Genius.<br/><br/>Jon Irons (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=45831.msg7390003#msg7390003) straightened on the stool before his workbench, lacing his fingers behind his head and stretched. Muscles pulled taut across the bones of his arm and swelled around his shoulder and down his back under his black t-shirt as he worked the kinks out –<em>After working the kinks in,</em>he thought to himself wryly.<br/><br/>The device that sat in a symphony of black leather and chrome amidst the tools, nuts, bolts and off-cuts that cluttered the heavy wooden bench was a work of genius, if he did say so himself. And he frequently did. It loosely resembled a gynaecologists's chair, but with a far sleeker and more harmonious design; the ribbed leather cushions of the reclining back support, the cupped half-pipes that would hold the thighs inescapably spread and slightly elevated. But it was the straps that held the legs in place that were the clever part... they were attached to a pulley mechanism, so any attempt to struggle or pull free would drive the armature that sat between the legrests inwards. And though empty at the moment, that armature could be fitted with a Magic Wand, a dildo, or – if aimed a bit lower – an anal plug. Jon was quite pleased with the sadism inherent in a machine that fucked someone harder the more you writhed or struggled... and he was sure the deviants at Mechanical-Sensuality.com would be pleased with their order, too. Shame he wouldn't have a chance to test it before delivery, though.<br/><br/>Jon glanced up at the clock and the whiteboard that was scrawled with a timetable grid. Well, enough messing around with the fun stuff; looked like it was time to get back to his day job. At the moment, that entailed being the SFX maestro and props wrangler for<em>A Rose For Heather</em>, a heartwrenched (so the publicity copy said) drama about an amnesiac woman's abusive relationship with the man who gave her the memory-loss in the first place. Hardly the sought of thing he usually worked on – save for a fairly complex car crash scene, a shooting and a broken arm, there was hardly any SFX work in the piece. But the director was a perfectionist, and he wanted the best in the business for what little there was, so they'd come to Jon. Hell, for the amount of money he was being paid, he'd happily sit and twiddle his thumbs, catching up on some of his 'hobby' projects in between scenes they actually needed him for.<br/><br/>He scrutinised the whiteboard. According to the filming schedule, the leading lady was due for a reshoot of a scene after her character's arm got broken, so she'd be along for the cast fitting any minute now. Jon grabbed a canvas sheet and half-pulled it over the sexual contraption on the bench, not bothering to cover it fully. He doubted anyone around here would be able to recognise it for what it was. Dusting his hands, he moved over to one of the towering, tottering shelves that dominated the props workshop and got out the plaster mixing tray. The room was utterly crowded with objects of every kind; guns, smartphones, knives, bloodpacks, handbags and purses, a variety of belt buckles, ten different arrangements of flatware, piles of books glued together so they could be slotted into shelves to give the impression of a well-stocked library... every fake little knick-knack you needed to furnish a film set. If you looked closely, you might see a few oddments that spoke to the man's other interests... leather and stainless steel cuffs, rather formidable looking clothes pegs, a slingshot and golfball that, on closer inspection, turned out to be a ballgag.<br/><br/>Whistling tunelessly, Jon began to mix powder and water as he waited for his date with the famous Ms. Tate.