A Celebrity in Need
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: Dirigible on 16-12-2012, 00:06:48</h2>
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				Title: <strong>A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>16-12-2012, 00:06:48</strong>
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				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.
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				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>lips and thorns</strong> on <strong>16-12-2012, 02:50:06</strong>
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				<em>One thing I will have to tell that acting class next month</em>, Hannah Tate thought, <em>is how little time on a Hollywood-style production was actually spent acting</em>.&nbsp; She thought fondly of her acting school productions where there was nothing to do but rehearse and perform, rehearse and perform.&nbsp; Now as she wound her way through the lot, through camera rigs and craft services, dressing rooms and costuming, all the way to a corner of the building that contained SFX, Hannah wondered what proportion of this operation actually contained any acting at all.&nbsp; The building was huge and sprawling and crawling with people, and yet today maybe a half a dozen of them were actors.<br><br><div class="floatright">(http://www.prohaircut.com/images/bar-refaeli-mm_510.jpg)</div>But that was Hollywood.&nbsp; Hannah couldn't count how many production like this she'd been on since she had her first break, over ten years ago now.&nbsp; That had been a silly little horror movie, and her character only tits and a scream.&nbsp; She'd done a few of those, but with her insistence and her agent's determination she'd gotten out of that trap and moved on.&nbsp; She'd had a hit comedy, some rom coms, moved into drama, and her agent was now working on something in the action world.&nbsp; She was no Merryl Streep, but she had enough pull to make the money she demanded, and get the scripts she wanted.<br><br>Like this one.&nbsp; Hannah had fallen in love with the script, the first draft was just a beautifully written little gem.&nbsp; She'd known it wouldn't survive the way it was but thought it would keep some of its beauty.&nbsp; With her on board the producers had been willing to take a bit more chance with the film.&nbsp; She was a proven box office draw, and they all knew that if she could actually produce something Oscar-worthy their investment in her would be worth it.&nbsp; It was a lot of pressure, but so far the scenes had been really amazing.&nbsp; Today was a rather big one, going back and actually filming one of the first scenes of the movie, her character waking from her accident, broken and confused.<br><br>That sounded wonderful, she was sure those acting students would be thinking.&nbsp; But they didn't realize about all the time spent sitting while a cast was put on.&nbsp; Sitting while her hair was fixed.&nbsp; Sitting while they costumed her.&nbsp; Sitting while the lighting was set.&nbsp; She would have to do some extra yoga tonight to offset all this damn sitting.<br><br>"Knock, knock," Hannah called out as she walked through the ostensible "door" of the props department, really a sort of hole in the shelving that seemed to extend in every direction and dimension.&nbsp; Picking her way through what seemed to her like just a mess of ... stuff, Hannah sought out the supposed denizen of this realm.&nbsp; She was dressed in a simple pair of black leggings, a black camisole tank top and had her dirty blonde hair pulled back in a rough ponytail.&nbsp; On the screen they'd make her look amazing, but the people on set would just have to deal with her looking ordinary.&nbsp; She spent too much time getting made up to bother doing anything before the makeup people got to her.&nbsp; "Anyone home?" she called out.
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				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>18-12-2012, 20:13:35</strong>
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				Much like making a scone, the secret to making plaster of paris look good on camera was in what you <em>didn't</em> mix. Those tiny bubbles and lumps would break up the reflection stage lights, make it look less like the wearer had a white-painted balloon wrapped around their limb. Especially in HD... oh, HD, the cinematographer's darling, the prop and makeup department's bane. All those little flaws and imperfections that normal-grain celluloid smoothed over, HD captured in unyielding digital starkness, revealed for the world to see.<br><br>And speaking of imperfections... here came someone with remarkably few visible to the naked eye.<br><br>“Back here,” Jon called out over his shoulder, sliding the oversized wooden spatula out of the plaster. He watched it trickle off the edge, just inconsistent enough in texture to give it a realistic surface effect on camera. He tapped the spatula on the edge of the tray, shaking off most of the stuff, before turning to wait for his visitor. He wore black denim jeans and, in deference to the un-airconditioned environment of the props warehouse, a sleeveless white singlet that revealed brawny shoulders and tanned arms, ink torsioned across flesh as he folded them across his chest. The half-completed sex apparatus lay on the bench behind him, partially concealed by its cover.<br><br>As far as talent went, Hannah Tate was pleasant enough, and certainly easy on the eyes. They'd actually met once or twice, but he didn't expect her to remember him amongst all the gaffers and best boys and chief grips and foley artists she'd been introduced to over the course of filming. As she stepped around a shelf of collapsible knives, he raised his chin and eyebrows in a vertical nod of greeting. Of course, his eyes did The Circuit, too... legs and hips and breasts before reaching those baby blues... but no more than any other guy. “Nobody but Santa's little elf,” he replied wryly.
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				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>lips and thorns</strong> on <strong>23-01-2013, 23:37:14</strong>
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				Hannah stopped suddenly as she rounded the corner, following the sound the voice.&nbsp; She supposed she'd probably seen this fellow before, but seeing him suddenly, standing alone, and in that shirt, it was striking.&nbsp; It wasn't the shirt so much, she supposed, after a quick circuit of his body.&nbsp; It was seeing him here, in his environment, clearly the master of this area.&nbsp; Most of the crew fawned and scurried around her.&nbsp; She had the feeling this fellow wouldn't.<br><br>"Rather muscular for an elf," she quipped, then cursed herself internally.&nbsp; Nice job making it sound like she was ogling him.&nbsp; Shaking it off, Hannah continued on.&nbsp; You didn't get her job if you were easily flustered.&nbsp; "I'm here to get--oh, well is that the stuff already?" she asked, suddenly noticing the plaster he had been mixing.&nbsp; Finding someone actually ready for her at the right time was also a shocker.&nbsp; "So, how do we do this?"&nbsp; <br><br>She asked in a polite tone, and mostly avoided his eyes, not wanting to give him the wrong impression after her snafu.&nbsp; She let her eyes roam around the shelves and benches around him.&nbsp; There was your regular collection of crazy and boring props.&nbsp; One that caught her eye that she swore was a ballgag, though it probably just looked like it from here.&nbsp; Some handcuffs, but that wasn't too much of a surprise on a shoot like this.&nbsp; "You need me to sit down somewhere, I presume," she said, bringing her eyes back to the fellow.&nbsp; 
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				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>28-01-2013, 19:41:29</strong>
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				Jon smiled slightly as he felt the star (or starlet? when was the cut-off-date for that?) surreptitiously return his casual checking-out. Well, she was only human; you could hardly blame her. She didn't look too bad herself, come to think of it. The propsmaster had known more than a few actresses who, deprived of professional lighting and hours in the makeup chair looked like unwrapped Egyptian queens. Tate, though, dressed for ease and prior to the attention of the set cosmeticians had a gently radiant natural beauty, a fresh vibrancy with a universal appeal that was certainly not lost on him.<br><br>At her joke, Jon shrugged his shoulders and replied: “Those sacks of presents get heavier every year. Take a seat,” he gestured to a salvaged and re-purposed dentist's chair. It allowed talent to recline comfortably while he mauled them with prosthetics; the leather straps placed discreetly on the arm rests and foot pad suggested other, more restraining uses to the observant eye, too. Speaking of which, Jon noticed Hannah averting her gaze... was she naturally shy (seemed unlikely for an exhibitionist profession like acting), or uncomfortable for some reason? “Don't worry. This'll hurt a lot less than <em>actually</em> breaking your arm. You're not a method actor, right?” he said with a cocky grin, trying to inject some levity.<br><br>Once she was seated, he carefully but confidently took her left arm – he'd researched her handedness in preparation – and lifted it up by the elbow and wrist, rotating it slowly under the light as he scrutinised the slender, well-shaped limb. Under the bright worklights, gossamer hairs gleamed like gold thread on her skin. “I can shave this before I apply the cast, if you like. Otherwise, it might pull a little when it comes off. Not too badly, though – it's all pretty fine.” Jon raised one of his own brawny forearms, coiled with wiry black hair for comparison. He then ran his fingers across Hannah's skin, watching the infinitesimal hairs deflect under his fingertips. He had a surprisingly light touch for such a rough-looking guy. No, not light, exactly; controlled. He applied exactly as much force as he intended, precision and power at once.
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				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>lips and thorns</strong> on <strong>03-03-2013, 23:43:43</strong>
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				"No, I think this is something I can imagine quite well by myself," Hannah answered to his 'method acting' quip, but she answered it half-heartedly.&nbsp; She was distracted by his chair.&nbsp; Most people wouldn't have given it a second look or a second thought.&nbsp; But Hannah was a fan of a particular kind of erotica, and without fail a dentist's chair or doctor's table always produced an immediate reaction in her.&nbsp; The dentist in particular, with the way the chair adjusted in many directions, and the sense of the gear hovering over you, ready to be pulled down by the dentist, who loomed in your sight.&nbsp; This one was different of course, simple useful for reclining, but it sent her mind traveling in a direction which was not entirely appropriate for the moment.<br><br>Or was it?&nbsp; As Hannah seated herself, she toyed with a leather strap that hung off the arm rest, nearly out of sight.&nbsp; Her brow furrowed for a moment as she considered it, then quickly returned to consider the words of the prop man.&nbsp; She watched as his finger ran lightly along her arm, just barely touching it.&nbsp; "Don't worry about it.&nbsp; I can handle a little discomfort," she said lightly, but she looked up at him as she said it, gauging his reaction.<br><br><em>Don't be stupid</em>, Hannah told herself.&nbsp; But she couldn't help it.&nbsp; There was something in the way he held her arm, nevermind the subtle clues in the equipment around her.&nbsp; She felt a strong intuition, and Hannah had always had faith in her intuition.&nbsp; It didn't mean she knew what to do with it though.<br><br>She relaxed back in the chair, holding her arm limp for him to do as he needed with it.&nbsp; Her eyes glanced down once more at the leather strap, and then back to his shelves and benches.&nbsp; As if simply bored, she eyed the something&nbsp; poking out from underneath a sheet on his bench.&nbsp; Yes, Hannah was getting a strong suspicion that her prop man was more than a prop man.
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				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>30-03-2013, 20:50:42</strong>
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				Jon had his own intuitions, too. It was a fine line a man had to walk these days, especially a man of his interests and proclivities. Be too casual, aloof and laid-back and you would miss out on all the sweet opportunities on offer... be too forward, too presumptive, and you'd get slapped across the face, slapped with a sexual harassment suit, slapped with a restraining order. You had to be able to accurately judge when a woman was interested, or when she was open to your interest... and even then, whether the mention of whips and chains would send her scurrying for the hills, or falling to her knees. Never easy, tricksy creatures that they were. But Jon fancied himself to possess a better instinct than most for such things.<br><br>He imagined himself a human polygraph, his fingertips sensing the infinitesimal change in Hannah's galvanic skin response as her pores opened and minute quantities of sweat moved through them. Her reaction to the leather straps she toyed with, to the way he held her arm, the ever-so-slight emphasis on 'discomfort' from those sculpted lips... could it be? A hint of guarded, cautious interest? Well now.<br><br>Jon laid her arm down, his chin dimpling as he pursed his mouth thoughtfully.”Is that right? Maybe we'll find out,” he grinned playfully, though the game in his eyes was more intense and dangerous. Settling on a wheeled stool, he kicked against the floor and sent himself skimming down to the bottom of the dentists chair the lovely actress reclined on. He opened one of the leather bindings and held it around her ankle, glancing up at her with a raised eyebrow. “Just in case, perhaps I should strap you down... don't want you writhing all over the place, hm?”
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				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>lips and thorns</strong> on <strong>03-04-2013, 22:23:11</strong>
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				The prop man continued on casually, if you only listened to him.&nbsp; But Hannah was watching his face when he spoke, and she saw the look he gave her.&nbsp; His smile was playful, the sort of joking and flirting that went on constantly on a movie set.&nbsp; Hell she'd had gay hairdressers give her stronger lines than that.&nbsp; But the look in his eyes did not smile at all.&nbsp; It said he was deadly serious.<br><br>She watched him roll down the length of her body with curiosity.&nbsp; When he looked up at her with the leather strap in one hand, her ankle in the other, that curiosity intensified--if she let him put that on, what else would he do?&nbsp; But it was matched with equal amounts of panic and arousal.&nbsp; There were serious consequences for Hannah if something like this got out ... but then again they were serious for him too.&nbsp; Nobody would believe she had let someone strap her down.&nbsp; And when they saw some of the gear she thought he had hidden on the bench, he'd be cast as a dangerous pervert ...<br><br>"Maybe you should.&nbsp; Though I bet I can manage to writhe anyway," she said, matching his casual tone.&nbsp; Her heart was pounding though--she was taking quite a chance.&nbsp; But a chance she thought she would never have.&nbsp; If there was one thing a celebrity couldn't get away with, it was having a crazy sex life.&nbsp; It was bad enough ex-boyfriends were making money off of ridiculous "tell-alls" about her.&nbsp; Imagine if she gave any of them something juicy to chat about.&nbsp; No, with Hannah it was all-vanilla, all the time.&nbsp; Not in her head though.&nbsp; And not right now.&nbsp; <br><br>"You have a lot of trouble with people writhing on this chair?" she asked him. 
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				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>13-04-2013, 21:20:24</strong>
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				Well, she wasn't slapping him, calling for security or reaching for a can of Mace... that was a good sign. <em>Kinkster-sense... tingling!</em> Irons thought to himself, suppressing a grin. Could it be that the lovely Miss Tate had an interest in the Dark Arts; or was she just one of those who'd jumped on the Rihanna and <em>Fifty Shades</em> bandwagon, interested in bondage-chic because it was 'edgy'? Either way, he'd never forgive himself if he didn't take the opportunity to find out. What was the worst that could happen? He could be fired, blacklisted throughout Hollywood, sued and sent to prison. Well, actually, that <em>was</em> pretty bad, but still, he had to find out.<br><br>Jon pursed his lips for a moment, and slowly began undoing the buckles. He caught Hannah's delicate foot by the Achilles tendon and lifted it, placing it within the compass of the strap... then the other... his face tilted towards her, eyes level and intent. He watched her closely, ready to pause if he saw any untoward reaction in the starlet's eyes, anything beyond the anxious desire that glimmered there now. His motions were smooth, practised, utterly assured as he cinched the leather tight, letting the broad straps lock her legs onto the chair, leaving her half-bound.<br><br>He rose from his stool and loomed above her suddenly, prowling up towards the headrest with one stride, looking down at her invertedly. “You'd be surprised,” he replied airily, reaching out and taking her arm, pulling it to the side to give him plenty to of space to work. “Some struggle, others submit... or even yearn for it. Jon raised her arm away from the padded rest, and bent it swiftly up behind Hannah's head, placing her wrist at the back of the neck in a mild stress position, leaving her arm bent and taut in his strong grip. He leaned down, his face hovering above hers upside down, and there was something in his eyes... not cockiness, which suggested a brash, undeserved sort of confidence... but <em>authority</em>, a sense of familiarity with power and its applications, a surety that he knew how to use things... and people.<br><br>“Do you like to writhe, Hannah?” he asked, lips peeling back in a smile of suave, smouldering menace. Jon reached down along her supine body, one finger touching her leg just above the knee, and slowly swiping up along her thigh in those tight black leggings. “See, I'm guessing you do”
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				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>lips and thorns</strong> on <strong>19-04-2013, 03:05:05</strong>
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				Hannah had to close her eyes as he stared at her, wrapping the leather tightly around her ankles.&nbsp; Her heart was pounding hard enough that she was afraid she would faint.&nbsp; The ankle was not an erogenous zone, but the sight and feel of him strapping her leg down was like the most intimate touch to Hannah.&nbsp; And it was one she had never really felt, outside of one or two experiments years before she had become famous.&nbsp; She knew he would feel her leg trembling in his hand but there was nothing she could do to stop it.<br><br>She opened her eyes as he took her arm, prepared for him to go to work on it.&nbsp; But just as she turned her head slightly, her famous green eyes taking him in, he bent it quickly behind her.&nbsp; It was enough to hurt a bit, and she knew that to cry out in pain and protest was the proper reaction.&nbsp; The problem was, Hannah had never quite had the proper reaction to pain.<br><br>She cried out, but it was clearly not a cry of pain--well, not just pain.&nbsp; Her body arched a bit on the table and felt herself breathing hard, his face looming above her.&nbsp; She was already writhing a bit, and it was not from the touch on her thigh either, but from the way he twisted her arm and held it tight.&nbsp; It made her wet and aroused as if he had stroked her innermost flesh.&nbsp; She trembled the way a woman trembled when you first touched her sex, the way a man trembled when you first slid your soft hand down his soft hardness.&nbsp; She didn't have to answer, she simply stared up at him, upside down, her full lips parted and her eyes bright with lust.
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				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>01-05-2013, 21:19:33</strong>
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				<em>Holy shit.</em> Jon was a dab hand at poker, and in his experience it wasn't everyday that the other player in a game responded to a daring, chancy gambit by tossing down their cards, pushing everything into the pot, throwing in the keys to their Ferrari, their wedding ring and firstborn child. The suddenness, the vehemence of Hannah's surrender took him by surprise... no less so than the way her body seemed to vibrate with the need to be bound like this, touched like this, like a taut violin string trembling with the need to be played.<br><br>At the risk of damaging his dom-credentials, the SFX man was flustered. He'd expected, at best, a little flirting, a little wordplay, but this, this was much more...<br><br>“Iiiiii...nnn...ter...esting,” he growled breathily. His eyes raked along her body, from her startlingly eager greens to her breasts rising and falling with quick breaths to his hand resting on her inner thigh to her bound legs. His fingers rhythmically loosened and tightened around the wrist he had pinned behind her head, like he was drumming them on a desk, but they settled back into a firm grasp as he slowly dragged his other hand up, cupping his palm tight against her crotch and pressing the fabric of her leggings against her womanhood until she could feel the rough heat of his hand there.<br><br>This was a chance in a million. He had to play it cool... but not <em>too</em> cool or it might become cold. Hannah Tate. Hannah Tate! Sexiest Up-And-Comming Starlet in pretty much every magazine you could name, lying on his prosthetics-application-cum-bondage-chair, thrumming with need and looking up at him with those eyes, those eyes...<br><br>Without taking his own gaze off her, Jon tried to stretch his own perceptions back towards the door, wondering what the odds were of them being overseen, overheard through the bustling noise of a set mid-prep and the racks of props and weird oddments that filled the SFX warehouse. Good, but not good enough. This would take more time than they had, for sure. Still, he couldn't resist a taste of the honey while he had the queen bee at his mercy...<br><br>Jon's hand squeezed Hannah's sex through her leggings, and he leaned over her, his gaze intent. He bent down slowly, giving her a chance to demure or turn away if she wished... and kissed her. Hard. His lips were warm, firm, and strong as they crushed irresistibly down on her mouth, drawing her in to the kiss. A rumble echoed from deep in his chest as he pressed and enveloped her luscious lips in a lengthy exploration that ended with a sting of pain as he seized the lower petal between his teeth, digging in slightly to leave a soft red mark and stretching it up and back, releasing it with a moist snap.<br><br>The tip of his tongue traced over his own lips as he straightened, looking down at the bound woman thoughtfully. “This... is... interesting,” he drawled. “I guess I was right: you like to writhe, more than I supposed.” His thumb swiped across her mons venus, the little bump of flesh above her sex as he studied her. “Seems like something worth discussing... later... in private... wouldn't you say, Hannah?” His eyes were smokey, dangerous, playful as they gazed into hers, promising her delights and devices that she'd only fantasised about... and other beyond her wildest dreams.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>lips and thorns</strong> on <strong>03-05-2013, 01:59:33</strong>
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				As soon as the cry left her lips, Hannah knew it was too much.&nbsp; It gave the game away, it left no doubt.&nbsp; But the very reason it was dangerous was the reason it had come out.&nbsp; It was totally sincere.&nbsp; And it had been building for a long time.<br><br>Hannah was paid to get into the skin of other people, pull it on and wear it like it was hers.&nbsp; To be good at that--and while Hannah was no Meryll Streep, the truth was she was better than people expected--you had to be able to watch people, to look and really see what made them and that person that person.&nbsp; And so though it only lasted a moment, she saw the surprise in Jon's eyes, saw that he was thrown for a loop.&nbsp; It actually made him feel more human to her, more real.&nbsp; Although he then responded the way she expected--wanted?--she remembered that glimpse of surprise behind the eyes and it made her feel safe.<br><br>Her eyes looked down her body as he dragged his hand up it.&nbsp; A sharp intake of breath as he cupped her sex.&nbsp; A long desperate sigh as he squeezed.&nbsp; she could feel the heat of his hand and he was sure he could feel the heat of her pussy, his hand pressed against her pubic bone, only a millimeter from her flesh.<br><br>Hannah could feel him leaning closer and closer.&nbsp; She watched his hand, until only at the last moment did she turn her gaze and stare into his eyes as he pressed his lips on hers.&nbsp; She kept her eyes open and kissed him back.&nbsp; Not a loving kiss, but a passionate one, complete with a whimper of surprise as he caught her lip between his teeth and dragged his way out.<br><br>"Careful, that lip's important to my career," she said when she finally caught her breath.&nbsp; Another reason this was foolish.&nbsp; Even if she wanted to do ... this kind of thing, what if he left a mark?&nbsp; Her body was seen by a dozen people a day in various states of undress, magnified and photographed, recorded and carefully fashioned.<br><br>She bit down on her own lip, gentler, as he brushed a thumb on her mound.&nbsp; Later.&nbsp; That sounded good right now, safer.&nbsp; Later ... when she had a restraining order.&nbsp; Later when she could pretend she didn't know him.&nbsp; Later would be a safer place than now.&nbsp; "Seems like it might," she demurred.&nbsp; Her body clearly preferred a more definite answer and she had to keep herself from twisting in his grasp.&nbsp; "I'll be in touch."
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>09-05-2013, 23:44:25</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Jon felt himself... <em>intensifying</em> at her reaction to the not-so-playful pressure on her lip. Hardening in his jeans, to be sure, but more than that. It was a whole-body and -mind focusing, sharpening, everything extraneous falling away from a core of focused desire. It must be how a shark felt when it tasted blood in the water. Still, the back of his mind cautioned him that messing around with the talent, while tempting, was a risky proposition. If scandal bubbled to the surface, it wouldn't be the actress who was quietly but pointedly dismissed.<br><br>Still. <em>Carpe diem</em> and all that.<br><br>“I'd say, 'don't worry, I won't bite'... but we both know that'd be a lie,” he chuckled, stretching back from his seat to the side table where Hannah had left her clutch bag. With a cavalier disregard for propriety he flicked it open and took out her smart phone. He swiped his thumb across the screen to unlock it, much like he had with her sweet spot down below but arguably even more intimate, and tapped his name into the phonebook, signing it with the initial <em>J</em>. “Yeah, I bet you will,” he smirked, flashing her the screen before placing it back in the clutch. He could have swiped her number while he was at it, but experience and basic psychology taught him that to come on too strong could trigger a defensive reaction, make her averse. Leave the ball in her court.<br><br>“Now, where were we? One broken arm, coming right up.” Jon swivelled back to the woman, casually reaching across and down to yank open the buckles that held her down, returning his attention to her arm. He reached for the cream that would provide a protective barrier against the alkaline and dehydrating effects of the plaster, and began to slather it on and massage it into her skin. Only the merest knowing gleam in his eye hinted at the fact he'd just had her bound at his mercy... and fully intended to see where that would lead.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>lips and thorns</strong> on <strong>10-05-2013, 05:16:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Hannah had a vivid vision as he said he didn't bite--and it wasn't of his teeth on her lips.&nbsp; She could see him, a hand gripping her bare breast and his shark mouth on her nipple.&nbsp; She shuddered, feeling the vision as vividly as if it were real--well, not as vididly, she was quite sure.&nbsp; That was the difficulty of her situation.&nbsp; Years of vivid dreams had built up inside her mind but her flesh was left out of it.<br><br>Jon was right to be cautious with her phone.&nbsp; When he swiped it open she tensed up perhaps more than she had when he had strapped her down.&nbsp; There was nothing her managers stressed ore than to never let that phone out of your grasp.&nbsp; She watched every movement of his fingers with eagle eyes, only relaxing when he finally powered it back off.&nbsp; The moment was a helpful palate cleanser after their intense escapade, and a useful reminder of the dangerous situation she was in.&nbsp; <br><br>She said nothing as he returned to work, just smiling awkwardly and trying to hold her arm still.&nbsp; She couldn't seem to get comfortable in the chair now, every touch of it on her body seeming to remind her of the sense of being restrained.&nbsp; Heat flushed her body in waves at the recollections, but warred with the whirring machinery going on in her mind.&nbsp; Hannah was trying to work out how this could work.&nbsp; What was the safest way forward, what would avoid repercussions.&nbsp; Her mind was shapr, strategic, normally.&nbsp; But she was finding it hard to concentrate with his hands spreading the ointment over her bare flesh.&nbsp; She knew her skin was breaking out in goose pimples at his touch.<br><br>"Actually, I won't," she stated after a long period of silence as he worked on her arm.&nbsp; She let him chew on that for a moment as she considered the next.&nbsp; "You will have to be the one.&nbsp; I hope you have a good memory for numbers, because mine is 319-441-7742."&nbsp; She had realized that she couldn't risk calling him.&nbsp; if he called her she could always claim he had swiped her number while she sat here.&nbsp; No matter how much he called, she could always claim it was harassment.&nbsp; Hannah mentally ignored the fact that she was already imagining him calling her multiple times.<br><br>Her face was flushed after saying it, her eyes bright.&nbsp; She stared away from him at the shelves of equipment.&nbsp; At whatever was peeking from under that cover.&nbsp; "You ... have a lot of equipment down here," she added as his work progressed.&nbsp; She tried but failed at feigning casualness.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>19-05-2013, 22:00:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				With the barrier ointment applied, Jon hefted the bucket of plaster-soaked bandages up to a low table next to the chair and gave it a swirl. The mixture was already beginning to stiffen; that would help it adhere as he bound it on. Speaking of beginning to stiffen... his eyes roamed along Hannah's arm to her shoulder, and down the subtle, supple curves of her body, though they flicked up to hers as she spoke. The looks was perhaps just a little too fast for the laid back, cocky attitude he projected.<br><br>So. She had privacy issues, boundaries unrelated to her apparent eager consent to being strapped and groped. Jon could understand that; working in Hollywood you saw the vultures of the paparazzi circling, even if they weren't over your own head. Besides, he knew the one in chains called the shot just as much, if not more, than the one with the whip. The man smirked at the barrage of numbers. “Sure, I can remember that.” He couldn't. But it was just a matter of buying the director's film-school-freshman intern who was working as a personal assistant a case of beer for a glance at the director's phone. He'd have Tate's number on file.<br><br>Jon lifted a dripping white bandage from the bucket, letting most of the loose plaster trickle off before draping it over her slender wrist and wrapping it tight around the joint. He let her bask in the same silence she'd offered before as he began methodically immobilising her forearm. Once the first layer of bandages was in place, he replied: “Yeah. Some for business. Some for pleasure. Some for both.” His eyes snapped up for a quick, devilish glance into hers, and he stretched back to yank the covering off the device he'd been working on.<br><br>It was like (http://www.loverider.co.uk/love-rider-sex-machine-97-p.asp) some odd cross between a stool, a rocking horse and some work-out contraption they hawked on TV in the dead of night. Sleek black powder-coated metal, soft leather cushions split rather suggestively, and a mechanism to turn back and forth motion into a reciprocating thrust. <em>Sans phallus</em>, looked at with innocent eyes one might find a harmless excuse for it... but neither of them were exactly innocent, Jon thought.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>lips and thorns</strong> on <strong>23-05-2013, 21:48:40</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Hannah repeatedly found herself holding her body very stiff, tension filling every muscle and joint.&nbsp; She would relax, carefully melt every bit except for the arm that she was holding still for him.&nbsp; If not for what had already happened she didn't think she would have found anything special in the way he was wrapping her wrist.&nbsp; She spent half the day with someone poking at her hair, her face, her body.&nbsp; It didn't hold anything arousing to her anymore.&nbsp; But now with him, even the soft wrapping of her wrist, nothing like a tight strap at all, was enough to evoke a reaction in her.&nbsp; She felt goosebumps spreading across her body, her heart rate rise, her body tense up as if he was about to seize her ... and then she would catch herself again.<br><br>Maybe that was why she asked him about the devices.&nbsp; It was a bit injudicious, as now he was whipping off the cover and forcing her to stare directly at something which had no place here in the prop room.&nbsp; She stared at it, but not for long, before looking back at Jon.&nbsp; She knew almost immediately what it was, as much from the smug look on his face as the way it was designed.&nbsp; It was clearly missing a key part, but Hannah had spent enough time staring at pictures of such equipment on the Internet.&nbsp; She had no doubt it wasn't an exercise machine.&nbsp; "Whose pleasure, and what business?" she asked him, holding her chin steady.&nbsp; Despite the fact that she was feeling an overwhelming urge to have him force her onto that device, or anything similar, she still felt quite aware of her power in the dynamic.&nbsp; She was rich, she was powerful, she was attractive, and he undoubtedly wanted her.&nbsp; Unless he already had someone else.&nbsp; Why else did he make something like that?
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>24-05-2013, 22:52:15</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The corners of Jon's lips curled up wolfishly as he saw – and felt – Hannah's reaction to the sight of the fuck-rocker. <em>Oh ho. Little miss movie star recognises</em> that.[/i]Ain't that interesting?[/i] He resumed his work, drawing the heavy, cold strand of the bandage between her thumb and forefinger, anchoring the cast to her hand and then spiralling another layer along her forearm.<br><br>“Whose pleasure? Whoever pays. Way of the world,” he chuckled cynically. “Pieces for device fetish websites. Some... underground clubs, literally and metaphorically, that I help supply. Some wealthy clients order custom pieces for their own private fun and games. Some names you might have heard. Some you might have worked with,” Jon added, glancing up with a glint in his eye. He pressed a finger to his lips, indicating he'd never tell, and left a fleck of white plaster amidst the black stubble. “And my own personal use, of course. Gotta test the merchandise before I sell it.”<br><br>That devilish gaze held hers for a few heartbeats, then he finished applying the cast and leaned back, cocking his head to study his handywork. “That'll do.” He took a cloth and smoothed off the plaster, ensuring there'd be no obtrusive lumps or spurs to catch once it had dried. “It'll take about ten minutes for a basic set, so sit tight,” he instructed, lifting her arm in his sure hands and turning it so that she could lay it comfortably on the armrest. “In the meantime...” Jon stood and walked around the reclined chair until he was standing at Hannah's head, looming over her and looking down, his face upside-down from her point of view. The inversion served to disorient, to emphasise the strangeness, the exhilarating wrongness of the situation.<br><br>Jon laid his hand on the starlet's throat, his fingers lightly splaying across the vulnerable flesh as he held her down and held her head looking at him. He leaned down a little, his dark gaze equallymischievous and intense. “When was the last time you got fucked like you want to be fucked?” he posed in a breathy rasp, for her ears only.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>lips and thorns</strong> on <strong>02-06-2013, 04:20:06</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Jesus Christ.&nbsp; Jon revealed an entire world in a few sentences, a world seeped in depravity.&nbsp; And one that included <em>some names you might have heard</em>.&nbsp; Hannah felt like she was reeling suddenly at an edge, a doorway that had just been opened to her after so long of seeing a wall.&nbsp; She heard hte cautious voices in her mind, railing, but they had a hard time being heard over the one prevailing voice.<br><br>It was possible.<br><br>A task which Hannah had been managing for years--reining in her desires--suddenly seemed unmanageable.&nbsp; She felt caution slipping away and began embracing a new emotion.&nbsp; Hope.&nbsp; She didn't miss the innuendo in his words, but once he had finished his task, she didn't need to have caught it.&nbsp; His words were as frank as the expression on his face.<br><br>"Years," she told him, to his upside down face, trying to meet his eyes but finding it so disorienting.&nbsp; "Or never."&nbsp; Her voice was not so nervous now.&nbsp; More curious.&nbsp; Testing.&nbsp; If she moved the cast might be ruined.&nbsp; The director would be pissed.&nbsp; Jon had her in a bit of a pinch now.&nbsp; But wasn't that what she wanted?&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>06-06-2013, 22:17:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The inversion of his features broke up the brain's usual means of integrating them. His eyes, his smirk, nose, jaw and cheekbones hovered above her seemingly dislocated, unable to be reassembled into a coherent face or expression. He might as well be some alien or monster, leering and making unreadable promises with his gaze.<br><br>“Never, huh?” Jon drawled, running his eyes slowly over Hannah's supine form. He appreciated the way the chair elevated her shoulders, lifting her breasts invitingly towards the ceiling, the way her blond hair spilled down the headrest. He stepped closer, pinning her tresses in place with his hips so that any move to turn her head would tug painfully at the roots... and, coincidentally or not, letting her feel the hard ridge in his jeans pressing to the top of her head. <br><br>“Poor thing,” he said, his hands drifting up to hold either side of her face, piercing her blue eyes with his gaze. His thumbs circled around her lips, pushing them together into a forced pout, stretching them open to reveal her white teeth and sharp exhalations. “You must be... aching for it by now. No wonder you're being such a little slut, lying there and letting me put my hands all... over... you...” His voice was low and seductive, mocking and inviting, a coil of forbidden smoke that worked its way into her senses as he reached down, dragging his calloused fingers over he throat and collarbone. Jon moved his hands to her breasts and palmed them, kneading them hard through the fabric of her top and bra, manhandling them with more force and less gentle reverence – though just as much enjoyment, that was obvious from the erection that ground against her skull – than she was used to.<br><br>Just as suddenly, his hands pulled away, and were resting on the back of the chair as he casually glanced at the clock. “Okay. That should do it. Good to go, Miss Tate.” His tone was cheerful and breezy, a dizzying contrast to the sinful growl before, but it dropped towards that register as he strolled away from the chair, fetching the canvas to cover the sex-rocker again, and glanced over his shoulder. “You'll be hearing from me.”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>lips and thorns</strong> on <strong>14-09-2013, 23:22:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Jon's words and void and presence had hinted at things, given Hannah visions that were hard to resist.&nbsp; But now it seemed that those things were happening.&nbsp; She could feel the slight tug of her hair pinned to the chair and knew that any twist of her head would make her scalp burn in pain, while giving her no escape.&nbsp; She felt the heat and the weight of his cock, caged in his jeans only a hair's breadth away.&nbsp; And now his hands were on her face.&nbsp; Not in the way she was used to, for Hannah was used to any numbers of hands on her face working the day away.&nbsp; Those hands even treated her like an object, something to work on to earn their pay.&nbsp; But they treated it reverentially.&nbsp; Jon's hands twisted her mouth, pulled at her lips in a demeaning way that shot a white heat to her very core.&nbsp; The rough pads of his fingers dragged across her throat, and she knew that he would be the one to do everything she had dreamed of.&nbsp; There was no reverence in his eyes, no mercy even, or in his marauding hands.&nbsp; Just dark pools that seemed as good as limitless.<br><br>He pulled away, his voice changing so suddenly that Hannah jumped, thinking someone else had just appeared in the room.&nbsp; Her heart raced faster than she thought possible, all her fears of being caught, being outed, rushing into her bloodstream in that nanosecond before she realized what had happened.&nbsp; She sat up, glancing down at her cast to be sure she hadn't ruined it in her sudden movement.&nbsp; Yanking on her legs she suddenly remembered her precarious position.&nbsp; "Perhaps you'd better unstrap me," she said in a mild voice, her eyes glancing towards the entrance to the props room.&nbsp; She couldn't help looking again at the device he was covering however.&nbsp; She shivered as she imagined herself on it.&nbsp; What would he do to her if she let him?&nbsp; She thought she was going to find out.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>09-10-2013, 22:03:27</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Jon took his time hiding the fucking machine, unable to resist enjoying the predicament he had her in. Once the canvas was tucked and tied in place, though, he strode to the end of the recliner chair and undid the buckles that held Hannah in place. His hands didn't immediately withdraw, however... he left them resting around her ankles, almost fully encircling the joints, stroking the bare flesh between the bottom of her yoga pants and the straps of her shoes as he studied her closely, cocking his head. Damn... was this his lucky day, or what? One of Hollywood's top ten most desirable women turning out to not only be a freak, but wanting him to be the Virgil to her Dante through the nine circles of sexual inferno. He felt like pinching himself – or her.<br><br>Jon pulled roughly on her legs, sliding her down the chair until her ass was perched on the foot-rest, and her curvesome body collided with the hard planes of his. A grunt of stimulation was forced from his lips as her weight pressed against his crotch for a few moments, and his hands, which had slid up her legs to grasp her thighs as she had fallen towards him, dug in tighter. After a few more moments of intense, aggressive scrutiny Jon loosened his hold and stepped aside, offering her a helping hand off the chair. “Next time you ask me to unstrap you, you'll need a safe word,” he smirked, sweeping his arm to usher her to the door.<br><br><hr><br>The bright studio lights made her feel like the layer of make-up she wore was floating on a sheen of sweat. The set glimmered; everything was chic, white, elegant, a Hollywood vision of how the middle-class lived, and the cast milling through it, adjusting the blocking of the furniture and angle of the lights seemed especially out of place in their scruffy, workmanlike attire. It was between shots, and the director was bickering with the gaffer over some technicality while most of the crew tried to look busy or swarmed the craft services table, and Hank, a great burly bear of a man who played her character, Heather's, abusive partner but wouldn't hurt a fly in real life was hunched over his script, memorising and re-memorising his few lines with obsessive-compulsive intensity.<br><br>Her phone buzzed.<br><br>A text message blinked on the screen when the phone was unlocked. An address, pretty far out from her usual Beverly Hills stomping rounds, in one of the many less salubrious parts of LA. The rest of the message read: <strong>9 pm. Making some finishing touches on my little project. Don't keep me waiting.</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>lips and thorns</strong> on <strong>30-11-2013, 04:18:03</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<em>The illustrious life of a Hollywood celebrity</em>, Hannah thought to herself, slumped in a folding chair and thumbing through her text messages.&nbsp; She had spent the last 20 minutes waiting for anything to happen and eyeing the last raspberry danish on the craft services table.&nbsp; Several times she had decided to go grab it and each time changed her mind.&nbsp; It was only a couple of weeks ago that some Hollywood blog had run a quote from someone on the set about how much she ate on set and of course theorizing she must be pregnant.&nbsp; She had no idea who it was running their mouth but she couldn't stand the idea of feeding them more material, no matter how good the danish looked.&nbsp; <em>Hannah Tate: Eating Her Pain Away</em>.&nbsp; She could see it now.<br><br>Hannah forgot the danish, frowning at her phone as she saw the text from an unknown number.&nbsp; That wasn't something that happened on her phone, whose number was locked down tight.&nbsp; She opened the text with some trepidation, unsure what to expect.<br><br>At first Hannah simply stared at the message, trying to piece through all of the people it could be from.&nbsp; Who didn't have a project around here?&nbsp; Teddy's screenplay?&nbsp; That web short Anne always went on about?&nbsp; But Hannah didn't know anyone that lived in that area of LA.&nbsp; She didn't think she'd ever even been there.<br><br>When it hit Hannah it was like she had gone in freefall.&nbsp; She could feel her heart suddenly pounding but felt like she had no breath.&nbsp; She closed the message instinctively, looking up and staring around as if everybody here knew what had just happened in her head.&nbsp; then, realizing no one was paying attention, and wanting to see it again, Hannah opened the message again and read it.&nbsp; <br><br>She had finally managed to put that man out of her head.&nbsp; Well, maybe at night she still thought about him, and his table, and his machine.&nbsp; But during the day life went on and she chatted and no longer had sudden cold sweats when walking near the props department.&nbsp; She had watched carefully for him those first few days, half out of interest, half out of worry he was going to blab.&nbsp; He hadn't blabbed, as far as she could tell, and he hadn't pursued her.&nbsp; She couldn't really have asked for more.<br><br>Except for this.&nbsp; A discreet invitation, far from her home and prying eyes.&nbsp; But one with just the right air of menace to send a shiver down her spine.&nbsp; Hannah closed the message again, glanced around with guilty eyes, and then tried to return to business.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; ***********************************************<br><br>&nbsp;She hadn't returned his text.&nbsp; She hadn't messaged him and it was already 7 pm.&nbsp; She hadn't messaged him but she had spent the last three hours going through her wardrobe and showering and going through her wardrobe again.&nbsp; What did you wear for this?&nbsp; What didn't you wear?&nbsp; And what would the paparazzi make out of whatever she wore.&nbsp; They were out there, of course, lounging around the end of her driveway, and she'd have to get past them all.&nbsp; Would anyone follow her?&nbsp; Could Jon have even tipped them off?&nbsp; Could she trust him?&nbsp; Could she trust anyone?<br><br><em>I can't even eat an extra bagel without someone noticing</em>, Hannah told herself, wiping off the makeup she had just applied and staring at her nearly bare face instead.&nbsp; <em>And yet I think I can get away with this</em>.<br><br>It was stupid.&nbsp; Yet stupidly or not Hannah drove out of her driveway at 7:30 and finally sent a message to that number.&nbsp; <strong>On my way.&nbsp; You better watch my back.</strong>&nbsp; It was dumb, sure, but whatever was on his mind right now she wasn't sure it was all that she had to worry about.&nbsp; Waving placidly at the photographers who nearly ran into her car rushing out to get a glimpse through the window.&nbsp; Just hoping she would be boring enough that they wouldn't follow or run a story or make her friends or the world wonder where Hannah Tate was going tonight.&nbsp; Hoping that Jon the props guy wasn't about to make her sorry she had trusted him.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>01-12-2013, 09:13:36</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Jon Irons had begun to half-suspect (well, more than half, truth be told) that Hannah had thought better of his offer and decided to blow him off. It was only to be expected... in her position, how could she afford to let down her guard enough to give in to the cravings that simmered beneath that classy exterior? So he shrugged, and pushed the indulgent day-dreams as to the enjoyment that could be wrung out of and delivered unto that body of hers, and got on with things.<br><br>The thing in question was a half-dismantled motorcycle engine he was lovingly reconditioning when his phone bleeped. He might have ignored it, but he made a habit of setting special ringtones for... certain numbers. Even ones he didn't anticipate hearing from again. Curiosity piqued,&nbsp; Jon set down the carburettor with a grunt and wiped the worst of the grease from his hands with a cloth before checking the phone. He couldn't stop the grin that spread across his lips as he saw the message, and quickly thumbed a reply. <strong>I'll watch whatever you've got.</strong><br><br>He cleared away the worst of the mechanical carnage and scrubbed his hands thoroughly with Swarfega, getting the mechanical muck off them. Jon prowled restlessly around his bungalow house, cleaning the table and couch in case their surfaces ended up covered in bare flesh, and fetching a large folding toolbox out of his room. This one didn't contain wrenches and screwdrivers, though, but instruments for a rather more precise and intimate set of manipulations. The latest Black Keys album rang out on the stereo as he finally laid out the rocking-stool sex machine to one side. Best not to have it sitting out in the open... <em>might make a bit too strong a first impression</em>.<br><br>At last, after guessing the drive time from Beverly Hills to here, Jon strolled outside and opened the gate that closed off his driveway from the street. This area of the sprawling suburbs operated under the theory that good fences made good neighbours, and the heavily street-arted wooden walls cut off the back yard cum parking space cum scrap metal collection behind his house from the street and prying eyes. The invitation laid, Jon lounged on the back steps, his arms folded, smirking to himself as his appetite grew.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>lips and thorns</strong> on <strong>02-12-2013, 16:46:35</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				As Hannah drove closer and closer to the address Jon had given her, she got worried.&nbsp; Not about what was going to happen--she had closed that line of thought up in a certain spot in the back of her mind.&nbsp; No, she began to worry about something much simpler.&nbsp; Parking.&nbsp; The houses in this neighborhood were crammed close together and didn't have garages.&nbsp; It should have occurred to Hannah earlier, but didn't until now, that she might have to park on the street or right next to the man's house.&nbsp; As far as she could tell none of the photographers had followed her, but what would happen if one did, or someone happened to notice her car for some reason.&nbsp; It certainly was nicer than most here.&nbsp; <br><br>So when she reached the address, Hannah just slowed down, ready to just leave and text Jon an apology.&nbsp; She crept past his address, noting the house with interest.&nbsp; However, the open gate and the space beyond caught her eye.&nbsp; With a relieved grin, Hannah realized he had thought of it all.&nbsp; With her next breath, she realized she therefore didn't have an easy out.<br><br>Pulling in past the gate and into the fenced area behind, Hannah looked around appraisingly for watching eyes or other signs of worry before finally settling on the man sitting on the stoop.&nbsp; She cut the engine and looked at him for a moment wondering just what the hell she was doing before she open the car door.&nbsp; Her legs swung out first, carefully, avoiding a panty shot as she was conditioned to do, though of course that was a rather foolish worry at the moment.&nbsp; She wore a pair of black mary janes and a simple black skirt, her tan legs needing very little decoration.&nbsp; Hannah had topped it off with a peasant blouse, embroidered and loose.&nbsp; For some reason she had felt she should dress modestly on the outside, perhaps to be sure she didn't give the paparazzi the impression something interesting was happening.&nbsp; Perhaps out of stubbornness.&nbsp; Giving Jon a small half wave, she shut the door and walked to his back steps.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>28-12-2013, 18:07:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Irons watched the sporty little number pull into his back yard, and hopped off the side of the stairs in order to close the wooden gate behind it. In this neighbourhood, it would be an invitation to leave a car like that visible from the street; either an invitation to gawp and wonder who was slumming it, or for the owner to come back and find it up on cinderblocks, sans wheels.<br><br>He strode back around in time to witness Hannah decamp from the vehicle, all legs and toned-down but unmistakeable allure. She hadn't dressed up for the occasion, but that was all right; he was less interested in the wrapping than the treat it held. Besides, she was the sort of woman who could make anything – and, he hoped, nothing at all – look amazing. And in fairness, he was hardly in haute couture himself; he wore black jeans and a tank-top that revealed his brawny, tattooed, tanned arms, the muscles swelling as he crossed them across his chest and eyed the actress up and down with evident enjoyment.<br><br>“Hey,” he drawled casually as she approached. Jon reached back and pushed the door open, letting the music flow out from the cool, shady interior. He didn't feel the need to expand on his greeting until Hannah reached the stairs. “So, can I get you a drink?” he cocked his head, his chocolate brown gaze on her intensely, a challenging smirk on his lips. “Or do you just want to get fucked?”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>lips and thorns</strong> on <strong>07-01-2014, 18:18:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				As Hannah mounted the steps she was struck suddenly by the fact that she was living out a porn video right this moment.&nbsp; In her quest to scratch that dark itch she'd watched her share of what the Internet had to offer, and she was very familiar with this scene of the young starlet walking up to the man's door.&nbsp; She was dressed perhaps more modestly than they, and without the caked on makeup.&nbsp; But Jon with his tanktop, muscled chest and crossed arms would not look at all out of place in one of these videos.&nbsp; While her part felt ludicrous, the idea that he might be capable of carrying out his part added to the heat Hannah felt in her core.<br><br>Unfortunately, though an actress by trade, she couldn't just spit out porn star lines.&nbsp; She raised an eyebrow at his question, ignoring it at first as she walked into his house.&nbsp; She was very interested to see what the home of a man who built sex machines might look like.&nbsp; And frankly she wasn't sure how to answer.&nbsp; She didn't really want to give him the impression that this was some kind of a date.&nbsp; But then again she wasn't too thrilled about the wording of his alternative.&nbsp; "I don't need a drink, thanks," she answered, carving out a third path.&nbsp; Turning, once inside, to face him, she gave him a measuring look.&nbsp; "I'm already taking a big risk even coming here.&nbsp; I think I'd prefer to keep my wits about me."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: A Celebrity in Need</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>12-01-2014, 20:42:29</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				To her credit, Hannah's glance did manage to make Irons look momentarily abashed. This wasn't the first time a woman had come to his door to enjoy suffering under his attentions and make herself a playground for his toys, but usually there was an entirely different, more elaborate process involved; meeting in a fetish club or certain kind of specialist website, the slow dance of revealing and checking information, meetings, arrangements. That generated anticipation, true, but there was also a tiresomely predictable rhythm to it. Jon hated predictability. Bumping into someone at work whose secret desires just so happened to match one's own was definitely unpredictable... something he'd expected to find more in fantasy than fact.<br><br>And speaking of fantasy... his eyes wandered slowly up Hannah's body as she spoke, her legs, her stomach, her chest, finally to her lips and eyes and face, as if he hadn't just been savouring the sight of her climbing out of the car, as if he hadn't explored her form with his fingers when she was strapped to the chair. The thought of the modelesque actress writhing atop of one of his contraptions sent a flash of electricity through his skin. “Understood,” he replied amiably, demonstrating he could listen and ogle at the same time. He turned and strolled into the sprawling, rather open-plan interior, beckoning her in with a twist of his shoulder.<br><br>His house had the definite look of a place that had never had the rough edges filed off by a woman. There was a set of shelves made from planks and cinderblocks (but planed and sealed, making it an obvious aesthetic choice rather than a mark of desperation) on which an elaborate stereo set-up gleamed, pumping out hard rock with the volume turned down so the bass was just a throbbing undertone in the air. Leather couches and chair sat around a large TV on one side of the room, near another shelf that sported several mechanical clocks ticking in well-oiled unison, and a collection of books – mostly photographic collections of famous SFX work, industrial history, wildlife, and a few volumes of B&amp;W erotica. There was a calendar on the wall, featuring a naked woman, all generous portions of silicon, blonde hair dye and tattoo ink practically making love to a super-charged motorcycle. On the other side of the room it morphed into a rather sparse kitchen, a well-stocked wet bar being the most elaborate thing there. Although the place had a certain Spartan fratboy air to it, it was clean and didn't smell too bad, apart from a faint, lingering whiff of motor oil.<br><br>In the middle of the room a space had been cleared, and Jon had taken various tools of the trade out of storage to put on display. <em>The showing of the instruments</em>, as the Inquisition used to say. A St. Andrew's cross, framed in blackened steel and padded with leather was fixed to the wall, buckled cuffs at the wrist, ankle, throat and waist positions. There was something that resembled a saw horse, with with more metal rings than was customary. There were also metal hooks and rings attached to the ceiling, she noticed. A device shaped like a saddle, but with a pair of dildos rising from it, the larger one at the mid-point, the smaller one just behind. Another apparatus like a set of articulated metal spider legs that seemed designed to hold clamps and vibrators at various positions across a person's body. The rocked-stool she had seen in his workshop was also there, alongside a large toolbox which sat open, displaying things other than spanners and screwdrivers... cuffs, chains, crops, plastic phalli of every shape and size imaginable (including some that beggared belief and physical capacity alike)... and something that looked like a variable speed power drill with a cock instead of a drillbit.<br><br>Irons stood to one side, cocking his head as he watched her, saying nothing. He was eager to see her reaction, if she was as curious and enthusiastic about his gadgets as she had seemed before. A perverse, contrary part of him instead vaguely hoped that she would be shocked, intimidated by what she saw... that that Hollywood bigshot persona might tremble, just a little.
			</dd>
		</dl>
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