The Prop Master: Beautiful Movie Stars Begged For His Bondage Skills, But His Heart Blazed For Only One Woman Read online

  Melissa sat down on the edge of her chair. Jack helped her scoot back and started running rope over and beneath her breasts, then crossing the ropes between her breasts. Melissa was now wearing a half-ripped peasant blouse that bulged with the bounty of her breasts. It hardly seemed credible that the strained fabric of her blouse could contain her breasts, which seemed poised to spill from them momentarily. Of course, she wasn't wearing a bra.

  "You're tying those ropes kind of loose, for you," Melissa observed as Jack knotted the ropes at her back.

  "You're going to need them loose if you're going to writhe effectively,” Jack said. "Don't worry, they won't come off you.”

  "Of COURSE not," Melissa said.

  Next Jack knelt beside Melissa and seized her ankle. She wore sandals secured with black straps that left her feet practically bare. Jack pulled her ankle back and tied it to the left of the chair, so that her foot was actually behind the chair post. Then he moved to the other side and treated her other foot the same way, using plenty of turns of rope to keep the pressure evenly distributed across her slender ankles.

  "How's that?" Jack asked.

  Melissa looked up at Jack from the chair, her arms helpless behind her back, her chest thrust out, her breasts mercilessly defined by the ropes that held them, her legs splayed apart and her minidress hiked up, leaving her upper thighs gleaming in the studio lights, with a dark v-shaped pool of shadow between them.

  "I feel so vulnerable," she said.

  "Well, you ARE vulnerable," Jack said. "Are you OK with it?"

  "OK with it?" Melissa responded. "I can use it! I'm going to focus on it while I'm waiting and then let it work for me during the scene."

  "All right," Jack said. "We roll in about half an hour, so I'll gag you about five minutes before that."

  "No, go ahead and gag me now," Melissa said. "That should help me bake artistically."

  "Bake?" Jack asked, a hint of smile on his lips.

  "You know exactly what that means, Cindy told me," Melissa said. "Baking is sitting around in bondage feeling horny -- a form of extended foreplay. It's a matter of getting into the right mental set. Preparing for a scene can be the same thing -- it's getting into the right mental set, just a different one. So go ahead and gag me."

  "OK," Jack said. "Want a nice, tight cleave to get the feel of it?" I asked. "Not so tight that it's painful, of course. You can make 'em pretty tight without causing any pain.”

  "I won't mind a little pain, so long as it's just a little," Melissa responded. "And one other thing -- after you've got me gagged, I'd like you to kind of ... stand over me. You don't have to yell at me, or threaten me, but I want you to dominate me."

  "How about if I just stand real close to you and invade your body space?" Jack asked.

  "Good idea," Melissa said.

  Jack had the gag draped over his shoulder, now he folded it carefully several times and walked behind Melissa, then draped it in front of her. Melissa opened her mouth wide and slowly and carefully pulled it backward. He put one turn in the knot and tightened the gag until it was securely in place, but not at all tight. Then he carefully pulled Melissa's hair up and let it fall across his forearm so he wouldn't pull her hair as he pulled the ends of the gag tighter, going slowly and carefully.

  When Jack noticed her hand tightening a little on the arm of her chair, he stopped pulling on the gag, and loosened it just a little.

  Jack let Melissa's hair down and stepped around in front of Melissa. Almost before I could get around to the front of the chair, Melissa's hairdresser Martin was getting her hair back into "just right" shape.

  "That OK?" Jack asked Melissa.

  The thickness of the cloth gag had forced Melissa's mouth wide open, and the tightness of it made lines appear running from her nose to the upper fold of the gag. But her eyes were calm above the gag, and that was what counted.

  "Mmm hmm" Melissa said, nodding.

  "Did Cindy tell you about safe signs?" Jack asked Melissa.

  Melissa nodded 'yes'.

  "Ok, your safe sign is going to have to be something you won't do while struggling," Jack said. "So what I'd like you to do is nod your head up and down as in 'yes' and then immediately nod side to side as in 'no' in a very mechanical, controlled way. Give it a try."

  Melissa gave the requested mechanical nods.

  "OK, if for any reason you feel you need to be released, do that," Jack instructed Melissa. "I'll take off the gag and find out what you want. Also, if you push hard enough, you should be able to get that gag out of your mouth with your tongue. So be careful during the scene. And you can kind of talk through the gag, enough to be understood so long as we keep things simple."

  Melissa nodded again.

  Jack walked over to the snack bar and grabbed a Sprite. Tying up damsels could be thirsty work. Then he returned to Melissa and, as promised, stood in front of her. He stood so close to her that his toes were underneath the edge of her chair. He looked down at Melissa and smiled. As Jack was dominating Melissa, he didn't ask her if things were OK. If they weren't OK she would signal or say something.

  Melissa didn't say anything, just looked at Jack over her gag with an inscrutable expression. Getting into her role no doubt.

  Jack wasn't used to being in such intimate proximity with someone he wasn't related to or sleeping with, but he liked Melissa so it was easy. With her sitting and him standing, what Melissa had an eyeful of was Jack's crotch. Jack noticed she was looking at it rather fixedly. He let her look. God knows enough guys had looked hard at her sexual parts in her life, it was OK with him if she got a chance to be the looked. Of course, Jack was wearing a pair of sweat pants rather than Speedos, but like Melissa had said, he was a proportional kind of guy. Jack had caught women looking at his crotch a lot once he'd grown old and experienced enough to watch them as carefully as they watched him. He'd gotten used to it.

  Jack didn't really believe in things like auras, but he did believe that pheromones and body language generate a psychological space around one's body that worked like an aura. And when two people invade one another's space while interacting with one another, their auras interact, in the form of pheromone releases and subtle physical cues that communicate below the conscious level.

  So although Melissa and Jack didn't speak to one another as they waited for the scene to start, they did communicate. Rather powerfully, in fact. Over the next few minutes, Jack sensed Melissa opening up, yielding to him in subtle ways that wouldn't have been at all obvious to an outside observer, while he responded to her yielding in a dominant, masculine way that soon had quite a woody going on in his pants.

  Melissa saw it, of course, in fact she watched it with obvious fascination, but Jack didn't care because he could tell that she was into the whole scene, that she was responding to his arousal with arousal of her own. For one thing, it was quite warm with all the studio lights around them, yet there were soon huge bumps in Melissa's peasant blouse caused by her distended nipples. If definitely was not cold air that was making that happen though.

  The interaction was more subtle than that, though. Melissa was lubricating, and Jack smelled that, although the smell was so faint that Jack was not consciously aware of it. But the smell spanged all over by limbic system, and made Melissa powerfully attractive. Her legs were no longer straining inward against the ropes, but were relaxed and opened. Her pupils were dilated wide and her mouth wasn't fighting the gag, but accepting it. Jack knew that in her mind the gag was standing in for his cock, and that was OK, too. Anything for art.

  "Five minutes to action!" Oscar yelled, breaking the spell that had grown up between them despite the hustle and bustle around them.

  "Well, good luck on your scene," Jack said. "Remember your safe sign."

  Melissa nodded yes and said "Ank oo" through her gag.

  "My pleasure," Jack said, grinning at her.

  Melissa smiled back at him with what would have been a sly grin if she had not been gagged.
/>   "Melissa, looking BEAUTIFUL as always!" Oscar said as he approached her. "Looks like you're trying the limits of our PG rating, but you're close enough to decent to suit me. Let's roll."

  Five minutes later, Jack's cock was back to normal and Melissa was being thoroughly menaced by Sam Carmody, the actor who played Devon. Being gay, he didn't establish any kind of sexual chemistry with her, but they liked one another in real life, and he was a capable actor and seemed menacing enough. Melody did a fine job of looking frightened and vulnerable, so the scene worked..

  That scene went over with just two or three takes, but this WAS a B-film.

  "OK, let's get a few shots of you trying to escape your bonds we can use as suspense filler," Oscar said as soon as the scene was over. "You OK Melissa?"

  Melissa nodded "Yes." Jack knew she wanted to go on with the scene while she still had emotional steam going.

  "All right, action, let's roll!" Oscar yelled.

  The next few scenes were some of the hottest things Jack had ever seen on a set for a PG rated movie. Melissa writhed and twisted furiously in the chair. Her breasts rolled and heaved inside the blouse, bulging against the fabric that held them in place. It was a continuing source of amazement that the fabric wasn't burst asunder by Melissa's swinging breasts. And her legs were smooth, silky undulating beauties that promised infinite delights within their captivity.

  Melissa tossed her head and moaned in apparent frustration as she writhed, but her moans could just as easily have signified passion. Melissa gave a brilliant performance that projected fear and desperation on one level, and sensual arousal on another.

  Every man in the place who didn't have a specific job to do watched her with a certain helpless fascination. She was irresistible as she writhed.

  And the inevitable did happen on several occasions -- Melissa's breasts spilled out. When one or both of them did, Melissa's costumer would rush out and gently stuff the projecting breast and its distended nipple back into her blouse.

  The second time it happened, Melissa looked at her costumer and said "No," clearly through the gag, shaking her head.

  The costumer stepped back and looked at Oscar. Whether or not Melissa's breasts were exposed wasn't her decision to make, it was between Melissa and the director.

  Oscar walked over to Melissa. "You up for a topless scene here?" Oscar asked calmly.

  Melissa nodded yes. Jack could still read her body. She was on a roll, had a great scene here. She wanted to see if she could come up with one of those "Basic Instinct" scenes that could make an actress' career if she could pull it off with sufficient panache.

  "OK," Oscar said with surprising agreeableness. "We're shooting for a PG here, but there's always the director's cut. Let's go with it. Action!"

  Oscar did have a good head for business, and his general willingness to go with people who were more competent than him at their specific tasks was a trait that worked very well for him.

  Melissa continued the scene, this time with her breasts exposed in all their beauty. It was an incredible scene that soon had Jack's cock at the ready, and probably quite a few other cocks in the studio as well.

  Melissa must have spent at least three hours tied and gagged, writhing furiously for five minutes or so with ten or twenty minutes of rest while cameras and lights were repositioned. Jack stood close by Melissa between takes. The folks in the studio thought he was protecting her, but he was right up on her, recharging her. By the time Oscar was through, he could have made a small porno film out of his outtakes. And by the end, Melissa was exhausted, physically and sexually.

  "It's a wrap!" Oscar cried at least. "Melissa, you were FABULOUS!"

  The studio erupted into spontaneous applause -- really heartfelt applause on the part of the men in the audience, and Melissa smiled through her gag. Jack ungagged her and gave her what I knew she wanted most -- a big drink of bottled water. He knew she'd be thirsty because he'd seen the gag go damp with drool as the scene progressed. Women always drooled when gagged, but cleave gags absorbed the drool, whereas bit gags, ball gags and O-rings didn't, so it spilled down their chin.

  Jack loved to make his girlfriend Cindy drool during sex, because sexually speaking, if she drools, you rule.

  "Thanks for your help with that scene," Melissa said after she'd had her fill of water. "I think it worked beautifully. I think even Oscar's going to have enough sense to keep it in the movie. And I really enjoyed it. Do you, uh, know any guys who are into bondage that I could meet? I'd like to explore a little more.”

  "You mean, other than the entire male population of the United States? Cindy and I know some guys who would LOVE to meet you," Jack said, grinning. "Actors, directors, producers ... you'd be surprised how many guys are really into this stuff."

  "Maybe we can all get together and talk about it soon," said Melissa. "I'll bet Cindy would have some good ideas."

  "Yeah, even her bad ideas are good ideas," Jack said. "That's why I love her.” He knew Melissa had just made a play for him, but he was not at all interested in fooling around with women other than Cindy. Well, not without Cindy's knowledge and approval.

  Chapter 2

  Voices In The Air

  If there was anything Jack enjoyed more than spending his day tying up a beautiful young actress, it was the commute home through the wilds of Los Angeles to his mountainside eyrie. He could already see flowing paths of light in the sky made by other commuters.

  He strapped on his helmet and laid down in the basket of his Schwinn Superglider. He popped up the navcomp and pushed the button that started the peroxide jets, noting that his wings had fully charged while parked that day, then released his anchor and worked the throttle and the ailerons until he was gliding in place, putting the slightest strain on the bungee tether that steadied him. His running lights were on full now, casting a soft light in the early evening air.

  All systems "go" he punched in a request for a flight plan on his navcomp. In a few minutes the flow of blips gave him a green and an indicator -- 37 degrees west at 3,000 meters.

  He released the tether and gunned the glider's engine and soared into the sky. All around him were other gliders, but for the most part they were visible only as tiny dots in the distance. The navcomps, linked to the central traffic computer, kept all of the gliders from colliding.

  He ascended rapidly through layers of folks flying this way and that, following the mysterious commands of a piece of silicon that could get everyone where they needed to be at maximum speed and with minimum fuss. At 3,000 feet he leveled off and adjusted his course until the got the blinking green that meant he was on track. He need not have bothered keeping an eye on it, but he liked to back up the navcomps until he was socked into his route.

  Far below him, the lights of L.A. were springing into life. Most of the lights were the glowing white blue white of LED bulbs, or the flickering cold blue-white of fluorescent bulbs. Some neon cast yellow and red and green and blue glows into the sky. He could see the glow of corporate logos below him everywhere he looked, as businesses advertised their wares from their rooftops as well as their walls.

  He never got tired of feeling the hot desert air rushing past his body, of the sight of all that light and color spread out beneath him, and of the trails of light made by the millions of other travelers in the night sky.

  It was almost too soon when his small mountainside trailer home hove into view. Like most people in Los Angeles, he couldn't afford decent housing in the city, but he'd been one of the first to see the potential of commuting by air and had jumped before the zoning laws got tough. He'd paid a Sikorsky helicopter to fly a bulldozer to a remote mountainside where it leveled a patch of land about half an acre square and dug some useful holes as well. Then he'd paid the Sikorsky to fly a nice trailer -- er, "manufactured home" to that patch of land. On the other side of the mountains were a major electrical transmission line and a line trickling snowmelt down to Los Angeles vial the San Giacomo River. Hookups had been a ma
tter of sliding money to the right county officials. A satellite dish to keep him on the Net and his aerie was complete.

  When he'd done it, he'd been one of a few hundred who had realized that roads didn't matter any more when it came to home location. As soon as thousands began to figure this out, the political arm of the paving contractors had gotten with their statehouse cronies and passed laws requiring that homes be accessible by road on some pretext or other. To avoid looking like the evil scum they were, throwing innocents out of their homes, they grandfathered in all existing homes that weren't accessible by roads.

  That's why he'd be a rich man if he just sold his house. Its value had shot up when the law was passed, and increased radically ever year thereafter. Pundits said that in another few years the rising political strength of air commuters and the waning political strength of paving contractors would end the roadhouse laws, as they were called, but Jack didn't buy it. Well-connected cronies with plenty of money to grease the skids had a way of having things their way for a long time, even if it went directly against most people's interests. This didn't look any different to him.

  As he approached the little patch of bare green grass that was his front yard and landing apron, he began the careful feathering of the peroxide jets and adjustment of the ailerons that he favored. Most guys preferred to swoop in as fast as they could, grab a wingful of air, stall and drop a foot or two to the ground. His preference was to come in a long, slow, powered descent that gradually decreased in speed as he reached his pad, until he was hovering scant inches above the ground. His fantasy was that as the plane lowered it slowly bent the grass beneath it, not crushing a single blade until the wheels were in contact with the ground itself.

  He wasn't that good, but he was very good. He had excellent eye-hand coordination from all his years in prop construction and he was a control freak in certain respects, so his landings tended to be the sort that wouldn't wake a sleeping baby, if there were one on board with him. Which, the way things were going with his girlfriend Cindy, there might be in the not too distant future.