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was doing good business, but it wasn't crowded. This was a
good thing, from Erin's point of view, because otherwise she'd
have found herself relegated to the bar and spending half the
evening fending off passes. As it was, she was seated at
one of the main dining room's least desirable tables, waaaaay
back in the corner, nursing a drink, reading a book, and
watching her friend and roommate, Madison, play the piano.
It was a monthly gig. Madison spent a leisurely evening
entertaining diners with Classical, New Age, and Jazz Fusion
standards, as well as her own arrangements and original
compositions. Her compensation was the exposure, a
complimentary gourmet meal, and a modest stipend, in that
order. And Erin got to tag along.
Erin smiled. Madison had just started her extended
arrangement of the In Noctem
theme from Nicholas Hooper's Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince soundtrack.
Several diners paused in their meals and conversations to
listen—to really listen. The melody was sad, plaintive,
and hauntingly beautiful. There was a smattering of
applause when the piece ended, and Madison stood and bowed in
acknowledgment, her fiery red hair rippling in a wave. She
sat back down, took a sip of water, then began Claude Debussy's
Prelude to the Afternoon of a
Erin's stomach grumbled and she glanced at her watch.
Madison's meal break was still a few minutes away. She
considered ordering another drink, but decided against it.
Best to wait for the food. Whatever the "chef's special"
turned out to be—and the restaurant always fed them the
special—she knew it would be good.
Erin might have felt like a bit of a mooch, but Madison always
insisted she come along, for "moral support" (as if Madison
needed it), and they both treated these gigs as something of a
lark. Erin got to wear her best (her only) flashy dress
and flirt with the waiters while Madison tickled the ivories and
basked in the adulation of her fans. Okay, adulation was a
bit strong, but her music was much appreciated.
The brunette and redhead had been friends and roommates since
college. Madison had majored in music, of course, and Erin
in graphic arts and photography. Since graduation, they
had pursued their respective careers with modest success,
sharing the condo/townhouse Madison had inherited from her
deceased parents. Erin's "digital darkroom" was in the
basement and the loft-like great room doubled as Madison's
studio and practice room. Erin's occasional sales of her
photographs at outdoor fairs and minor galleries allowed her to
pay sufficient "rent" to satisfy her pride, but it was a gesture
and not a requirement.
You see, Madison was what they call "loaded." A trust fund
more than paid her (their) expenses, and in a few years, on her
thirtieth birthday to be precise, she would gain full control of
the trust, as well as an additional, very large block of stock
in Fallon Limited, the family business. At that point,
she'd become really loaded.
In any case, Madison didn't need Erin's rent payments, but she
accepted them anyway—and returned them as birthday and holiday
gifts in the form of state-of-the-art photography equipment and
other items (like the very pretty faux-diamond and cultured
pearl necklace Erin was currently wearing).
Erin noticed Tom, the maitre
d', leading a very attractive and expensively dressed
woman in her direction—directly
in her direction. The woman was in her forties (or
fifties, it was difficult to tell) with long, reddish brown hair
and piercing blue
"Thank you, Tom," the woman purred, once they had arrived, then
beamed at Erin. "Erin Gillard, the photographer?"
Erin blinked in surprise, then nodded. "Uh, that's right."
"Beverly Adair," the newcomer said. "May I join you?"
"Of course!" Erin gushed, blushing and rising from her
chair. "By all means." Beverly Adair owned one of
the city's premiere galleries, the sort of place that Erin could
only dream would one
day show her work.
Tom pulled out a chair and helped Beverly sit, then smiled at
Erin as she resumed her seat. He then executed a modest
bow and returned to the front desk.
"I admire your work," Beverly told Erin as they shook hands,
"and have been hoping we would meet. I hope you don't
mind. When Tom said you were here with your friend—"
She nodded towards Madison. "—it was as if fate had
"I don't mind in the least," Erin responded. "You've seen
"Yes," Beverly answered. "I try to keep aware of all the
up and coming young artists in the city." She was gazing
into Erin's eyes. "Forgive me, but you have the most
extraordinary eyes... as blue as glacial ice. You simply must let me paint you."
"Paint me?" Stop that,
Erin scolded herself. Act
This could be your big chance, you idiot. "I
mean, I didn't know you painted."
Beverly nodded. "Oils. I never exhibit my own works,
of course, but others have." She turned and watched
Madison play. "She's quite good."
Erin nodded. "She is."
Beverly turned back. "I have a proposition for you,
Erin. I have a show opening tomorrow night, and I'd like
you to photograph the event. And please bring along a
digital copy of your portfolio. I think I may be able to
arrange a show for you. The gallery is booked for the next
several months, but a slot may open up."
Erin's heart was pounding, and her mouth was suddenly dry.
"That would be wonderful."
"Excellent!" Beverly beamed. She rose from her seat and
Erin did, as well. "Forgive my rudeness, but I simply must
run." She turned to gaze at Madison. "I've just had
a marvelous idea." She turned back to Erin. "Please
ask your friend to come along and play. I don't often have
music at my openings, but in this case, I think it would fit
quite nicely. I'll pay, of course. Both of
you." She produced a business card and pen from her bag,
scribbled a note on the back, then handed the card to Erin.
"I don't know what to say," Erin gushed. "I'll ask
her. I'm sure she'll say yes."
"That's all I can ask," Beverly responded. "Until
tomorrow." She turned and left.
"Tomorrow!" Erin called after her, "and thank you!" She
sat back down and gulped the rest of her drink. "This is
my lucky day," she muttered under her breath.
|artists & models
| Chapter 1
I get dragged along,
whether I want to go or not," Madison huffed. It was her
meal break and Erin had just finished telling her what had just
"Pleeeease!" Erin whined, smiling and batting her eyes for
effect. "You'll get paid. She promised."
Madison debated stringing out her show of reluctance, but she
knew her roommate wasn't fooled. "Like you could keep me
away," she admitted. "What does the note say?"
"We're to come early," Erin answered, waving the card, "seven
PM. Dress is formal."
"Whatever," Madison smiled. "Erin's lucky day," she
sighed, a teasing smile curling her lips.
"Could be," Erin smiled. Maddie could tease all she
wanted. This was her
lucky day, and she knew her friend was happy for her. "The
food's here," she noted, nodding towards the approaching waiter.
"About time," Madison grinned.
|artists & models
door close behind her, then rearmed the security system.
Stepping into the semi-darkness, she took the central corridor,
the most direct route to the work areas in the back. She
passed exhibit space after exhibit space, all defined by
movable, ceiling-to-floor partitions, and all lit only by long
strings of LED ropes tacked to the baseboards. All
appeared to be ready for tomorrow. The many sculptures,
water colors, acrylics, oils, and prints were tastefully
arranged and labeled, as per her specifications. The
pieces were by many artists, the most prominent being Maggie
Kilborn, and the show had a single, unifying theme: the
Beverly paused at one of the doorways. Kilborn's latest
bronze held place of honor on a low pedestal in the center of
the room. Its title was "Betrayal," and the
larger-than-life figure was a nude woman—an exceedingly
beautiful woman with full breasts and an athletic, toned
figure. She was kneeling, with her head lowered and hands
in her lap. A collar and fetters captured her throat,
wrists, and ankles, and were joined by a heavy chain, the end of
which was fixed to a ring embedded in the sculpture's stone
base. Like all of Kilborn's maidens, the captive was
strikingly realistic. One almost expected her to sigh,
rattle her chains, lift her sad, bronze eyes, part her bronze
lips, and plead for rescue.
I have got to meet her,
Beverly sighed. I have
got to find a way to get Maggie Kilborn to come for a visit.
She continued towards the double doors that led to the work
areas, entered a code in the cipher lock below the handle, and
As in the public areas, the overhead
lights were off. Only dim nightlights lit her way.
Crates were neatly stacked to one side, next to a small but
powerful electric pallet-mover. The doors to the smaller
work spaces were all closed, but light was leaking under the
farthest door, next to the loading dock. The only other
sign of life was Marta Hartleben, the gallery manager, working
at her desk and clearly visible through the glass wall of her
Beverly strolled over to the open door and leaned against the
frame. "Anything I need to know about?"
Marta looked up and smiled. "Just clearing my in-box so I
can concentrate on last minute problems, tomorrow." Marta
was a brunette, dressed for business with her hair pulled back
in a tight bun. She was, perhaps, a few years younger than
Beverly. Marta removed her glasses and placed them on her
desk. "How did it go?"
Beverly smiled. "It went. I'll be very surprised if
Ms. Gillard and Ms. Madison Fallon don't grace us with their
Marta nodded. "Remember, low and slow. This is a
seduction, not a kidnapping."
Beverly's smile turned slightly sinister. "In point of
fact, it's both, but I hear you. In any case, it's not me
you have to worry about. It's the youngsters who might be
"I've spoken with Lyndal," Marta chuckled, "giving her my 'time
and place for everything' lecture. And as for Crystal..."
"Yes," Beverly purred, "at least for tomorrow, Crystal's
attitude will be largely irrelevant."
"An understatement if there ever was one," Marta chuckled.
Beverly's smile faded. "Did you follow my orders?"
Marta lowered her gaze to the desk. "Yes, Mistress," she
"Come over here," Beverly ordered.
Marta rose from her chair, hurried to face the doorway, and
stood, the four-inch heels of her black pumps two feet
apart. Her chin was lowered and eyes submissively on the
floor, her arms raised, her hands atop her head, and her fingers
Beverly reached under Marta's skirt and caressed the crotch of
Marta gasped and bit her lower lip, then slowly lifted her gaze
and locked eyes with Beverly, a coy smile curling her lips.
Beverly gave her fingertips a delicate sniff. "Humm... I
believe you have. Good girl."
"Thank you, Mistress," Marta purred.
"C'mon," Beverly chuckled, and the pair strolled towards the far
work space, the one spilling light from under its closed door.
|artists & models
and Marta approached, they heard the whirr of a power tool, probably a small drill
or driver. Beverly turned the handle, swung open the door,
and they smiled.
The room was about twenty by twenty, lined on three sides with
cabinets and mostly empty shelves. Both Lyndal and
Crystal, the "youngsters" in question, were in the center of the
room and under a large, bright lighting fixture.
Lyndal was a twenty-something blonde, with blue eyes, tan skin,
and an athletic (ripped,
in fact) figure poured into skintight, designer jeans and a
white tank top.
And as for Crystal—things were complicated. Also
twenty-something, her hair was black, or maybe a very dark
brown, and was cropped in a pageboy bob. Her eyes were a
slightly lighter shade of brown, and the adjectives "sad" and
"doe" also applied. Her skin was very fair, almost Snow
White ivory. All present knew she was quite
short—five-foot-one, in fact—but, at the moment, her height
wasn't obvious. One final detail: she had nice, firm
boobs—which were fully exposed.
Crystal was in a hogtie-pose, bound in a harness of black
leather, and suspended, head up and knees down, inside a
Her arms were behind her back and laced into a tight arm-binder
of glove-soft leather, from fingertips to armpits.
Ancillary straps bound her wrists and elbows and linked to the
harness gripping her torso. Her legs were bent at the
knee, with her calves pressed against the backs of their
respective thighs, her heels touching their respective
butt-cheeks, and were encased, separately, in leather sheaths
similar to the arm-binder. Also like the binder, straps
encircled her upper thighs and, like garters, were linked to the
Crystal's jaws were held open by a harness-gag anchoring a
padded ring in her mouth. Its narrow straps formed
something of a cage and were secured to the posture-collar
buckled around her throat and immobilizing her head. A
thick, heavy steel collar encircled the leather collar and was
linked to it by several steel pins. The vertical members
of a steel framework also linked to the steel collar, and they
followed but did not touch the curves of Crystal's helpless
body, all the way down to a heavy steel base. Rings sewn
to the straps of Crystal's harness, leg-sheaths, and arm-binder
were linked to eyelets in the frame by a web of taut bungee
cords, elastic rubber sheathed in cloth. It was clear that
the hanging, hogtied captive was well supported, dangling from
twenty or more points, and it was also clear that she could
manage no more that a little weak wiggling or squirming.
Finally, hinged to the base were four panels of thick, white
acrylic plastic framed with more steel. They lay open like
the drooping petals of some strange flower.
"Goodness me," Beverly chuckled. "Full marks."
Lyndal grinned. "Thank you, Mistress."
Beverly turned to Marta. "Has our resident genius sculptor
shared the full details of her latest work with you?"
Marta shook her head. "Only in generalities." She
was staring at Crystal's incredibly helpless form, as well as
her pleading eyes.
"I'll explain the less obvious details," Beverly continued, then
smiled at Lyndal. "You can correct any inaccuracies while
you complete your work."
"Yes, Mistress," Lyndal answered, then picked up a small,
battery-powered hand-driver and stepped behind Crystal's
"You'll note the rubber thong," Beverly lectured, pointing to
Crystal's crotch. "It incorporates a rigid plastic funnel
of the appropriate shape. Copper clamps hold our little
darling's labia open at six points, allowing her to empty her
bladder at will, without muss or fuss."
Lyndal cleared her throat. "Ahem."
Beverly smiled. "Well, there is some fuss. The funnel empties into a
vertical tube lined with electrical contacts. It has
sufficient volume to hold a very generous tinkle; however, the
exit port draining into the much larger reservoir below is quite
restrictive. In other words, the tube is quickly and
easily filled, but is very slow
to empty. And for as long as it holds even a drop of
urine, an electrical circuit remains closed."
Marta raised an eyebrow in question.
"The labia-clamps," Beverly explained, "as well as a butt-plug
and several contacts taped to various strategic portions of her
anatomy... are electrified."
"That's terrible!" Marta gasped, but the poorly suppressed smile
curling her lips belied her distress.
"Don't have kittens," Beverly purred, smiling at Crystal.
"That will be her job. In any case, the voltage is safe
and will be randomly modulated with respect to location and
intensity. That makes it much more interesting than simply being
zapped into next Tuesday, don't you think?"
"Yes, Mistress," Lyndal and Marta agreed, in unison.
Crystal's only answer was her pitiful, ring-gagged expression.
"Also," Beverly purred, "there's a vibrator pad over her lower
tummy, just above her pussy, with a finger or tentacle that dips
down and in and nudges her clitoris. One might say the
butt-plug and pads provide the spice, and the vibrator provides
Meanwhile, starting at the back, Lyndal was lifting the acrylic
panels, one by one, and snapping them into sockets in the
collar. Where the panels' steel frames met the interior
frame there were other, similar sockets, and Lyndal used the
driver to screw bolts with decorative "jeweled" heads into each
opening, working her way around the collar and down the vertical
Beverly smiled at Lyndal. "You did give Sweetness her enema before inserting
the butt-plug, I assume."
"Of course, Mistress," Lyndal responded, affecting a wounded
Beverly turned back to Marta. "There are microphones built
into the base and the collar. The base microphones
activate the vibrator, and the collar microphones activate the
butt-plug and pads." She smiled at Crystal. "In
other words, ambient noise will provide entertainment and the
collar will discourage vocalization. One can only ask so
much of a gag, however elaborate." She pointed to a
helmet-like object resting on a nearby worktable. It was
molded in one piece, from the same translucent acrylic as the
side-panels, and its front was a very realistic sculpting of
Crystal's angelic (and un-gagged) face. Once in place, it
was apparent the entire enclosure would be something like an
over-sized, Egyptian canopic jar of milky glass blown inside a
simple framework of polished steel decorated with bright
jewels. Bulges and curves suggested the feminine form, but
in a streamlined, understated manner.
"Note the silver pupils of the mask's over-sized eyes," Beverly
said, then smiled at Marta. "One-way glass. Mirrored
on the outside, transparent from within."
"So she can see out, of course," Marta purred.
"Did you notice the spring-mounted electrical contacts lining
the inside of the front panels' breast cups before Lyndal closed
them?" Beverly asked.
"No, but I'll take your word that they're there, Mistress,"
"Shall I complete the encasement, Mistress?" Lyndal inquired.
"Prepare to do so, then wait," Beverly ordered.
Lyndal lifted the helmet/headpiece and set it to the side,
revealing a penis-gag, a black rubber phallus attached to a
panel of natural rubber. She carried the gag to Crystal,
who stared at the black, glistening penis with sad
resignation. Then, Lyndal paused, as ordered.
"Marta, you're on," Beverly purred.
Marta smiled at Crystal, who gazed back with a puzzled
expression, as did Lyndal. The grinning gallery manager
lifted her skirt and peeled off her panties, sliding them down
her long, tan, stocking-clad legs, and over her black
heels. Dangling the panties from her right index finger,
she stepped forward. "On Mistress' orders, I've worn these
all day yesterday, all of last night—masturbating before going
to sleep, of course—and all of today, including my visit to the
gym." She gave them a delicate sniff, wrinkling her
nose. "I'm afraid they're quite ripe."
Crystal's eyes popped wide and she forced a gurgling protest
through her ring-gag. "Orh!" It was the first sound
she's made since Beverly and Marta's arrival.
"Hush," Beverly scolded. "Take your medicine like a good
Lyndal held the penis-gag steady as Marta slowly, carefully
wrapped the panties around the black member. Then, working
in concert, they slid the plug and silky wad through the ring
and into Crystal's mouth, carefully tucking and tamping the
panties past the padded ring. The panel cupped Crystal's
chin and its many straps stretched and snapped through
hook-fittings sewn into the head-harness. A cutout exposed
Crystal's flaring nostrils, but her lower face was compressed
under the tight seal of the stretched membrane. A shudder
shook her helpless body as she wiggled and squirmed.
Lyndal went to the worktable and returned with the
headpiece. She reached inside and found the end of a thin,
coiled length of transparent tubing. She stretched the
tubing and snapped the steel flange in its end into a socket in
the front of the gag-panel, directly over the base of the penis,
then lifted the headpiece over Crystal's head.
Crystal's sad, pleading eyes darted from face to gloating,
watching face as the helmet was lowered... and then the helmet's
base mated with interrupted screw flanges in the encasement's
collar, Lyndal gave it a clockwise twist, and it locked into
place. Four more decorative bolts were driven home—Whirr, whirr, whirr, whirr—and
the encasement was complete.
"What a horrible fate," Marta sighed, then turned to
Beverly. "Wait, how sensitive are those microphones, the
ones that activate the vibrator?"
Beverly shrugged. "Moderately."
"But the floor plan calls for placing her in room four, between
the piano and the champagne fountain," Marta complained.
"She'll be buzzing all night."
"Oh, I hope so," Lyndal laughed. She plugged a clear
plastic tube into a small opening in the very top of the helmet,
opened its attached regulator to a slow drip, then used a long
hook to lift the attached, quart-size, plastic bag bulging with
greenish-yellow liquid and hang it by from an eye-bolt screwed
into one of the rafters. "Gatorade," she explained, "to
keep her hydrated... and to
exercise her kidneys. It would normally drip directly into
her mouth through weep holes in the penis, but now, I suppose it
will have to soak through your panties, first."
"Horrible!" Marta gasped.
"Horrible," Beverly agreed, "but necessary. After all,
it's many hours until the show."
"And even longer 'til after the
show," Lyndal added.
"I assume that thing has ventilation," Marta huffed.
"I knew I was forgetting something," Lyndal laughed.
"Don't worry. There are hidden breathing holes around the
base of the collar, and a fan blowing up from the base."
Marta frowned. "Won't the batteries drain during the
Lyndal shook her head. "She's on A/C power. And
after I unplug her, the power cells are good for twelve to
fourteen hours of continuous use, by which I mean the fan and the 'entertainment'
system." She tied a string with an attached tag around the
jewel setting of one of the decorative bolts. The tag
||A D A I R G A L L E R Y
||ROOM 4, N7/FLOOR
Beverly watched the Gatorade drip-drip-drip
past the regulator and slowly creep down the tube towards the
top of Crystal's encasement. She then walked to Lyndal,
pulled her into a tight embrace, and kissed her lips. "I'm
proud of you, Lyn," she said. "Are you done for the
"Yes, Mistress," Lyndal answered. A blush colored her
"How 'bout you," Beverly asked Marta.
"Nothing pressing, Mistress," Marta responded.
Beverly smiled. "See to your toilettes, then meet me in my
bedroom." She was standing in front of Crystal's
encasement, smiling at the mask's silver eyes. "Marta,
Lyndal has earned herself a reward. Strip, bind, and gag
her. Your discretion, but make it tight and inescapable."
"Is there any other way, Mistress?" Marta purred, smiling at
"Don't get cocky," Beverly chuckled. "When you're
finished, I want you to strip, as well. Then, wait.
I haven't yet decided how I'll be securing you for the evening, or
which of you I'll be taking to bed. Do a nice, creative
job tying up Lyn and it very well might be both of you.
"Yes, Mistress," Marta and Lyndal said in unison, then left,
closing the door behind them.
Beverly smiled at Crystal's image on the front of the headpiece
(and the bound, gagged, and helpless Crystal within). "I'm
proud of you, too, my tiny Crystal. Suffer well. The
plans we've discussed are in motion, and soon you'll have your
Beverly turned and left, turning out the lights and locking the
Inside Crystal Installation
#3, Crystal sighed through her gag, then hummed through
her gag. "Mfff." Instantly, a jolt of electricity
zapped the contacts taped to her buttocks, on either side of her
pussy, nudging her breasts, and lining the butt-plug. She
flinched and quivered in her bonds, but successfully suppressed
the urge to scream in response. This might have triggered
a positive feedback loop of more punishment followed by more
screaming. Lyndal had set the system to inflict pain, but
nothing she knew Crystal couldn't handle.
So... thinking about the long, dark hours that lay
ahead... About whatever might be going on upstairs, in
Beverly's luxurious apartment on the second floor... About
the coming torment when her bladder filled and she had no choice
but to let it empty... About the secret, titillating
humiliation of the coming show... Crystal settled in to
After all, Mistress had promised—and their plans were in motion!
|| THE END
artists & models