Cheryl's Passion Ch. 07

"Trust me," Andrianna said, "I know to use a whip."

I suspected that was true, and I moaned, anticipating what was coming.

There was a loud splat of leather on bare skin as Andrianna's whip smacked cruelly across my left breast. I made an inarticulate sound and surged in involuntary revolt against the ropes that bound my wrists and ankles.

"That's about right," Jessica told Andrianna, "Alright then, continue on like that. Whip her slowly, go from breast to breast. I'll tell you when to stop." Andrianna did as she was told, and Jessica captured the entire thing on film. The scorching lashes across my innocent bare breasts caused me to writhe and squirm against my bonds, and the more my hips squirmed, the more aware I was of the massive phallus inside of me. I had just enough mobility that I could move my hips, and shamelessly work my pelvis up and down on the leather thing that Andrea had thrust inside of me. It was happening. Andrianna wasn't shy about hurting a naked slave-girl, and my poor, defenseless breasts bounced and burned as each painful stroke of the whip painted my breasts a colorful combination of pink and scarlet.

Andrea made certain that I had something to think about other than my breasts as she twisted and turned the phallic-thing that my sex was impaled upon. My poor, abused sex was going to be sore after this, but wrote that off as a small price to pay and I savored one agonizing wave of desire after another as my sex throbbed and spasmed around the monstrous thing that Andrea had thrust inside of me.

Andrianna's whip continued to punish my innocent breasts, and I screamed in feminine pain, while also breathing heavily and gasping towards climax. The combination of cruel pain and sexual arousal is something most women ever know, or even understand, however it was a delicious cocktail for a woman like me, and it was probably on the eleventh or twelfth impact of Andrianna's cruel whip that my climax hit and my entire body shuddered.

Every inch of my bound, naked body sang out in an ecstasy of release. My resounding screams of pain were mixed in with my screams of sexual ecstasy, blended so seamlessly even I couldn't tell the difference between the two. The way my body recoiled from the whip and the way it writhed and shuddered in throes of orgasm were also blended so seamlessly, it would have been almost impossible to tell the two apart.

When the whipping stopped and my body stopped shuddering, my naked body was drenched in sweat, my breasts were heaving, and my face was soaked with tears.

"Wow," Jessica exclaimed, reverently.

"I agree," Diana, said, "That was amazing."

Jessica took a few more photos and then said, "I have been trying to get a BDSM model with your kind of body and your kind of unconditional enjoyment for the submissive side of things, but I had just about given up finding a model like you."

"Well, I'm glad you found me," I said as my sore, stinging abused breasts heaved up and down and I basked in the post-orgasmic bliss. Jessica promised that she'd be calling me back for many more photoshoots, and I assured her that I would come any time she called.

**********

For my next BDSM modeling job I had to travel all the way up to San Francisco. April's mother had found an internet business called discipline.com that was hiring BDSM models, and they liked the nude photos and the application April's mother had sent in on my behalf, so I ended up taking the long drive from Fairhaven to San Francisco, so I could do a studio scene with them, and if they liked me, I could become a regular model, and make as much as $800.00 for every lesbian BDSM scene I did for them. They paid less per session than Jessica Brandt, however with them I'd probably get more sessions per year.

And besides, April told me to go. I was an obedient slave-girl/girlfriend. I did whatever April told me to do. I'd show up and do the studio scene no matter how much they were willing to pay me.

From the outside, the headquarters for discipline.com looked like it was just an office building. There was nothing to suggest that hot BDSM action might be going on inside.

When I entered their lobby, there was a respectable-looking receptionist sitting at a respectable-looking office desk. Nothing about the lobby indicated that anything erotic or perverted went on in this building.

"May I help you?" the receptionist asked, once I'd made my way into their lobby and looked around.

"Um, I'm Cheryl Munroe," I said, "I have an appointment."

The receptionist looked at some sort of day-planner on her desk, and then said, "Oh, you're one of the models! You're early! We weren't expecting you here until 10:00 am!"

"Yeah, I had to drive all the way from Fairhaven," I said, "I left around four this morning, to make sure I got here on time."

"Dear God," the receptionist said, sympathetically.

"Yeah, it would have been quicker if I flew, but it would have cost a lot more."

"Okay, the thing is," the receptionist said, "You're the only one here so far. None of the other models are here, the cameraman isn't here, the photographer isn't here, the makeup artist, the hair stylist..."

"Okay, I get it," I said, feeling foolish for getting there when I did. I was almost tempted to just leave and come back later.

"You can have a seat and wait," the receptionist offered, "It'll be about an hour before the rest of the crew gets here, but the office is air-conditioned and the seats are comfy."

"Do you guys have a restroom?" I asked, "I've been driving for hours, and I really need to pee."

The receptionist's name was Michelle. She was about the same age as me, and she knew I was a BDSM model, but she didn't give me a hard time about it. We were both working-class women and we did what we had to in order to earn money. She didn't judge me for the way I made my money, and I ended up liking Michelle almost immediately.

The director, the cameraman and the photographer showed up all at the same time. I'm kind of assuming that they all came in the same vehicle. They all went downstairs to the studio to set up, and barely even acknowledged my existence.

The next person to arrive was a model named Gina. She had a Starbucks coffee in one hand, and her purse in the other. She ignored me, and greeted Michelle like they were old friends. Michelle then pointed out the fact that I was sitting in the lobby and introduced me to Gina, as "Cheryl, the new bondage model".

"Hey," Gina said, "This your first time with discipline.com?"

"Yep," I said, and I stood up to greet her. We shook hands and I said, "I guess today is sort of an audition to see if they like me."

Gina looked me up and down and said, "They're going to love you. Seriously, you're better looking than ninety-percent of the models they bring in to this place."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," Gina said emphatically, "Fuck! Half of the models they bring in are only doing BDSM modeling, because they're not good-looking enough to do regular modeling! I swear the last one I saw that came here for a test-session weighed over two-hundred pounds!"

Michelle made a sound halfway between a snort and a laugh, and said, "Carolyn Price."

"Right," Gina said, in boisterous agreement, "Carolyn Price! She was a fat cow!"

"You're way better looking than her," Michelle assured me.

"Are you a sub, or a dom?" Gina asked me.

"Sub," I said.

Gina pointed to herself and said, "Dom. We're on opposite sides of the fence."

"So, how much will you be hurting me today?" I asked.

"We don't say 'hurt', Cheryl, we say 'punish'," Gina admonished me, "And how much I punish you is pretty much up to the director."

Two more models showed up shortly after that. The blonde one was named Scarlett, and the dark-haired one was named Eliza. Eliza shook my hand when we were introduced, whereas Scarlett hugged me like we were dear friends.

Scarlett also proceeded to hug Gina and Michelle.

"As you may have guessed," Gina said with a sarcastic tone in her voice, "Scarlett is kind of affectionate."

"Really?" I inquired, my voice equally sarcastic.

"They call me the hug-monster," Scarlett said with contagious good cheer, "They think that being bitter and cynical makes you more adult. I think that being affectionate and congenial, just makes the world a better place."

Scarlett was more attractive than me, had longer legs, and larger breasts. There were all kinds of ways that she was better-looking than me. She was better looking than every woman in the lobby. We should have all been jealous and resentful of her, but she was just so damn friendly and adorable, I found myself liking her almost instantly.

"I am not bitter and cynical," Gina said defensively, "I just like to complain about stuff, and the world keeps on giving me new material to complain about."

"You should go out drinking with me some time," Eliza said, "I know a bar where they like to complain about stuff, but they're not very good at it. You can show them how the pros do it."

Eliza began to organize a night-out to a bar named El Rio. She recruited Gina and Scarlett into going, and then she tried to invite me into joining them.

"Hey, New-Girl," she said to me, "You wanna tag along with us, tonight?"

"I'm only eighteen," I confessed, "I'm kinda below the legal drinking age."

"Shut up," Scarlett blurted out emphatically, "You're only eighteen? Seriously?"

"You're not the baby of the group, anymore, hug-monster," Eliza said.

"Did you get into porn straight out of high school?" Scarlett asked.

"Almost," I replied, "I worked as a receptionist for a few weeks after I graduated. But, it wasn't really my thing."

"So, are you a dom, or are you a sub?" Eliza asked.

"Sub," I replied.

"Oh, you poor thing," Scarlett said in a commiserating tone of voice, "Your bottom is going to be so sore!"

"Hug-monster feels your pain," Gina translated.

"Hug-monster is a sub also, so she literally will be feeling your pain today," Eliza added helpfully, "Her ass will literally be as sore as yours before todays' session is over."

"I've been doing this for six years," Scarlett said, "I'm used to having a sore ass. Cheryl is new at this. We should all have some sympathy for her."

Much to my surprise, Scarlett put her arm around me. It was the sort of thing a close friend or a sister might do to show compassion. I barely knew Scarlett. I had just met her a few minutes ago.

"Um, I have a very high pain tolerance," I said to Scarlett, "But thanks for being supportive."

"I remember what it was like to be the new girl," Scarlett said, "I'll be right here if you need me for anything."

"Actually, I do have some questions," I said as I looked into Scarlett's attentive face, "I'm pretty new at this, and you're the only other submissive I know."

"You have questions," Scarlett stated, "Go ahead and ask them. I've got years of experience."

I looked into Scarlett's warm, friendly eyes and said, "Okay, I've got this thing, where I'm given a really painful punishment...like a whipping or a really harsh spanking, and my skin turns really red...I get this really powerful feeling of pride that I was able to take a punishment that severe without asking for mercy. Do other submissives do that, or is it just me?"

Scarlett nodded her head, as if recognizing the phenomenon, I was talking about.

"There are lots of other submissives who do that," she said.

"To my way of thinking there are two types of submissives," Scarlett said, "Commercial submissives and lifestyle submissives. A commercial submissive doesn't get any sort of sexual or psychological thrill from being dominated or punished. She only does it for the money. A lifestyle submissive actually enjoys being bound, punished and humiliated, and most of them will feel a great deal of pride if they can willingly take a great deal of pain for their master or mistress."

"So, I'm a lifestyle submissive?" I asked.

"Well, it certainly sounds like it," Scarlett replied, "The mere fact that you asked that question-"

"Ladies, we're ready for you downstairs," the director said, poking his head through the door and interrupting my conversation with Scarlett.

"We'd better go," Gina said, "He hates to be kept waiting."

Downstairs there was a dressing room for the models. There were outfits for all four of us. I found it interesting that the outfit they picked out for me fit perfectly. I wondered how they knew my sizes, then I realized April's mom probably e-mailed all that information to them along my application.

Gina and Eliza got the cool outfits. They got impressive-looking black uniforms with black leather jack-boots, black visored military caps and tactical belts with all sorts of tools (such as handcuffs, nightsticks and pepper sprays). They had a sort of military chic going on that was both intimidating and stylish.

Scarlett and I ended up with tweed blazers, pencil skirts, long-sleeved button-front shirts and 5-inch high-heeled patent leather pumps. The two of us looked like paralegals or sales representatives.

"So, how exactly is this supposed to work?" I asked Scarlett, "Are you and I supposed to get arrested? The women in the uniforms have handcuffs. I'm assuming those are not just for show."

"Those are uniforms for Dragostian airport security," Scarlett explained, "They always handcuff foreigners that suspect of drug-smuggling, terrorism, weapon's trafficking or spying."

"And of course, sometimes they handcuff innocent tourists, because they're attractive, and Dragostian security agents want to see what they look like naked," Gina added, helpfully.

"Dragostian?" I asked, zeroing in on the one word I didn't understand.

"Dragostia is a country Eddie made up about five or six years ago," Gina explained, "People got offended when we did sessions where TSA agents handcuffed, strip-searched and sexually violated innocent travelers that were just trying to make it through airport security, so he made up the nation of Dragostia. Now, Dragostian security agents handcuff innocent travelers and sexually violate them, instead of TSA agents. Since Dragostia isn't a real place, Eddie doesn't get any complaints about besmirching the good name of Dragostian security agents."

After all four of us had changed into our designated outfits, a middle-aged woman showed up to style our hair, and a young woman (about Scarlett's age) showed up to do our makeup. Then an energetic, slender woman with a stylish pixie haircut came into the dressing room with some paperwork.

"These are release forms," the energetic woman said, as she passed around paper documents, "Also the script for today's session."

"Script?" I asked, "I have to memorize a script?"

"Not really," Gina said, "This isn't Gone with the Wind. This is internet porn."

"Just follow the general outline of the story," the skinny, energetic woman advised, "Stay in character and you should be alright. If you go too far off-script, they'll stop filming and Eddie will tell you what to do to get back on-track."

Relief! It would take me days to memorize an entire script, but, if all I had to do was read this thing and get into character, I could do that pretty quickly.

The basic outline of the story, was that Scarlett and I were American tourists, visiting the nation of Dragostia. Dragostian security agents accused us of smuggling drugs into their country, and proceeded to strip-search us. They ended up planting drugs on me and/or Scarlett and then used that against us, black-mailing us into having sex with them.

So, basically all I had to do was act frightened, miserable, morally outraged and humiliated.

I could do that.

"Oh, one more thing," the woman with the pixie-haircut said, making direct eye contact with me, "You need a stage-name."

"What?" I said, sounding so articulate and intelligent.

"What should we call you on the website," the energetic woman elaborated.

"Well, couldn't we just use my real name?"

The skinny, energetic woman rolled her eyes, and Scarlett moaned. Eliza and Gina laughed.

"Nobody in porn, uses their real name," Gina admonished me, loudly.

"There are a lot of whackos out there, watching porn," Eliza informed me, "You don't want them to have your name, your phone-number, or any of your personal information."

"Yeah, what they said," Miss pixie-haircut said, agreeing with Eliza and Gina.

I tried to take Beauty as my stage-name, but apparently that name had already been taken. Then, I tried to call myself O. But, that name wasn't available either. I went through about five more names before I came up with one that wasn't already taken.

Back when I was in high school, the two most stunningly attractive females I knew were named Riley Rayne and Summer Smith. I combined their two names together and came up with Summer Rayne.

The woman with the pixie haircut wrote down my new stage-name, and I was told we could all get started.

I soon learned that the woman with the incredibly short haircut was named Kristen. She was sort of Eddie's assistant. Her duties were ill-defined, and changed from one day to the next. Basically, whatever needed to be done, she made sure it got done. She was smart, resourceful and hard-working. Props, paperwork, personality conflicts, keeping everybody on schedule, making sure all the models were of legal age, Kristen took care of all of that, and more.

"Scarlett, put your hands behind your back," Kristen said, "You too, Cheryl."

I obeyed the command without even thinking. The next thing I knew, my wrists were bound in stainless-steel. I had suspected that I would be bound in handcuffs before the day was over, but I wasn't expecting it to happen so soon.

Kristen led us out of the dressing room and towards the studio where the director and the cameramen would be waiting.

The lighting had already been set up, the director was there, and the cameramen were there. I took a deep breath as I realized it was my turn to perform for the cameras. I had that delicious cocktail of emotions that was part excitement and part fear.

The studio we were filming in looked like it was fifty-percent office, and fifty-percent prison. As you entered, there were office desks, filing cabinets, computers, phones, and the normal stuff you would expect to see in an office.

Beyond that was a large holding cell, with very real, solid, iron bars.

I guess if Gina and Eliza were playing Dragostian security officers, this would be some sort of security office. Yeah, that would make sense.

Kristen disappeared, leaving Eliza, Gina, Scarlett and me as the only people for the cameramen to focus on.

Eddie made certain that Scarlett and I knew how to use our safe-words if things got too intense for us, and then he said, "Whenever you ladies are ready, just jump right in."

Apparently Gina felt ready before I did, and she grabbed my arm and forcefully pulled me deep into the room, practically dragging me forward, putting me on display for the cameras. Eliza followed Gina's lead, and grabbed Scarlett.

"This is unfair! I didn't do anything wrong," Scarlett protested loudly, as Eliza strong-armed her. I followed her lead, and decided to voice my own protests. It was the sort of thing an innocent American tourist would do.

"Why are you doing this to me?" I demanded, and tried to look frightened, and upset.

"We had an anonymous tip about the two of you," Gina responded sternly, with a thick East-European accent, "We have reason to believe that you two are bringing illegal drugs into our country!"

"If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear," Eliza said in an equally thick East-European accent. I'm guessing that Dragostia is supposed to be somewhere in Eastern Europe. I kind of got the appeal of that. America had spent decades in a cold war with communist nations like the Soviet Union and Romania. It would make sense for the villains in a BDSM video to sound like our old enemies. They had a long history of being seen as cruel and nefarious.