Installation

ELEVEN

'Installation'

The next weekend, I was sitting naked at my computer, scrolling my favorite sites for finding images of beautiful naked women when my text-message notification chimed.

I noticed it was from Betty Wilson.

"Mel! Get your butt in here!"

I heard your barefeet nearly tumbling down the steps as you rush to see what could possibly be wrong.

"What? What?"

You sound afraid that you have done something to offend me.

As if.

"Come sit on my lap"

You swing onto me, your knees over the arms of my chair, your pussy mound against my semi-stiff cock.

"No. Turn around."

You do, now trapping my cock between your ass cheeks and upper thighs.

You look back at me over your shoulder.

I nod toward the desk-top screen.

"Ooooo. What does she say?"

"Don't know. Haven't opened it."

"Do... Do."

My cock is a little harder now and pressing up against you.

I open it

"Betty Wilson: Haven't heard from you for a time. Are you guys OK?"

"Me: Hey, yeah.

"Me: We're great. That's why you haven't heard."

"Betty Wilson: holding out on me, eh"

"Me: Well. You know"

"Betty Wilson: I do"

"Me: What's up?"

"Betty Wilson: Do you still want to set up a feed?

"Betty Wilson: Two way - there to here"

"Me: Well, yeah.

Me: Mel says, 'Duh'"

"Betty Wilson: Hey, Mel"

"Betty Wilson: We can set that up whenever you're ready"

"Me: Great

Me: What do you need from us?"

"Betty Wilson: Nothnig really. Just a time.

"Betty Wilson: We'll send a crew to set up your end"

"Me: Cool - whenever as far as we're concerned

Me: Actually, weekends would be better - Mel will be here"

"Betty Wilson: OK, sure

"Betty Wilson: Does this weekend coming work?"

"Me: Sure.

Me: it does"

"Betty Wilson: Time?"

"Me: Any time

Me: Since we know you're coming we'll stick around.

Me: any thime"

"Betty Wilson: OK - I'll let you know"

"Me: Great"

"Betty Wilson: Mel will be there then?"

Your nodding drags your hair over my chest. I stiffen more up against your underside.

Me: She willl"

"Betty Wilson: Then I'll come too

Betty Wilson: to meet her"

"Goody"

"Me: Mel says goody"

"Betty Wilson:

Great, I'll let you know specifics later"

"Me: Do."

I lift you up, and set you down my cock sheathing easily in your wet and welcoming pussy.

We spend the rest of the week thinking about where we'd want the feed cameras to be and tidying up and arranging 'sets' in our bedroom, my office, the bathroom and the kitchen.

We discuss outside and decide that the back yard fence will likely be sufficient shield from neighbors. We buy three wooden beach loungers and tie-on cushions with blue and red diagonal stripes. We drag out a couple end tables from the basement storage area and set them between the chairs under the tree.

When we feel we've done all we can do we take a tour, examining, checking to see if there's any corrections, additions, removals necessary and decide - nope, we're good.

Mrs Wilson can make any changes she feels necessary, give any advice once she's here.

We finish our check-up in the back yard.

I pick you up playfully by the waist and throw you down across one of the loungers and, holding you down with both hands on your waist, ram into you from behind.

I could have thought of it as a test of the new furniture.

I didn't.

I just wanted to slam into you.

You like it.

And respond enthusiastically

Late Saturday morning an unmarked white panel van pulls up the drive, pull half onto the grass and parks.

You come to stand by my side, your arm around my waist and we watch out the window.

After a few minutes, pretty sure they're the installation crew, I decide to go out to greet them.

"Go throw something on, Sweet"

You head upstairs to your room.

Just as I get to the door, a dark silver Porsche Panamera swings in and pulls past the van, to stop near the garage door.

Four men in identical uniforms - white shirts with oval logos and name tags, white pants, white reeboks - get out and walk towards the Porshe.

Betty steps out of the Porsche and greets the men, then turns to walk to me.

She meets me about half way and we hug.

She rubs my belly with her huge tits, smashing their massive softness against me.

Her tits would be enormous on any woman, but she's only a little over five feet tall and their size is exaggerated on her small frame.

I comb my fingers through her short hair, just long enough to lap her ears and not much longer in the back. Her bangs are longer, feathering just below her eyebrows.

I look up and see the four workmen standing patiently - and notice one is a sturdy looking blonde girl.

Betty turns and gestures to them.

"The crew, John, Peter, Gail and Pedro." Gesturing to me, "Mr Hampton."

We all nod and say hello.

"I'll show you what we're thinking. And we welcome any advice or adjustments you might make."

"Yes."

I lead the group towards the house.

You step to the door having thrown on a light linen caftan, white with a single blood red stripe down over your left tit. Your nipples and rings are hidden by the stripe, but evident on your right.

I hear gasps and mutterings from the crew behind me.

You have pulled your hair back into the usual tri-fold you wear in public.

You stand aside, holding the door as we parade past you into the the house.

Every head turns to give you a quick admiring appraisal.

I do a quick tour of the areas we've selected, suggesting camera placements and focuses.

Betty makes decisions about the set-ups based on our suggestions and in consultation with Peter with only a few minor corrections of our 'sets'.

Peter seems to be the crew leader, after assessing the situation and after discussing lighting needs, he sends Pedro and Gail out to get the equipment.

He and John start clearing furniture and readying the space in my office for them to work.

After Pedro and Gail wheel in a bunch of boxes loaded onto a Mag-Liner, Peter asks you to act as an on-set model as they adjust the lighting, place new lamps and place the cameras as has been decided by Betty.

You cheerfully agree.

Betty and I go and sit in the kitchen, drinking coffee and chatting.

We hear boxes shifted and opened, equipment pulled out, the installer crew talking business - and the banter work crews engage in. Your voice lilts through, a delightful bright note sparkling above the general hum.

"She's beautiful. She reminds me of her mother."

"She does."

"How's she doing?"

"She's in school, studies hard, does quite well."

"You seem happy."

"Oh, I am. I suppose I could be happier, but can't imagine how."

"I'm glad. You deserve that."

"I do."

We both laugh.

We hear a bang - like someone dropped a tool - and there's a burst of laughter from the crew.

"They seem jolly."

"Well, they should be, we're paying them double-time to work out on a Saturday."

"You didn't have to do that, we could have done this..."

"I wanted to do it so I'd get a chance to meet your daughter."

"THAT I understand."

"She's beautiful."

"Couldn't agree more. And a delight, a simple joy to have around."

"Yes. I can see that."

After about an hour of conversing over coffee and listening to the crew chatter and the sound of power tools - about halfway through our second cup - Peter comes in.

"Mel says there's a basement."

"Yes, there is."

"That's good, we'll mount a box down there to tie into the cable."

"OK."

"Can you show me - take me down there?"

"Oh, yeah, sure."

Flipping on the light at the head of the steps, I lead the way down.

The basement has unfinished stone foundation walls and poured concrete floor with a few storage areas with open-slat walls and light-weight doors, held shut with flap-locks.

There's the usual piping and electric wires running along the joists - other than that it's pretty much open.

Peter stands looking around, assessing in more detail.

"So, that's the service entry," gesturing toward the breaker box, "and the cable junction is over there?"

"Yes, sort of in that corner by the water heater."

"Oh, this is good. We'll mount the receiver over there and tie in to the cable. Any problem with that?"

"Nope. None at all. Sounds good to me."

He turns to head back up the steps and stops at the bottom.

"Any other lights down here?"

"No, just that one bulb."

"Want us to add more? Make it easier to navigate. And see."

"Oh. Well... hadn't thought about it, but sure, do whatever you want. Whatever you think best."

"Cool." And he heads back up.

Betty follows him and I follow her, her wide ass shifting under her loose knee-length shorts.

I reach out and give a cheek a quick squeeze. She looks back down at me and giggles, wiggling her butt free of my hand.

Peter comes in again just as I'm pouring my third cup.

"Want to come in and look now?"

"Of course," Betty hops off her stool and I follow them into the living room.

Everything looks like usual, all the furniture set back in place.

The crew stands casually against the walls. Mel sits on the couch, relaxed.

When Betty and I step in, Peter stops us with a gentle hand on my chest. He's about my height and I can feel the power through his hand.

"OK, watch."

He flips off the lights. The room is dark - I notice they have pulled the drapes shut.

"OK."

A bunch of lights hit Mel on the couch - the lamps on either side that were there before and several more set up against the cornice, not really hidden, but certainly out of the way and unobtrusive.

I also notice a light on the ceiling, lighting the couch and coffee table and a shining under the coffee table splashing onto the floor.

Mel shifts around posing, stretching on the couch, sitting on the coffee table, kneeling between couch and table. All perfectly lit.

"OK." Peter flips these lights off and the regular room lights back on.

"Now this. Mel..."

She moves to stand in front of the wide-screen, undoes her hair and dresses it forward over her shoulders.

Peter flips off the lights again and flips on another set, creating a glowing area around Mel who strikes a few classic Hollywood-publicity poses. And a few playfully provocative poses. She twirls and bends, kneels down, lies on her stomach, rolls onto her back and sits, leaning against the wall.

The hussy show-off.

I love it.

I love her.

Peter flips the lights back on.

"Thought that might be a nice little display area - could play something on the screen if you wanted."

"I like it," says Mel, rolling onto her side to push up off the floor.

"So do I," say I.

Peter points out the cameras he's placed around.

"They're all wireless, long-life batteries."

"OK."

"Same with the lights. Mounted the control box here beside the old switch box," he pats the wall, "set in flush with the wall. I think the labeling is clear."

I look to see and it all looks great to me.

More than I would have thought, but - hey, I'm just the guy. I'm really along for the ride. I'm trusting Betty to do what she wants, she's trusting Peter. I'm cool with it.

"OK, let's move to the office, guys."

The crew moves and Betty and I return to the kitchen.

"How's life on the farm?"

"Interesting. Interesting question."

"I thought so - I expect an interesting answer."

"Well, we still host several shows a month - some months every week - more rarely over a whole weekend."

"So, about like usual."

"Nah-o, not really. The shows are different. The interests of the audience has changed with the new people. The old folks - like us - fewer and fewer come less and less often.

They're new ones are shifting away from bestiality and more into bondage, whippings and gang-bangs.

"And they like more audience participation."

"But we always did that."

"Yeah, but not like this. Not as much. Sometimes it seems we're just doing orgies - not shows, just mass pile-up sex exhibitions. Gang bangs."

"Those can be fun."

"Oh, true, I'm not complaining, they pay better. I have no objection, really. It's just... different than when you and..."

"Yeah."

"We're still doing what we do, Jack and I. That may have been what triggered the change. We did a show where Jack trussed me up and whipped me solid. The tawse, bullwhip... the crop, the strop... the whole shmir."

"Wow, you did a show? Ropes and whips?"

"Yeah."

"That's different."

"Yeah. Anyway, the next time it was like all the new people brought their family and friends - like nearly twice as many tickets."

"Wow."

"Indeed. And the next time grew. That kept up for a couple months - now we have to turn some away, the barn just isn't that big."

"Good for you."

"Yeah, I guess."

"So, what sort of stuff do they do?"

"Ok, this one guy, comes every show lately, brings two, sometimes three, girls - mostly girls. He must cruise colleges or something - maybe a prof - or a janitor, I don't know. But they're mostly coeds. Sometimes a woman - maybe a teacher..."

"It must be nice to get to know them a little."

"Oh, no. They're new every time. Eager little bunnies that have no idea what to expect. Well, they know what to expect, they just don't know what it means."

"What."

"They expect something. He's told them something. But... it's like they're prepared to put on a show, but like a college play - nothing this intense. Not in front of an audience this big."

"What intense."

"Well, sometimes we remind him, before the show... we have to remind him of our limits. He is always pushing. Sometimes I think after he gets them home he does much worse."

"Worse?"

"Ok, here... last time he showed up he had two cheerleader/gymnast/dancer/theater types. Typical coeds. Five six, five seven. Hundred, hundred fifteen. Blond down to there. Blue eyes glinting in the lights. Wide eyed, excited. And skin - damn, their skin - done to perfection - like a life in the sun and never a burn."

"Your favorite."

"True.

And he also brought an older woman - maybe mid-50s - maybe a little younger. Full thick head of grey hair - the kind some women get very young. Powerful bones in the face - maybe Russian or Lat. I don't know. Deep set eyes, but piercing. Tall - nearly six and slender - but slender like a swimmer or runner. Very strong, well muscled."

"Like I like."

"Yes."

"So, what'd they do."

"He led them - well, they each led one to the stage. The kids were naked except for a collar, snug around the neck, and very tight boned corsets - almost like cinchers. They had those chicks cranked to nothing. I don't know how they could even breathe."

"Don't see that much anymore."

"No. So he and the woman were dressed like their going to a fancy formal. He's in a tux, black, pale-blue shirt. She's in an ankle length sequined sheath - almost a hobble skirt - and empire state heels - like she's en point."

"That's something else."

"I don't know how they can stand in those, much less walk. But they can. And they do."

"I've only seen pictures."

"So, they led in these two girls, not so unusual. The crowds appreciate them. Some seemed to know the girls - catcalls, hoots and hollers. With little pockets that are especially loud - and young. About the same age as the girls."

"That's different."

"Yeah - but remember when we started - we were about that age when you and..."

I tense, "Yes."

"Sorry, I didn't mea-"

"It's ok, it's not on you. It just happened is all. And I miss her. Who she was."

"So do I."

"So they got these two to the stage and had them stand about ten feet apart. We'd dropped several skyhooks like he'd arranged, eight. He clipped the hooks to the collars and signaled Jack to raise them. Stopped when there was no slack at all in the ropes - but not tugging too hard on their necks either. Then he and the woman put a drop through the back hooks on the collar - one of those four-hook jobs, red leather - maybe three inches wide - and attached them to the cuffs on their left wrists and had Jack raise them till they were bent nearly up to the collar."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, 'ouch'" Betty laughed. "Then they handed each of them a bullwhip. This much they must have known about because they both swung the whip at the other. So weak they barely even made contact.

"He shouted at them, 'Again. Harder. Harder.' So they did - well, they tried - they had no idea what they were doing. He and the woman stepped up beside them - one on each. And flattened their tits with oiled three-ply strops. And those blows LANDED. Echoed in the theater.

"And it was like the girls didn't know they'd been hit. For almost a second. No reaction, silent. Then they both let out yells that tore the eardrums. They were hurt bad. But, no blood, so within bounds."

"Done that."

"And pushed past it a few times, I recall."

"Yeah, but... you know - an accident."

"That's what you said then."

I laugh. "It's true."

"Uh, huh. So the girls swung again - better, much better. But not really it.

He yelled at them again, 'Harder. HARDER.' and on the next swing just as they brought the whips into motion he and the woman slammed those strops into the girl's butts.

The girls faltered, but made a brave effort. And that became the thing. He'd yell, 'harder', the girls would start their swing and they'd strop their asses. The girls would land and lay down a stripe.

"And they did get harder every time, swung faster.

"Now, the girls, remember, were being held in place by their collars - if they moved much, they'd choke, so they were just standing there, facing each other, held full upright and weilded these bullwhips.

"After a couple dozen the girls had got it down, the whips wrapping all the way around so the tip just flicked the flesh, laying down a spiral welt and tagging a blazing red dot with the tip.

"You know."

"Sure do. That takes skill, but I guess they were motivated to learn quick."

"Motivated, yeah."

"After a while this entertainment began to pale, so, up to the next.

"They clipped alligators to their nipples and on each pussy lip, then hooked them together with fat rubber bands. And those tits were stretched way farther than god ever meant them to be."

"We like that."

"We do - but what they did to those pussies - damn. I've never seen anything stretched that far since... oh, what was her name. That bitch that hung buckets from her cunt and her guy poured ball bearings into it."

"Oh, yeah... I remember that... her name was Le-... Mar-... whatever, I couldn't imagine that. It hurts to remember."

"Yep. And this was at least that bad. And it was obvious the girls had never had anything even remotely like that. And there was nothing they could do to relieve anything, they were pinned by their collars."

"So, then, he ordered them to start whipping again.

"Really, there was no way they could, but they tried. Every move was pain and they just couldn't do the swing. But they tried, because they kept stropping their asses and thighs. The girls were screaming raw-throated and eventually dropped the whips and just stood there being blistered fiercely.

"And the crowd loved it. Yelling, taking up a 'harder, harder, harder' chant. Really blood thirsty.

"Eventually the girls just collapsed and hung from their collars. Jack quickly lowered them to the ground but they kept slamming them with the strops, now all over their bodies, turing that tan bright stinging red.

"Then they called on the audience to come up onto stage and beat these girls."

"And they did. Those groups of young people, mostly college boys, but some girls, too, came up and were handed strops, crops, whips and ropes and they circled 'round the girls and just started waling on them - almost a Lord of the Flies frenzy.