NB: This story is narrated by a fictional character. The events are entirely fake. Attempting this in real life would likely result in prison or death by revenge-killing. Having said that, if you're looking for a character of vivid erotic imagination...pure "id"... you'll enjoy this one. All comments and feedback are appreciated.
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SCENE: A room with painted concrete-block walls on the ground floor of an isolated grain elevator in the Oklahoma panhandle. A middle-aged farmer wearing unbuttoned jeans and a dirty tank-top reclines in an office chair, talking into a rotary telephone. On the opposite side of the room a beautiful young woman pants loudly as she jogs on a Stairmaster machine while being filmed by a video camera. A stainless steel ring-gag on a rubber neck strap keeps her mouth wide open. Her wrists are bound tightly together near her tailbone. She is almost naked, wearing only high-heeled pumps, over-the-ear headphones and a pair of brass chimes that dangle from wooden clothespins clamped to her nipples. The chimes ring haphazardly as she struggles to balance in her tall shoes while high-stepping atop the machine. Numerous rubber-bands have been stretched around her breasts, encircling the base of each one in its own elastic tourniquet. As a result, they bulge forward from her slender ribcage like a pair of water-balloons. Completing her outfit, two leather straps have been stretched in a circuitous route from her wrists to her breasts. They travel first down under her crotch from behind, then upward over her mons pubis before separating to run around either side of her waist and cross diagonally at her back on their way over the top of each shoulder to terminate in knots that pull sharply upwards on each breast's rubber tourniquet. Her pear-shaped ass rocks from side to side, deeply bisected by the leather straps descending from her bound wrists. The straps are so tight that they crease her crotch and shoulder flesh, exerting a constant upward tension that lifts her breasts skyward. Over the sound of her gape-mouthed breathing and the techno-dance music leaking out from under her headphones, a steady buzz can be heard -- emanating from a vibrator that is snugged against her clit beneath the leather straps.
Her cheeks are flushed pink with a cocktail of embarrassment, arousal and exertion. Two floorstanding floodlights positioned to either side of the video camera's tripod blast her nubile body with incandescent light. Beads of sweat streak her skin. The muscles in her long legs flex rhythmically as she pumps up and down atop the machine. The wide field of view of the video camera captures every detail of this arrangement, though its steady gaze is focused on the bells that jangle from her gyrating tits.
The farmer watches her intently from behind a desk. A wide smile spreads across his face as he describes his day to a friend on the other end of the phone line:
FARMER: "Hey man, you're not gonna believe this, but I just won the damn lottery...
"Na-uh. Not really. Not that lottery -- a whole different kind. No... no... Shut up for a second and listen, n'kay? You're gonna love this:
"So, you remember that tow-truck license I bought last year? Well, this morning it paid off in spades, man. I got a call from the dispatcher sayin' that some lady broke down way the hell out on state route 95... right in the middle of nowhere. Dispatcher says I'm the closest tow truck. I figure it's worth a few bucks, so I head out there in the flatbed. And it turns out it's this goddamn swimsuit model on her way down to Texas for a photo shoot.
"Yeah, I know, right? Well anyway, she's hotter than hell, man. I mean, this girl has a body on her that ought'a be illegal. You feel guilty just lookin' at her. The whole way back home I had a boner from eyeballin' her sittin' next to me in the cab of the truck.
"So, anyway we get back here and I put her little foreign car up on stands to take a look, right? Meanwhile she's tip-toeing around the place in this outfit that's just driving me crazy. Skirt so short she can't even sit down.
"And at first I didn't think nothing would come of it, ya' know? I figured I'd just get that little shitbox running again and send her on her way. But it turns out not only is the transmission totally fragged, but after I ordered the parts for it her credit card got declined... Yeah, three times. And then she tells me she ain't got no cash on her, and her cellphone is dead from calling everywhere panic-like when her car quit.
"Well, so then I had to break the news to her that it's gonna be another three days before the parts arrive to fix the tranny.
"Huh? Yeah, um, hang on. I got her driver's license right here... uh-huh... D.O.B makes her...let's see... twenty three... just this month. Name is Ashley. Yeah. Well, so anyway I told her: 'I ain't about to work for free, lil' lady. It's gonna take me at least twelve hours to fix your damn car, and that's not including parts.' So, I said to her: 'How you gonna pay me?' And she ain't got no clue, right? No clue at all. So that's when I start asking her what she's doin' way out here, what she does for a career and the like. Well, she blurts out that she's a model right? She does swimsuit catalogues and whatnot...
"Yeah... No, no, for real. She's hotter than shit, man. No joke. What...? Whatever man, pipe-down. I ain't even got to the good parts yet.
"So the real kicker is; while she was sittin' there hesitatin' about how she's gonna pay me, she opens up her little suitcase trying to find her cellphone charger, right? But she's so nervous about her credit card declining and everything that she fumbles it and all her stuff falls out onto the floor. And that's when I see what this little minx is up to, you know? She ain't so innocent. Not like she'd been acting up to that point. I tell her to stand back against the wall and I start pickin' through all this shit in her bag. And she's got nothin' but slut-clothes in there, man: tiny little bikinis, thong underwear, these little things that she says are shorts but they look like underwear. Other stuff I ain't never seen a girl wear in public 'afore. And underneath all them bitsy whore-clothes is a bag of Mexican dirt-weed and this little vibrator thing... you know? Like, for her to get herself off with. Yeah, a vibrator...
"So, that's when I told her, I said: 'Look, you're obviously some kinda porn star or a prostitute or something.' And she starts bawlin' and sayin' no, no, no. Claims all them clothes are just for this photo shoot she was heading to, and how she's only been modeling for a few months, and she's a good person and all that. So then I say well what about the dope, you know? I ought'a call the Sheriff, right? And the vibrator? I said, 'Why are you so depraved you need to carry this thing around everywhere?' And she's crying her eyes out. Saying nobody was ever supposed to find it, and how embarrassed she is and all that... sayin' her boyfriend dumped her last year or some such shit and how she's a student at a community college I never heard of, just doin' the modeling thing to make rent.
"So, while she's doin' all that carrying on, I start thinkin' -- Hey, I got that video 'quipment lying around, and I'm always telling myself I should'a been a camera man, you know? Hell, I still wanna work in the film industry, given the chance, right? Damn-sight better than kickin' around on eighteen thousand acres of dirt, fixin' tractors and waiting for the crops to come in.
"Yeah... yeah. So, anyway, I told'er: 'It's gonna take me twelve hours to fix your rinky-dink car... at least. So you'd best be prepared to work for me in return, doing your sexy modeling, or whatever you want to call it, in front of my video camera, right?' And at first I told her it oughta be two-for-one. You know, two hours she works for me for every one hour I work on her car, seein' as she's so young and only been modeling a few months compared to me who's been fixing e'ry-damn-thing since 'afore she was born.
"But she got real skittish about the whole deal, and in the end I said: 'Fine, I'll offer you one-for-one time-wise, but it's gotta be legit.' I showed her the lights 'n camera and I printed out one of those model-release forms off the internet. Plus I wrote up a contract saying her time, you know, in order for it to actually count it's gotta be good footage -- real porn quality. No half-assed shit. If I gotta edit it out, I told her, it don't count. I said: 'If your car takes me twelve hours, and that's just a guess, then I want twelve hours of quality porn at the end of this deal, even if it takes us all three days to shoot it.'
