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Place For It Ep 18

Place For It Ep 18

by edge
19 min read
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adultfiction

Episode XVIII

---

The women ran quickly along the hall, joining and being joined by many of the other women Doralea had met or seen.

All were excitedly cheerful and eager as they ran.

They came to an open door and the pace slowed as they entered the large room -- a vast sound stage -- the metal-truss rafters hung with par cans, fresnels and scoop lights; corners filled with neatly jumbled C-stands, gel-carts and flag racks; the walls crowded with large flats.

In the midst of all the equipment, standing beside a huge large format camera and holding a Hasselblad, stood a striking, tall woman.

Her open, farm-girl face and cheerful expression contrasted starkly with the black eyepatch which covered one eye.

A thin line, only slightly fainter than her skin, offset her left eyebrow, traced under the patch and re-emerged to slip over her cheek-bones, then fell in a gentle curve to flare widely as it spilled over her strong jaw.

A camera hung around her neck by a thin black strap and she wore a photographer's vest with many pockets stuffed with the accumulata of the trade.

Under the vest she wore a red, plaid flannel shirt unbuttoned for the length of her sternum, it was pulled open by the bulk of her out-standing tits.

The shirt-tail was tucked into a tight pair of daisy dukes.

Her legs, skin the color of wet sandstone, flowed from the short denim tubes like buck-wheat pouring from a silo and dropped in twisting column into a pair of square-toed, block-heeled, eagle-stenciled boots

She smiled and greeted old friends, delighted to be back in this studio, thrilled with the new faces and intent on getting the current job done.

Wheeled racks held many costumes of leather and latex, sheer and eye-let, hook and lace.

Whips, crops, chains, clamps and accouterments of all descriptions hung neatly sorted on peg-boards, hinged to open like huge books.

"OK, ladies, let's get to work. We've got three sets to get through and I'd like to be outta here by lunch." This woman, called Zach, quickly scanned the group of glowing female faces arrayed around her.

"Margaret, you -- you'll be perfect."

She pointed to a tall woman with a voluminous chest that Doralea recognized with a start as the torpedo-titted woman from the film.

"Grendel, please fetch that long whip there, and some spirit gum."

The short, square-faced woman who had been Doralea's guide, strode to the peg-board books and lifted a long, stiff, braided whip from the hook.

"Jean-Gail," the sharp-featured woman who had just been riding Gavia lifted her head, "wipe yourself off and squeeze into that polished ox-blood rig."

"You, and you and -- "' Zach pointed out the women she chose, "and you," she pointed to Doralea, "strip and powder.

We need these flats rolled over here, no -- just the stone ones, the one with the shackles here and the other two -- like so."

A flurry of activity followed on her command; every woman there was eager to do her bidding.

And she knew it.

The flats were rolled into place, a few set pieces were set and very quickly a dungeon was created.

Ashley's wrists and ankles were clamped to a large wooden X - her hands were stretched apart far over her head, her feet bound wide to a low platform.

She could have torn the set-piece down and escaped, but she was caught up in the excitement of Zach's energetic vision and stood, pinioned spread-eagled, waiting to play her part in that vision.

Doralea stood and watched as Lady Blue was clamped to one of the flats by the black iron-looking shackles, her soft breasts lifting their dark oval areolae as her arms pressed her kinked-blonde hair against her square cheekbones, her hands chained together over her head.

Her bare feet were left loose, lightly touching the platform, painted to look like granite.

Doralea was then led, completely naked, to a wooden post set into a rolling stage-cart, painted in greys, blacks and maroons to look like a single block of dressed stone.

Wickedly thin, darkly oiled leather thongs were lashed around her knees, then threaded through rings on the post between her shins and pulled tight, lashing her knees to the far side of the wooden pillar.

The same thin thongs were bound to her elbows and led through another set of rings, set into the platform. These bindings stretched her arms down along the thick post.

Its blunt end was shoved against her sternum, her tits parted by its bulk.

Finally, a thick collar with bright brass studs was buckled around her throat and fit into a cleat set into the top of the post.

The result of all this was to thrust her ass back sharply and remove any possibility of defense or escape, while allowing a wide range of movement for the attempt.

"That's right, keep that butt out --" Zach tested the tension on Doralea's wrists. "Does that hurt? Is it too tight?"

"No. It's OK."

"Well, OK. We're not trying to kill anybody here." She turned to talk to Grendel.

"The thing about this is the wire inside will hold its shape," she bent the end of the whip through a small arc, "and then you can take this on a brush and," she brushed a bit of spirit gum onto the whip and touched it to Grendel's arm, where it stuck, "there you are."

Zach pulled the whip and it held fast to Grendel's arm. "We will set up the action, the tension, it'll work fine."

She hollered up to some riggers, invisible in the cloud, the darkness above the lights hung high over head.

"Drop that pick, come on. Right here."

"Keep yer shirt on. We have to yoke from seventeen to twenty three. We're almost there," a distant male voice echoed from the overhead grid.

"OK, but we're ready now."

"Its happening now. Hold on."

As the short woman Zach had called Grendel used a large powder-muff on Ashley, Doralea watched the tall, soft woman from the movie, Margaret, get fitted with a stiff pair of black cuffs.

Her soft, smooth-skinned wrists were pressed together and the cuffs were clipped to a chain which snaked across the floor. This was attached to a wire cable hung from high overhead and lay coiled over a small gaff-tape "X" on the floor near the center of the "dungeon."

"HEADS!

Everyone looked up to watch a thin, black cord drop from the grid overhead.

A guy in a faded "Sturgis Run" t-shirt, his long, dishwater-blonde hair held back in a tail by a huge do-clip, moved quickly and smoothly to attach the cord to the end of the chain at the "X".

"HAUL AWAY!"

The cord immediately began to feed up into the darkness, pulling the chain.

Margaret ambled slowly over, following the chain, until she stood at the "X".

When her elbows were level with the top of her head, Zach yelled up, "Hold it there, that's good! Tie me off!"

The guy in the Sturgis t-shirt yelled up, "HOLD! MARK! TIE IT OFF!"

He waited, standing impatient beside the naked, chained torpedo-titted woman.

From above echoed, "FAST!"

Then the stage hand pulled down hard, testing the chain and, satisfied walked quickly back behind a flat.

Zach looked quickly around, "Where's Jean-Gail, come on, we're ready."

"I'm having a little trouble with this --" the woman with the Dutch-boy bob stepped from behind a flat, her form accentuated and constricted by the web of dark blood-colored strips riveted together into a tight-fitting corset-bustier which cinched her waist and smashed her soft tits against her ribs.

The lower edge, which now hung loose from her hips and draped behind her off her plump ass, was obviously supposed to link together somehow. Zach stepped to her and quickly and deftly made some adjustments.

"First off, this is supposed to be to the side," Zach twisted the whole affair about a quarter turn. She reached into the top of the rig and lifted the blonde's breast flesh out.

The ox-blood strapping crushed the lower curves of her tits against her chest, but lifted the central meat of her mounds and rigorously shaped it.

Zach reached between Jean-Gail's soft legs and grabbed the veil of straps which hung off the shelf of her ass.

She yanked hard.

"These come through here and through this D-ring. Lift. Lift your pelvis, forward and -- yes, like that."

The network of reddish straps spread wide over her large, soft ass and compressed it, molding it as rigorously as the upper part had her tits.

Doralea was amazed at the transformation the blonde had undergone: she was now a harsh and cruel leather queen, mistress of all she surveyed and conqueror of all who beheld her.

"OK, good, now, over here. You will stand here, turn that light, yes, good, not that much, back a little, yes. Now, Grendel, we'll shape the whip."

She led Jean-Gail over to where Margaret hung, and handed her the stiff whip.

"Stand here, arm up, like you were really going to lay into her. Margaret, hon, turn a little more -- away from us, yes, now, look back over your shoulder.

Lower that shoulder, the near one, please, yes, now look back and -- yes, yes, you see the whip and you know -- yes, you will be terrified. This will bend."

She reached up and smoothed both hands along the whip, imparting a sinuous path such as could be followed by a whip being cocked.

The braided leather held that shape and Zach quickly leapt to the large-format camera and checked her angle.

"Perfect. Everybody hold. Margaret -- you're about to get a vicious thrashing -- that whip will cut deep -- look scared --"

Margaret's face shifted to a frightened mask.

"OK, but looser. Other ladies, Ashley -- uh, you -- all of you -- you are involved, you are awed, scared, you know you may be next, but you're glad its not you now.

Come on, give it to me. Yes. Yes.

Blue, dear, can you turn - no, just your hips, point that one at me, yes, now get your shoulder back, yes, twist away, that's it, good strong twist, that's it, good everybody, good.

OK.

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Next shot."

A flurry of activity erupted around the central image of the sound stage.

Grendel was applying make-up to Margaret.

The hand in the t-shirt was squirting Jean-Gail with a mister that hung thick droplets all over her smooth skin.

Zach gave instructions, orchestrating the quick alterations of the scene.

"Yes, hold the pencil and the brush together and just make a nice sweep, like this, yes, that's good.

And another up and just around a bit here. And here, striking, yes, one cheek, skipping over the split and then the other cheek, oh, perfect.

OK, Tripp, now the sweat, yes, good.

No, just on her face and in back, yes, there and between her butt -- yeah, that."

The combination of the pencil and the brush left ugly looking marks on Margaret's soft, smooth skin.

The pencil left well-defined black-red lines and the heavy, thick red oil, which the brush left seemed to ooze from deep gashes as blood.

The sheen of droplets looked like sweat and Tripp laid a few drops of glycerine on to streak her face like tears.

As the knot of make-up adjusters pulled away, Doralea winced at the sight of stark, cruel violation.

"OK, this time, Grendel, we shape the whip, go and get the gum."

As Grendel went for the spirit gum, Zach re-bent the wire-stiffened whip and pressed it against the ribs beneath Margaret's arm-pit. When glued to her skin, the lash seemed a cobra in mid-strike, about to bite hard into the nipple of the fully-packed breast.

Zach returned to her camera and observed the scene through the view-finder.

"OK, you two, here's how this will work --

Jean-Gail, you're really flailing, so plant your feet and -- really twist, all the way 'round -- I'll want hair flying and -- and bring that far arm up higher, it's for balance and power and we can see the bulge of your tit under, yes, lovely, like that, the whip is loose there, so it will take the slack -- really active, real juiced -- it's not just a job it's -- you love this -- right, good.

And Margaret, you're in pain, really, you should see your back, look down, see where it flips around your hip --

Tripp, can we get a little more sweat here, Grendel, touch up the blood --

Now, hon, when I say go, I want you to really toss around, hang from the chain, it'll hold, really, and I want those huge tits swingin'.

I want 'em to swallow the whip, it'll look like it's about to bite off your nip, babe.

I wanna see that.

And the pain and -- Tripp, the tears, pump 'em again. That's it and -- OK

-- GO!"

Jean-Gail began twisting from her knees, really torquing hard and her hair flew.

When Margaret swung toward the camera, toward the whip, the massive softness of her torpedoes engulfed the stiffness of the leather and it did look as if the whip was doing serious damage to those huge, soft pillows

-- the nipple just missed kissing the threatening fang-like tip.

Zach was calling, "Again -- again -- twist -- more -- Again -- All the way around -- look at her not at me -- Again -- really let it fly -- you in the back, horror -- Again, Again.

OK

Stop.

We need something else in the back. Uh -"

She scanned the room, looking.

"Shannon, you're the one.

Quick, hop into that doe-skin halter and the --

the chaps -- and go over by --" she pointed at Doralea "-- by --"

"Doralea," clarified Grendel.

Nodding, Zach continued, "By Doralea.

You're lovely girl -- Doralea.

Glad to see you.

You have to be involved here, you see what's happening and -- well, your butt's sticking out.

This could be you.

This will be you.

Just wait.

You're scared -- please, look it.

God, Shannon, that's perfect.

OK.

Stand beside her, no other side, let's see you

-- OK, now grab her hair and

-- yes, yes, you're forcing her to watch.

Oh, that's great, you two are perfect together, OK everybody, this really hurts and -- ready, Jean-Gail?

Margaret?

OK, good.

Tripp, get that sweat touched up -- these two girls are really workin'.

Yeah, good, OK and now we're back

-- Thrash, twist, pull, swing and

-- Again.

Again.

Again."

Shannon pulled Doralea's hair hard, lifting her head, pulling her neck against the collar and turning her face to the scene under the chain.

Doralea could feel the blood rushing to her face and suffusing her chest as well.

She was flushed to her tit-tips and the pulse pounding in her ear beat out her excitement.

She could feel the heat from Shannon's hip pressed against her waist and she wiggled her hips a bit to chafe against her warmth.

Shannon put a hand high on Doralea's rump.

"That's good, Shannon, rub her ass, rub down between her cheeks, we can see that.

Twist, hard, Jean-Gail, really let that hair fly,

come all the way 'round

-- Oh yes, yes

-- Again -- and ye-esss.

OK, everybody, next shot."

Grendel and Tripp stepped again to where Margaret stood, her wrists held well above her head by the chain.

Zach described their duties.

"Pull it off, easy, now, see that line?

The pencil and brush right along it.

And then a few more -- wrap around here and across, leave a space about -- yes, like that.

OK, this one is going to cut over around to bite her pussy, like this."

She shaped the whip to lie diagonally from the middle of Margaret's back at the waist, hugging the curve across the top of her buttock, then across her hip, the tip hovering just over her soft, hair covered mound.

As the make-up job continued, Shannon pressed a finger between Doralea's congested outer cunt-lips.

She stroked broadly, withholding any penetration.

Doralea, waggled her ass madly, circling and thrusting, trying to press against and swallow the finger.

When she moaned in frustrated excitement, Zach looked over at her and smiled broadly.

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She nodded at Doralea and moved again to her camera.

"OK, now, Jean-Gail, you -- you're on the other side, yes, and looking at her, again, you've been working, and you're worked up, near frenzy

-- and smile, you love your work

-- yes, good

-- Tripp, more sweat for Jean-Gail

-- and Margaret, honey, lift your hip, swing out to meet this one, bend that back knee and -- hold it -- "

Zach picked up the camera on the tripod and moved it six or seven meters to a new angle, quickly making adjustments.

"OK, now, We're doing this

-- lower, Margaret, really hang in the cuffs, lift this knee, higher, open it out more, we have to see the end of the whip,

OH, yes, right

-- Jean-Gail, shift a little to the left

-- your right, yes -- more

-- enough and

-- do it -- everybody into it and GO.

Again.

Yes, give it to me.

Pump it.

Margaret, pump that leg, in, out, in, out, wider, out and lift the hip and good, good, oh, God, that's it.

Again.

Again.

Hit it -- oh, it hurts, Margaret, scream, it's --"

Margaret let out a wild scream of agony that startled everyone. Zach slowly straightened up and smiled.

"That's it, people, everyone, perfect. Let's move on. Pull the whip, loose coil on the floor, no, back there, where she was.

Margaret, it's over.

You just hang, in the cuffs, not yet, wait.

Grendel, lay in some more stripes. Yeah,

just go nuts -- it's over and oh, that's mean

-- yes, yes, I like it, across her tits from under.

Yes, that sort of thing and bite this cheek, here. Just beside her lip.

Yeah, just a patch Tripp, sweat and tears here.

Lots of both.

OK, Jean-Gail, you're standing here, hold her jaw and

-- oh, damn, I was

-- I forgot the gloves, well, that's OK, we'll just have to go without them -- it'll be OK.

My fault -- OK, hold her jaw like this and you'll kiss her. She'll just be hanging here

-- just hanging, Margaret

-- so you'll have to bend down a bit, yeah, like that and give it to her deep.

Like that.

Zach went back to her camera and viewed the scene. She picked the camera up and moved it two or three meters closer.

"OK, and kiss, and

-- really grip her

-- yes, maybe lift her a bit, faces more to me

-- Jean-Gail, move a step back and up -- yes, good

-- and kiss, really mash her.

OK, now out a bit, let's see that tongue snake across, oh, good.

OH, that's it, lick her,

lick that tear.

OK, yes -

- really reach so we can see the tongue, yes, yes. That's so good. That's that.

And next, Jean-Gail, up by -- uh -- Doralea.

You're getting ready for the next one and Shannon, down here, you're deposing Margaret.

Yes.

Here, get that key-ring

-- hang it from your belt there, we wouldn't have seen it before and

-- no, yes we would have, OK, just hold it in your hand and work at the lock on the cuffs.

Margaret, you just hang, when she releases the cuffs you'll just fall in a lump on the ground.

You're hurt, exhausted, passed out.

You -- Doralea -- you're really scared now.

You know you're gonna get all cut up and

-- yeah, just let the fear show.

Look at --

Jean-Gail, on this side, OK, and touch her,

reach back to find that perfect spot on her butt, that perfect spot to start.

Good, OK, everybody

-- Oh, Blue and Ashley -- you're still in.

Let it show, wide-eyed terror.

It's all too much.

OK."

She picked up the heavy tripod again and moved to a spot where the deposition of Margaret was near-ground and past it was the preparation of Doralea.

She made a few adjustments and started clicking.

"Good, good,

not to hard,

OK.

And that's that.

Wrap this set.

Get it out of here and we'll go on to the Triumph."

---

A flurry of activity erupted around Doralea, as the flats were struck and she was wheeled to one side.

She was left, bound to the pole, her butt stuck out, as the new set was rolled into place.

Tripp and several other stagehands who suddenly appeared, quickly made the change.

The dungeon was gone and a street scene, a wide plaza filled with crowds in draped and belted togas, replaced it.

The first row of the crowd was life-size.

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