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NET ASSET by Jennifer Jane Pope |
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NET ASSET by Jennifer Jane Pope |
When Lianne Connolly unexpectedly loses her job, she is forced to take in a lodger to help her with her mortgage repayments. Ellen Sanderson is the complete opposite to her young landlady, brash, chirpy and streetwise and working as a surprisingly well paid model. When one of Ellen's colleagues is rushed into hospital, she suggests that Lianne might like to earn herself some welcome cash by standing in for her. However, Lianne is not quite prepared for what she walks into and only a good few stiff drinks persuades her to overcome her natural reluctance at becoming a fetish model cocooned in layers of latex and leather bondage ...
Lianne stared at her reflection in the tall mirror and swallowed, nervously. It had taken five vodkas to come this far - five vodkas and an hour and a half in a haze of talcum powder, makeup, hairspray and rubber. Mostly rubber, it seemed, looking, sizing up, discussing, deciding and, finally, fitting, squeezing legs and arms, feet and hands, breasts, stomach and thighs into the clinging latex, forcing feet and toes into the ridiculously high heeled ankle boots and tottering unsteadily across the carpet, fi ghting for balance, convinced she must fall headlong and break an ankle, or worse.
Now, slightly more sober than when she and Ellen had first arrived, Lianne was beginning to have second thoughts. She could not believe that the person staring back at her was herself. Lianne Connolly was the girl next door, worked as a receptionist in t he Health Centre, wore her blonde hair in a neat pony tail, did her weekly shopping in Tescos and drove a five year old Metro into town to buy her clothes from Marks and Spencer or Miss Selfridge. Lianne Connolly did not have outrageous big hair covered in silver glitter, wear rubber corsets, stockings and gloves, perch on six inch heels and wear latex knickers so thin and stretched that you could see every detail of her swollen sex as plainly as if it were naked.
She turned away and stumbled back towards the bed and her handbag, needing the packet of cigarettes that had lain forgotten inside it since the day, three weeks before, when she had taken the decision to quit - the day after the hatchet faced administrator ad told her that she was being made redundant and two days before she had first met Ellen Sanderson. Her rubber sheathed fingers fumbled with the packet, tearing the cardboard in her haste to get it open. Picking out a cigarette was no easy matter, with the unfamiliar latex desensitising her usually nimble fingers and retrieving the lighter from the muddled depths of the bag was a further challenge.
Eventually she felt it, nestling in a bottom corner, took it out and flicked it into flame at the fourth at tempt. Her hands were trembling so badly now that it took a supreme effort of concentration to bring the flame to the tip of the cigarette, but she finally managed it and sucked in the foul-tasting smoke greedily. She exhaled, slowly, marvelling at how ba dly it tasted after even such a short lay off and wondering, more importantly, just what she was going to do.
It had seemed easy enough when Ellen had suggested it. Cash in the hand, a week's work - maybe more - and no real effort required.
`It's just modelling, sweetie,' Ellen had reassured her. `We dress up, some bloke takes our pictures and then this artist chap produces drawings from the prints. Easy, don't you reckon?' Lianne had expressed her doubts.
`But rubber and leather?' she had said, uncertainly. `It seems a bit, well, you know, over the top.'
`Listen, hon,' Ellen had persisted, gripping her hand between her own, `if I'd said it was modelling cardies and slacks, you'd have jumped at it for two hundred quid a day. The problem is, the twin sets and catalogue market is all tied up and they mostly don't pay that sort of money. And they don't let you keep a couple of outfits as a bonus.'
`I don't think I'd want a rubber outfit, bonus or otherwise,' Lianne had laughed, nervously. Ellen had not given up.
`Look, Lianne,' she urged, `you need the money. You're out of work and there ain't that many jobs around here unless you fancy being a shop girl or a shelf stacker. That piddling pittance they gave you as redundancy pay is just about gone, isn't it, even with what I pay towards the rent of this place. You can't afford to turn down a chance like this.'
`If it's that good, why don't they use experienced models?' Lianne had challenged her new flatmate.
`They do,' Ellen assured her, `but when this Stacey girl was whipped off to have her appendix sorted, I thought of you. I told George and Nadia I had the ideal stand-in. I even told them you'd done a bit of basic stuff whilst you were at school.'
`But they'll know that's a lie, the moment they see me,' Lianne protested. Ellen laughed.
`Why should they? Look, you're a pretty blonde, even if you don't make much of yourself most of the time, you've got nice legs, a cute bum and great tits. All you need to do is walk right and stand right and in some of those boots and corsets you can't do anything but, believe me. Come on, Lianne, don't be a scaredy-cat!'
In the end, the combination of Ellen's cajolery and the lure of between fifteen hundred and two thousand pounds cash proved too much for Lianne and she had agreed to go along with Ellen the following day. Now, perched on the edge of the bed, encased in sh ining rubber and with her hair looking like something from Barbi In the Electric Chair, it didn't seem so simple. She should have realised it from the moment they had first pulled up the driveway and parked outside the imposing entrance, to be gree ted by a woman clad in polished knee high boots, shining black leather miniskirt and leather waistcoat over a pure white, silk blouse.
Nadia Muirhead, Editor-in-Chief of Darius Publishing Ltd, looked as though she might have just walked off the cover of on e of the glossy magazines that adorned the top shelf of the little Asian newsagency just down the road from Lianne's flat. Not that she had ever studied those publications too closely, but it was hard to miss them, even if they were displayed twelve inches above head height.
In her early forties, with her bright green eyes and her jet black hair swept up into an elegant chignon, Nadia would have made an imposing figure even without her leather couture. Lianne estimated that she would have stood five feet ten in her black stockinged feet and the extra five inches provided by the heels of her boots were totally over the top in her opinion.
`Thank you so much for jumping into the breech at such short notice,' she greeted Lianne, proferring a hand on which every finger glittered with gold and precious stones. Her grip had been firm, like a man's, Lianne had noticed and had been relieved to re trieve her own fingers still in one piece. `I'll leave Ellen to show you the way,' Nadia continued. `First shoot is in two hours, most of which you'll need to get into costume, etcetera, but I expect you already know about that. Suzy'll be free in about fifteen minutes and I'll send her up to you then.'
The house, which was early nineteenth century, was an impressive piece of architecture, with two protruding wings and three storeys, above which dormer windows poked their noses from the sides of a massively tiled roof. Ellen led the way into an entrance hall that was large enough to hold a tennis court and up a wide staircase that was pure Jane Austen. Between the first and second floors the stairway was far narrower, but Lianne calculated there would still have been enough room to drive her car up it, su ch was the scale on which the entire place had been built.
Their room was on the second floor, at the eastern end of the house, a bedroom which would have swallowed Lianne's entire flat whole and still have had room for a couple of McDonald's Whoppers. The furniture appeared to be from the same period as the hous e, for no one in their right mind would try to get wardrobes and chests that size into a modern semi. The bedstead was brass and could have slept three with elbow room to spare, but Lianne guessed that the owners of this house would never be that pushed fo r accommodation. As Ellen closed the door, she just stood in the centre of the pale pink carpet and stared, both at the room itself and at the panoramic view of the Sussex Downs that the huge window afforded.
`Our stuff is in there,' Ellen said, indicating the larger of the two wardrobes. `It'll be freshly washed and powdered, all ready for us.'
`Powdered?' Lianne asked, nonplussed. Ellen grinned.
`Talcum powder,' she explained. `Getting into latex is a bitch without it, believe me. Come on, get stripped off and I'll show you. Suzi'll be up in a minute and we've got less time than you think.'
The two girls stripped off together. Ellen seemed quite at ease with the exercise, but Lianne, who had never been naked with another girl since the schoolday shower room, was less relaxed about it. She knew she had a nice body, for Colin had never tired of telling her so, but then Colin had finally dumped her for that stick-insect creature with the mile long legs who had started working Friday nights behind the bar down at The Stag., in Gloucester Street and Lianne had realised, too late, that he would compliment any female he thought would lay still long enough for him. Having said that, Lianne realised that having a 36-24-36 figure was something that most girls wou ld have envied her for, especially as her boobs filled a C-cup comfortably and her legs were long and shapely.
Ellen, at five feet eight inches, was two inches the taller, her brunette hair tinted with a henna colour, her bust an impressive 38D. She was an inch broader about the hips, too and her firm buttocks jutted out in the most provocative fashion. Her blue eyes were greyer than Lianne's, but her face, though longer and leaner, was just as attractive in its own way. Between them, the two young women made an attractive sight as they finally stood naked on the soft carpet.
`Let's get you dressed first,' Ellen suggested. `You're playing the part of Marylou, my girl Friday. My character is Della de Linkwent, rogue private investigator.'
`Sounds a bit daft to me,' Lianne mumbled. Ellen winked at her.
`It is all a bit daft,' she said. `It's a comic strip adventure, after all. Look, I thought I'd already explained. Della and Marylou go in search of a missing heiress, who's been kidnapped by the mysterious Madame B and her band of merry men and girls. Naturally, everything goes wrong and the two of them - the two of us - also fall into the clutches of the villains. The storyline's a bit thin, but the main thing is that our two heroines get to dress in all the kinky gear and get into all sorts of awkward positions, if you know what I mean.'
Lianne was not sure she did know what Ellen meant, but she decided to say nothing. She rummaged in her handbag and brought out the remains of the small bottle, unscrewing the cap and tipping the burning contents straight down her throat. As she coughed a nd wiped the tears from her eyes, Ellen grinned.
`Bit of Dutch courage?' she said. `No harm in that.'
`Why d'you think I had those two doubles when we stopped at the pub?' Lianne replied, dropping the empty bottle back where it had come from. Ellen stared at her, aghast.
`Doubles!' she squeaked. `I thought they were singles. I'd never have let you drive if I'd known.'
`Well, too late now,' Lianne snapped. `If I hadn't had them then, I'd have turned back. I'm nervous as hell, in case you hadn't noticed.'
`Just relax,' Ellen urged her. `There really is nothing to it.'
When Ellen started fastening the rubber corset about her waist, however, Lianne was not sure at all. The garment was thick and tough, fastening at the front with a series of businesslike looking steel clasps. It reached to the top of her thighs, dipping a little at the front, but high at the back to leave her buttocks exposed. There were threequarter cup supports at the top that lifted Lianne's breasts dramatically, giving her a far bigger cleavage than she had ever had before and this was emphasised by t he way the corset pulled in her waist by at least two inches. However, two inches was not to be the limit, as she discovered when Ellen turned her attention to the laces at the back and began steadily drawing them in.
`I can't breathe!' Lianne protested, holding onto the footrail of the bed for support. `You can't get it any tighter than it already is.' Behind her, Ellen grunted and puffed.
`Don't you believe it,' she retorted. `Just breathe shallowly and I'll get this closed if it's the last thing I do.'
`It'll probably be the last thing I ever do, you mean,' Lianne gasped, but Ellen was as good as her word and, when she finally knotted off the thick cords, Lianne was the proud, though highly dubious, owner of a waist that was a fraction less than twenty i nches in circumferance. She stood there, red-faced, staring at her new contours in the mirror.
`What do you think?' Ellen asked. `Really sexy shape, isn't it?'
`Really drastic is more like it,' Lianne sulked. `How long do I have to endure this torture?'
`Only for a few hours,' Ellen replied, airily. `You'll soon get used to it, anyway.' Lianne doubted that she would, but consoled herself with the thought of the fee she was earning. And nothing could be worse than facing the line of sniffling, snuffling kids, mums and pensioners that she had endured during her three years at the Health Centre.
After the corset came the stockings, which were made of much thinner fabric. Ellen showed Lianne how to roll them down and ease her foot into the bottom of the powdered tube, coaxing the latex over her toes and heel until it fit snugly about her ankle. T hen it was a matter of persuading the rubber up over her knee, smoothing it out so that it hugged her calf and then finally rolling it up her thigh and fastening it to the bottom of the corset with the three sturdy rubber suspender straps. The stockings we re long, reaching right up into the crease between thigh and groin and, when the second one was finally in place, Lianne's legs looked as though they had been sprayed with a new skin.
The panties were cut high on the thigh and plunged low at the front, barely covering her pubic hair, the gossamer latex molding itself to the contours of Lianne's sex and leaving nothing to the imagination. She hoped the skirt, or dress, would at least be long enough to cover her modesty, but for the moment, there was the little matter of her gloves. These were as much of a challenge as the stockings had been, working fingers into the separate stalls one at a time and pulling the latex taut with deliberate care, fearful that it might rip. Lianne understood now exactly what Ellen had meant when she had said that putting on such garments without the aid of talcum powder would have been well nigh impossible.
As with the stockings, the gloves were ultra long, reaching to the very limit of Lianne's arms. She flexed her fingers experimentally, wondering at the curious effect the rubber seemed to have on her appearance. She looked at herself in the mirror, then across to her handbag, wishing there was still something left in the vodka bottle to help combat the heart thumping attack of nerves that was threatening to overwhelm her.
Ellen had only just taken the boots from the wardrobe when the door opened and a chubby faced girl of about twenty one entered. She had short cropped, mousey coloured hair and was probably about a stone too heavy to be wearing the figure hugging grey lycr a leggings and the crop top which did nothing to restrain her ample boobs, but she had a cheery expression and a pleasantly musical voice when she spoke.
`Sorry I'm a bit behind with things,' she said, depositing the large vanity case onto the bed. `Sir wasn't very happy with the eyeshadow I used on Cindy; made me clean it all off and start from scratch. Fussy bastard.'
`This is Suzy, our makeup expert,' Ellen explained. `And this is Lianne, our latest recruit,' she added, completeing the introductions.
`Pleased to meet you,' Suzy said, extending a hand in greeting. Self consciously, because of the rubber gloves, Lianne extended her own hand in return. The contact felt strangely remote, though not unpleasant. She wondered what the cherubic makeup girl made of her, standing there feeling more exposed than when she had been naked, but concluded Suzy must have seen it all before, many times over.
`Nice hair,' Suzy commented, scrutinizing Lianne professionally. `How do you normally wear it?'
`Just as it is now,' Lianne replied, a note of surprise in her voice. Suzy pursed her lips and then made a clucking sound with her tongue.
`Bit of a waste, isn't it?' she commented. `Never mind, let's have that ponytail down and see what Sister Suzy can do with it.' Twenty minutes or so later, Lianne was open mouthed at what Sister Suzy could do. First she had backcombed and pinned, frizze d and sprayed, teased and cajoled, until Lianne's normally tame, straight locks stood up and out like a demented Afro. Then, she began spraying again, this time blowing little piles of gold, silver, red and black glitter from the palm of her hand, so that when the fixing spray was dry, the slightest movement of Lianne's head sent myriad reflections of light dancing before the eyes.
`Bloody good, aren't I?' Suzy said, seeing the look of amazement in Lianne's face when she finally turned to see herself in the mirror.
`Bloody different, at least,' Lianne said, but only under her breath. Aloud, she replied: `Yes, it's quite amazing.'
`Right then, makeup,' Suzy announced and guided her back to sit on the side of the bed. She took a smaller case from inside the large one and opened it, laying it next to Lianne and began to work her magic once more. First, there were the false eyelashes , unbelievably huge, like a pair of mutant spiders. Lianne doubted whether any adhesive could possibly hold them for long, but when she suggested this to Suzy, the girl simply laughed.
`We use nothing but the best of anything here,' she reassured her. `These'll stay where I put 'em till hell freezes over, or longer, without the solvent. Now, hold still. If I get this wrong, it'll take ages to clean them off again.' Once the lashes ha d been anchored in place, Suzy applied thick black mascara, blending them in with the base of Lianne's eyelids and extending a small line wide of each one. She then began with the various eyeshadows, blending dark and light blues, silver and touches of pink. Lianne wished she could see what she was actually doing to her, but Suzy had positioned her on the side of the bed nearer the door, with her back to the mirror, so she had to remain patient until the job was completed.
That was done with the application of a lipstick that was the most vivid red Lianne had ever seen, far more lurid than she would ever have dared wear under normal circumstances. Not content with that, even, Suzy then added a gloss sealer, which Lianne kne w would emphasise the colour even more. When she was finally allowed to see the overall effect, she was so staggered that she let out an involuntary squeal of disbelief.
`Bloody hell!' she breathed. `What have you done?' She continued to stare at herself - her new self - unable to believe what Suzy had done, for in place of the fairly ordinary, if basically pretty, girl that Lianne was used to seeing every morning, was n ow a pouting vixen, with huge, fantastic eyes and a wide slash of a mouth. `Bloody hell,' she repeated at last, `whatever do I look like?'
`Absolutely fantastic,' Ellen put in. `The punters'll love it.' Which was a lot more than Lianne could say of her own reaction to the boots when Ellen finally put them on her feet. The heels were like twin rapiers, at least six inches high and arched he r feet to an almost impossible degree. They laced tightly into place, but there was also a broad ankle strap, in one end of which there was a slot that fitted over a steel staple in the other. Then, to Lianne's further astonishment, a small padlock was sl ipped through each and clicked shut, preventing her from removing the footwear.
`Is that really necessary?' she demanded. Ellen nodded.
`We have to get the proper effect,' she said. `In the scenes we're doing today, we're both prisoners of the wicked lady and her gang and they're forcing us to become their sex slaves.'
`That's ridiculous,' Lianne protested. `I've never heard such nonsense. Who would pay out money for something like that?'
`You'd be surprised,' Suzy interjected. `And it's not as ridiculous as you think. Men love women to dress up and a lot of women love doing it, me included. The only problem with me is I just don't have the figure for it. You don't know how lucky you ar e.' Standing in front of the mirror, perched on the precarious heels, Lianne was not sure she agreed with Suzy's definition of "lucky", though she was forced to admit that she did present an impressive picture.
Suzy now turned her attention to Ellen, but did not have to spend quite so long on her hair, which she simply coiled up and pinned atop her head and then lacquered it for good measure, ignoring the glitter this time. She did, however, do as thorough a job with her makeup, again using the long eyelashes and masses of mascara and shadow, creating a finished effect as dramatic as the one she had achieved with Lianne, though the lipstick and gloss were jet black and the eyeshadow created a dark red, glowing imp ression.
`Right then, I'll leave you girls to it for now,' Suzy said, closing up her case. `Unless you want me to give you a bit of a trim down there,' she offered Ellen, indicating the dark thatch of hair between the tops of her thighs. Ellen shook her head.
`No, thanks all the same,' she replied. `I'm supposed to be bushy for these shots.'
Susy nodded. `Oh, one of those scenes, is it?' she said, mysteriously, though Ellen seemed to understand what she meant, for she nodded and grinned as the smaller girl headed towards the bedroom door.
Ellen's costume was also rubber, but completely different from Lianne's in that it was a one piece catsuit that covered her from toes to head. The bodice was molded with cups that held her full breasts firmly, the thin fabric emphasising, rather than conc ealing, her proud nipples. The suit was an incredible piece of genius, the sleeves even terminating in gloves and a zip through the crotch allowing access to Ellen's sex, if required. It was made to fit very tightly and Lianne had to struggle to close the heavy zip at the back.
`At least it's not as tight as this damned corset,' Lianne said, admiring her friend's sleek outline. Ellen grinned.
`There's more to come,' she said, turning towards the wardrobe. She returned carrying a pair of long rubber boots and something that resembled a wide belt. She wrapped it around herself and fastened it across her stomach, buckling the two thinner straps that were provided for the purpose. When she turned around, Lianne saw that there were laces at the back to enable it to be tightened even further.
`Well, don't just stand there, silly,' Ellen said. `Get lacing, all the way closed. This'll bring my waist down to the same as yours is now and I'm an inch bigger to start with, so you'll have to give it all you've got.' Lianne did just that, though at first she did not think she would be able to make it, but finally, red in the face beneath her makeup, she was able to knot off the laces and take a breather, whilst Ellen sat on the edge of the bed and began drawing the first boot up her left leg.
The boots were made of the same thick, black rubber as Lianne's corset, though they were trimmed in red along either edge of the full length front opening and the laces which criss-crossed through the lines of hooks were also red. The process took quite a while for each leg and it was fully ten minutes before Ellen finally rose to parade back and forth. The heels were equally as high as those Lianne was wearing and yet the older girl was able to walk without any difficulty at all.
`Practice,' Ellen replied, when Lianne commented on this. `You'll get used to it yourself, soon enough. Now, where did I leave those collars?'
The collars proved to be the final touch to both their costumes, Ellen's fitting over the collar of her suit, Lianne's buckling about her bare neck. They were both made from leather and set about with a double row of sharp metal studs, which had been lish ed so that they caught the light in the same way that Lianne's hair now did. Lianne looked at her flatmate and then at her own reflection across the room and shook her head in bewilderment.
`What the shit am I doing here, looking like this?' she breathed. Ellen placed a reassuring arm on her shoulder.
`Earning a living, you daft cow,' she said, `same as I am. Now, you practise in those heels, whilst I nip down the corridor for a pee. Thank heavens for detachable crotch flaps,' she added, laughing as she made for the door.
Lianne blew out another cloud of smoke and turned to look for an ashtray in which to stub out the cigarette. It really did taste awful and it wasn't doing anything to help her nerves anyway. She wondered if it were possible to get a drink - an alcoholic d rink - before they moved on to whatever came next. When Ellen returned from the bathroom, she ventured the question. Ellen winked and went to the second wardrobe, emerging from it with a large bottle and two plastic beakers.
`Not vodka, I'm afraid,' she said, `and not even a really good brandy, but it's better than nothing and Nadia does provide it for free.'
`Does she get a lot of models with bad nerves then?' Lianne said, grabbing the first beaker from Ellen and gulping down the contents greedily. The liquid burned her throat even more than the vodka had done earlier, but it felt warm as it reached her stoma ch and she mentally crossed her fingers that it would do the trick. Ellen was sipping at her own beaker in a far more ladylike manner.
`Modelling can be a stressful game at the best of times,' she said. `And this game is something different again. With these outfits, you have to go for whole sequences in one shoot, or else keep them on between times. It takes so long to get in and out of this stuff it's better to get it over with in one. A drop of brandy not only steadies the nerves, it stiffens the resolve.' She walked over to the chest of drawers and consulted the wristwatch she had abandoned there earlier.
`If you get that down your neck,' she said, nodding to the beaker that Lianne was still clutching, `you'll just about have time for a quickie refill. Only for God's sake don't go falling downstairs in those heels. You wouldn't be the first girl to do her ankles some serious damage.'
The studio "set" for the day's session was situated in one of the cavernous cellars which honeycombed the ground beneath the house. Ellen led the way, though this time their route avoided the main staircases, going down instead by way of a narrow, spiral s taircase, which seemed to Nadia, clinging to the handrail and taking each downward step with exaggerated care, to go on forever.
The cellar was a gothic nightmare, the walls painted black and the light coming from a series of red lamps set into the ceiling and walls. It did not look anywhere near bright enough for taking photographs, but Lianne noticed the two umbrella style photog raphic floods that stood to either side and reasoned that there would be plenty of light when they were switched on.
Apart from the photographer, they were the first to arrive and Ellen lost no time in making the introductions. Simon Prescott was probably only in his mid thirties, but his reddish blonde hair was already thinning and receding at the front at an alarming rate. He was very tall, taller even than Ellen in her steepling heels and thin as a rake, the flesh stretched taut over his cheekbones, his eyes pale and gaunt. He seemed friendly enough, however and exchanged handshakes with Lianne in a way that she foun d preposterously formal, given the way she was dressed and presented. His lingering inspection of her betrayed his approval of what he saw, however.
`Very nice,' he said, understating to the power of ten. `Very nice indeed. You'll make the ideal Marylou. Where did you say you found her, Ellen?'
`Lianne and I share a flat,' Ellen replied, `and, just between ourselves, she's never done any of this stuff before, so go easy on her. I know how bitchy you can be at times.' It appeared to Lianne that Ellen and Simon knew each other more than passably well and she wondered just how many of these sessions her friend must have done previously. Quite a few, she guessed, judging not only from the ease with which she handled the high heels, but also from the confident manner in which she paraded herself. Well, she thought, if Ellen can keep coming back for more, maybe it can't be all that bad.
She turned away, leaving the two of them in conversation and peered into the gloom. The first thing she made out, however, gave her serious cause to reconsider that last judgement. Hesitantly, she took a couple of paces towards it, staring open-mouthed i n horrified fascination.
Basically, she saw, it was a chair, a heavy timber construction with a high back and sturdy, leather padded arms. The seat was high enough so that anyone using it would have been unable to touch the ground with anything more than the tips of their toes, i f even that and there were thick straps on the front legs, the arms and the back that were clearly intended to restrain the sitter. But it was not the straps that were causing Lianne's heart to pound harder against her ribs, it was the thick, unmistakably phallic shaft that rose nine or ten inches from the middle of the seat itself.
She took another two paces forward, her knees trembling violently, still not quite able to believe the evidence of her eyes, but there could be no doubting it. The only way anyone would be able to sit in that seat was if the thick black shaft was embedded deep inside their most intimate place.
`You can try it out, if you like.' The voice close behind her made Lianne start and let out a little gasp. She turned, to find Nadia Muirhead standing, arms folded across her chest, a curious smile on her lips. She nodded towards the chair. `I said, yo u can try it out if you like,' she repeated. Lianne took a couple of backward steps, shaking her head violently.
`N-no,' she stammered. `No thank you.' Nadia shrugged.
`Ah well,' she said, `each to her own, I suppose. Shame, really, because it's a beautiful piece, don't you think? Completely hand made and impossible to escape from. Even Houdini would been stumped on that.'
`I think Houdini would have had trouble sitting in it in the first place,' Lianne heard herself say. Nadia chuckled.
`Oh, I don't know so much,' she said, enigmatically. She looked Lianne up and down. `Anyway, I see you're ready for action, at least. Yes, very nice too. Now, I see the others aren't here yet, so you may as well carry on looking round whilst we're wait ing. Some of our little props are quite novel, but things will be explained when the time comes.' She moved away to talk to Simon and Ellen detatched herself and rejoined Lianne. Still somewhat shaken by Nadia's suggestion, Lianne grabbed hold of her fri end's arm and pointed to the chair.
`Do you know what that woman just said to me?' she demanded. Ellen's face remained impassive as she replied.
`I'd imagine she asked if you wanted to try the chair,' she said. `And I can imagine your reaction to that, too.'
`Well, it's not bloody surprising, is it? I mean, can you imagine trying to sit on that - that thing?'
Ellen's lips twitched, almost imperceptibly. `Who needs to imagine?' she replied, quietly. Lianne stared at her, aghast.
`You don't mean -' she began, `you don't mean that - that you ...?'
Ellen nodded. `Twice,' she confirmed. Lianne barely managed to choke back a cry of abhorrence her friend's calm revelation. She stared at her, shaking her head in fascinated disbelief. `And,' Ellen went on, after a brief pause to let her admission sink in, `it was actually rather fun. The cock vibrates, you know. I had a terrific orgasm that went on for ages. Simon and James said it was one of the best pictures ever.'
But photographs and chairs with vibrating dildos are only the beginning of Lianne's misadventures. Our naive heroine is heading for more trouble than she would ever have believed possible, for there is a traitor in the camp and, before long, Lianne finds herself in a situation where the bondage is for real and there's no pay cheque at the end of the week.
Net Asset is available from most decent book outlets, published by Chimera (Price£4.99 UK), but, if you don't have such an animal in your locale, other options are to go to Chimera's own website at www.chimerabooks.co.uk. I'm not sure whether the book is still included in their main mailing lists, but if you e-mail them and ask, I'm pretty sure they still have some copies available.
Alternatively, you might try Amazon at www.amazon.co.uk and type the title, or my full name,into their search engine. You'll find quite a few of my books up there now and Amazon offer a £1.00 discount, as you probably know.
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