Getting Naked: A Romance of Bondage and Discipline Read online

  "No. I know at least one,” she insisted, growing bolder by the second. “Mr. Tremaine, he is a good man, I know he is."

  It was so evident that Carmen was blinded by love, but how to say so?

  "Morgan, please don't be angry with me,” Carmen continued, “but I think that Mr. Tremaine was not trying to use you at all. I think he was ... reaching out."

  "You mean like little boys on the playground?” Merilee chimed in. “They like a girl, so they push her off the swing? Seriously, though,” the blonde sipped her drink to the halfway point. “It is true, he's never gone for a model physically. Or emotionally. In twenty-four hours you've pushed buttons I didn't even know he had, and trust me, I can be a real pain in the ass."

  Morgan felt her head beginning to swim a little. Part of it was the margarita, but another, bigger part was this wild idea, suddenly put on the table that maybe, just maybe Nick Tremaine had been behaving in such a totally bizarre and irrational way with her not because he was a sadist but because he was trying to deal with emotions too deep to handle.

  Affectionate feelings. Maybe even ... love?

  "He did spare you from Evers,” pointed out Merilee. “That guy gives pigs a bad name. I worked with him once, just a simple bikini shoot. I felt so sleazy when I was done I had to take like six showers in a row."

  Carmen cleared her throat. “I know he'd never tell you this, Morgan, but the money he paid for your contract? It was ten times the value."

  Morgan sucked in her lower lip. Great, now she was going to end up feeling guilty about the whole thing. How could that be?

  "I need time to think,” she announced.

  Merilee shook out her frizzy yellow locks, sage-like. “No, that's the last thing you want to do in a romance situation is think, trust me."

  Carmen was giggling into her drink, eyes a little starry.

  "What is so funny?” Merilee smiled.

  "Oh, I was just gonna say something mean, that's all."

  "Well, don't hold back on our accounts,” Merilee encouraged.

  She took a deep breath, grabbing Morgan's hand for strength. “Okay, I was just going to say, what with your hair color and all, that thinking is the last thing you would do in any situation."

  All three went into hysterics, Merilee loudest of all.

  "I can't believe I said that,” Carmen kept saying. “That was so rude."

  "Actually, I am very proud,” said Merilee. “I've made an honest to goodness smart ass out of you."

  "A toast,” Morgan raised her empty glass, badly in need of a refill. “To a table full of smart asses."

  They repeated the oath in triplicate.

  "And to friends,” added Carmen.

  "To friends,” they proclaimed.

  "And to Merilee's genius plan to get Morgan and Nick together."

  The other two hesitated on this one.

  "Huddle,” called Merilee, reaching for their shoulders. “I have a plan, just hear me out."

  Carmen and Morgan absorbed it word by word.

  "Well?” Merilee wanted to know when she'd spun out every nefarious detail.

  Morgan took a deep breath. “To sum up, it is nefarious, devious and almost certain to implode upon its inception..."

  Merilee cocked her head. “So what does that mean exactly?"

  "It means I love it,” Morgan announced. “When do we get started?"

  * * * *

  Merilee's plan was indeed devious. And deceptive. In effect, it would involve tricking Nick Tremaine into thinking she was someone else, a total stranger, thereby giving her a chance to seduce him all over again. She had no clue where it would lead, if anywhere positive, but she had to find out. Was their previous encounter a fluke, the result of bizarre timing and circumstances, or was there something real between them—the potential for a serious relationship?

  Not that Morgan was looking for one. She had her life all set and she could live it alone. But her mother and grandmother had instilled in her enough of a romantic heart for her to want to give it a try at least.

  "There's only one thing people ever really regret on their deathbeds,” her father had said, having seen more than his share. “And that's not having taken a few more risks with their lives. All the rest of it, all the people they hurt and so one, they know that will sort itself out. But their own missed opportunities, that's what really gets lost forever."

  The plan centered on the Bacchus Banquet. Just two nights away, it was the biggest event in the city for persons involved in adult entertainment. Film and photography, gentlemen's clubs, retail outlets, all were involved. Naturally Nick Tremaine's Dream Images, Inc. was a key player. Nick himself had been designated King Satyr and he'd also been called upon to take pictures beforehand to be used throughout the year as promotions.

  The most beautiful women in the business were to serve as models beforehand and also as serving wenches for the banquet afterwards. It was an adult only affair, and the girls were encouraged to ‘serve’ in the most creative ways possible.

  Merilee's idea, which Carmen was sure she could finagle with her connections, was to get Morgan hired on as one of the models. Since this year was a masquerade theme, they would all be wearing masks, anyway. With any luck she could win his attention and test out Carmen's theory that his callousness toward her was an expression of a deep, smoldering passion that threatened to ignite into an all out blaze.

  Merilee and Carmen would both be there as well, with fire extinguishers should the heat get at all out of control.

  Carmen was thrilled to announce the morning after their initial conspiracy meeting that Morgan had been given a place, filling in for a model that had gotten ill. Merilee worked with her on some erotic modeling tips, helping round out her natural sensuality with some special moves and techniques.

  Morgan was nervous she couldn't pull it off.

  "You'll be fine,” Merilee assured her. “The biggest thing you have going for you is that you two have chemistry already. That will show in the way you pose. In how the session flows. I guarantee you'll blow any pro out of the water, me included."

  She wasn't so sure, but Merilee's enthusiasm was pretty infectious. For her part, Carmen was working on Nick. He'd apologized profusely for his treatment of her, and she was more than willing to accept his kind words. Her main objective now was to get him, first of all, to be in a good frame of mind for the banquet. He saw it as a chore, resenting having to put himself on display. If he'd had his own way, he'd skip it altogether. Carmen was not going to let that happen.

  The young woman had been less successful in getting him to open up at all about Morgan and his feelings for her. He was quite simply a closed book on the matter.

  Morgan's question for Carmen, and she was quite blunt about this, was how she was reconciling trying to get her boss together with another woman when it was pretty clear she had feelings for him herself.

  Carmen blushed at first, but had finally explained her motivation.

  "I just want him to be happy,” she said. “I see something in him with you I have never seen. If that means he can be happy with you, so be it. We have to find out. It is all in God's hands. We cannot control it."

  Morgan wished she had that kind of faith. For her it felt like this terrible crapshoot, risking yet more heartache and pain against a very uncertain positive outcome.

  "I'm not sure I would even know what happiness looked like,” Morgan mused. “Or faith. Though I admire yours."

  Carmen smiled, almost sadly. “You know, the two of you are so much alike. Too stubborn to let anyone help you along the way. Even God."

  Big words from a woman just twenty-one. But then some matured faster than others. Someone like Carmen made up for people like Nick who lagged hopelessly behind.

  But enough Nick bashing, she had to get herself ready for her big debut. The hours were ticking down, slow and steady.

  Chapter Five

  Nick would have taken root canal over attending the Bacchus Banquet toni
ght. Wait, did he say attending? No, that would be too easy ... mere drudgery and tedium and nonsense. He had much more fun in store tonight. First he was going to get to take all the pictures for the annual catalog and then, as if that wasn't exhausting enough, he was going to have the singular joy of being crowned banquet king.

  That little job was a real doozy, too. Three hours of lying on cushions at a Roman style banquet in a toga—a toga no less!—pretending to be aroused by the attentions of a lot of silly young women pretending to be slaves. Could anything be more corny? It was no wonder the public associated erotic entertainment with everything in the world that was trite, corny and overdramatic. But then this was the element they were dealing with, wasn't it? Men who wanted hard cocks from dreaming of Roman slaves and Eastern harem girls.

  Rare was the human being, model or photographer alike who saw anything fresh at all in the sadly overplayed, horrendously unoriginal staples of the genre. Someone like Morgan Baines, who could bring herself practically to orgasm pretending to be a harem girl under the power of suggestion of his voice, was one in a million.

  What he wouldn't give to have some of that honesty, that life, that passion here tonight. But then that was the Catch 22. As soon as the innocence is exposed, it is also ruined. Which is why he would go to the grave thankful he'd spared Morgan anything past the initial damage he'd done to her. Better that one painful memory than a thousand, with thousands more yet to come as you face a lifetime of falling further and further into disillusion and self-loathing.

  "Mr. Tremaine, you look very handsome tonight,” Carmen had beamed, straightening his tie for him in the lobby of the rented convention hall. “The women will all be watching your every move."

  "This suit is bad enough,” he complained. “I can hardly believe I have to wear a toga later."

  "And the women will watch you even more then,” she said.

  "Just what I need,” he quipped. Nick had been aware of his good looks since a very young age and frankly they got in the way more often than not. It was virtually impossible to be taken seriously when you looked like you should be a male model. Most women his age were flat out too intimidated to go out with him, the interesting ones at least. The ones that sought him out, the most beautiful and important—in their own minds—did so simply because they saw him as the best and they felt they should have the best boy to drape themselves on, just as they should have the best dresses and the best shoes.

  "Just you put your best foot forward,” Carmen said. “Maybe fate will surprise you tonight."

  What the hell was that supposed to mean? He swore, he would never understand women if he lived to be a hundred. Which he was sure he would not.

  "Hey, Tremaine,” Wally bellowed, coming at him with surprising speed for a man his size. “Ready to talk about that trade yet? I have twins in this week. From Sweden. Need I say more?"

  "Actually, no you, needn't,” Nick assured him. “If you'll excuse me, I have photos to shoot."

  Never was he so glad to have to go to work while everyone else was partying.

  "Okay, I'll be here when you get out."

  Oh, joy.

  Nick disappeared inside the special room the committee had set-up as a studio. He did a double take. Well this was interesting. They'd set it up as a dungeon, complete with false stonewalls, chains hanging from the ceiling, a set of stocks and even a rack of whips. Yet another stereotypic of erotic pleasure, although this one had definite possibilities.

  He thought of Morgan and the handcuffs. It had felt good locking her wrists in steel, knowing her soft, vibrant body was helpless to his invasions. And they had been welcome invasions at that. If only life and relationships weren't just about good sex, he might actually stand a chance of working something out with the woman.

  But this was the real world, despite the faux walls and abundance of props. Nick felt the sweat beading on his forehead. He loosened his tie. Getting behind the lens again was going to be a challenge because of her. Morgan, her memory looming its ugly presence. He nearly jumped when the models walked in. There were four of them, naked, flawless and masked.

  One was tall and sleekly thin. Another was short and Rubenesque. A third had a red thatch, her hair like flaming copper. All were beautiful, the cream of the crop.

  "Stand up front,” he ordered, “hands at your sides."

  Yes, they were all perfect; the cream of the crop, but it was the fourth that intrigued him. Slim, athletic lines, a sleek body, ultra feminine, perfectly proportioned, bold but not brazen, feminine but not in your face.

  She had on a cat's mask, with feathers of green and blue at the ears. Her eyes were fiery green and her hair was a chestnut, tied tightly behind her head. The hair on her sex was identical, neatly trimmed in a vertical line.

  "You three,” he pointed to each of the other's. “You can go. I only want her."

  They looked at each other.

  "Go,” he repeated. “I'm only using this one."

  They filed out, deflated, dejected.

  "You remind me of someone,” Nick told the woman who could be Morgan's body double. “Someone I need to forget."

  So why was he going to photograph her exclusively? Call it purging, or maybe just proving to himself that he could take it. An hour with this woman and he'd know, without a doubt, that he could face his own emptiness, his own sorrow at ever having let Morgan Baines walk out his door in anger.

  She didn't answer him from behind her cat's mask. Maybe that was part of the instructions they'd been given. No matter, it was just as well.

  "Of course there is one difference,” Nick mused. “The one I'm thinking of would never be this quiet. She'd be fighting and arguing with me by now just for breathing."

  The model's eyes flashed for a second behind the mask. He chuckled. “Sorry. I know women stick up for each other. Anyway, I promise to treat you as you, and not as her."

  She nodded, warily. Morgan's silent body double.

  The more he looked the more he tried to see the differences. His mind could pick them up. Morgan would never be in a place like this, she was safe in her own world again. Morgan would never work for these people; hell she didn't even know them. And Morgan would never agree to come here where later on she would find herself groped and fondled by a roomful of men, some of them worse than Wally.

  Yes, his mind could identify lots of reasons this couldn't be her. But his cock wasn't buying it. Nick Tremaine was hard under his tuxedo pants. As hard as he'd been with Morgan the other day. And maybe even harder.

  * * * *

  Morgan couldn't believe she'd made it this far. He was actually going to take pictures of her, and her alone. He'd actually gone so far as to tell her she looked like Morgan, but he hadn't figured out it was her. Would she be able to continue walking that fine line of keeping his interest without giving the game away? And how about telling her he needed to forget her yet. So she was actually on the man's mind ... still. She'd nearly exclaimed aloud over that one.

  This dungeon business, though, that was going to be tricky. He didn't actually plan to chain her up, did he? She was liable to freak out on him. Or maybe get into it a little too much if he was able to manage his usual trick of putting her in the “moment” of sexual peril.

  Didn't he look handsome though, in that tuxedo? Good enough to eat. With any luck later, when he was down to just a sheet to wear, sprawled out on some pillows, she'd be able to do just that. It was the one thing she'd wished she could have done for him when they'd been together. If he'd not been such an ass, practically forcing her out of the studio bed and out of her life, she'd have returned the favor he'd done her and offered him the best blowjob of his life.

  It was clear he was hard now. That was pretty obvious. Another very encouraging sign.

  "Let's get you chained up,” he said. “Hands in the air."

  She obeyed, the motion instantly lifting and separating her tits for him. Her nipples were hard and erect. They wanted him to play with them. She ar
ched her back; just a little more than was necessary. It was incredible like this, supercharged, being nude in front of a fully clothed man, about to be put into bondage. Could he smell her arousal? Was it obvious how unprofessional she was being?

  She didn't care about the modeling, she had no interest whatsoever in who was getting these pictures. She wanted this man to take possession of her, to put her on her knees or on her back, to hold her against him, kiss her and let her soft, fevered skin rub against his tuxedo. He was so close now that she could feel his breath. He was going to put the shackles on her wrists, the ones that dangled from the ceiling.

  Morgan so desperately wanted it to be personal, for the man to know it was her he was confining and that she was here because she cared about him and wanted to give herself over to his art, and yes, his pleasure, too.

  But she didn't dare open her mouth. He'd know her voice. She was frightened enough he would know her eyes.

  "Does that hurt?” He asked mistaking her closed eyes for pain.

  She shook her head. Oh, no, it wasn't pain ... he could do anything to her, in fact it made her wetter just to think.

  "Good.” He made one final adjustment to her right shackle, putting himself ever so close. Morgan took her opportunity.

  Nick stiffened as she pushed her body against him. Her plan was to nuzzle his neck and flatten her tits against him. And maybe even connect their crotches. “Hey, what's this?” He whispered his protest, though he did not pull away at first.

  She could feel him struggling against his own desires. His cock was like a rock against her. Just barely, he pulled back, keeping himself safely in control. “Just because I told you that you looked like someone didn't mean I wanted anything physical to happen."

  Yes, it does, she yearned to call out. Why can't you see it, you stubborn, stubborn man? It was clearer to her with every passing minute. He did want, as much as she.

  Still, he was not angry, as she thought he might be.

  "You're a naughty kitty, aren't you?” He alluded teasingly to her mask.

  She dared to make a small purring noise, inducing him to smile slantedly. The expression brought out his dimples, one of his most charming characteristics.