by Joey W. Hill
Regardless, there was no time to deal with it today. The lights and sound equipment had arrived, along with a few of the scenery pieces and larger props. The theater was overrun with students setting up the technical elements, as well as carpenters, electricians and a few cast members providing extra hands. Tomorrow the full cast would start doing the run-throughs in the theater with the sound and lighting in place. Prior to this, they'd been meeting at Harris's house as a temporary rehearsal studio, since his Mistresses had a large basement for both home dungeon and rec room.
Like her, her stage manager was a tornado of energy today. He was making constant updates to his production book, which he maintained on his tablet and file shared with her and the volunteers who would be in charge of light, sound and scenery cues during the performances.
"Hey, Julie." He buzzed her on the radio, since she was in the lobby with the house manager. "We've almost got Pablo's frame set up and Des texted me. He's going to come by shortly to review the rigging stuff with Pablo like you wanted."
"Was Myers able to make it?"
"No, his kid had soccer practice, but he said he and Des could meet one-on-one. He'll take care of the arrangements."
"I love a self-sufficient cast member. Thanks."
Okay, so good then. She'd tell Des her feelings when he arrived, all quick and casual like, and catch two birds with one net. Or let them go, because their wing beats against the inside of her stomach and chest were making her want to fly to pieces. She didn't have time for this shit.
"Honey-chile, you are going like a freight train today. Or like a freight train's chasing you."
The sultry voice, a masculine Lauren Bacall, wreathed her face in a smile. Billie Dee-Lite was a professional drag queen popular in clubs across the Carolinas and in Virginia. He and Logan were friends, so the she-male, as Billie liked to call himself, had agreed to lend his emcee talents to Consent. Good transitions were essential to maintaining and transforming the mood between the erotic skits, and Billie would provide that very effectively.
Technically, he didn't have to be here today, but he was in town and had offered to pitch in. To do that, the drag queen was wearing jeans that made the most of his high, taut ass, and a pair of square-heeled boots. The only nod to his profession was his expertly applied makeup and the Moulin Rouge T-shirt he wore with a spray of sequins across it. It was a provocative look, Julie admitted, the makeup and entrenched female movements of Billie's body coupled to the obviously well-developed masculine torso and biceps.
The world of alternative sexuality was filled with fascinating contrasts and contradictions that, on closer inspection, didn't contradict as much as she'd expected. Everything about Billie fit who Billie was. When he'd offered to help with the grunt work, she'd liked him immediately. He could earn over five thousand dollars a night in gigs in other venues, and yet there was nothing diva-ish about this diva, even though she could call up the diva side in a moment. He, Julie corrected herself, though she expected it wouldn't be the first time she made that stumble. She had a feeling it was fine with Billie to call him by either gender, regardless.
"Yeah, freight train is right." Julie blew out a breath. "This is the back stretch, with a million things happening and the 'oh-my-god is this going to work or fail miserably' terror grip."
Billie pursed his full burgundy lips. "I've heard about your rep in Boston, Philly and the Apple, honey-chile. I don't think that's what's got you all spun up. Some troublesome man put a thorn in your ass, didn't he?"
It was an apt description, but before she could indulge or shut down Billie's fishing for gossip, Pablo came through the double doors that led to the auditorium.
Pablo was one of the few cast members Logan hadn't seen perform himself, but Pablo was a member of a reputable South Carolina BDSM group. Logan had spoken to some of his contacts there, who indicated Pablo was a young up-and-comer in the rope scene and they didn't have any significant flags or concerns about him other than his experience level.
Pablo had met Madison at a trade show, since he was in retail himself. He'd been so enthusiastic about helping her out with her theater endeavor, Logan told him to submit a video file. The rigger integrated wax, fire play, role play and modern dance into his offerings. The session had been dramatic and flashy, Pablo possessing a raw energy and impulsiveness that Julie knew would translate well to an audience. The submissive in the file was the one who would be working with him on stage.
Logan saw no flags, either, though he'd advised Julie to have Des go over Pablo's show with the performing rigger. "Rope at that skill level isn't my main area of expertise," Madison's Dom had told her. "I'm not seeing anything that says he shouldn't be in the show, but Des can point out any safety issues that might need to be tweaked up."
When she thought about the audition tape now, she compared it to her one experience with Des. She suspected Des would find all of Pablo's flash a distraction, but as Des had said, performance wasn't his focus--his submissive was.
Julie had felt firsthand the pleasure of that singular attention. But she had to think like an artistic director for Consent and Pablo's offering would contribute the right mix. She and Madison wanted to cross the reality of the BDSM world with the fantasy, without straying so far outside the boundaries people went home with the wrong conception of it. Since everyone in the performance were real players in the BDSM community, both women felt the touches of dramatic flair wouldn't clash with the overall goal.
"What's up, Pablo?" She noted Harris was with him, with a partially amused and expectant look on his face.
"I need a standin sub for the lighting guys to check something. I was going to get Sandy to help, because she's done rope bunny work before, but she had to take off for an afternoon class. You're about her size and build. Could I borrow you for a few minutes? I saw Madison over the weekend and she said you've worked with Des some."
While Julie hadn't given her friend many details about her and Des's experience, Madison had apparently picked up enough that she thought Julie was interested in learning more about being a 'rope bunny.' Though that wasn't entirely untrue, Julie thought her interest might be connected more to the man who'd put rope on her than the rope itself.
"I notice you're not asking this fine queen standing right in front of you," Billie said with mock accusation. Pablo grimaced good-naturedly.
"I already know you're a Dom, Miss Dee-Lite. I try to truss you up, you'll have me hog-tied faster than I can blink."
"Such a wise boy." Billie tilted his head toward Julie. "And I suspect Miss Julie here is the type of pretty little sub who likes to help a top out."
"Who says I'm a sub?" Julie demanded.
Billie rolled his eyes and twitched a hip in her direction. "See how fine this ass is? It's an indisputable fact, one anyone can verify by simply using their eyes. That's the answer to your question."
"He has a radar for submissives," Harris said dryly. "Or those he'd like to be submissive."
That set off some trash talk back and forth where Billie threatened to take a switch to Harris's fine white marshmallow backside. During the exchange, Julie looked at Pablo, who threw in his own opinion to keep the one-liners rolling. He was funny and she was comfortable around him, yet she found herself hesitating.
Was it the powerful, erotic nature of what she had experienced with Des making her unsure? Did she want to recall that memory in front of a theater full of milling crew and performers? Then her professional side kicked her in the butt. Pablo wasn't planning to have her strip down and take her to orgasm. He needed to demonstrate something for the technical direction. Get a grip, Julie.
"I just need a similar body type to position in the way I'll be doing for the show," he said. His detection of her concern should have reassured her, and she told herself it did. He elbowed her. "Unless you want to get naked for all of us. We're a very open group, you know."
"Totally open," Harris said with an innocent blink. "I'll get naked, too, to make you fee
l better about it."
Julie chuckled. Billie was right. That thorn was being a pain in her ass and interfering with a simple request. "Yeah, yeah. I've noticed most people in the BDSM world are happy to see anyone get naked I think we'll all keep our clothes on, especially if we're going to get any work done today."
"Wanting to see naked folk isn't a kink thing, honey-chile." Billie snorted. "That's anywhere there's a human with a pulse. Rabbits got nothing on us."
"Okay." Julie made her decision. "We're talking what, about ten minutes?"
"Maybe twenty. I've got to get you set up..." Pablo launched into some rope intricacies that mostly went over her head.
She remembered Des's hands moving over her, his fingers and the rope moving together like an erotic dance on her skin. Today she'd worn a long T-shirt over leggings, with a sports bra beneath, so it would be easy enough to strip the T-shirt off and fit the parameters of what Des had suggested as proper "rope bunny" wear if she'd not wanted to remove all her clothes.
What was it about men, that they liked terminology that melded rabbits and women? Badge bunny, rope bunny, Playboy bunny... Well, rabbits were soft and furry. Who didn't like rabbits?
As she followed Pablo back to the stage, Billie and Harris following, she took off the long T-shirt. She told herself not to be self-conscious. As Pablo had said, she and Sandy were the same body type, about twenty pounds over what Hollywood thought was ideal for women.
Well, these days they did. She remembered the temporary tattoos on Des's arms, the lush Marilyn and Betty. She recalled Des standing between her spread legs, heated palms sliding up them. What I could do with these thighs...
Had she really let him do that on their very first meeting? It had to be the carrot sticks. It was a subliminal message, the carrot stick to get a mule moving forward.
She snorted at herself as she joined Pablo on center stage. The collapsible frame he used had been set up, locked down on tracks. At his direction, she moved inside of it and lifted her arms to her sides.
Within a few moments, it was clear Pablo was not as confident and smooth as Des, which suggested why his video had started with his sub already suspended. At the time, she'd thought it was because he'd wanted to emphasize the non-rigging aspects of his performance.
However, he shook out his lines and had her in a decent harness fairly quickly, handling the positioning around and over her breasts in a functional and not inappropriate way. He worked other lines in an intricate net over shoulders, head and beneath her thighs as he prepared to suspend her. He was talking to Harris and the lighting guys at the same time, explaining his intent in a roundabout way. Some of the students and other stage hands had paused to watch him, probably intrigued seeing the managing director as his subject. She thought he seemed rushed, nervous at having to do all this on the fly in front of them. Or maybe he was nervous about using her, too, and didn't want her getting impatient. Hoping to relax him, she stayed quiet and gave him reassuring looks as he did what he needed to do.
Yet she also found herself counting the minutes until he was done. The rope was putting uncomfortable pressure on the inside of her thigh, enough that she'd decided to tell him that when he turned and hoisted her off her feet. He did it while still talking to Harris and the other crew, not giving her warning, so it jerked her off her feet precipitously.
She could have adjusted to that, but something wasn't right. As she was dipped backward, the discomfort went to pain almost immediately, and the binding around her arm pulled her shoulder at an odd angle. Things felt unbalanced.
The frame was steel and one of the larger props they would be using for the show, but when he hoisted her, it shuddered. As she tried to adjust and began to speak, the scaffold swayed alarmingly. With a sharp pop and plink, two pins fell out of metal joining pieces.
"Oh, shit." Pablo cursed and dove for that section of the frame, just as the scaffold started to go over.
Up until that moment, Julie hadn't felt fear, just irritation, but suddenly everything was going wrong. More screws pulling loose, a screech of metal as the legs gave way. She suddenly realized how helpless she was. She had no way to protect herself as the rope in which he had bound her rolled, pinching her in several places. Her leg was throbbing painfully. But it wasn't that which catapulted her from fear into gut wrenching terror.
The harness he'd worked around her shoulders shifted. A loop of rope constricted around her windpipe. As the structure began to collapse, her head was jerked back in a harrowing snap.
She had a blink to think--my head's going to hit the stage--but she had no air to cry out at the certainty she was about to be seriously hurt.
Her body did land hard, metal jabbing into her back, but her head didn't bounce off the stage floor. It was caught in a very capable and unexpectedly familiar palm. She was staring up into Desmond's face, which would have been a very welcome visage to see, except she couldn't breathe. Her head was starting to swim and her leg and shoulder hurt, blood damming up with nowhere to go.
Des was snapping out orders and people were scrambling, pulling at the broken frame, but someone stepped on something that jabbed one of those fallen metal pieces into her leg. When she choked on another painful cry, his snarl sent them all skittering back like a startled flock of birds. He yanked out a knife sheathed at his belt, something that looked much sharper than what he'd used to scrape wax off of her. The flicked out blade flashed like a prop in West Side Story.
"Sorry for this, love."
He forced his fingers roughly under the noose at her throat, slid the flat of the blade in the space and cut through it. A light burning sensation told her he'd had to make a shallow cut in her skin, but she had no complaints because she could breathe again, a relief so overwhelming she hyperventilated, trying to pull in too much breath at once.
Billie was at her head, kneeling, saying things in a soothing voice, stroking her shoulders as Des sliced the rest of her rope off her. As he moved her off the wreckage and to the floor next to it, putting her on a folded blanket someone had produced to cushion her, he rubbed her inner thigh briskly. It eased the sudden painful rush of blood and re-established its flow.
He checked her arm, which was tender but had full mobility. She hadn't dislocated it. "Easy," Des said. His touch was so gentle. Since she was shaking like a reed in a typhoon--the aftereffect of realizing she'd just had a damn close call--she needed it. When someone tried to approach he held up a warning hand, backing everyone out of her line of sight but him. She was glad for it. Though she wasn't having fuzzy feelings for Pablo right now, she liked these people. Some of them, like Billie, she liked immensely. However, while she tried to pull herself together, she just wanted Des, not a bunch of people staring at her.
He had come from a job, because he was wearing his stained dark jeans and a T-shirt frayed at the collar. A bill cap was pulled down over his brow, his hair bound back in a short tail. He had dirt in the creases of his neck and elbow, and the combination of sweat, shingles and other construction odors was stronger than that first day, but it was all welcome. He was giving her a more thorough examination now, his penetrating eyes covering every inch of her face and body, his fingertips performing the same thorough appraisal. She was able to move or rotate everything he asked her to do, which relieved her as much as it seemed to do him.
"You might have some nasty bruises here," he said, hands settling on her throat, stroking her as if he was also monitoring her pulse. She lifted her chin, needing to feel his touch there, his hold. His eyes darkened, as if she'd said something meaningful to him with the gesture, and she supposed she had.
"We're getting you to an urgent care. You need to be checked out."
She shook her head. She was fine, she was sure of it. Bruised and battered maybe, but nothing broken. She gripped his arm, indicating she wanted to sit up. He didn't deny her, thankfully, lifting her into a sitting position and adjusting so she was leaning against his kneeling body, her back against his one propped
leg.
"Are you able to draw a deep breath? Get air in and out of your throat okay?"
"Yeah," she rasped. "Now that the rope's off, I can breathe just fine. I promise."
"Okay then. Okay." He ran a hand down her back, gripped her hand. "Billie?"
The drag queen appeared. Harris was hovering as close, his eyes hard with worry and mouth set, an echo of the look Des had, but only an echo. She wasn't sure anyone could look the way Des did right now. His voice was strangely even as he spoke to Billie. "Stay with her." He glanced down at Julie. "It's okay. Just relax here a minute. I'll be right back."
He rose and moved across the stage. Pablo was standing by the ruined frame, staring at it. Julie wondered if he was in shock himself, because his gaze was locked on it as if he were in a trance.
He saw Des approaching, though, because he lifted his head and cleared his throat. "Man, this is going to take a while to put back together," he said awkwardly.
"Oh, you poor dumbass," Billie murmured.
Julie wasn't sure what he meant, but the others had registered Billie's dismay, if the frozen looks and indrawn breaths meant anything. Though no one moved, it was as if everyone else's energy drew back and away from the young rigger, clearing out of Des's path.
Des nodded in a neutral manner and picked up one of the broken metal rods. In a movement too fast for Julie to follow, he grabbed Pablo by the shirt front. Despite the man having more mass and height, Des dragged him down the three stairs off the stage and slammed him against the wall. He had the bar against his throat. Pablo's eyes bugged out and he struggled, but Julie wasn't the only one discovering how strong Des was.
"Feel that?" Des hissed at him. "Notice how you can't breathe? I'm putting no more pressure on your windpipe than it takes to dent a soda can. You suspended her from a frame that wasn't properly balanced or anchored. I'll bet you didn't even test it with your own weight first. Your ties were sloppy. You didn't isolate the sections to prevent tension in other areas. They slipped, forming a noose around her neck. You could have snapped it. Her larynx could have fractured. You were cutting off her femoral artery."