings, kid with them, play with them...Bettie's so--oh I don't know, so--naive, so cheerful--a sexual innocent. She just wants to please. And so do I, I guess. I want to please myself, to tell myself that I'm just a nice ordinary girl who likes to get spanked and tied up and fucked and humiliated, all in the spirit of fun."

She sighed. "God, what a long speech! Is all this too heavy for you, Arnold?" "No--No, not at all. Well, yeah. Sorta. I feel kind of a lightweight, like a kid around you sometimes, and here you're letting me into your life, and it makes me want to take care of you even more, if I can figure out how."

"Come here. You do take care of me, silly. That's why I feel so safe pushing the limits of my--thing--even tonight, when I think I made a little mistake--gotta talk to Kevin about that no-escape gear. You're my knight in shining armor!' She hugged him, moving her body sinously against him; her hand stole down to his groin. "And what a knight! So sexy! and so often!" She giggled again, teasing him, then grew serious once more.

"Look at me--now stop that! In a minute! oh! that tit's still tender! I need to tell you this. I'm not just some older flake with a weird history and hot pants. How many men do you think I invite into my home, my bed--or my life? You're the first in three years. Just you and me and Bettie Page. I said stop that! --no, do that again! Just do it, love!" She lay back on the couch and spread her thighs. Her still swollen labia and clit peeped through her pubic hair and glistened in the candlelight as Arnold slid deep inside her with a moan of pleasure.

NINE

Arnold was at the store early, leaving Janet's warm bed and her drowsy nude body reluctantly, but he was eager to review and edit last night's two dynamite tapes. He was in the backroom studio, cutting and splicing, totally engrossed--Goddammit! this was some of the best stuff he had ever done!--when he heard the door open. It was Stacy, opening up at 9 o'clock--He'd been working for more than two hours without realizing it.

"Arnold? is that you? Hello. Wow, you're in early today." She paused in the doorway of the studio. He took a closer look. Was it his imagination, or was she toning down her punk image? She wore her usual klunky Doc Marten boots, but her grungy sweatshirt and jeans were gone, replaced by a short leather skirt and a bright colored blouse, half unbuttoned, emphasising her healthy bosom.

"I--i was just working on a project-I'm almost finished now." She stood there,looking at him. "Stacy--it's been a little bit weird around here lately, i know, but I--"

She smiled. "C'mon . Arnold. I can guess what's been going on. Ever since --what's her name?--Janet---- arrived on the scene. And the next day she shows up in the 60's hot dress and garterbelt and the Bettie Page wig oh, yeah, I know about your Bettie Page thing--and you start that back room slap and giggle stuff, and totally losing focus around the store--you guys are making a film, aren't you? A Bettie Page film. And, hey, I have no problems with that, except maybe you could let me in on it."

Arnold gulped. "How did you --I mean, this was--is--a confidential project. And I really can't let you--well, maybe. But I'll have to ask Bettie--I mean, Janet."

"Whatever. But Arnold, I want you to know, if you're doing something creative, something that really turns you on as the great photographer that i know you can be, more than selling Canons and Nikons to yuppies, I'd really like to, you know, help however I can." Her smile was now frankly seductive as she came close. "By the way, here's the mail."

Bills, promotional mailers, and a registered letter from Sid. He opened it and gulped again: a handwritten note--"More film, anything--this first tape is incredibly hot! Call me!" And a check for 9,800 dollars.

Arnold's fingers trembled slightly as he phoned Fedex to pick up the print of the Burglar tape with instructions to hold it until later; Sid woud go crazy when he saw it, he was sure. He planned to send Horny Hula and Leather Tether, as soon as Janet had had the chance to view them and give her OK. He phoned Janet, and thrilled at her sleepy, sexy voice. "You left so early, you meanie, I was looking forward to a morning quickie. I'm still in bed, if you're interested."

"You know I'm interested, but i want you to come down to the store. Good news fron L.A., first of all, and we have some decisions to make. See

you soon, you fabulous piece of--" He looked up; Stacy was still there, still smiling. "Uh--see you very soon."

Janet arrived an hour later, in tight white jeans and a silky black blouse, her dark hair in a loose braid. Not the Bettie wig, Arnold noted. Thank God! She exchanged extravagant polite smiles and greetings with Stacy before they retired to the back room.

"So what's up? And that Stacy, she knows, doesn't she? I could tell by the way she said hello. Give me a kiss. No, a better one than that. Ummm-yes." She wore no bra, Arnold was sure. her nipples, still swollen from last night's torment, thrust against the sheer blouse.