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Halloween Favor



Up to this point, Sam had been borderline disgusted. Angelique was certainly an attractive woman, but the make-up and the semi-slutty outfit combined with the amateurish performances made him feel like he was watching some low-rent slasher film. Once the two models came into physical contact, however, a shift occurred. The burglar removed his hand from his victim's mouth, relying on the threat of the knife to keep her quiet. He then reached down and began to fondle her left breast through her top. The photographer had been featuring Angelique from the beginning. This was, after all, content geared towards heterosexual males. And now her expressions were a combination of outraged innocence, fear, and something else. It took a moment for Sam to place what he was seeing. Then he remembered that Angelique and Cody were, in fact lovers, and he understood: desire. He couldn't have pointed to any obvious indicators, but Angelique was clearly turned on by what was happening. And all of a sudden, he was buying into the scenario. The obviously fake knife no longer bothered him; it didn't even register. For several shots, the burglar mauled the maiden's voluptuous tits, while she appeared to plead and protest and beg for mercy.

The slide show continued. Before long, the villain produced a rope from a pocket. There was a short series of photographs to support the narrative. Still holding the knife to his victim's throat, the burglar forced her to walk a few steps toward a door to the right of the couch on which she had been sitting. Aware of what he intended, the maiden tried to break free, throwing a not particularly convincing elbow into her assailant's ribs. He doubled over, but managed to grab her wrist. Yanking her back into his arms, he forced the knife back under her chin, and hissed a threat into her ear. Eyes wide with fear, she allowed him to push her out through the door.

The narrative resumed in a bedroom with a wide shot of the terrified damsel tied—professionally, if the multiple loops around wrists and ankles were any indication—spread-eagled to the four posts of a large bed. She was still clothed, although her blouse now gapped considerably, revealing large breasts confined by a black bra. When, after a couple of establishing shots, the villain again appeared, he had traded his rubber knife for an actual kitchen knife. Placing the blade just below his victim's chin, he began to drag it slowly downward, using the point to further separate the lapels of her blouse, exposing more and more of her tits. Angelique looked suitably terrified, but there was now no mistaking her arousal. Before long, the burglar-turned-rapist had cut her bra between the cups, and her boobs burst free. Sam found the shot isolating this moment particularly hot. Angelique had beautiful eyes, large and green, with thick mascara-ed lashes. In the picture, they stared down, wide and terrified, at the knife between her now exposed breasts. Her full, pink-painted lips were rounded into an almost perfect "o", and it was hard to decide if she was gasping in horror or passion. Nor could Sam's reptilian cortex entirely avoid thoughts of how pleasant it would be to slip his cock into the wet, warm cave of that mouth.

There followed more shots of the burglar mauling, sucking and biting the maiden's tits. He then cut away her skirt, exposing a pair of lacy black, obviously soaked panties. The photographer then alternated between shots of Angelique's face as outrage, terror and anger played across her features, and the hands of her assailant, pushing her panties aside to reveal the fleshy lips of her shaved cunt. For all the explicitness of the images, the camerawork was artful. Sam was startled to realize—through the rush of his arousal—how good it was. The lighting was soft, warm, and diffuse; the pictures neither clinically over-exposed nor amateurishly under-lit. Like many men, Sam found much to admire in the sight of a woman's naked sex, but he had never before considered the crushed-flower look of a vagina "beautiful." For a surreal second, his mind flashed back to a college art-history class, in which a pudgy bespectacled professor blandly drew comparisons between Georgia O'Keefe's Red Canna and the female genetalia. The photographer was certainly no O'Keefe, but he did manage to elevate the image of Angelique's moist pussy to something beyond lowest-common-denominator pornography.

As the slide story continued, the burglar began to stimulate his victim with his hand and fingers. Here again the shots were carefully crafted. There was no explicit penetration, although that was certainly implied by the sight of Cody's large fingers bent beneath the hand cupping the helpless maiden's vulva. Then the frame widened, as the burglar stood back from his bound victim, and began to unzip his jeans. Now the shots included both the maiden's terrified face, and her tormentor's cock, which was thick, short, and erect. For five or six shots, the burglar displayed himself to the maiden, while she screamed, cried, and pleaded. But there was no mercy to be expected from her rapist, and, in the space of three or four shots, the villain had forced himself between the maiden's bound legs, and thrust his prick deep into her warm, wet pussy. Again, penetration was implied. Cody lay between Angelique's legs, supporting himself on out-stretched arms, so as to keep her outraged face exposed to the camera. Another dozen shots of the rapist having his wicked way with his innocent victim, and he had pulled out, zipped up, and left the frame, leaving the maiden alone, bound and ravished on the bed for three or four final images.

4.

The slide show finished, and Sam looked up into Anne's eyes. He had the feeling that she had been watching him closely. She said nothing, and Sam sensed that she was waiting for his reaction to what he had just seen. He leaned back against the couch and tried to arrange his thoughts.

"All right, that was...I don't know, good, I guess. That is to say I thought it was tastefully done, you know, given what we're talking about here..."

After a brief pause to see whether he would recover the thread, Anne prompted him gently: "Did it arouse you, Sam? Did you find it hot?"

"Not at first," replied Sam, surprising himself with his candor. "I don't know if the guy—Cody—is a friend of yours; I'm sorry, but his acting sucks. And the phony knife, I don't know, the whole thing seemed kind of cheese-ball at first, but then, once he had grabbed her, she really seemed to get into it. After that...yeah, it was pretty hot. I'm not sure how I should feel about that..."

"I can't help you there." Anne replied. "It speaks directly to my fetish, but not everybody shares that particular kink.

"By the way," Sam ventured, "I'm sorry if this is an...um...inappropriate question, but were they...I mean you never show actual penetration?"

Anne smiled. "They sure as hell were as soon as we stopped filming. Participating in the shoot had been Angelique's idea, and the experience apparently drove her crazy. She had him on his back on that couch—not to put too fine a point on it—fucking her cross-eyed before our grips finished striking the lights."

Kate giggled, and even Sam smiled slightly. Anne went on: "But to answer your question, no, absolutely not; not while the camera is rolling. Menaced Maidens is not, strictly speaking, a pornographic web-site. I won't bore you with the details of our business plan, but you should know that the language which governs adult web content is depressingly specific. Usage fees are considerably higher for sites which feature explicit content; higher still if that content has a violent component. If you deviate from what you agree to do, you can be sued, fined, shut down, and in some cases prosecuted in criminal court. So it's certainly not an inappropriate question. It comes up constantly. Most, although not all, of the couples we use are sexual partners, and often the idea of the role play, or the presence of the camera really turns their crank. But we can't risk posting anything which violates our server agreements, so no sex on camera. Sorry."

Sam choked and had to make something of an effort to prevent his now lukewarm coffee from shooting out of his nose. "No, jeez, I didn't mean...I mean didn't want...not that...I just thought..."

Anne laughed out loud. "Sam, I'm teasing." Karen gave an unladylike snort, and Sam began to understand why the two women got along so well. Both took what he considered an unseemly pleasure in fucking with him. Still smiling, Anne apologized.

"I'm sorry. You looked so disappointed I couldn't resist. Back to business, ok?" Sam nodded. Anne continued: "Would you like to see some of the more recent sets. The shoot we're hoping to do with Karen involves some video, so you might want a look at how that works."

A couple more clicks and another image came up: a blonde in a nurse's uniform. Like Angelique, this woman had a pretty face and big boobs, and—as with the previous photoset—there were about the photo restrained touches; erotic photography rather than plain old porn. The model wore white stockings, white strapped shoes with a blocky heel, and the de rigueur white cap with a red cross. She wore her long, kinky ash blonde hair loose, in a style no hospital could possibly have countenanced, but her skirt hit her just above her knees, and her uniform shirt was buttoned to a high collar and cut rather severely. Her make up was tasteful, but sexy. Again, Sam found his eyes drawn to a pair of wide full lips, painted to match the red on her uniform cross. The slide show began, and the story followed pretty much the same line as the burglar shoot. This time a scruffy orderly in blue scrubs pressed his unwanted attentions on the pretty nurse. After a few frames, Anne clicked a video link, and Sam watched as the orderly (a b-movie actor called Wes, according to Anne) grabbed the nurse (whose name was Cassandra, a lingerie model) by the elbow. The dialogue was stilted but competently delivered:

Orderly: "Hey, Baby, how come you've been ignoring me?"

Nurse: "Leave me alone, Dave. I told you I'm not interested, and you're going to make me late for my rounds."

Orderly: "But I'm interested, Sweetheart. C'mon, gimme a little something..."

Nurse: "What are you doing? Let go of me, you pervert. Take your filthy hands off me, or I'll scream!"

Orderly: "Scream as loud as you want, Babe. Nobody's gonna hear you down here. Now, let's have a look at those pretty titties."

The lustful orderly now had pretty Nurse Cassandra around the waist from behind, so that they both faced the camera. As he said his last line, the villain reached up and tore his victim's shirt open, exposing a white lacy bra which struggled to contain her voluptuous breasts. She squealed and writhed, but her captor groped her mercilessly, squeezing first one boob and then the other, panting his appreciation as he thrust himself against the back of her skirt.

"Oh yeah, look at those titties! Mmm, feels so nice, so soft. Is this getting you hot, bitch? I'm fuckin' hot. You feel me? You feel my hard cock against the crack of your hot little ass?"

There was a quick cut-away to Cassandra's outraged face, as he said this last, and her eyes widened in surprise and horror as she understood what it was pushing up against her backside. When the camera returned to the wide shot of the two of them, the nurse's bra was open, and the lecherous orderly was displaying her breasts for the camera. A soft hum escaped Sam without his noticing. The woman had a spectacular rack. Full and firm, but unquestionably natural, her boobs moved with the gentle, liquid bounce no plastic surgeon could ever replicate. She had tan-lines, which for some reason made the whole scenario even hotter; pale triangles around her nipples surrounded by softly bronzed flesh toward the outside of her breasts, as if she spent time sunbathing in a bikini just a little too small for her.

The video sequence lasted for perhaps three minutes, and then the slide show began again. The villain picked up the terrified maiden in a fireman's carry and slung her over his shoulder, a hand resting on her round, peach-plump ass. He carried her into something like a break room, threw her onto a cot, and bound her—again with what looked like the off-camera help of a professional rigger. Another shorter video sequence showed the half-naked nurse struggling on the bed. Once again Sam was struck by how skillfully the sequence blurred the line between fear and desire. Here was a beautiful woman, her wrists tied together behind her back, her legs spread, and her ankles anchored to the legs of the cot. She was pleading, crying, begging, and struggling against her bonds, all of which gave the impression that she flat out didn't want to be where she was. And yet. Perhaps it was because her hands were bound behind and under her, but her every moved thrust her full breasts upward, as if she was offering them to her attacker. Her writhing was desperate, but also sensuous, showing off the lithe, undulating curves of her voluptuous body. The image served to scramble Sam's eggs completely. He was divided between a chivalric impulse to rescue the lovely Cassandra from her tormentor, and an equally powerful urge to tear off her lacy white panties—now exposed as her movements hiked her skirt up around her waist—and ravage her himself. His dick felt like a piece of rebar. At last he understood a hitherto incomprehensible expression his father had used. Sam didn't know whether to shit or go blind.

The sequence continued, following the familiar narrative. Having pawed and sucked on Cassandra's magnificent boobs, the villain cut away his victim's panties with what looked like a pair of medical shears. He then dropped his scrubs to expose a long thin cock. A final video sequence documented the maiden's horror at its appearance, her pleas for him not to put it inside her, and—in an artful piece of editing—her body arching against the first (simulated) penetration, and the surprise, outrage, and open-mouthed expressions of despair and/or desire which chased themselves across her beautiful face. Cassandra was a much better actress than Angelique, and Sam read both outraged innocence and satiated desire behind the final image of her wide blue eyes.  

5.

Again Sam felt both women's eyes upon him as he leaned back, his breathing slightly labored. "Holy shit," he panted, "that was...um...maybe one of the hottest things I've ever seen."

"Sam, may I ask you a personal question?" Anne's slight southern lilt reached him through his arousal. He nodded, and she continued. "Where did you imagine yourself in that little scenario? Did you save her, or did you rape her?"

"Oh hell." Sam paused to marshal his thoughts, and finally spoke slowly. "To be completely honest with you, it was kind of like I wanted to do both. But it was sort of twisted...both options were sexual in some way. Like, even if I'd saved her, I imagined her being so grateful that she'd just give herself to me, right then and there. But then part of me was incredibly turned on by hearing her beg and plead. And she even seemed to want it...a little. I'm sorry. I know that's totally un-pc and fucked up, but..."

"No, no, no," Anne interrupted. "That's exactly the kind of response this material is supposed to elicit. You're aroused right now, aren't you? You have an erection, right?"

"Um, ok that is personal, but yeah, I do."

"No, that's good. That's the point of the exercise, if you'll pardon the expression." Karen giggled, and Sam shot her a withering look, which had no effect. He noticed that Karen's face and throat were flushed. She's as turned on as I am, thought Sam, and the thought did nothing to ease his discomfort. Anne continued: "Now, having seen this sequence—a fantasy scenario on a quasi-pornographic website, remember—do you have any fantasies about going out and doing this yourself?"

That brought Sam up short. "What, you mean finding some attractive woman, groping her, tying her up and—what—fucking her against her will? Of course not! What in the hell kind of question is that?"

Anne didn't flinch: "A necessary one. Let me ask you another. Let's say a girlfriend asked you to help her fulfill a fantasy like this. Many women other than me have this fantasy, you know. Something like 30% of the site's membership is female. Would you be up for it?"

With a start, Sam remembered that Angelique and—what was it, Cody?—were lovers, and that, according to Anne, they had been so turned on by their little photo shoot that they'd gone at it before the last flash bulb faded. Were Cassandra and Wes together as well?

"You mean pretend, right? She agrees to be tied up and she's okay with rough sex, and she wants to pretend to be unwilling and beg and plead? Yeah, sure. I'm guessing if my response to your stuff is any indication, I'd probably really dig it. But she'd have to be able to stop it if she stopped liking it. I mean...I don't know how I'd stop, but I'd have to because otherwise...but yeah; if all that's true, then yeah."

"Good. Great. Final question: would you be willing to do a photo shoot with Karen? That's why we've asked you here. The guy I had planned on using is awol. Can't get him at home or on his cell. It's October 7th, and I want a Halloween set on the site by the 15th. That's almost no time. We have to shoot today. We have to shoot pretty much right now. I have the crew waiting out back, and they're on the clock. If you agree, you'll be in make-up for an hour or two, and we'll spend the rest of the day shooting. It'll probably take something like 8 hours. Karen's session fee is $2000. Ordinarily the guy gets considerably less. I would have paid my guy $500, and I would have been happy to pay that to you, but Karen suggested that we combine the two figures and split the total down the middle. That's incredibly generous of her, by the way."

Sam was desperately trying to process all this information: "Hold it, hold it, you want pictures on me on the site? Naked? Um, first of all, I'm not...shit, this is...look, I'm not...um...my...it's not like porn-star length or anything..."

"Doesn't matter," interrupted Anne with a grin. "If I had time, I'd show you a couple of incredibly hot sets in which the guys have relatively small dicks. Provided the girl can act, we're not particularly concerned about the size of the props."

"Um, okay, fair enough. But my face is going to be in a few of these shots, right? I mean what if somebody from the Bottle recognizes me, or if one of the owners sees...I mean, they might, you know. They're good guys, and it's not like they're puritans or anything, but..."

Anne was still grinning. "As it happens, that won't be a problem in this case. This is a Halloween shoot, remember? Your make up should be heavy enough to keep people from recognizing you, unless they know you really, really well." Her voice was heavy with innuendo. "Besides," she continued, "the most important thing is that Karen likes you and trusts you. She was prepared to do the shoot with my guy, but I think she'd actually be more comfortable doing it with you."

Sam looked at Karen. She smiled and nodded. "I'd really appreciate it, Sam." she said. "And we'll talk alone before you decide, like I said. Listen to the rest of it, and then we'll take a walk."

Sam nodded, and turned back to Anne. "I think you know most of it. You'll be the villain, and Karen will be the maiden. You'll accost her, overpower her, maul her, and strip her. Then we'll have a rigger tie her down, and you'll simulate sex with her. We'll shoot stills and three—possibly four—short video sequences. With me so far?"

Sam nodded, trying to process the idea of simulated sex with Karen. His body and brain felt as if they were involved in a particularly vicious civil war. On the one hand, he found Karen devastatingly attractive, and the idea of getting his hands and mouth on her naked flesh was actually making his heart race; he could feel it in his chest. At the same time, Karen was his friend. He liked her; he was even a little in love with her, and he felt a little ashamed of his eagerness to exploit a professional accident in order to grope her. Because that's all it was going to be. He didn't even know if Karen was going to enjoy what passed between them. Sure, the idea of it seemed to turn her on, but the actual process was probably pretty technical. Then again, the selfish part of him reminded him that this was only going to simulated sex, and that he was going to go home with a pair of balls the color of the pacific at sunrise. Of course this was probably as close as he was ever going to get to sex with Karen...




Halloween Favor



"Sam, Sam? Stick with me for a couple more minutes, will you?" Anne was smiling. "I don't know where you just went, but I'm prepared to bet you didn't hear the last several things I said."

"No, um...sorry. I was thinking about...stuff."

"I'm sure you were. Hang tight for another few minutes, and then the two of you can hash this out between you, okay?" Another nod from Sam. "Good. Like I was saying this is our Halloween set, and we're planning a kind of sex and violence take on Little Red Riding Hood. Sam, you'll be the Big Bad Wolf. We have a wonderful make up designer, who will kit you out with fur, fangs, claws, the works. We'll begin with the Wolf in bed, complete with flannel nightie and mob cap. Little Red will come in, set down her goodie basket, ask her three questions—eyes, ears, teeth, you know. Then the Wolf will spring out of bed, tear off the granny clothes and grab our heroine. The story will proceed along our established lines: the maiden mauled, stripped, bound and ravished, but instead of ending with solo shots of Red tied to the bed, we're going to see the Wolf eat her all up, or start to anyway. We've got a special effects guy here, who will rig us up some convincing gore." Seeing Sam's start of surprise and distaste, Anne added: "It will be a little extreme, but the whole thing is a fantasy, and I think it'll be fun, in a horror-movie kind of way. The idea actually came from one of our members. What do you two think?"

Sam turned to Karen, expecting her to share in his misgivings. To his surprise, Karen looked both excited and aroused. Her pale skin was pink, her lips were moist, and Sam could see her breasts rise and fall with her shallow breathing even underneath the terrycloth robe. "Anne, it sounds perfect!" she gushed. "Let me just talk to Sam for a couple of minutes, okay?"

6.

Anne smiled. "I'm going to head out back to see how things are progressing. Karen already knows this: we shoot in the guest house out back. Come and find me there when you're through." She turned and walked out through the sliding glass doors leaving Sam and Karen alone in the living room. For a while neither spoke. Karen was looking to Sam for a reaction, but Sam simply didn't know what to say. Finally Karen broke the silence.

"So, what do you think?"

Sam began with a question that had been in the back of his mind for a while. "Karen, why do you even want to do something like this? It can't be good for your career."

"You mean my acting career? It's funny; I've been meaning to tell you this for a while now, but the Bottle's just not the right place for this kind of discussion. I'm getting out of it. I think I'm done. I want to go back to school; get my doctorate in history."

"Seriously?" Sam was shocked. Not only had he pegged Karen for a show biz lifer, but he'd had the impression that she was doing pretty well. "I don't get it; you work. That's more than most people in the business can say. How come you want out?"

Karen smiled up at him, and now she looked a little sad. "The truth? I'm not all that good. I mean the camera likes me, and I can kind of do soap-opera sexy, but...okay, you remember that production of Cat I produced for myself a few years back?"

What Sam remembered most vividly was Karen's lithe body slinking around in a short white baby-doll nightie. "I thought you were great in that." he said.

Karen snorted. "You thought my tits looked great in that fucking nightgown. And you were right. They did. But my work...I don't know. I couldn't hold onto the dialect. My emotions were kind of all over the place; I shouted for no reason, cried for no reason; it was all just kind of a general wash of quasi-Southern...I don't know, angst or something. Of course that director was a complete waste of space, but still... You know who was terrific? The guy who played Brick. He moved to Texas, I think, to be with his girlfriend. Funny, I can't come up with his name. Anyway, I think I've been drifting away from it since then. I'm 32 in a month. My agent—such as he is—keeps sending me for t-and-a stuff, and the competition keeps getting younger and their boobs keep getting perkier. I don't know. I guess I want to be good at what I do." She paused for a few seconds, looking past him. "I was good at history, I think. Anyway, I'm going to give it another shot. That's why I hooked up with Anne. Grad school ain't cheap. She's promised me that if this works out, I can do as many of these as I like. The money is pretty good; at least it's a start."

Sam considered her for a little while. "And you don't find the idea of this demeaning or anything?"

"I thought I would, but I have to say, when I first started looking at the site, I really didn't have room to be anything other than majorly turned on. I wouldn't have said that I was into the rape-fantasy thing, but for some reason, this stuff really gets me going. The other thing is...how do I put this? I made my peace with a certain amount of exploitation a long time ago. Have you seen any of those films I did for Actionator?" Sam nodded. Karen grinned: "Thought so. So you've seen me stripped naked and tortured. You've seen me getting it on with Carter, that chick with the enormous fake boobs who plays the head of the mercenaries. You probably saw me shoot a bazooka in a string bikini. Those things made a bunch of suits I never met a fair chunk of change. With Anne, I know that I'm working for a woman I like, doing something that I find...what?...interesting. I don't know. I guess, no; I don't have a problem with it. The big question is: do you?"

"You mean will I do it? I don't know. Are you okay with me doing all that stuff to you? I mean...look, I'm sorry to bring this up, but it's got to be a part of the discussion. You didn't want to date me, because you said it would change our dynamic and—I guess—fuck up the Bottle for you. Wouldn't this do the same thing?"

Karen sighed. "Yeah. Maybe. I'm sorry, Sam. I know I'm not being consistent here. The other model bailed this morning, and you just kind of appeared in my head. I thought: if I'm going to do this, I want my first time to be with Sam. You just seemed like the right guy. I really like you. I do find you attractive. And, yes, I know you have a thing for me, but I also know you're a decent guy. I'm sorry, does this all sound horribly manipulative and bitchy? I told you you probably wouldn't like it."

Now it was Sam's turn to sigh. "I don't know. I don't know if I like it or not. I have to tell you part of me is incredibly turned on by the idea of...of...getting my hands on you, even if it's just pretend. You've got to know that, because...well I do have a thing for you, but this...this isn't worth losing you as a friend, okay? If you can deal with the fact that I'm...how to fucking say it...I don't know, leching on you a little while this is happening, then okay. I'll do it. One condition though."

Karen looked at him. "What?"

"You're doing this to raise money for school, right?" She nodded. "Okay. Keep your fee, and let her pay me the five she was going to pay the other guy." She started to argue. "Karen," he said, and there was an edge in his voice, "this is non-negotiable."

"Sam," Karen's voice caught, and for a moment she couldn't continue. Then: "Thanks, okay. Just, thank you so much. And I can deal with the leching if you can."

"Cool." said Sam quietly. Then: "Let's go find Anne. I've actually been fantasizing about ripping your throat out ever since you called me at five-in-the-fucking morning."

7.

Sam could not have imagined the day becoming more surreal that it already was. Looking at his watch as he and Karen made their way into the back yard, he was astonished to find out that it wasn't even 11:00 AM. He wondered if he'd make his shift that night. He wondered if he'd be able to stand up if he did make it. Then he decided fuck it. He was making $500 for the day already. He told Karen to go on ahead, called a couple of the other bartenders, and found somebody to cover for him. Then he headed for the guest cottage.

And that turned out to be something of a euphemism. The fucking place had to be 1800 square feet. And the layout was unusual. Like a large loft, there were areas rather than rooms, although a single partition, running perpendicular to the long walls closed off perhaps a fifth of the available space. The rest of the space was a sound stage in miniature. The set on which they would shoot occupied one corner of the room. Dressed and textured flats had been arranged to represent the walls of a rustic cabin. A rough wood table with chairs, and a wrought iron queen-sized bed filled much of the rest of the space. Several lighting trees surrounded the set, and a tall, cadaverously thin young man in black horn-rimmed glasses stood in front of a tripod with a disproportionately small camera perched atop it. Karen had disappeared, and Sam stood for a moment, at a loss, when Anne stepped out from a door in the far wall.

"Sam," she called, "over here. Let's get you into make-up." As he approached, she gestured through the open door. "Thank you so much for doing this, Sam." she said as he passed her. "All this may seem a little unfamiliar, but at the end of the day, I hope you'll have had some fun with us."

"Me too." said Sam, uncertainly. "You've got quite the little studio back here."

"Money may not buy you happiness", replied Anne with a grin, "but it sure helps with the infrastructure. Come on back here."

The walled off portion of the cottage was divided into two dressing rooms. The one he was standing in had plenty of natural light coming from a long window across the back wall. The room contained a vanity with a lighted make-up mirror and sink, a comfortable looking couch facing a good-sized plasma tv, and a door, behind which he found a bathroom with a toilet, shower stall and oversized tub. As they entered, a short, plump woman with green hair, several piercings in each ear and one through her left eyebrow, and intricately tattooed bare arms, stood up from what looked like a toolbox the size of a small refrigerator. She wore a black tank-top, miniskirt, leggings, and motorcycle boots. She appraised Sam carefully, examining his face and body with the detachment of a clinician. "So this is BBW 2.0?" she asked. Her voice was pure Brooklyn. "Howzit goin'?" she said, extending a delicate hand at the end of a beefy wrist. "Brenda. Make-up."

"Hey," said Sam. "Sam. Uh...the Big Bad Wolf, I guess."

"You guess? You wanna be sure before I glue all this shit on you." She laughed. "Nah, I'm just messin' with you. It shouldn't be too bad. We ain't actually doing all that much."

"Brenda, dear," said Anne, "he's all yours. Can you give me an estimate?"

"Call it an hour fifteen. Gotta let everything set."

"Well, be as quick as you can. This one's going to cost me a fortune. I swear to God, if I ever see Frank again, I am going to shove his head so far up his ass he can give himself an at-home colonoscopy."

"You'll have him when you have him," replied Brenda flatly, "but I may be able to cut a couple 'a corners." And to Sam: "Okeey, first things first, take off your shirt and siddown in front of the mirror, Honey."

"Um...my shirt?" Sam wasn't particularly body-conscious. He had broad shoulders, a little definition in his arms, and if he didn't have a six-pack—or a two-pack for that matter, he didn't have much of a gut either. Oddly, the site material which Anne had showed him had somewhat reconciled him to the notion of exposing his cock—both sets had featured the guys' dicks at some point—but neither of them had taken off their shirts. At least he didn't think they had.

"This is gonna be some complicated make up," Brenda explained. "Not as complicated as it might have been, but still, I don't want you fuckin' anything up by pulling that tee you're wearin' off over your head. I think Costumes has you in some kinda ripped work-shirt. And I'm guessin' the granny robe is rigged as a tear-away. Now get your fuckin' shirt off and sit down in the fuckin' chair, savvy?" This last was said with a smile, but Sam obeyed quickly. There was some tension in the air from the late start, and he had no wish to add to it.

Sam sat, his back against a bath towel, and Brenda came and stood behind him, studying him in the mirror. "Your face is better for this than Frank's, thinner. Hair's better too. Frank has this feathered 70's thing going. Thinks it makes him look like Shaun Cassidy or some fuckin' thing. I think he looks like some shaggy-ass golden retriever. Anyway..." She chatted away as she began her work, touching his face lightly, holding up hair samples, swabbing him with some kind of cleanser. She stopped for a second, and met his eyes in the mirror.

"Here's the thing. You gotta be a monster, but you gotta be kinda sexy too, so I'm not going with heavy prosthetics. First of all, we don't have the time, and second of all, you've never worn 'em. Some guys' skin reacts badly to the latex; one guy got kinda claustrophobic...anyway, don't worry about that. Mostly it's gonna be make-up, spirit gum for the hair...you ever wear spirit gum?"

"Um, I don't think so."

"Okay, no bullshit, you're gonna hate it. It's uncomfortable and it stinks like 95 just south of Philly, but it holds shit in place, and once it dries, it's not so bad. Anyway...I got some Halloween store fangs for your uppers. I'm gonna leave your lowers free 'cause it's fuckin' impossible to talk around those fuckers. I got some claws for your fingernails. You got dark hair which is good, and you got enough on your forearms so we're not gonna worry bout that. What I want you to do is sit back and relax. Try to move your face as little as possible. You wanna listen to some music?"

"Sure, what've you got?"

"Little bit of everything." said Brenda, offering him an I-Pod. "Check the playlists, or you can do Pandora."

Sam found some classic rock, leant back in the barber's chair, and fell into a half-conscious doze. He was periodically aware of brushes, sponges, and the occasional pencil. Every now and then, there would be a harsh, astringent smell, and he would feel the skin on his cheeks or jaw-line tightening. Spirit gum, he assumed. At one point Brenda roused him enough to fit long doubled fangs over his upper eye-teeth. He fell entirely asleep for a few minutes not long after, and woke with the damn things digging painful divots into his lower lip. Eventually he lost track of time completely, and was surprised to hear Brenda's cab-driver voice breaking through an indistinct erotic dream.

"Wakey, wakey, Sleeping Beauty. Have a look in the mirror."

Sam looked, and started violently.

"Not too damn bad, if I do say so myself." commented the make-up artist.

And it wasn't too damn bad at all, thought Sam, as he took in his lupine self. He looked, he thought, like a cross between a vampire, Hugh Jackman in X-Men, and an Airedale terrier. The skin on his face and neck was a few shades darker and browner than his natural pinkish tan. He looked hard, and saw that she had blended the make-up into the top of his chest, just below the line of fine dark hair which ended at the bottom of his throat. The join was all but invisible. She had applied small latex points to the tops of his ears, but beyond that, as promised, no prosthetics. She had extended and filled out his eyebrows so that they now arched into a bestial scowl, and she had built facial hair down from his sideburns until it covered much of his cheeks. There was stippling rather than actual hair on his lips and chin. She had built up the ridge of his nose with putty; the end was darkened, and the nostrils painted out to make them look wider. His lips were a deep brownish purple over a blood red base, and his teeth—fake fangs included—were stained with brown and red. His eyes were lined red at the bottom and black beneath the tear line and on the lids. How could she possibly have done all that while he was asleep? He looked down his body, and saw that she had used a brown shadow to accentuate what muscular definition he had in his arms and chest. Finally, she had given him claws: grey-black fake nails, not very long, but with what looked like wicked points. Sam was impressed. He wouldn't want to meet himself in a dark alley.

"Brenda," he gushed, "thatsh fuckin' amashing!"

"You like?" she was obviously pleased with the praise. "I tell you what: I didn't think it was gonna look half this good. By the way, don't sweat the slushy esses. Fangs'll do that to you. You wanna talk a little slower, and open your mouth a little wider. It'll feel a little weird, but you won't sound drunk. And hey, I don't think you're gonna be doin' much talkin' anyway, savvy?"

"Can I get up now?"

"Yeah, sure. I think Wardrobe's waitin' to get you into costume. Hey Tom!" She shouted past the partition, "Get yer shapely ass out here. BBW's all yours!"

"Coming right up, Bee-yoch!" The reply was delivered in an improbable bass-baritone. The door to the make-up room opened, and a giant of a man appeared carrying some tattered clothes on hangers. Tom was 6'7" if he was an inch, coal black, completely bald, and muscled like Hercules. He wore levis, an airbrushed t-shirt—skeleton design with rhinestones set in it—and those shoes with toes. He looked at Sam and grinned: "Look at this cute little fuzzball! Honey, where you been all my life?"

Brenda snorted. "Sam, this is Tom, these are Tom's dreamy biceps, and this is Tom's really fuckin' disappointing homosexuality."

"Jealous much?" Tom cocked an eyebrow as he asked.

"Oh, only every fuckin' day of the week." sighed Brenda. "Look, could you just close your eyes? I'll suck your cock; you'll never know the difference."

"With those big titties pushin' up against my thighs? I don't think so!"

This is that "shit or go blind" thing again, thought Sam to himself as he tried to work out where to look. Brenda took pity on him: "Tom, this is Sam. Go a little easy on him; he's an internet-porn virgin, and it looks like we just fried his last fuckin' synapse."

"Point of the exercise," grinned the big man. "Alright. Hey Sam, nice to meet you. And thanks for stepping in on such short notice. I've pulled some stuff for you from our truly limited stock. See if you can make these jeans work. The waist is really all that's important, 'cause I am going to distress the shit out of the rest of them."

The waist was fine, as was the plaid flannel shirt—sleeves torn off—which was all he was given to cover his torso. Then Tom produced what looked like a Victorian night shirt; a long white garment, slightly yellowed to suggest age. "Ok, now this is your granny nightgown. It goes on over the head. It's probably going to be big, but hopefully not too big." Sam slipped the shirt over his head. Tom continued. "Now I've rigged a Velcro seam here under the left sleeve—you right handed?" Sam nodded. "Good. Now, when you're ready to have your wicked way with Little Red Riding Slut, just reach over with your right hand, grip the fabric just a couple inches under your left nipple, and pull it back across your body. Got it?" Another nod from Sam. "Ok, give it a try."

Sam did as he was told, and with a ripping sound, the night shirt fell from his body. The left sleeve opened completely along with the seam under his arm, and the weight of the fabric pulled the thing right off his right arm as soon as he lowered it.

"Oh yeah, baby!" crowed Tom, "Not only is the sistah gorgeous, but the bitch is good, at, her Work!

"Tom, that is no shit fabulous!" agreed Brenda. "Harry Potter in there is going to cream his jeans."

"There's an image without which my life would not have been complete," replied Tom. He stuck a mob cap on Sam's head, and arranged it inside of the prosthetic ear tips. "Like that?' he asked.




Halloween Favor



"Try 'em inside the cap. Is it big enough?"

"Should be. Does he need to be careful taking it off?" Tom tucked Sam's ears under the elastic at the base of the cap.

"Yeah, Sam, you shouldn't rip that off, you might lose a piece of your ear." Brenda thought for a moment. "Yep, there's no easy fix. If she likes them inside and wants to see the cap come off on video, they're gonna have to cut and fix it in post."

Tom: "You want a Polaroid both ways?"

Brenda: "Yeah, you got film?"

Tom disappeared, and came back almost immediately with the old camera. He took a shot of the cap each way, and strode off to show the results to Anne. He was gone only a few minutes.

"She's cool with ears out, and HP's ready to start lighting him."

"Off you go, handsome." said Brenda to Sam. Tom, take him back, would you? I gotta touch up his girlfriend."

"She's not actually my..." Sam started to say, but Brenda had already disappeared into the second dressing room.

"Walk this way, Wolfie." said Tom, and leading him into the main part of the cottage. "Just step behind this screen for a minute and drop 'em." Then, off Sam's blank look: "The pants, Shortstuff! Miss Thing and her elderly pinking shears need a word in private with those jeans!"

8.

Sam had just climbed back into what was left of the jeans when he heard footsteps and Karen's voice chatting to somebody as she walked past the screen behind which he had just dressed. He had a crazy impulse to sneak up behind her and scare the bejezzus out of her. He felt amped, and a little scared, like when his buddies pressured him into going onto the big coaster at Six Flags back in high school. Before he could think better of it, Sam peaked out from behind the end of the screen closest to the dressing room doors. He saw Karen from the back, a step or two behind Brenda, the two women obviously heading off towards the set. All he could see of Karen was a loose fitting pointed red hood and cape falling down to mid thigh. Below the edge of the cape, a red skirt with white lace trim ended just above the knee. Her smooth legs were bare and she wore white socks with some kind of ruffle at the ankle under black mary-janes. From the back, she looked like sex-out-for-a-stroll. He wasn't sure he could bear imagining what she looked like from the front.

Sam could feel himself getting hard, and the hormone or pheromone charge—or whatever the hell it was—combined with his nervousness propelled his body into action with out much in the way of conscious thought. He slipped out from behind the screen as quietly as he could, padded quickly up to just behind Karen's left side, grabbed her by the shoulder, spun her around to face him, and growled in his throat. Karen's blue eyes went wide for a second; she let out a short scream, recovered, and punched him hard on the left side of his chest.

"Holy shit, Sam! You scared the..." her voice trailed off as she took him in, from his torn and dirty jeans to his chest exposed beneath the flannel vest, his bare arms, up to his made up face with it's brutal lowering brow, blood-rimmed eyes and fanged mouth. She gulped, and her breathing quickened. "You look...I don't know, amazing...really, really scary..."

Sam had taken a second to recover from Karen's blow. She had a powerful right, and even though she had only connected with the base of her fist. He opened his mouth to say who the hell knew what, and found he had completely forgotten how to speak.

Taking Karen in from top to bottom, he saw that her hair, underneath the red hood, was down, falling in long golden waves down the sides of her face. The skin of her face looked smooth, warm and soft. What little make up she wore emphasized her natural gifts. The lashes around her large eyes looked thick and lush, although he could detect no mascara. Her lips were painted a bright coral red the exact shade of her hood, dress, and nails. They too looked soft, and moist, as if she had just run her tongue over them.

Sam's eyes moved down to the base of Karen's throat, encircled by a black velvet ribbon with a red heart-shaped clasp. For a top she had on a white peasant blouse with a scooped neckline and puffy short sleeves. (Sam found himself wondering, for a surreal moment, if anybody made a white peasant blouse that didn't have puffy, short sleeves.) Over it was something that looked like a black fabric corset. Whatever it was had narrow straps which rested on Karen's shoulders, and ran down to the main part of the thing which rested below her breasts. The bodice of the garment had embroidered grape vines winding up the front, and Sam could see neither hooks nor laces. He assumed it fastened in the back. It was a beautiful thing in itself, but it faded to near-invisibility compared to the body it displayed.

That Karen had a sexy body came as no surprise to Sam. He'd seen most of it; hell, that was the reason he rented those ridiculous Actionator dvds over and over again. But the combination of her body and the costume triggered a battalion of erotic impulses in Sam which he couldn't even begin to process. The corset or bodice or whatever it was pushed Karen's full breasts up and together, so that two pale half-moons, divided by a deep and inviting cleavage, floated above the ruffled neckline of her blouse. Even her arms were gorgeous—had Sam ever found fuckin' arms erotic before? They fell from the puffy sleeves in long gracefully muscled curves. On her hands, she wore fingerless red lace gloves with ruffled wrists. The short red skirt fell from her trim waist to the middle of bare, shapely thighs, and Sam now saw that what he had taken as lace trim was actually some kind of crinoline, which flared the skirt away from the immediate contours of Karen's hips and behind. Sam's initial disappointment at this affront to Karen's curves turned quickly to admiration as the ruins of his rational mind reminded him that he himself would be responsible for exposing those hips and that glorious ass to the camera right before he... His brain simply froze at that point, and he was just barely conscious of admiring her rounded calves, trim ankles, and sexy shiny shoes. His eyes snapped back to her face, found her wide blue eyes on his, and he took a long moment to find breath before he managed, quietly: "Jezhush, Karen, you're the mosht beautiful woman I've ever sheen in my life."

Her eyes widened just a bit. Her cheeks flushed and her breathing quickened, which caused the tops of her boobs to rise and fall in the corset's embrace. "Thanks, Sam." she whispered. The compliment seemed to please and move her; she hadn't even laughed at his slushy esses. Then she smiled. "Now come on, Mr. Big Bad Wolf, we're on a schedule here." She pouted, and put a naughty girl's breathy tremor into her voice: "Don't you want to tear my clothes off and maul my pretty tits, and force my thighs apart, and have your wicked way with me as my anguished screams echo unheeded in the pitiless blackness of the night?"

Up to this point in his life, Sam hadn't realized that it was possible to maintain an erection while howling with laughter. "Karen, what the hell...where did all that come from?"

"Not sure," Karen replied, her giggles interspersed with decidedly un-lady-like snorts. "It was on a piece of paper in my dressing area. I think it might be teaser copy for the site. I think I got it word for word; impressed?"

"Hell, yes!" replied Sam, still laughing.

"Fuckin' hell! Earth to the two of youse!" Brenda was exasperated, "Can we get you guys to the fuckin' set here. Time is fuckin' money!"

Karen controlled her giggles with an effort, and turned to head back to the set. "Sorry, sorry, yeah. Let's go." She headed off after Brenda towards the corner of the cottage dressed as Grandma's cabin. Sam fell in behind her, touched her shoulder gently, and whispered in her ear: "Did she just shay 'the two of youshe?'"

Karen was trying very hard not start laughing again. "Sam, would you do me a favor and shut the fuck up?"

9.

When they arrived at the set, the cameraman—the skinny guy whom Brenda and Tom had called Harry Potter, but who turned out to be named Ezekiel ("Call me Zeke.")—ordered Sam into his granny robe and cap, and had him lie down on the bed. He put a taped mark on the floor for Karen near the head of the bed, the place where Little Red would stand to talk to the disguised wolf. He then headed off to adjust his various stand lights, and Sam was just about to ask what happened next, when a slightly breathless Anne appeared with a sheaf of paper, and came up to stand behind the head of the bed.

"Alright, we are something like four hours behind schedule, but we are—finally—just about ready to start. You both look marvelous by the way. OK, you've neither of you done this kind of thing before right?"

Sam shook his head. Karen considered. "I've done some sort of cheese-cake publicity shots, but...not really; no serious modeling, and certainly nothing like this."

Anne took a deep breath. "Right, some things you need to know: we shoot the still shots off of this." holding up some papers. "It's a scenario in the form of a loose shot list. For example: 'Villain behind maiden; right hand mauls left breast.' Obviously, if I see something I want that's not on the list, or if either of you has an idea for something which you think would make a hot still, you're welcome to make the suggestion. That said, I am the director, and the final decision on all content is mine and mine alone. With me so far?" Both Sam and Karen nodded.

"Good. Now we're still relatively new to video content, and thus far we've stuck with scenarios rather than writing out scripted dialogue. I try to keep video content sexy but simple: perhaps one big move which allows for a position change or for a piece of clothing to come off, followed by some writhing and begging from our maiden, and some panting and grunting from our villain. Still good?" More nods.

"I'm glad. Now: safe words. These are vital. There are two, and either performer may use them at any time. Most often they are 'Yellow' which means stop all movement but stay in position—somebody's tangled up in a sheet, or somebody landed the wrong way on an arm or a leg, minor accidents, like that—and 'Red' which means all movement stops, and the performers disengage and take three large steps away from one another. We've only had a couple of Red calls in the history of the site. The most recent was a few weeks ago. A villain, who was not involved with the maiden with whom he was working, forgot about our 'no penetration' rule and tried to put a finger into his partner's ass. She called Red, but in stead of stepping away from the guy, she went for him. A couple of the grips had to separate them, and some equipment got broken. By the way, in a minute I'm going to have you both sign a contract and a basic waiver. Between the two pretty much everything is spelled out, but I'm going to say it out loud one more time:" she looked at both of them steadily. "No penetration of any kind, until you hear me say 'That's a wrap.' Got it?"

Um, we're not..." Sam began.

"Got it." said Karen.

Anne smiled, Karen muttered something under her breath, and Sam was left to wonder—as he often did in his dealings with the opposite sex—if he'd missed something.

Anne continued: "So back to the safe words. We're going to have to alter them a bit for this shoot, since the name of Karen's character actually contains the word 'red.'" Then, off Sam's bemused expression: "I know it might seem a little finicky to you, Sam, but I find that I get the most convincing performances from my people when they're allowed to remain in character while we shoot. This doesn't mean you can't relax between set-ups, but during still photography in particular, I'll be using you character names to direct you. So you'll probably be 'wolf', and Karen will be..."

"'Red,' got it." said Sam, completing the thought.

"Right," continued Anne. "So, and this does sound silly, but I've decided to go with 'apple' and 'banana' for 'red' and 'yellow.' You're neither of you likely to be listing fruit in the heat of passion, and hopefully the color association will make the words easy both to observe and to remember, understood?" Nods again; Anne looked at Sam: "Karen tells me that, as far as she knows, you've never been a performer of any kind, is that right?"

"Um, not really," Sam considered the question, "I mean I wash in a mushical in high shchool, and people watched ush play football, obvioushly, but no, I guessh I haven't. Not in the way you mean."

"You might find it uncomfortable at first. Do your best, and try to relax. Anything complicated, we'll rehearse before we shoot. Don't fret too much about the acting part of the process. For our purposes, all the Big Bad Wolf wants to do is grope, fuck, and eat Little Red Riding Hood. Karen's costume and—forgive me, Sam—your obvious crush on her should help you communicate the first two items on that list. And maybe the third; who knows? But either way, Nils is on hand to help with the special effects. Last, but not least, watch Karen. She's a pro, ok?" Again, both nodded. "Then sign these," handing clipboards with attached pens to both of her performers—Sam took a minute to negotiate writing with his claws—"and let's get going."

10.

"And...action!"

Sam followed with his eyes as Karen stepped to her mark beside the head of his bed. Her blue eyes were wide, and a demure smile curved her red lips. Her voice, when she spoke, was high and girlish. Sam hoped he could prevent himself from drooling, and then wondered if perhaps drooling would be in character.

"Hello, Grandma dear, it is I, Little Red Riding Hood. And I've brought you this basket of treats. There are cakes, and bread, and some elderflower wine. Oh, but Grandma!" And here Little Red Karen put her hands on her knees and bent to look into her dear Granny's eyes. The movement put her in a pin-up pose, her upper arms forcing her breasts together, deepening her cleavage. "I'm afraid you don't look at all well." she continued. "You must be feverish. Why, Grandma, what big eyes you have!"

Sam was so engrossed in watching her lips move that he almost missed his cue, as he had during the first three takes. But he caught himself in time, and trilled, in a cracked falsetto: "All the better to see you with my dear." He had finally conquered the esses!

"And Grandma," continued the innocent Little Red, "what big ears you have!"

"All the better to hear you with, my dear." Granny replied, and the exaggerated motion of Sam's mouth, used—unnecessarily in this case—to control the esses, gave Zeke's camera a lovely shot of the wicked-looking doubled fangs. Little Red drew back with a gasp.

"Oh, Grandma," she breathed, and her voice came out a frightened whisper, "what big teeth you have!"

Sam allowed his voice to drop back into his natural register. He grinned, exposing the Wolf's fangs, and said slowly and softly: "All the better to eat you with, my dear!"

Little Red Karen's hands went to her open mouth. She began backing up slowly, shaking her head 'no', as the Wolf rose from the bed. He tore the cap from his head, reached across his body, and with a snarl, tore the nightgown across. Tom's Velcro worked perfectly, and the garment pooled at Sam's feet.

Little Red screamed in terror, whirled and ran for the door.

"And...CUT!" yelled Anne. "Excellent work, the both of you. Zeke, was that all right for you?"

"Fine." called the taciturn camera man. He had already saved the take, and was busily disengaging the little digital from its tripod.

11.

A quick insert of the Wolf grabbing Little Red from behind and forcing her into his body with one arm around her waist and the other at her throat, and they had switched to a series of still shots. As he held Karen's body up against his, the tight curve of her ass pressed against his groin, the smell of her hair—shampoo and a little sweat—tickling his nostrils, and the feeling of her soft flesh against his palm, Sam became aware of his rising cock, caught in his jockeys, pushing up against his captive's butt. Karen had apparently noticed it too.

"Well hello down there," she whispered with a smile in her voice, as Zeke fiddled with the lights, and Anne consulted her scenario. "Sam, do you need to readjust?"

Sam was mortified. "Ah shit, Karen, I'm shorry about..." in his agitation, Sam had forgotten the damn esses again. Karen cut him off.

"Don't be stupid, and don't be sorry. That's going to happen, and it's supposed to happen, remember? I'm the one who should be apologizing." She sighed. "Ah hell, Sam, today is going to be one long tease for you, isn't it?"

She really sounded concerned, and Sam was touched. It did nothing to lessen his discomfort; in fact, in a way, it made it worse. That he would become aroused at the sight of Karen's exquisite body was inevitable, expected, and—as Tom would say—the point of the exercise, but that she was aware of, and concerned for, his discomfort troubled him in a different way. Abruptly Sam considered two of the most attractive aspects of the woman he knew as Karen James. She was a sweet, whimsical, straightforward, humorous woman. She was also possessed of a fit, curvaceous body, a provocative and beautiful face, and the confidence and sexuality of a movie star sex goddess. And he realized abruptly that as much as he lusted for the goddess, he might actually...love...the woman, even more than he had thought. Out of the confusion of that realization, he tried to answer her question. "Karen, sheriously, fuck, seriously, don't worry about it."

"No, I'm not, it's just...I don't know." She sighed. "Tell you a secret?"

"What?"

"This is turning me on too; a lot. Actually, acting always did. At least acting sexy, but this is...kind of different. Now, no bullshit: do you need to adjust yourself?"

"Yeah, it's down a little now, but maybe I better."

"Anne," Karen called, "can we move apart for a second?" Anne nodded distractedly, and Karen whispered to Sam: "Go do what you need to do." She giggled. "And watch your claws."

Sam shook his head, trying not to laugh himself. "I swear to God, I'm going to enjoy killing you."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just don't forget to rape me first."

Sam could find nothing to say to that and walked away shaking his head to align his now re-stiffened cock with the center line of his body.

12.

"Sam, can we get you back in place?" Sam came hurrying up at the sound of Anne's voice. He stepped behind Karen. "You ready?"

"Sure," she replied. "All taken care of?"

"For now." He put his left arm around her waist and drew her into him. She let out something between a groan and a purr when she felt through her skirt his hard cock settle between the cheeks of her ass. The sound caused Sam's breath to catch in his throat, and his dick to become still harder.

Anne walked over to them. "OK, first major still sequence: the maiden mauled through her clothes. BBW, can you please cup Red's right breast with your right hand." As his hand moved to Karen's tit, Sam thought to himself how strange it was to have countless masturbatory fantasies play out like this. Then, as he gripped her gently and felt her nipple harden through the fabric under his palm, context no longer mattered. Karen's breast was heavy and firm, soft and liquid. How could he ever have thought these perfect boobs were fake? Karen hummed softly: "Mmmm, that feels nice."

Sam: "Not too hard?"

Karen: "Don't worry too much about it. I'll say 'banana' if there's a problem, but when I'm turned on, I like it a little rough."

Anne: "Little Red, we need a range of expressions. Can you give us fear, maybe a little anger? Do some pleading. BBW, you just keep hold of her, and maybe try nuzzling her throat a little, like her scent is exciting you. Don't lick her, because then I think we'll wonder why you're not biting, ok?"




Halloween Favor



Sam had by this time completely given over to his almost constant arousal. He couldn't control or organize his thoughts, so he stopped thinking. When Anne called 'action,' and Zeke started clicking away, the Wolf grabbed his lovely victim's throat. She froze, a look of terror on her face, as his clawed hand made his way slowly down her body to grasp and squeeze her tit. He felt her nipple hard in his hand, and he imagined he could smell the blood rushing through her veins. He growled in his throat and buried his face in her neck, panting and sniffing.

The terrified maiden screamed and writhed, grinding her tight butt against his painfully hard, wolfish prick. "No, please!" she begged, "Let me go. Don't hurt me! Ooh!" as his hand found her breast, "Not there, please don't! Please, you're hurting me! Aahh!" a little scream as he squeezed. "No! Monster! Animal! Let me...ow, no don't...Beast LET GO OF ME!!" She bucked and squirmed, fighting hard. The Wolf's claws left her breast and found her throat again. As before, she became absolutely still. "No!" It came out on a squeak. "No, please? I'll be good. I won't fight, only please...please don't, don't...eat...me, please?"

"And cut!" sighed Anne, who hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath. "Wow, do you think you could do that again. We've got the stills, but I think that might be even hotter on video."

13.

Anne altered the scenario slightly after what she referred to as the 'Don't Eat Me' sequence. Originally she had imagined the Wolf spinning Little Red around to face him, and then wrestling his struggling victim into a fireman's carry and throwing her onto the bed. Then cut, rigger in, Red tied to the bed, and resume. But Little Red's promise to be good, and her plea not to be eaten had given the director another idea. She consulted with Tom, and then called her performers over to explain the modified sequence. Karen and Tom disappeared for fifteen minutes during which Anne experimented with what growls, roars, and howls Sam could consistently produce. When Tom and Karen returned, the costumer explained what he had done to Sam. Sam took a deep breath and nodded his understanding. The Wolf and Little Red took their marks with the villain's arm around the maiden's waist, and his clawed hand at her throat.

Anne called: "Action!"

Eyes wide with terror, breasts heaving as she fought for control. Little Red squeaked: "No, please? I'll be good girl. I won't fight; please...oh, please don't...don't...eat...me, please?" The Wolf's right hand moved slowly from his victim's throat. At the same time his left hand left Little Red's waist. She watched in horror as the two sets of talons made their way to her breasts. His large hands closed around her tits and he squeezed hard. A little scream escaped her lungs. Her nipples hardened beneath the kneading palms. The Wolf's breath grew quicker and shallower. His tongue slithered out from between his fangs. He drew it slowly up from the base of her throat to the lobe of her ear, and a low menacing growl came from deep in his throat. The terrified maiden closed her eyes and whimpered. Then, her tormentor's hands left her bosom to meet at the center of her blouse. With a savage grunt, the Wolf tore the flimsy cotton in two (down the newly added and concealed Velcro seam.) Little Red screamed as she felt the material give and her naked breasts fall into his waiting claws. As the Wolf's talons dug into her firm full tits, his beautiful victim screamed again, and fainted backwards into her attacker's embrace.

"Cut!" yelled the director. Little Red's eyes popped open. She stood up, and on Anne's command: "Go ahead and lift her." she put one arm around the Wolf's shoulders. His opposite hand gripped her beneath her knees, and he lifted his now "unconscious" victim into a pose immortalized by a thousand monster movies. She fell back and closed her eyes so that he supported her with one arm below her knees, and the other just under he shoulders. Her eyes closed, her lips parted, and her naked breasts exposed the maiden lay in the arms of the monster. As the camera clicked away still after still, he looked down at his prey, ran his dry tongue over his lips, as if anticipating the salty taste of the soft flesh at her pale throat. Then the Wolf raised his head, howled his bloodlust to the tiny cabin and the dark woods outside, and cradling his helpless victim in powerful arms, moved towards the bed.

14.

"Cut it!" Anne called. "BBW, you can relax for a minute. Red, lie back on the bed. Can somebody track down Manny? He's probably outside smoking."

Sam barely registered the door opening as somebody went to look for Manny, whoever the fuck he was. Karen lay back on the bed, her long legs extended, her red skirt riding up her thighs. Her honey-blonde hair was half -in and half-out of her little red hood, and of course the torn blouse hung from her shoulders, framing those perfect boobs. Now that he had a moment to appreciate them, he noticed how high they sat on her chest. As she lay back, Karen's titflesh relaxed into two soft, circular peaks. Her skin was as pale as cream, and her nipples were hard and proud; hot pink peaks inside tiny areolas. Karen noticed him starring. She enjoyed his appreciation for a prolonged moment before calling him on it.

"You look hungry, Mr. Wolf," she said in her pouty little girl voice. "Can I ask you something? When you devour a sweet, innocent little girl like me, do you like to start..." she brought her hands down to cup her boobs, offering them to him, "with the white meat," her hands travelled down past her belly, and she pushed her thighs apart under her skirt, "or the dark meat?" She gave him a seductive smile. "I'll tell you a secret, Mr. Bad Wolf," and she crooked her little finger at him. "Come closer." Sam brought the side of his head close to her lips. The tip of her tongue darted out and brushed his ear below the latex. "My dark meat is a whole lot juicier. At least for right now..."

Sam turned his head to her ear, taking his turn to whisper: "Karen,"—he had trouble catching his breath, and the words came out on a pant—"you beautiful bitch, are you trying to kill me. Do you want me begging for mercy in front of all these fuckin' people?"

She grabbed his head hard and turned his ear back to her lips. For a long moment, Sam was afraid the 'bitch' crack had pissed her off. Then it was her turn to pant: "Sam, begging you for mercy for the last hour and a half has me so fucking hot I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I can't even say what I want right now, because I'm holding onto myself by a fucking thread. I am not kidding you. And I don't want...I just...ah shit!"

Karen had pulled away from him, and now Sam straightened up and saw that Anne was back, in the company of a non-descript young man with straight brown hair down to his shoulders, and a length of what looked like fine, soft quarter-inch rope in his hands. "Sam, Karen," Anne made the introductions, "this is Manny. Manny's our rigger. He's here to make sure that you're comfortable when tied and confronting the proverbial fate worse than death, alright?" She turned to the cameraman. "Zeke, before we get her rigged, can we get a couple of still shots of our Wolf starting to bind her?"

The scenario called for Little Red to be bound by her wrists only. The bed on which the maiden would meet her fate had a wrought iron headboard with vertical bars at intervals across its length. Zeke took two sets of stills: in the first, the Wolf prepared to bind an unconscious Little Red—sleep fetishists really go for this kind of thing, according to Anne—while in the second set, the maiden was awake and struggling, albeit in vain, against the cruel grip of her assailant.

Then Manny stepped forward. Taking the rope from Sam with a muttered "Thanks, dude." he quickly and expertly bound Karen's wrists to a couple of the vertical bars. Her arms were spread, but her elbows had room to bend a bit. Also the knots allowed for her wrists to travel up and down the bars to which they had been attached. This gave Karen a certain amount of vertical movement in her torso. She wouldn't have to lie flat on the bed for the remainder of the shoot. And as soon as Manny had finished—Sam wondered if he were gay; he'd barely seemed to register Karen's magnificent chest—Zeke placed a pillow behind Karen's upper back and shoulder blades. Little Red could now witness the outrages perpetrated upon her body without jamming her chin into her chest and hiding her lovely face behind her boobs.

Sam had watched the rigger bind Karen, and he found himself wondering if the rope were too tight, if she were somehow uncomfortable. Her cheeks and breasts were pink, and her breathing labored. Her eyes were closed, and her lips slightly parted. Might Karen be a little claustrophobic? She'd never mentioned it before. Manny finished his work, and moved over to Anne to get her reaction to the rigging. As Sam watched, Karen opened her eyes, and said, quite loudly and distinctly, "Banana."

Everything stopped. Manny's gaze snapped to his bindings. Zeke froze at a light stand. Tom and Brenda stopped whatever they were doing, and Anne gave all her attention to the half-naked young woman on the bed in front of her. After a moment Anne asked: "Karen, what's on your mind?"

"Everything is cool, everybody." Karen said, to defuse the tension which had gripped everybody in the room with the mention of the safe word. "Everything is great, and I'm having a truly wonderful time. Manny, the ropes are fine. Anne, can I have, like, five minutes in private with Sam? Nothing's wrong," she repeated seeing the looks of concern on both Anne's and Sam's faces. "I just need a couple of minutes, ok? I promise I won't be long. I know how behind everything is."

"That's fine, Karen, but don't..." Anne looked to Sam, then back to Karen, "...start something you can't finish."

"I know, Anne. It's fine. I'm fine. Really." said Karen. She tried to lean forward, forgetting for a moment that she was securely tied to the bedstead. "Shit. Sorry. Seriously, five minutes."

Anne let out a breath. "Everybody take ten. Outside."

15.

Zeke was the last to leave, after warning both performers not to touch the lights or the camera. The door swung shut, and Sam and Karen were alone in the converted guest house. They stared at each other for what seemed to Sam a long time. Even with her breasts exposed, Sam found himself mesmerized by Karen's face. Her eyes were wide, and her lips parted. She was almost too beautiful; Sam could find nothing to say. The silence continued, and he had to look away, towards the door through which the crew had gone, before he found his voice. When he finally did, he made a reasonable attempt to keep it light: "Alright, Yacobowski, you banana-ed. What's up?"

"Sam, look at me, would you?" Karen's voice was low, even a little husky. Sam turned back to look at her, tied to the bed, half in and half out of that impossibly sexy costume. "Mr. Wolf," continued Karen, and there was no tease in her voice now, "I'm not sure what to do. I am so fucking turned on right now, by this whole experience, by this costume, this character, by you, that I'm afraid I'm going to have a heart attack. Or cum. Or explode, or some fucking thing." As he watched, Sam could see her control slipping, could feel the effort she was making to keep herself coherent. "It's abso-fucking-lutely nuts! Here I am tied to a bed dressed like a pornographic pin-up for a Brothers Grimm fetishist. I'm waiting for my best friend, who's got up like a werewolf, to pretend to rape and eat me, and every thought, every feeling, every everything is sex and lust and want...Sam I want...I want so badly, and I think...I want you, but I can't have you, I mean, not now...and I know you want me, at least I think you do....I mean you always did, didn't you, and...I didn't think this was going to...fuck!"

Sam's brain and body couldn't process information fast enough. 'Best friend? Wants me? Karen wants...' Out loud he said: "Whoa, whoa, Karen, hold it! Take it easy for a second...ok? Just breathe." He watched her take great gulps of air. After a moment she seemed to calm down a bit. "Let's cut to the chashe...fuck, chase, for a second, ok? Do you want to stop this?"

"Oh God, NO!" Karen almost screamed. "Sam, I'm just so fucking hot, it's like the world's longest tease. I just wanted you to know. I know exactly what you're feeling, because I'm feeling it too, and I love it, and I'm sorry. Baby, I am so sorry if you are...I don't know. Do you hate this, because I don't..."

"No, no, no!" It was Sam's turn to interrupt. "I'm...shit, no, I think I'm as turned on as you are. You are so fucking beautiful, it almost hurts...and just getting to..." He broke off abruptly. "How am I your best friend?"

Karen started to laugh, and then, quite suddenly, tears started streaming down her cheeks. "Oh shit," she gulped, "Brenda's going to kill me." Then, off the look on Sam's face: "No, Sam, babe, don't worry. I think it's just all the emotion and endorphins and pheromones and shit. I'm not sad or anything, I'm just..." She broke off. The tears continued, and she laughed a little. "I didn't get it myself until just now. Sam, I have never trusted anybody, I mean anybody, enough to get this turned on. I mean everybody I've been with for the past—I don't know—seven or eight years has wanted something from me. Or I've wanted something from them; something, like business-related. And it's all been fine. I mean, I knew what it was all about. I knew I was a bit of a whore, but most actors are, one way or another. I didn't mind. I don't mind. But this is...fuck, I don't know. I mean, we're in public, for fuck sakes. We're surrounded by people, and cameras, and tattooed ladies with big tits and huge gay black guys, and lights and, and..." Karen's voice became quieter, slower; she seemed to be speaking as much to herself as to Sam: "...and I'm lost in it. I'm like this little girl who's frightened and fascinated by a sexy, scary wolf-man. And it's fun, and it's hot. Goddamn is it hot! Because it's you." Her eyes met Sam's, and she smiled. "It's my old bar buddy, Sam. It's his brown eyes behind the make-up and the fangs. It's like a roller-coaster; I can be a scared as I want, because I know you'd never hurt me. Not really. Not unless I asked you really nicely. Right?"

"Right." Sam couldn't find anything else to say.

"Well, hell, that makes you my best friend, right? I mean, I may not be yours, but you're mine, right? My decision who I like, who I trust, right?"

"Right." said Sam again. "I get it. I guess we are best friends, if that's how you're defining it, but..." and now he paused, "I guess I was..."

"Hoping for more?" Karen asked, and Sam nodded.

"Sam," said Karen, "You're a jackass."

"What?" Sam almost shouted.

"Have you heard a word I've said? I like you? I trust you? I want you?! Fuck me blind: Sam, you dipshit, I am hitting on you five times harder than you ever hit on me! How come men are so...fucking...stupid? And by the way, my tits are hangin' out! What's a girl gotta do?"

Sam decided to take things slowly. He began by reminding his lungs to breathe. Then he swallowed a couple of times. He was—no shit—pleased with himself for remembering how. 'In for a fucking penny' he thought to himself, and risked the complex combination of rational thought and audible speech. "Are you saying you want to go out with me?" he asked.

Karen laughed; an unsteady sound that carried equal parts amusement and exasperation: "I don't know, Sam. Yeah, probably. When I can string two thoughts together that don't involve you forcing my thighs apart and burying your cock in me until I scream; then I think it'd probably be a lot of fun to go out with you. Right now though, I'd really just like to fuck you."

Rational thought and audible speech left the building. Sam made a noise somewhere between a growl and a whine, a distinctly wolfish sound which Karen found powerfully arousing, and a little frightening.

"But we can't!" she said quickly. "Not here, and not now..." Sam was shaking his head from side to side; he took a step toward her. "Sam, baby, listen to me!" He stopped, and she took a deep breath.

"I want you, ok? Know that. I want you so much I can't keep still. And I couldn't keep quiet, ok? I'm sorry to tease, but I think you want me too, am I right?"

"Yeah, Karen." Sam had found his voice. All at once he was a little subdued, and a little scared. "I don't think I've ever wanted anything in my life as much as I want you."

Karen's breath caught a little; she fought past it: "Good. Here's what I'd like to do, ok? This is why I called 'banana.' I wanted to tell you...I hope you'll...I don't know, but this is how I want to...give myself to you, ok?"

Sam nodded.

"We're gonna finish the shoot. You can't cum, because you've got to be able to stay hard for the last bit; you remember how there are always a couple of shots of the guy's erect cock just before he rapes the lady, right?"

Another nod.

"I could cum, I suppose. I mean it wouldn't matter in the same way. But I'm going try not to. I'm going to make sure I'm as frustrated as you are. And I'm not letting you have me at the end of the shoot either. We're not putting on a show for the grips like the chick in the pink and her burglar boyfriend. In fact, I'm not coming into the Bottle for a couple of weeks. I'm not gonna be anywhere near you, my beautiful, beautiful Wolf, because if I were, I'd just lie down on the nearest flat surface and spread my legs. I couldn't help myself, and that's not how I want it to be. But sometime before the 31st, I'm going to send you a key to my place, and on Halloween night, you're going to come to my house, and we're going to do this for real, ok?"

Sam was jolted for a moment from the explicit and erotic images her words were conjuring in his head. "How do you mean 'for real?'"

We'll keep the damn safe words, but I want you to come and take me. Be rough with me. Scare me a little. Sam, no shit, this is how I want it. And I really, really want it. Will you do this my way, please?"

Sam was astonished to hear a touch of desperation in her voice, but he understood, after a moment. Her scenario was kinky—Christ was it ever!—and probably a little dangerous; that was mostly his lookout, he supposed. And the trust involved: not only had she confessed a dark sexual fantasy to a man who was not yet her lover, but she had charged him with fulfilling that fantasy. Sam knew that if he refused, they would probably cease to be friends; he would feel self-conscious around her, and she would feel judged. And if he accepted and fucked it up, same outcome for different reasons. He was surprised to find his fear of losing her friendship as keen as his desire for her body. He would be taking a hell of a risk.

"Sure," he said, smiling around the fangs. "It sounds...I don't know...hot? I know that sounds lame, but, for chrissakes, I mean you're the most beautiful woman I know and you're asking me for rough sex. I don't know what planet I just landed on, but I am digging the weather." Karen laughed out loud, but Sam continued. "Um, and after we do it, if I'm still alive, and if I haven't eaten you all up...will you come to dinner with me?" Sam felt his face flushing. He hurried on: "Doesn't have to be the next night or anything, and if you don't want to that's cool, but the fact is, as much as I've fantasized about fucking you—and I haven't been thinking about much else for the last few hours—I'd really like a chance to be...um, with you, you know? Get to know you, like that? You don't have to answer right now if..."