Donna pulled at the sliding warehouse door. The wheels scraped, pouring echos across the studio lot. She froze, listening for guards. There was warm light spilling out of the warehouse -- the kind they used before shooting began, before the bright, hot lights started making her makeup run. Satisfied she hadn't alerted anyone, she stepped inside.
She heaved the door shut behind her, taking a moment to smooth her skirt and blouse; white top with a tan bottom. Tasteful, and tailored to highlight her figure. The studio provided new outfits every month, each one crafted to give that "RKO look". Some of the girls made alterations, pushing the dress code. They hiked skirts, cinched blouses, and "lost" buttons. Donna loved the outfits as they were though, just like she loved her new last name, "Landon". They were symbols of her new life.
She had been studio girl for three months now, and was getting used to the bustle. On set by seven, shoot until well past dark. Some days broken up by interviews with the press men, always carefully handled by the suits, of course. There were parties most nights. Tonight was no different. She only went to one or two a week. She preferred the quiet of the bungalow, which she was able to enjoy since her roommate loved going to the parties.
The old warehouse wasn't used for much. Old equipment and set props were stacked in the kind of ordered chaos that movies produced. Past the bric-a-brac was an aging set. It was a Western scene with a train depot. She thought she recognized it from a couple of pictures. There was no gaffing or lights set up, and there was a fair amount of dust. It probably hadn't been used in years. She wondered if anyone remembered it was here. An unassuming yellowed paper sign labeled it as "Stage 11b"
The scratch of a match pulled her attention. Standing just off set was Bert James. He looked over his cupped hands at her as he lit his cigarette, eyes crinkling in a smile. She had met him at the party. Had barely managed to hold her composure. She had watched his pictures. He had been her first crush. She had seen him swashbuckle, ride horses, give monologues, dance a bit, and seduce (oh could he seduce), all in her home town theater.
He was older now. His chest more barrel shaped, and hair sandy with grey. He hadn't starred in anything in for a while. He had moved into producing, he had told her. Her eyes had narrowed involuntarily when he had told her this. She waited for the promise to put her in his next picture if only she would... But he never did. In fact, he spent most of the evening asking her questions. They had talked for over an hour without mentioning the business. He wanted to know what books she read, where she liked to go walking, what it was like growing up with four sisters. She liked how quickly Bert had taken her from starstruck infatuation to feeling they had been dating for months. She felt safe with him, and her girlish fascination had turned to a much more real desire. When he had offered to give her a private tour of some of his favorite secret spots on the studio lot, she didn't hesitate. They arranged the meeting and she left the party shortly after he did, leaving the revelers in full swing.
He looked so debonaire in the subdued light. As he stood there, she remembered where she had seen the set before. "Kiss Me Before You Go," she said with a little smile. It had been an odd little western. More love story than shoot-'em-up. Mostly forgettable, except for that kiss Bert had with Doris Anderson. There had been many nights that kiss had kept her company as she explored herself.
He grinned back, dragging on his cigarette. "I wasn't sure if you'd come."
"Why not?"
Bert stepped down from the set and walked towards her. "It's dark. It's late. And most women would assume that an older gentleman asking to meet alone had wicked thoughts." He was right in front of her now, not quite as tall as he seemed in the movies, but had every shred of suave confidence.
"Who says I don't assume you have wicked thoughts?" She looked at him under her lashes. Just enough to playfully chide.
He paused, considering her. Reassessing. She felt him shift, like she was somehow more interesting, and she liked to think more dangerous.
"Would you like a tour?" He asked, holding out his arm for her to take?
She tilted her head and slid her arm through his, enjoying the feel of his fine wool jacket. It was a little chilly this evening and she hadn't brought a shawl. She pressed herself against him for warmth.
He showed her around the set, talking about different films it had been used on, going back to the silent era. He showed her the spot on the mock tracks where Gertrude LaMonte had been tied down in "Goldrush!" He spent a long while wistfully showing her how the camera would be positioned to emphasize Gertrude's darling figure straining against the ropes, all while making the model locomotive on the set look like a giant steam engine bearing down on her.
"I didn't know you were in that picture." Donna said, interrupting his reminisce.
He came back to the moment, looking a little bashful. "No, I was only fifteen when that came out. Wouldn't start in pictures for another couple of years. But I must have seen Goldrush! Ten times. I even stole the old man's car a couple of times once it moved to the next town. I've got a copy of the reels at home now. Still watch it some nights. Especially that scene."
"You must be quite a fan of Miss LaMonte."
He looked at her to see if she was teasing, and she was. But not for his infatuation with a silly old movie. She felt he was telling her something. She was probing to find the secret. Her eyebrows raised meaningfully.
"Something like that," he replied with a knowing smile.
The tour continued, but Donna grew distracted. Bert was so knowledgeable, and his enthusiasm was catching, but she kept considering that scene. She put herself in Gertrude LaMonte's place (interesting that they shared a name), bound and immobile. Unable to move, and in desperate peril, but at the same time safe and cared for. She imagined her image captured on film, and Bert yearning over it through the years. She imagined him watching her alone in his den, only the sound of the projector to keep him company, watching her struggle helplessly as he undid his pants...
"Donna?" Bert asked, pulling her out of her thoughts. She blushed, though only for a moment.
"Sorry, Bert," she replied, still surprised at the comfort she felt with him. "I was thinking of something you had said earlier." She walked over to the nearby riding hitch next to the train platform. She ran her hand along it, lingering on the old coiled rope that still hung there.
"Oh yes?" His voice was more hoarse now. Husky.
"How many westerns have you starred in?"
He looked a little confused. "Well, I don't know. I stopped counting."
Donna nodded her head knowingly. "And in all of those films, did you ever learn to tie a lasso?" She asked, pulling the coil from its peg.
Bert's smile flashed from amazed to mischievous. "Oh yes," he breathed, "Among other things."
The next few minutes proved Bert did know other things that could be done with rope. He had sat her down on an old wooden chair up on the train platform, bolted to the floor. The seat was contoured and when she sat down squarely, the contour pressed comfortably against her. If she leaned forward a bit, she could nearly press her clitorus against it.
Bert started with her hands, tying them behind her back so they rested between her and the chair's back. He was well practiced, the rope seeming to flow through his hands. "How many times have you done this?" She asked with a sly smirk. She didn't care. She was pleased he was doing it with her right now.
"Not as often as you might think," he replied. "Not that many people are interested in being tied down. Especially by someone they just met. Most women I courted were at best indulgent. Mostly I've practiced on an old mannequin I keep in my attic. It's hard to feel secure bringing it up. It wouldn't help my career if women started talking about how much Bert James liked tying them up."
"Do you now?"
Bert paused mid-knot, "I think it's obvious that I enjoy it."
Donna chuckled. "No, silly. Do you feel secure with me?"
The pause lengthened. "You know, I hadn't considered, but yes. I don't know if I've ever felt safer."
She smiled and nodded, "Me too."
Bert continued with her ankles, tying them securely to the legs of the chair, before moving to her torso. He bound her waist and chest several times round, checking in to make sure it wasn't too tight. At one point she asked if he could tighten the ropes around her chest which made him double take, before doing as she asked. The bindings served to accentuate her figure, especially her breasts, though he never once touched them. Just like his press releases described him, a consummate professional.
When he was done, she was securely tied to the chair. It was quite ingenious, leaving her the freedom to wriggle around as she wished in the chair, but impossible to leave it.
Bert stepped back and lit another cigarette while admiring his handiwork. Donna felt like she was being consumed by his gaze. The feeling of being admired by this man she had ached for made her flush with pride. The fact she was helpless made her grow warm and wet between her legs.
She kept her composure enough to ask without stammering, "So, now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?"
