Moira and I met two or three times for shoots in the following three weeks, but after a further session at the hotel, I took her instead to my house and bound, photographed and fucked her spread-eagled to my bed. The following occasion I bent her across my kitchen table and did the same thing. During the third session I strung her up in the cellar, completely naked and gave her a good whipping and fastened a rubber dildo into her cunt. I left her for half an hour and then returned to tease and twist her nipples until her moans filled the small room with the pleasing sounds of a well aroused woman.
“Fuck me, now, please……,” she begged.
I smiled and shook my head, “You haven’t suffered enough.”
“Oh, I have, I have, honestly.”
I twanked her bottom and pushed the dildo further into her.
Twenty minutes later I returned and after gagging her I put her into a strict hogtie. I watched her struggle against her bonds for a few minutes before leaving to read the newspapers. I brought a whisky for her back with me and teased her breasts with the raw alcohol and then used an ice-cube on her nipples before plunging my fingers into her twat between the rigid cunt restraint, they were met with a flood of juices. Needless to say I fucked her.
Then somehow, I hadn’t the will to continue using her just for bondage sex, so we met for lunch at a quiet and well thought of restaurant I knew.
“Any work come up for you lately?” I asked as soon as we’d sat at our table.
Moira looked up from the menu, “Hmmmm, not much other than a day’s work as an artistic nude - ludicrous really – it’s all so false.”
I nodded my agreement, “I know the sort of thing you mean, the model strikes up a pose, her loins always in deep shadow, with no sight of her womanly parts at all.”
She giggled, “Or, even sillier, airbrushed out. How odd it is that there’ll be a whole generation of schoolboys growing up believing that the only orifice available in which to insert their erections is their girls’ navels.”
We laughed together until the sommelier arrived and I began to study the wine list, “White, red or rose?”
“Something from the South of France would be nice, but not claret.”
“What have you against the English gentleman’s favourite red?”
“My father drank it all the time…… It reminds me……”
I saw a look of distress cross her face so I quickly ordered a good vintage from the Pope’s New Castle before asking, “Do you wish to talk about your father?”
She sniffed, “He’s dead, I’m afraid. The swine left mum and me high and dry without a penny to our name. He’d done well in the war, in engineering parts for Churchill tanks, but when peace came he found it impossible to find a profitable niche and went bust. He then took to drink; not that he was abstemious to begin with mind you, and finally suffered a heart attack which killed him.”
“So you became a model.”
“It happened at a bad time, I had to forget all about the Swiss finishing school I’d set my heart on.”
“Chucked out of Rodean, no doubt?”
She smiled, “No, nor Cheltenham, but I was attending a very posh academy near Harrogate at the time.”
“What happened after your dad died?”
“Mum and I moved, it turned out our home was mortgaged to the hilt, the cars were repossessed and there was no money left for us at all.”
“So, you support your mother?”
“No, she died too. I’m on my own.”
I wanted to take her in my arms and not let her go, she was everything I dreamed of, she was the only woman I’d come across in nearly twenty years who could make me forget the loss of my wife.
The wine arrived and I duly tasted it and nodded for the waiter to pour. Once we’d taken our first few sips I asked, “Life can be gruesome, can you manage on what your modelling brings in?”
“Not really, though I’ve a chance of a catalogue job.”
I nodded, “Lingerie and swimwear, I’ll bet?”
“Probably,” she smiled, “but it’ll give me a few days work and I’ll be able to keep the landlord away from my door. He’s becoming very insistent.”
“Will you accept a gift from me?” I asked, “You could keep him away for ever – or until you moved……”
She raised her eyebrows indicating a negative answer.
“How about a loan, then?” on strictly business terms, of course.”
“Certainly not, I’m an independent woman and I intend to keep it that way.”
The food began to arrive and we ate in a companionable silence. I was desperate to find some way to bring us together, I understood what the problem was, or at least I thought I did. She instinctively knew that I wanted more from her than sex. She feared being placed on the pedestal I had constructed, the one which had stood vacant since Janet had been taken from me. She knew that I wanted a full and permanent relationship that did not involve modelling or, necessarily, bondage.
She was right, of course, that was exactly what I did dream of, but, crucially, it wasn’t what she wanted. I didn’t think the age thing mattered to her, eleven years isn’t that much of a gap. No, she had enjoyed the bondage sex we’d shared and wanted to be bound and fucked again, but with no strings (bit of a pun there) attached.
I pondered my next move and decided to risk the one I least favoured, “I might be able to find an opening for you in films.” There, I’d said it and immediately wished I hadn’t.
Her eyes showed a keen interest but her tone was neutral, “Really?”
She speared a prawn and brought it delicately to her mouth before hesitating and asking, “Someone you know in Hollywood?”
No, though he is an American, Joceyln Dexter.”
“Jocelyn….. He doesn’t sound very American to me.”
“He likes to be called Tex.”
“So, he’s from Texas then.”
“No, from Trenton, New Jersey, but he’s a big fan of Westerns.”
“Hmmmmm……,” she pondered over my offer whilst glamorous thoughts of Tinsel Town ebbed rapidly from her mind.
“Tex has a place in Gloucestershire, it used to be a farm, but he sold off the land and turned the buildings into a make-do film studio. Does commercials, trade films but his lucrative side-line is in erotic movies.”
“Well, as you know I’ve no objection to sucking cock if the money’s all right,” she did not lower her voice.
“Quite,” I said whilst at the same time checking around the other diners, hoping that none had overheard her.
“Tasteful, artistic flicks? Or the other kind?” She asked.
“Bondage and torture,” I almost whispered.
“When do I get to meet Tex?”
This was the moment I could have ended her hopes of a film career, I could have made any number of excuses and kept her to myself, but I loved her, I couldn’t deceive her, nor lead her on.
“This week-end, I’m invited over, I’m sure he won’t mind me bringing an attractive friend.”
“Good-oh,” she cried loudly, “do I bring my own handcuffs?”
I buried my head in my soup and felt my face turning red.
End of Part Two