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From: Shon Waggoner <shonrichards@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} "Librarians of the Colette-Ashbee Collection" (M/F, Bondage, Spank, Books)
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Date: Fri, 17 Mar 2006 03:10:01 -0500
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<1st attachment, "LibrariansoftheColetteAshbeeCollection.doc" begin>

This erotic story of lusty librarians was written by me, Shon
Richards.  Please do not reprint on your website, blog, love
letters to your lover etc without asking me first.  I have yet to
refuse a reprint but let's just be polite about it, okay?

You can write to me at shonrichards@yahoo.com.  I am easily
approachable and delighted to hear your comments.

Find out what I am up to at http://erotiterrorist.blogspot.com/ 
  
"Librarians of the Colette-Ashbee Collection"
By Shon Richards

	"First day on the job?"

	Claire Currie looked up at the rear view reflection of the cab
driver.  He hadn't said a word since he picked her up from her
hotel but he had guessed right.  Apparently she wasn't as calm
looking as she was hoping to project.

	"Am I that obvious?" she asked.

	The cab driver grinned.  "As obvious as your accent.  Where are
you from?"

	"London," Claire replied.  "I just arrived yesterday and yes, I
do start work today.  Could you tell me how you noticed,
please?"

	"It's your clothes, honey.  You got that super dressed up look
that people stop doing the second week they are there."

	Claire looked down at her clothes and frowned.  She didn't think
she was over dressed.  Her navy blue pantsuit went well with her
dark brown skin.  Underneath she had a white shirt that really
brought out her smile. She had pulled her kinky hair back in a
ponytail because there was really no other way to keep it
manageable.  Her make up was light and professional though she
did spend a half hour cleaning her gold-rimmed glasses to make
sure they were perfect.  Maybe Americans had lower standards?

	"What kind of work are you doing?" the driver asked.

	"I'm a librarian," she said.

	He looked at her again through the mirror.  "You don't look like
a librarian."

	Claire smiled politely.  It was a line she was tired of hearing.
 It appears that even here people thought librarians should look
like old spinsters.

	"Wait a sec," the driver said.  "Shouldn't I be taking you to
one of the libraries then.  The address you gave me was for a
hotel."

	Claire grinned.  She was annoyed by the comment of looking like
a librarian and decided that the truth might help break some
illusions.  Besides, it was her first day and wanted to brag
about it.

	"I've been hired by the Colette-Ashbee Library.  They are a
group of private collectors to manage their books.  The actual
collection is in France, but their librarians travel around the
world to collect more books.  I'll be meeting my boss today while
he is in town for some new acquisitions."

	"You run around the world to get books?  Why don't you just
order them by mail?"

	Claire smiled and leaned forward in her seat.  Her voice shifted
into a husky tone as she boldly confided the purpose of the
collection.

	"These are not the kind of books you can call up and order. 
These are rare, erotic books.  Sexual exploits of fictional and
real life confessions that have been handed down through the
years and collected for the pleasure of a few private
individuals.  Each book is a snapshot of sexual desire for it's
time period and it will be my job to gather and catalog them."

	The cab driver swallowed hard and the flush spreading across his
face pleased Claire.  "This isn't Taxi cab Confessions, lady.  I
run a clean cab here."


	Claire thought of the cab driver while she was in the elevator.
He had stopped talking to her after that and that made her a
little sad.  Her parents had much the same reaction when they
found out about her job.  For that matter, so did her friends and
professors at college.  They acted like she sullying her degree
by dealing in erotic works.  It was enough to make her scream. 
It told her how little they knew of her as a person.  It was
Claire's dream job and none of the ones who claimed to really
know her could adjust to that.  

	"That just makes it easier to have a job without a home," she
said out loud in the elevator.  Claire almost convinced herself.


	The walk to the hotel room was short.  She knocked once and
waited.  A minute passed and Claire double-checked the room
number.  She was about to knock again when it finally opened.

	Claire had to keep from smiling when she saw the man who
answered.  This guy was definitely a librarian.  He wore a white
button down shirt with a rather bland black tie.  His slacks were
an inoffensive gray and his shoes were polished brighter than
Claire's glasses.  The little bit of brown hair he had on his
head was cut down to a military inch of fine fuzz.  Deep worry
lines were etched on his forehead, sagging downwards to his deep
brown eyes.

	"Are you Ms. Currie?" he asked.

	"Yes Sir.  Please call me Claire."

	He frowned.  "Ms. Currie, you shall address me as Mr. Dillon.  I
shall address you as Ms. Currie.  A certain level of
professionalism is essential in a good working relationship. 
Wouldn't you agree?"

	Claire kicked herself mentally.  That's what she gets for taking
her father's advice that Americans prefer first names.  "I will
follow your lead, Mr. Dillon."

	"Excellent."  Mr. Dillon stood at his doorway and looked her up
and down.  He nodded once to himself and then looked up at her
face.

	"The Collectors faxed me your scholastic credentials and I was
impressed by the recommendation of your former employer.  He said
you were a credit to your library."

	"Thank you, Mr. Dillon," Claire said.  She looked around the
hall way and asked, "May I come in please?"

	"No, Ms. Currie," he said.  "Not until you understand something.
 The Colette-Ashbee Collection hired you, not I.  They picked you
because they enjoy the process and they want to feel like they
can trust the person who maintains their erotica.  In their eyes,
you are perfect.  In my eyes however, you are a book by a new
author that my friends are begging me to read.  Are you worth
reading, Ms. Currie?"

	She stood up straight and looked him straight in the eye.  "Yes
I am, Mr. Dillon."

	"Then answer a few questions for me.  I've looked at your
records and I don't see any mention of work relating to erotica.
What have you done in your life that would make you qualified to
evaluate erotica?"

	Claire bit her lip and took a deep breath.  She had answered
this question when the Collectors interviewed her, but apparently
they hadn't passed it on.  It was not an easy thing to confess
while standing in the hallway of a hotel.

	 "I used to write porn stories, on the Internet, Mr. Dillon.  I
wrote them when I was in college.  My fan mail was quite large by
the time I quit."

	Mr. Dillon rolled his eyes.  "Internet smut?  You wrote for a
bunch of horny men on newsgroups?  That is what qualifies for
sexual experience now?"

	"It wasn't just newsgroups," Claire protested.  "I also wrote
stories for a few pay sites."

	Mr. Dillon was still frowning.  Desperate, Claire tried a more
offensive tact.  

	"If I may ask sir, what did you do to qualify for sexual
experience?"

	 Mr. Dillon's stern face slowly melted into a wistful smile.  "I
used to be a towel boy for a swinger's club in New York.  That
was living, Ms. Currie."

	He gave her a final look and he nodded reluctantly.  "There are
times when we must work with the books we have and not the books
we want.  Come on in, Ms. Currie."

	Claire grimaced at that comment but she forced a smile and
walked into the hotel room.  It was a gorgeous suite and it was
clear that the Collection had a large expense account.  It was
bigger than her flat in London and the sunshine pouring in
through the windows illuminated everything.  On a table were a
stack of about forty books of all shapes and sizes.  Claire's
heart raced as she realized that these might be new acquisitions.
 What treasures were sitting a few feet away from her?

	Mr. Dillon reached into a mini fridge and took out a bottle of
water.  He didn't offer her one.  Claire wasn't terribly
surprised by that.  She knew that Mr. Dillon wasn't going to
offer her an inch till she proved herself.  It was just a
question of how was she going to do that?

	"I can see you are hungering to take a look at those books," Mr.
Dillon said.  "Excellent.  Any true librarian couldn't pass a
stack without wanting to browse through them.  I bought these
from two estate sales in town.  I have already evaluated them but
I have discovered one of them is a forgery.  Tell me which one it
is, and I will waive my other reservations about your working for
me.

	Claire grinned.  She seriously doubted he would be so generous,
but she liked the opportunity to prove herself.  She moved
towards the table and was about to sit down on the couch in front
of it, but Mr. Dillon was quick to correct her.

	"There will be no sitting, Ms. Currie.  This is a test of how
well you think on your feet."

	She looked at him to see if he meant that as a pun, but the
serious look on his face discouraged her from asking.  Instead,
she bent over and gently picked up a book from the top of the
pile and examined it.

	It was a French book, entitled "Ma Demure Femme" and the
publishing date was 1952.  Claire felt a singular thrill as she
opened the book and smelled a mixture of perfume and old paper. 
Smudge marks were on every page, and you could almost see the
fingerprints of the previous owner.  The marks were so tiny and
delicate but obviously this was a book that was read very often.

	Claire turned the pages and compared the type setting; looking
for obvious errors.  She stopped flipping when she came across an
illustration of a woman bound and suspended from a chandelier. 
The woman was nude, and there was an impossibly long dildo
emerging from her sex.  Claire admired the intricate details in
the illustrations as the artist spent as much time drawing the
tiny links of the chandelier chain as he did the many curls of
the bound woman.

	"You're supposed to be examining the books, not looking at the
dirty pictures," Mr. Dillon snapped.

	Claire looked up with a start and felt a blush darkening her
face.  His tone reminded her too much of her teacher's disgust
when they caught her reading an erotic book in class.  She was
about to say something in her defense when Mr. Dillon truly put
her off balance.

	"Remove your jacket, Ms. Currie.  That should motivate you to
move a little faster."

	"Pardon?"

	"Remove your jacket," Mr. Dillon said.  He moved to sit on the
couch with his bottle of water.  "You will continue to remove
clothes any time I think you are dallying."

	Claire stood up straight and pursed her lips.  "That is hardly
professional behavior," she said in her sternest tone.

	"Ms. Currie, it is perfectly professional behavior for the work
we do.  We shall be meeting with owners of erotic masterpieces. 
We shall be socializing with people who enjoy erotica and talk
about it incessantly.  If you can not comply with a simple act of
exhibitionism, then you will most likely embarrass me in a social
setting with people I am negotiating with."

	He took a sip of his water.  "Granted, since you are only an
Internet smut writer, it is very likely that you lack the sexual
awareness to really be a Collection Librarian.  It is no fault of
your own."

	Claire bit back the first three things that came to mind.  The
people who interviewed her did warn her that an open mind would
be necessary for her job, but she didn't expect her immediate
superior would be asking her to strip.  It did make a kind of
sense though.  How was she going to be an authority on erotica if
she came across as uptight?  More importantly, that insult about
Internet smut was getting on her nerves.  She had been voted
Hottest Writer of the Year by her readers!  

	She began by unbuttoning her jacket, but she paused part way
through.  How would one of her characters do this?  Claire
continued her unbuttoning, but a lot slower this time.  Her
fingers lingered, revealing her blouse and her chest one inch at
a time.  When her jacket was undone, she shed it in a fluid
manner before setting it on a nearby chair.  Claire turned around
and faced Mr. Dillon and waited for some sort of reaction.  His
expression hadn't changed, and Claire assumed that she might have
achieved some sort of victory.  He pointed to the books and
circled her fingers for her to continue.  She smiled and turned
her attention back to the books.

	The next book she tried was fairly new and had a copyright from
1998.  It had a glossy photograph cover of a woman bending over a
desk.  Her skirt was lifted high and her white panties made the
picture clean enough to go on a shelf.  Claire decided it was too
new to be worth faking and she put the book down.  She sifted
through three more books, looking for one old enough to be
valuable.  When she finally picked an old enough book, Mr. Dillon
cleared his throat and spoke again.

	"You've stalled long enough, Ms. Currie.  Remove your skirt
now."

	Claire almost complained about his comment about stalling, but
she smiled instead.  His comments were no worse than the unfair
criticisms her more misogynistic professors sometimes heaped on
her.  If he thought she would break down and turn into a sobbing
character from one of these novels, he was sadly mistaken.

	"Yes, Mr. Dillon," she said without shame.  She turned around so
that her ass was facing him.  Her fingers unfastened the button
on her skirt and then slowly unzipped.  Claire breathed faster as
she unzipped, becoming nervous despite her best attempts to
remain calm and aloof.  As much as she wanted to stay in control,
there was something frightening and God help her, quite a bit
arousing knowing her boss was looking at her ass.  Well, he was
looking at the white slip that was covering her brown ass, but
she knew from previous boyfriends how well her dark skin shone
through such material.  Claire dropped the skirt and turned
around quickly, her faade of being aloof and brave starting to
crumble.

	"Keep evaluating, Ms. Currie.  You still haven't found the fake
yet."

	"Yes, sir," Claire said.  She turned back to the books and
sifted them much faster than before.  It was impossible to
concentrate.  She was standing in front of her new boss in
garters, slip, high heels and a blouse.  How did this happen? 
Worse, why was she getting turned on?  Claire thought of herself
as a writing exhibitionist, not a real one.  Could she really be
getting wet from this silly exercise?

	She tried looking through the books but she was useless.  He
gave her longer this time but Claire was too lost in her own head
to properly analyze whether the Spanish book with the bold green
cover was really printed in 1933.  When he gave the command for
her to take off her blouse, Claire felt like she deserved to be
stripped for her lack of ability.

	Deserving it and being brave enough to do it are two different
things.  Claire couldn't bring herself to look at her boss as she
unbuttoned her blouse.  Part of it was shame at being half
dressed in front of her boss, but a greater part of the shame was
from knowing that she was failing to find the book her requested.
 Her white bra clung to her heavy breasts and Claire frowned when
she saw how much her chest was rising and falling from her
nervous breathing.  It was like she was a heaving bosom maiden
from one of those books.

	"As delightful as it is to watch you, Ms. Currie, you should
really find that forgery now.  Before things become really
unprofessional."

	Claire nodded and attacked the pile of books with a new energy.
She thought back on the few classes she had that dealt with fake
books and found that she recalled very little.  There were page
fibers she could examine, and there were printing
inconsistencies, but it had been a year since she last dealt with
the subject.  Bending over the table with her breasts hanging in
her bra didn't help her concentration, but it sure gave her
motivation.

	She narrowed it down to five books that seemed younger than
their older publishing dates.  Mr. Dillon's face was impassive as
he drank his bottled water.  There would be no hints there.  

	"Ms. Currie, your slip."

	Perhaps she was getting close.  There appeared to be no
regularity to the time between stripping.  Claire blushed as she
realized that maybe she was getting close and Mr. Dillon wanted
to see more of her before she succeeded.  She wasn't sure if the
butterflies in her stomach were due to arousal or outrage.  

	Claire had to shimmy out of her slip, and each wiggle of her
hips made her breasts bounce within their bra confines.  She was
self conscious about the wet spot that had formed on her white
panties, but there was nothing to do about that now.  Besides,
maybe Mr. Dillon would take that as a sign that she wasn't so
much a prude after all.  A quick glance at Mr. Dillon told her
that he hadn't even noticed.  His eyes were gliding up and down
her legs, admiring her stockings and her garter belt.  A faint
flush was crossing his face and Claire felt a little better
knowing her boss was human after all.

	She stepped out of her slip and bent over to put it in the pile
of clothes she was gathering on the chair.  Claire could feel Mr.
Dillon's eyes follow here as she walked, but the flush on his
face had soothed her.  A little calmer and more confident, she
returned to the books and narrowed her list of possible frauds to
one book.

	The German book didn't make the cut because it had water damage
of the sort Claire had seen a dozen times before.  Same for the
American book about the secret agent except it's damage was from
bending and improper storage.  She knew that forgeries were often
distressed to make them look more authentic, but over the years
Claire had seen enough damaged books to know the real abused
books by now.

	"Your bra, Ms. Currie," he said.  She kept her focus on the
books as she reached behind her.  Her bra came off in a snap and
Claire tossed it aside.  It bothered her a little that her
breasts were now bare, but she took it as a sign that she was
getting close.  He obviously wanted to embarrass her as much as
possible before she answered.  Well, she wasn't going to give him
the satisfaction.

	Claire returned to the pile of books before her bra had hit the
pile of clothes.  It was down to two books and Claire picked both
of them up.  One or the other and this silly game would be done
with.  She took a deep breath to clear her mind but it wasn't
helping.  Her breasts felt larger than ever under Mr. Dillon's
scrutiny.    

	Not twenty seconds had passed when Mr. Dillon said, "Take your
panties off.  You are really taking far too much time."

	She snapped her head up and her lips pouted before she regained
her composure.  Too much time!  Now he wasn't even being fair. 
She set the books down and started to take her panties down, but
her garter belt was in the way.  Rather than argue or even try to
reason with the man, Claire undid her garter belt and tossed them
aside.  As Mr. Dillon watched, she slipped her panties off next
and added them to her clothes.  She left the stockings on rather
than engage in some sort of clichd stocking striping scene.

	"Have you picked a book yet, Ms. Currie?"       

	"I think it's this one," she said.  "It has a crisp smell to it
that doesn't seem likely for a book printed in 1908."

	Mr. Dillon set down his bottle and stood up.  He walked around
the table and headed towards the windows.  Claire was afraid he
was going to open the blinds, but instead he simply unhooked the
thin plastic rod from the blinds.  Mr. Dillon swung the rod in an
arc that sliced through the air.

	"Are you sure, Ms. Currie?  An incorrect answer will result in
five strokes of the rod."

	"You can not be serious!" Claire said.  "The removal of clothes,
I can understand, but do you expect me to just stand here and let
you hit me?"

	Mr. Dillon shrugged.  "Of course I do.  Corporal punishment is a
common penalty in erotic fiction.  Why would you object?"

	"Because this is not erotic fiction!" Claire replied.

	"That is not a valid excuse," Mr. Dillon said.  "I will strike
your posterior for every wrong answer you give me.  Do you
understand?"

	  "You can not do this," she said.  "This was not under my
contract."

	Mr. Dillon smiled.  "I suggest you look again.   The eighth page
has a lovely section about you fulfilling the needs of your
immediate superiors in any way that is not illegal.  It says it
in very technical language that I couldn't possibly start to
quote, but that is the essential bit."

	Claire frowned.  "And do you NEED to strike my bum?"

	"Me?  No, I do not.  I do however need to see why you are so
prudish about a simple switching.  How are you going to deal with
future sellers if you are going to show such disgust when the
topic of spanking comes up?"

	"Mr. Dillon, I do believe that you are exaggerating that
scenario in an attempt to make me compliant to your desires."

	"I assure you, Ms. Currie, I do not.  When I was hired to work
for the collection, my superior was Ms. Wei.  She attended the
finest parties as she tried to convince the wealthiest people in
the world to part with their pornography.  I have seen servants
required to suck a dozen men before being allowed to continue
serving the next course in a meal.  I have seen men whipped to
the point that their screams shook my wine glass.  Ms. Wei
herself had a fondness for dressing men up like girls and bought
me a uniform that consisted of a black evening dress.  I wore
that dress more times my first year with her than I did pants."

	Mr. Dillon took a deep breath before continuing.  Claire almost
smirked at the mention of him in an evening dress, but she wisely
kept her face calm.  It was the most Mr. Dillon had said at one
time and his voice had risen towards the end.  It was obviously
not a pleasant memory for him to share.

	"What I am trying to convey to you, Ms. Currie, is that the
people we deal with do not collect erotica, they live it.  We
shall deal with more fetishes and perverts than you can imagine.
With a little luck, we will also see pleasures that few people
can imagine.  My problem is that I need to know right now, how
open minded are you?"

	"I am very open minded, but-"

	"That's excellent, Ms. Currie," he interrupted.  "Then if I told
you that it would give me immense pleasure to switch your bottom
while you tried to identify the forgery, you will have no problem
with that?"

	"Yes, it would bother me if I knew you enjoyed it.  Then we
would not be playing a scene from erotica; we would be engaging
in your own sexual fantasies. Consent is far more personal than
mere tolerance, Mr. Dillon."
	
	"I know," he said.  "Which is why I demand the consent.  It is a
far better test."

	Claire processed everything he said.  The first thing she
realized was that she hadn't been briefed entirely on what her
job was going to be like.  From what Mr. Dillon described, this
could just be the start of a long series of sexual adventures. 
He apparently didn't enjoy wearing the dress while he was working
under Ms. Wei, but apparently he didn't hate it enough to quit. 
It made her wonder how good the good experiences had to be to
balance out the bad.  Most prevalent though on her mind was the
simple fact that she was standing in front of Mr. Dillon wearing
only her stockings and she was as wet as she could ever remember
being in her life.  

	She turned around till her ass was facing Mr. Dillon.  "I
believe the forged book is 'Upstairs Maid, Downstairs Whore'.

	The rod stung her bottom almost instantly.  A long line of pain
streaked across both cheeks.  She barely had time to grit her
teeth before the rod struck four more times, dropping lower on
her bottom with each hit till she had five parallel lines burning
on her ass.

	"Try again Ms. Currie," Mr. Dillon said.

	It had to be the other book.  "My feeling is that it is
'Confessions of a Marine Barber'."

	This time she cried out as the rod struck against her buttocks.
He struck her five times, this time aiming a bit higher.  It was
much harder this time and Claire had to clench her fists to keep
from covering her backside.  It was humiliating to be switched
like this, but more humiliating to be wrong about her
selections.

	"No, Ms. Currie!"  His voice was an angry almost indignant yell.
 "Guess again."

	Claire stared down at the pile of books.  Maybe the water damage
on the German book was a little too typical.  She said it's name,
and was taken back by how much her voice shook.

	He replied with ten more swings.  She couldn't help it when the
pain grew and she danced a little to the side in her heels.  He
kept swinging until she had received all ten but he was snarling
as he did it.  Mr. Dillon grabbed her by the arm and led her back
to the table.  He pushed her forward and Claire put her arms down
to support herself as she was bent over the table.  Her ass was
in the air and she was humiliated, but she felt like it was what
she had earned with her false guesses.   

	"This is pathetic, Ms. Currie!"  Mr. Dillon said.  "Tell me
which one is the forgery!"

	
	"Island of Dr. Yes!" she said.  The curtain rod struck again. 
Claire whimpered from the pain and involuntarily flinched forward
with each searing blow.  This caused her breasts to sway forward
and she watched them swing back and forth in a way that was
terribly sexual.  Did he bend her over so she could have support
or did Mr. Dillon want to watch her heavy brown breasts jiggle? 
Claire decided it was the later reason and unexpectedly, that
idea made her cunt clench in arousal.

	"Use that brain you allegedly have and tell me which one is the
forgery!"

	Claire stared at the books as her the welts on her ass burned. 
She had picked all the ones she had been suspicious about.  What
could she have missed?  Maybe it wasn't the obvious ones, but one
of the more recent ones.  The bent over woman picked the newest
most recent book she could find and told Mr. Dillon it's name.

He growled this time and Claire closed her eyes in terror.   The
curtain rod fell on her bottom with a fury Claire could scarcely
keep track of.  She lost count of how many times it impacted as
the pain blossomed into one large ache.  Claire shifted as the
pain grew and towards the end she was moving her hips back and
forth as she tried to dodge the rod.  As bad as the pain was, the
young woman knew better than to rise or use her hands.  That much
obedience held through no matter how bad her ass ached.

When Mr. Dillon finally stopped, her bottom continued to throb. 
Claire opened her eyes and was surprised to blink away tears. 
Had she been crying?  It was so hard to tell.  Her bottom hurt
but the rest of her body seemed to be in another place.  Mr.
Dillon had to repeat himself for her to hear.

"I said, pick another book, Ms. Currie."

She swallowed.  "I don't know, Mr. Dillon.  I just don't know. 
They all look real to me."

He sighed.  "Took you long enough to figure that out."

Claire didn't fully understand what he had said till he walked
away to put the rod back on the curtains.  When she did
understand, she felt a rush of relief, followed by betrayal and
soon flushed away by pure anger.  She stood up, ready to hurl
insults, but the pain in her backside flared up and all she could
do was whimper.

"Feel free to use the ice bucket, though I recommend using some
aloe.  I have some on the television set."

She scowled and limped over to the television.  Her nudity was
bothering her but not nearly as much as how bad as the heat on
her bottom.  Every step sent fresh jolts of pain through her
body.  To her confusion, most of the jolts were traveling to her
sex and her nipples, and transforming from pain to more pleasant
stimulation.

"That was a juvenile thing to do," Claire said.  She turned
around and looked at her ass.  Red and purple lines flared out
from a pink center on her brown buttocks.  She had never seen her
dark skin look so pink before and it both frightened and
fascinated her.

"Nonsense," Mr. Dillon said.  He was sitting back down on the
couch with his legs crossed.  It was the picture of civility
except for the fact that his eyes were staring at her ass. 
Claire turned slightly so that her boss couldn't admire his
handiwork.  It meant he had a better view of her breasts but
Claire wanted to take some control of her bottom back.

"As a librarian, you have to learn to trust your own instincts,"
he said.  "I told you there was a forgery.  You believed me and
started picking books.  You didn't trust your own opinion.  It is
no different than if a seller told you he had a rare first
edition.  Do you take him for his word?  If another expert said
it was a forgery, do you believe him instead?  You need to trust
your own judgment, even above my own, or else you will never be a
true librarian."

Claire winced as she rubbed the aloe on her welts.  Some of the
lines were turning purple and she wondered how long it would be
before she could sit down again.  As bad as the pain was, it
wasn't as bad as the shame she was feeling for what Mr. Dillon
was saying.  She had walked right into that and there was little
she could say in her defense.

"Was it really necessary to abuse my bottom to prove that point?"
she asked.

Mr. Dillon smiled.  "No, but I enjoyed it.  Now, put some clothes
on and let's discuss your background."

Claire was sure that Mr. Dillon was going to insist she stay
naked, so she was put off balance when he allowed her to get
dressed.  She was further confused when he was a gracious host
for the rest of the day.  He ordered her dinner and talked to her
constantly about her college years.  He never apologized for her
bottom, but he didn't gloat or bring it up either.  Claire
realized that she must have really earned his approval after
all.

Mr. Dillon didn't allow the conversation to come back to him at
all.  He seemed very uninterested in even discussing his past. 
For all his negative comments about Internet writing earlier, he
kept insisting on knowing what kind of stories she wrote and what
she did to avoid burn out.  It was strange to discuss her
writings with someone face to face as opposed to through e-mail,
but Mr. Dillon was a friendly and honestly curious listener.  It
was hard to believe this was the man who transformed her bottom
into the constant ache that it was now.

"You should fetch your luggage tonight from your hotel.  You will
stay here now," Mr. Dillon said after dinner.  Claire frowned and
looked around the hotel room but she didn't see another bed.  

"Where will I sleep?" she asked.

"Traditionally, assistant librarians sleep on the floor.  I
however am a modern man and will generously let you sleep on the
couch."

Claire waited to see if Mr. Dillon smiled, but he appeared to be
quite serious.  "Why would I stay here?"

"It's only logical.  By living together you can learn at a faster
rate and I can figure out your weaknesses quicker.  It's also
traditional for the assistant librarian to wait on the senior
librarian during the course of the day.  Ms. Wei used to have me
run her bath water every morning and then shave her legs.  You
are lucky in that all I need you to do is prepare the morning
coffee and make my bed."

"Make the bed?  The one I will not be sleeping in?"

Mr. Dillon nodded.  "Ms. Currie, the only way you will be
sleeping in my bed is if you provide other services.  Count
yourself lucky that I am not as demanding as Ms. Wei was, and
content yourself with the couch."

Later, as Claire slept on the couch with her luggage sitting by
the table and Mr. Dillon snoring several feet away from her, a
question plagued her.  It kept her awake far longer than her very
tender bottom, or the excitement of her first day on the job. 
Claire stared at the ceiling and wondered; why didn't Mr. Dillon
demand other services from her?



"Good afternoon Mr. Springs.  I'm Mr. Dillon and this is my
assistant, Ms. Currie.  We had an appointment with you?"

Mr. Springs smiled at them.  He was ancient, but in a
grandfatherly way that Claire found comforting.  A few wisps of
hair sprouted here and there on his otherwise bald head.  His
ears were too large for his head but when Claire considered how
the thin the rest of his body was, she wondered if they acted as
some sort of balancing mechanism.

"Please, come in!  And call me Sparky, all my friends do."

Mr. Dillon returned the warmth and said, "Then please call me,
Oliver, Sparky.  It is a pleasure to finally meet you."

Sparky snorted.  "An old retired brush factory worker like me? 
You must have a boring life indeed."

Claire was peeved that Mr. Dillon didn't introduce her but when
she walked into Sparky's house, the giant portrait that hung in
the foyer wiped away the annoyance she had felt.  It was a black
and white photograph that had been blown up to a size of eight
feet tall.  A woman stood naked with her back to the viewer.  Her
ass was bruised with the vivid lines of some sort of paddle but
that was not the most noticeable part of the photo.  The woman
was half turned around at the waist, flashing the most cheerful
smile Claire had ever seen.  It was the smile of a woman who was
showing off, proud of every mark and line on her ass.         
	
	"Quite the beauty, isn't she?" Sparky said.  He stood next to
Claire and sighed.  "Jessica would bruise faster than all the
other girls, so we could really make her look beaten with just a
few good whacks.  She stopped posing for us when she married Don
Jenks, that bastard."

	Claire was fascinated by how painful the marks looked.  "Why was
he a bastard?  Did it end badly?"

	"Shucks no.  They got married and had three kids.  I call him a
bastard because he was a member of our club and he got all
jealous of her when they got married.  Wouldn't let his buddies
photograph her any more.  That ain't right."

	"Club?" Claire asked.

	"I assume Sparky is referring to the illustrious Black Tie
Photographers Club," Mr. Dillon said.

	Sparky laughed.  "Illustrious?  That's quite a big word for a
bunch of joes who liked to take pictures.  Why don't you two come
into the living room and take a load off.  I've got cranberry
juice and some pop if you want something to drink?"

	Mr. Dillon politely turned down refreshments for them as they
walked into the living room.  Claire was about to ask for water
when once again she was struck dumb by the portraits Sparky
decorated his house with.  His living room was sparse in the way
of furniture but a different picture dominated every wall.  She
spun around in the center of the living room, amazed by how life
like each of them was.

	 On one wall was a picture of a woman bent over an elaborate
bench.  The woman was a blonde, and her body was covered in rope
that secured her in dozen different ways to a irregular wooden
bench.  She wore a black bra and matching panties under all that
rope but the way her legs were spread and the high angle of her
hips were highly suggestive of sex.  It looked as if she was
arching up to meet some lover in mid thrust.       
	    
	Above the fireplace hung a photo of a tall black haired beauty
that was trapped in old fashioned stocks.  The narrow plank of
wood secured her head and hands while her breasts hung heavily
drown from her body.  She had a frown of absolute misery but the
frown had hints of insincerity that made the image almost
comical.

	Next to a window was a photo of another blonde.  This woman was
trapped inside a wooden cage.  The cage was made of sharpened
stakes and looked like something that was constructed by angry
natives.  Inside, the blonde woman's breasts were spilling out of
the leopard skin bikini that was a size too small for her.  She
was biting her lip and looking more petulant than afraid.  

	The final photograph was the largest, as big as the one on the
foyer.  It depicted a tall brunette who was bound to a giant
wooden 'X'.  Her hands and ankles were tied down to each arm of
the 'X' and a rag had been stuffed into her mouth.  Pink Lines
marked her body, outlining where someone had whipped or caned her
waist, thighs, arms and breasts.  The only clothing she wore was
a dark pair of panties that obscured her sex completely.

	"Are these all yours?" Claire asked.

	Sparky opened a Coke and took a sip.  "All of them are mine
except for Betty there," he said as he pointed at the woman in
the stocks.  "Ed always took the best shots of her.  He also took
the most.  When he died, me and the rest of the boys helped his
mom clean out his attic.  We found six boxes of developed
pictures.  Ears counted them all and found that there was over
twelve hundred of them!  Some of the photos were just her sitting
around smoking."

	"Excuse me, did you say one of your friends was named, Ears?"
Claire asked.

	Sparky laughed.  "The boy had bigger ears than Dumbo if you
could believe that."

	Claire was having a harder time imaging Sparky knew someone who
had ears big enough for Sparky not to have that nickname.  Mr.
Dillon was glaring at her, obviously thinking the same thing. 
Realizing that Sparky hadn't noticed the comparison, she quickly
changed the subject.

	"This Black Tie club, were you professional fetish
photographers?"

	Sparky frowned.  "Fetish isn't a word I like much.  Sounds
dirty.  We just liked taking pictures of girls, and we liked to
take pictures of them tied up and spanked.  There's nothing dirty
about that.  Plus, we weren't professionals.  I worked at the
broom factory, Ears and Barry were accountants, and Don was a
barber.  Everything we knew about photography, we had to teach
ourselves."

	"You four had an amazing talent," Claire said.  "It reminds me
of some of Ken Hughes's pictures, or Tom Cho's."

	"Thieving bastards!" Sparky said.  "Bunch of rip off artists! 
I've seen them and their fancy websites.  They act like the
invented the damn X-frame!  Barry and I worked every Saturday for
a month to get that prop ready.  I've seen pictures of
fake-breasted porn stars in poses that Ears came up with and not
a damn mention of credit.  Excuse my harsh language Ms, I know
you're from England and all because of your accent, but it really
chaps my legs it does."

	Claire was too stunned by his out burst to respond but Mr.
Dillon was an old hand at this.  "If there was any justice in the
world, Ken Hughes would be paying your club royalties, Sparky."

	Sparky laughed at that.  "Just me now left in the club, but I
wouldn't mind some of that scratch.  I do well enough.  I
invested here and there and I can't complain.  It just burns me
that kids now a days can steal our ideas but they don't have any
of our soul."

	"Have you considered going back into business?" Claire asked. 
"With your experience, I am sure you would be successful."

	"No, no, no," Sparky said.  "It's not the same at all.  When we
started, things were different.  See, Don was a big fan of pinup
pictures, but they were never as good as he envisioned them, you
know?  He knew he could do better pictures but he didn't have the
money to hire models or the skill to make the things he wanted in
the pictures.  So he put an ad in the paper for other photography
nuts and about twenty guys showed up to be in this new club. 
When he explained that he wanted to collect fees to hire models,
the whole place went nuts.  They called him a pervert and wanted
nothing to do with him.  When they all stormed out, it was me,
Ears and Barry still sitting there. Barry asked if we could still
hire models with only four people.  That's how we got started. 
We came up with the name Black Tie, so the modeling agencies
would think we were upscale and not a bunch of perverts."

	Claire frowned.  "I still don't see why you couldn't do
something similar now.  Wouldn't it be easier now, actually? 
People are more tolerant of such an idea now."

	"People are too tolerant!" Sparky said.  "Now you got the
Internet and girls gone wild!  Two years ago I put out an ad for
models.  Half of them were scared that I was working for an
Internet site and that their dad was going to run across their
pictures.  The other half told me they could make more money
getting spanked on their web cam.  It is a total travesty."

	Sparky sighed and stared at the picture of the brunette in the
X-frame.  "They don't make them like Mary anymore.  That girl
would get tied up just for us.  She'd strip down, let Don take a
dozen pictures of her breasts and let me tie her up any way I
could imagine.  She did it for fifty dollars and four polite men
thanking her from the bottoms of their heart.  She insisted that
she keep her panties on, and even though we would have loved to
see her unmentionables, we loved her all the more for keeping
something from us.  It made us feel like the rest of her body was
all ours."

	An uneasy silence descended on Sparky.  It was a moment of
mourning and Claire regretted her questions.  The old man's smile
was replaced with a frown that was twice as deep.  She looked to
Mr. Dillon for help and she noticed that he shared the
photographer's grief.  What loss moment was he pining for?

	"It was a different time then," Mr. Dillon said.  "Which is why
we are here.  We understand that you have the only copy left of
"Black Tie, Sweaty Hands".

	"Ears' book?" Sparky laughed.  His mood improved as he thought
of his friend.  "Good God, he printed all of those at his own
expense in 1973.  He thought if people heard our story, he could
make some money and start an magazine like Playboy.  The dumb
fool.  He knew nothing about publishing.  He thought if he made
some books and sold them at bus stations, he could get famous
some how.  His mom ended up burning most of them when he died."

	"The collection would be very interested in purchasing your
copy," Mr. Dillon said.  "Most of our books are fiction, but it
is the real life accounts that we really prize.  If you sell to
us, I can assure you that you and your club will never be
forgotten."

	Sparky drank his Coke and set it down.  "We can talk business
later.  Would you like to see my basement?  That's where I keep
all the whole sets."

	Mr. Dillon was about to object but Claire cut him off.  "I'd
love to see them.  I am impressed you held onto them."

	Sparky chuckled and got up faster than one would think a person
of his age could move.  He took his Coke with him and walked into
the hallway to open the basement door.  Mr. Dillon got up twice
as fast to get close enough to Claire to whisper.

	"Why on earth did you let him change the subject?  I didn't even
get a chance to tell him how much we are offering."

	"He wasn't in the mood to sell," Claire said.  "He was depressed
about the glory days and you asked him to let go of a piece of
it.  Honestly, Mr. Dillon, you may know books you have a lot to
learn about people."

	Mr. Dillon scowled at her and rolled his eyes.  "You're the one
who recommended he go find some new young thing to photograph. 
Can't you tell this man belonged to a better time?  Next you will
be telling him his ears are sexy."

	"You two coming?" Sparky yelled from downstairs.  "I got the
light working finally."   
	  
	Mr. Dillon stepped aside and let Claire go down first.  She
smiled politely and descended into the photographer's basement. 
The narrow stairs led into a grand space that had the appearance
of a showroom.  Cages, benches, and strange contraptions Claire
couldn't begin to guess their function were arranged close
together, but separated enough that you could admire each one. 
The light Sparky had referred to was actually an array of lights,
each one spotlighting a particular piece.  

	The first piece to catch Claire's eye was a giant hand, five
feet tall in height and covered in fur.  She walked over to it
and ran her hand over the fur.  It was coarse to the touch.  

	"That was Barry's idea.  He saw King Kong one night and wanted
his own Fay Wray.  We spent a year making that hand.  It was hard
work, but we learned a lot about construction.  The fur kept
coming off and the first time we had a girl climb into the hand,
the whole thing tipped over."

	"It was a pain to make, but worth it in the end.  Barry got to
live his fantasy of a topless woman trapped in a giant's hands,
and the rest of us knew that if we could build that stupid hand
and not kill anyone, we could make anything."

	 Mr. Dillon walked over to an upright pole that had rings set in
it for bondage play.  "Quite remarkable that you still have all
this.  It's hard to believe that decades ago, this pole held some
young woman while the four of you snapped photos.  These must be
very special artifacts to you."

	Sparky sighed and nodded.  It was Claire's turn to glare at Mr.
Dillon.  They were supposed to be cheering the old man up and
here he is talking about how long ago it had been since his glory
days.  Mr. Dillon rolled his eyes but he nodded impatiently as
even he realized he was doing a poor job of it.  He looked around
to find something positive to say when he saw the row of
paddles.

	"That is an impressive collection of paddles.  I recognize some
of them from your photos.  Where did you get them?"

	"We made them," Sparky replied.  He picked one up and swung it.
"We knew the kind of marks we wanted to make, so we experimented
with different kinds of woods and shapes.  There weren't many
places you could buy a paddle back then, and looking at some of
the ones I see now, with the black leather and tacky tassles, I
would still rather make my own than buy one of those pieces of
crap.  Here, try one out.  Feel the weight in your hand."

	Mr. Dillon took a paddle and swung it.  Claire involuntarily
flinched when it arced through the air.  She didn't like the grin
that was spreading on Mr. Dillon's face.  He was enjoying the
paddle a bit too much for her comfort.  She looked around the
room for something to change the subject before Mr. Dillon
decided to take the invitation to try out the paddle one step
further.

	"What is this odd thing?" she asked.  Claire pointed at a
contraption that defied her ability to understand it.  It looked
like a cross between an accordion and an X-frame.  There were
restraints on the arms, but there were so many joints and folds
that she couldn't figure out how a person could ever fit on it. 


	"Oh yes, Don's greatest invention," Sparky said.  "We called it
the Poser-matic.  Don got tired of trying to describe positions
to models.  Now, those girls were sweet gals, but some of them
were as dumb as a box of brushes.  Don realized the only time we
had no trouble with the models understanding us was when we tied
them up.  He had the idea of tying them to something that would
let us pose them like we needed them.  I came up with the joint
design myself."

	"Interesting," Mr. Dillon said and Claire's hair stood up on the
back of her neck.  It was the same tone of voice he had yesterday
during her forgery hunt.

	"I don't quite see how it works," Mr. Dillon said.  "Would you
mind demonstrating for us?  I'm sure Ms. Currie wouldn't mind
volunteering?"

	Sparky looked at Claire and the excitement was plain on his
face.  She didn't know if he was excited to see her tied up or
just excited to get a chance to show off his invention, but there
was no denying it would be cruel to turn him down now.  The look
on Mr. Dillon's face was that of pure innocence, but she knew
better.  Still, it was clear that Sparky was excited by the idea
and it would help keep him cheered up.

	"I would be happy to.  What shall I do?" she asked.

	"Well, there's no need to get naked like the girls would,"
Sparky laughed.  "Just ahh, step up here and put your feet next
to those spots."

	Claire stood where she was told and let Sparky secure the
leather straps around her ankles.  Sparky instructed her to lean
over the center hump and reach for the two rings that were on
separate arms.  She could feel her skirt rise up as she leaned
and she felt a moment of panic.  Could they see straight up to
her knickers?  The hump was making her ass stick out farther than
she would have liked and she couldn't shake the feeling that she
in a perfect position for another spanking.  Sparky secured her
wrists to the rings and Claire was certain she had made a
dreadful mistake.

	"And you can now pose her any way you like?" Mr. Dillon said.

	"Sure," Sparky said.  He turned a crank and Claire's legs were
pulled apart slowly but surely into a wide-open pose.  Her skirt
rose higher and she knew for sure that her knickers were exposed
now.   Oddly, neither man brought it up.  

	"Can you bend the knees?" Mr. Dillon asked.          

	"Easily, and both ways," Sparky said.  He reached down under
Claire and removed a pin.  She felt his hand guide her calf up
and the joint under her knee moved with her.  The pin was
replaced and now Claire's leg was locked in the half bent
position.

	"Excellent," Mr. Dillon said.  "What an impressive device.  I
take it the arms are just as movable?"

	In response, Sparky turned a handle and Claire's arms swung to
the sides.  She was conscious of how her bent over angle was
making her breasts hang down.  She was in no danger of falling
out of her top, but the shift in weight made her more conscious
of her breasts.  If she were naked, they would close enough to
kiss.  This idea made her squirm a little before she remembered
she was being watched.  Neither man commented on her lewd
movements but there was a pause in the conversation.  She felt
her face heat up from a blush and she couldn't even move her
hands to cover up.

	"How flexible is the base?" Mr. Dillon asked.  "Is it set at
that angle?"

	"Doesn't have to be," Sparky said.  The cranking of a winch
somewhere sent Claire's head dipping forward.  Her skirt was
falling freely down her waist and her breasts were pushing her
suit jacket down.  She yelped a little as the blood rushed to her
head but just as she was facing straight down to the ground, the
frame reversed direction.  Sparky kept turning the crank till
Claire was upright again, though still bound in her odd bent over
position.

	Mr. Dillon walked around to her front and the look on his face
shocked Claire.  There was a smoldering lust in his eyes that
told her he could think of a thousand different things to do to
her right now.  She could read the experiences behind his eyes,
the countless books he had read and the endless sexual acts he
must have witnessed.  Claire knew she should have felt fear,
outrage or at least a sense of impropriety, but instead she was
just terribly aroused.  What devious thoughts were lurking behind
Mr. Dillon's blue eyes?

	"This is truly a wonderful invention," Mr. Dillon said.  "I can
see how it would be perfect for unskilled models.  Would you mind
showing me more on how it works?"

	"I would be happy to," Sparky said.  "But only if Ms. Currie
doesn't mind?"  The joy in his voice was either from being able
to talk shop, or the fact that he had a young woman bound to his
invention.  Claire's wet knickers suspected it was the later.

	"I don't mind," Claire said.  Her voice cracked a little from
her arousal but neither man seemed to notice.  

	"Great!" Sparky said.  "As you can see, most of the joints work
on pulleys.  Take a look at this and I'll show you how we move
their legs."

	Claire lost track of the time as Mr. Dillon asked for a
demonstration on every single part of the frame's functions.  She
was tilted, spun around, bent over further and straightened out.
Her legs were spread, closed, bent and positioned in all sort of
lurid poses with no concern at all on how much her skirt rode up
or how often her knickers were flashed.  They turned cranks that
lifted her ass so it would appear to be inviting a spanking. 
Another crank would arch her back so her breasts would surge
forward to present cleavage that usually only appeared on romance
novels.  There was no end to the permutations that Mr. Dillon
inquired about or what Sparky could fulfill with a turn of a
wheel or the removal of a pin.

	Through out it all, Claire kept quiet and lost herself in her
helplessness.  After the events of yesterday with that disastrous
test, Claire was relieved to not have to have any answers.  There
was nothing she could do except accept what was happening and she
found that freeing. 

 The secret Internet writer inside her that used to dream up
fantasies to pass the boring classes was soaking in every moment.
 When her legs were spread and she felt vulnerable and open, the
back of her mind was taking notes.  How vulnerable was she?  How
soaked were her knickers?  Could she be fucked in this position?
What about just a good grope?  She alternated between being horny
and being curious, her moods shifting as easily as the positions
they moved her into.

There was one moment that broke through her curiosity and reduced
her to a horny bundle of nerves.  Sparky had tilted her face down
and was posing her legs.  Her glasses started to slip and were
hanging loosely on her face.  She didn't want to interrupt Sparky
but she also didn't want to smash her glasses her second day on
the job.  Right as she was about to say something, Mr. Dillon
reached over and pushed her glasses back onto her face.  He
didn't say anything and neither did Claire but she smiled at the
kind gesture.  For all the indecent posing she was doing, he was
watching out for her in ways she hadn't expected.

God, that made her wet.

After time, even Mr. Dillon ran out of permutations to pose
Claire in.  He complimented Sparky once more on the design and
the old man enjoyed every word.  Claire felt a little
disappointed that she was about to be set free, but Sparky had
one more thing to show Mr. Dillon.

"Since Ms. Currie here has been such a good sport, I hope she
doesn't mind if I show he one last function of the Poser-matic."

"Go ahead," Claire said.  She heard a button click and then she
felt something around the base that she was bent over. 
Vibrations were emanating from the base, striking directly
against her sex!  In her heightened state of arousal, Claire
immediately moaned from the extra stimulation.  As soon as she
started to moan, Sparky turned it off.

"Uh, sorry about that," he said with an embarrassed tone.  "Don
added that adjustment and some of the gals were fond of it. 
Jessica used to ask that we leave it on while we took
photographs.  She was a swell lady.  I hope that wasn't too
forward of me?"

"No, no," Claire said.  "It was just, unexpected."

Sparky sighed with relief and released her from her bonds.  She
tried to straighten out her clothes into some semblance of
decency.  Mr. Dillon engaged Sparky in a question about another
piece while Claire straightened up.  It was odd that now he chose
to distract Sparky to allow her some privacy.  She wondered if
her moaning had somehow made Mr. Dillon uncomfortable.  It was
surprising to her how much she worried about it.

"Sparky, your club were masters of not only photography, but set
design and bondage equipment," Mr. Dillon said.  "Could you
please reconsider allowing me to purchase your friend's book?  I
can assure you that the history of your work will be archived and
treasured forever."

Mr. Dillon named a price that made Sparky whistle.  Claire was
surprised too.  She knew the Colette-Ashbee collection was
serious about their collecting, but now she knew they didn't let
petty things like money stop their desires.  The sum made Claire
wish she had her own book to offer them.

Sparky looked around his basement and scratched his head
nervously.  "The thing is, Oliver, that's my history too.  Yes, I
have all the photos and I have all the sets, but that book helps
me remember all the good times we had.  At my age and with the
way times have changed, my memories are all I have left.  Maybe
when I die, you can have them, but in the mean time, I am going
to have to say no."

Mr. Dillon accepted his final answer and they spent another ten
minutes looking things over.  Claire was as aroused as a teenager
after their first kiss, and looking at the other props in the
basement did nothing to soothe her.  She tried to keep an aura of
professionalism going but she couldn't stop the constant
fidgeting.  When they finally left and got into a cab, Claire
caught Sparky looking wistfully at her long legs.  He smiled at
her with no hint of shame and Claire smiled back.  She couldn't
begrudge him a peek after all she had been through.

Nothing was said on the cab ride back.  Mr. Dillon looked out the
window while Claire struggled to sit still.  Her knickers were so
wet it felt like she was sitting in a bucket of hot water.  She
looked over at her boss and wondered how he could be so calm. 
Maybe the years of experience he had jaded him to this sort of
thing.  Claire almost believed that till she remembered the look
of lust he gave her earlier.  He wasn't completely jaded yet.

As they ascended in the elevator, Claire plotted on how to get in
the bathroom first.  She wanted to masturbate so badly, but she
felt that if she ran straight into the bathroom, it would be too
obvious.  Would Mr. Dillon think less of her for giving into her
urges?  Would he think she was too inexperienced for the job? 
She knew she should just wait till the evening and masturbate
quietly when Mr. Dillon was asleep, but she just couldn't wait
that long!

Mr. Dillon allowed Claire to enter the hotel room first and this
time she was sure it was because he was being polite.  Her eyes
were focused on the bathroom door and she decided to go for it. 
She took one step before she felt a tug on her on her waist.  As
soon as she stopped moving, she felt Mr. Dillon step up to her
and push her hair away from the back of her neck.  He kissed her
where her scalp met her neck and shivers went down her back.

"Ms. Currie, I am in need of release.  I believe you are as
well?"

Words choked in Claire's mouth.  Intelligent responses failed her
so she just nodded.  Mr. Dillon's hand went around her waist and
unbuttoned her skirt.

"Excellent," he breathed on her neck.  Mr. Dillon stayed behind
her as he undressed her.  She looked ahead as his hands pulled
down her skirt.  He groaned a little as he felt her wet knickers,
but Claire groaned louder as he stripped them from her.  When her
bottom was bare, he gently pushed her towards the nearest wall. 
He stopped her a foot away from the wall, and gently pushed her
torso towards the wall while holding onto her hips.

Claire sighed as she bent over towards the wall.  She rested her
elbows and head on the wall while Mr. Dillon put on a condom. 
After a long afternoon of bending over and being posed, it seemed
only fitting that she be fucked in this position.  Her hips moved
from side to side, impatient for what did Mr. Dillon call it? 
Release.  Yes, that was what Claire needed so badly, to be
released from the sexual desire that was running rampant through
her mind and body.

He slid into her and Claire's groans filled the hotel room.  It
wasn't the biggest cock she had ever had or the longest but it
was exactly what she was craving.  Her ass was still sore from
yesterday but that didn't stop him from slamming into her welts.
Mr. Dillon's fingers were around her waist, sinking deeply into
her skin as his cock fucked her with an urgent speed.  There was
no foreplay, teasing or coaxing.  This was just sex, the hurried
pounding of bodies that cared only for the bliss that orgasm
brought.

Claire's back started to ache from the awkward angle.  She moved
to adjust herself and Mr. Dillon's hand went to her hair and
yanked harshly.  She cried out and then struggled to resume her
position.  

"Stay just like that, Ms. Currie." He growled.

Claire tried to nod her head but his grip in her hair prevented
her.  She moaned as he relentlessly fucked her cunt.   Her back
was still aching but now even that pain was adding to her
enjoyment.  The forced pose reminded her of her time on the
Poser-matic.  It was easy to close her eyes and imagine she was
back on that contraption as Mr. Dillon used her.

  She imagined herself naked and strapped to the clever device. 
Mr. Dillon would circle her, posing her till she was exactly
where he wanted her to be.  He would use her mouth, with the same
harshness that he did everything.  He would adjust her so he
could play with her very sensitive nipples that were currently
rubbing against her tight bra in the real world.  He would spank
her and oh how she would scream.  Finally, he would turn her
around and fuck her.

Claire climaxed and her cries vibrated the wall she was leaning
on.  She climaxed again and her knees shook.  Her body tried to
collapse but Mr. Dillon yanked her hair cruelly till she got back
into proper form.  Choked whimpers escaped her throat until they
were drowned out by the forceful shout of Mr. Dillon's own
climax.  He froze, shuddered, and slowly withdrew from her.

She stayed in her position, afraid to move.

"Get dressed, Ms. Currie, and order room service.  I'm
starving."

Claire slowly rose back up.  The sexual madness that had reduced
her to a moaning slut was becoming a distant memory.  Did she
just have sex with her boss?  Mr. Dillon went into the bathroom
and she could hear him use the faucet.  Part of her was upset
that he didn't stick around to cuddle or even thank her, but then
again, Claire wasn't sure what she would do if he did.  She felt
unsure of herself but at the same time the tension she had been
building since she started this job was finally gone.  Claire was
lost, and had no idea what she should be feeling or doing.

"I would like the steak this time," Mr. Dillon called out from
the bathroom.

"There I go," Claire said.  She ordered dinner. 

The rest of the night was annoyingly uneventful.  Mr. Dillon ate
his dinner and made a few calls to follow up on other purchases.
He taught Claire how to use the online database the collection
compiled.  Later in the evening he sat on his bed and read
'Bouncing Betty', a tawdry looking erotic book that Claire
guessed to be circa 1958.

Claire attempted conversation a few times but Mr. Dillon appeared
to enjoy the quiet more.  He wasn't rude, he just wouldn't offer
anything more than a direct answer to a direct question.  The
only time Claire could draw him out was when she mentioned Sparky
and his refusal to sell.

"There are always people who won't sell to the collection," he
said.  "Most of them won't sell because they spent so long
looking for the book themselves.  Other won't sell because they
still derive pleasure from the book.  It happens quite a bit in
our line of work and all we can really do is set aside a note to
future librarians to try again."

"Don't you find it strange though that he isn't willing to part
with a book about his own life?" Claire said.

"You would find it strange," Mr. Dillon said.  "You wrote erotica
for strangers on the Internet.  You want to share your thoughts
on erotica and you can't imagine someone else wanting to keep
them to themselves."

"No," she said.   "I could understand if he was a private person
but he is clearly not.  He just thinks this book is all he has
left and that's silly.  He has the photos, he has the props and
he still has the talent that created everything."

Mr. Dillon nodded and sighed.  "I agree.  A book like his would
be invaluable to future generations of photographers and erotica
lovers.  I am afraid though that all we can do is hope that when
he passes away, that the Colette-Ashbee Collection is able to
pick it up before it is tossed in a landfill."

Claire thought about what he said as she went to sleep that
night.  Mr. Dillon snored while she tossed and turned on the
couch.  It bothered her that he gave up on Sparky's book so
easily.  Well, perhaps what bothered her most was the idea of
Sparky's unhappiness.  He had a lifetime of adventures and he saw
himself as a failure because he no longer was able to do what he
loved.  Claire wondered if that is how Mr. Dillon would feel when
he retires.  For that matter, is that how she will be when she is
Sparky's age.

"Bugger that," she said but she wasn't completely convinced.

The next morning, Mr. Dillon woke up to an empty hotel room.  He
frowned and wondered where the young woman could be.  If she
thought she could take off without telling him, he would have to
inflict some sort of punishment to correct her of that misnomer.
He smiled as he settled on reenacting a scene from 'The
Governor's Kidnapped Daughter'.  That would teach her!

He frowned when he saw her note.  Alas, she hadn't earned a
punishment after all.  When he read where she was going, he
frowned even more.  

"Damn, if it works, I'll have to come up with a reward instead!"

Reward scenes were never as good as punishment.


Sparky answered his door and started shaking his head as soon as
he saw Claire.

"Ms. Currie was it?  I'm sorry, but I have not changed my mind. 
I am not selling Ears' book."

"Please, call me Claire.  Sir, I realized that offering you money
was an inadequate payment for the record of your club's history.
Instead, I am here to volunteer to model for you."

"Model?" Sparky said.  "You'd be willing to pose for me in return
for the book?"

"Absolutely," she said.

He looked skeptical.  Claire wondered if she should have brought
a camera or something.  She was about to make a speech about
revitalizing his art when he asked another question.

"What about bondage?  Do you have a problem with that?"

"Of course not.  You could put me in the Poser-matic if you
like."

"What about release rights?  Do you want to limit what I do with
the pictures?"

"I trust that I will be happy with whatever you decide to do."

"How about full nudity?"

Claire almost answered yes but then remembered what Sparky said
yesterday about his favorite models.  "I would prefer if I
covered my sex.  I can wear a thong, but I would like to hide my
pubic region."

Sparky's smile was almost as big as his ears.  "Well come on in
then."

They went downstairs where Sparky dusted off his equipment.  Most
of it was older items but he had a few new pieces here and there.
 Claire smiled as she realized that he didn't give up on
photography completely through the years.  

"What set do you want to work at?" he asked her.

"I place myself completely in your capable hands," Claire
responded.

Sparky looked around and mumbled a monologue to himself as he
judged the sets.  Claire could hear him mention the names of his
friends from time to time.  He was consulting their opinions,
knowing what they would respond from his memories but needing to
ask them in order to complete his thought process.

"Here we go," he said.  Claire smiled at his choice.  It was
surprising it took him so long.  It was a mock up of a library. 
There was a tall bookshelf filled with leather bound volumes. 
There was a ladder that scaled up the length of the shelf.  A
small desk sat to the side, complete with a globe and several
stacked books.  The entire area took up no more than six square
feet but it was a tiny oasis of everything you would expect from
a library.   

"Have you ever modeled before?" Sparky asked.

"No," Claire said.  She expected him to be upset but instead he
smiled.

"Good, then I'll just have to teach you."

He started by moving the desk in front of the bookshelf and
having her sit down on he desk.  The first time she hoped on the
desk, Sparky shook his head and taught her how to do it right. 
It involved mostly making sure her skirt rode very high up and
flashed the top of her stockings.  He asked her to read one of
the books while he took pictures, and Claire picked 'Moby Dick'.
Such a silly dirty joke fit the mood she was in.

She must have crossed and recrossed her legs a dozen times at his
command.  At one point she dangled her shoe from her foot while
another time she winked boldly at the camera.  It amazed her how
many times he took pictures.  Sparky wasn't satisfied with just
shooting her stockings; he had to have the same shot from
multiple angles, with different lighting and at different
distances away.  When she strayed from her pose, the old man was
quick to snap out a reprimand and she quickly returned to her
place.  There was no bondage involved but his commands and tone
kept her pinned tighter than any rope.

The next pose she assumed was without her jacket, and with a few
buttons undone on her blouse.  Sparky examined her through the
scrutiny of his camera and decided that the shirt was perfect,
but the bra underneath had to go.  Claire stripped and was
surprised that Sparky paid her little mind when her breasts were
exposed but as soon as she put her blouse back on, he was
grinning ear-to-ear and zooming in for better close-ups.       

	When Claire looked down, she saw exactly what had him so
excited.  Her large brown breasts were surging against the white
blouse and the intense lights in the studio were making the shirt
nearly transparent.  With the undone buttons revealing her
cleavage, Claire felt more lewd than if she had been wearing
lingerie.  Which is exactly what Sparky wanted.

	Sparky put her through her paces, rattling off poses he had
perfected over the years.  He had Claire bend over the desk to
read a book.  He shot many pictures of the canyon between her
breasts.  She sat in the chair with her legs crossed while she
cleaned her glasses.  Claire nibbled a pencil innocently except
for the fact that one hand stroked the opening of her blouse. 
She lost count of the number of times he asked her to pick up a
book from the floor.  

	Eventually, Sparky moved the desk aside and had her stand in
front of the bookshelf.  With three cameras pointed at her, he
asked her simply strip.  His only request was that she go slowly
so that he could have time to click the switch that would
activate all the cameras.

	Claire swallowed and surprisingly felt her courage falter a bit.
 It was different with all the cameras covering her from
different angles.  Every movement she made and every inch of her
body was about to be recorded forever.  The film would be kept,
duplicated and images of her would be reproduced potentially
forever.  It was a little daunting and made her wonder if she was
willing to give such a gift of herself.  She also wondered if she
was worthy of such an honor.

	Sparky waited patiently for her and Claire looked to him for an
answer.  The sheer joy on his face was enough.  He found her
beautiful.  Maybe he would hang her photographs on his walls and
tell future visitors of the young British woman who consented to
be his model for the morning.  Claire's anxiety was replaced by
the same excitement she used to feel when she posted her erotica.
 The choice was easy.

	First she undid her skirt.  Claire felt her face blush when she
realized this was the second time in three days she was stripping
for someone she barely knew.  The cameras clicked incessantly as
she dropped her slip.  She put one foot on the lowest rung of the
ladder and slowly unrolled her stocking down.  The slowness of
the act seemed unnatural to Claire but the groan she heard from
Sparky gave her the confidence she needed.  She looked up at
Sparky with wicked smile on her face and of course, that was when
the cameras all clicked together.

	She left her white knickers on though she could see that with
the intense lights, her dark skin and sex were clearly visible
through her underwear.  Claire tried not to think about it too
much as she unbuttoned the rest of her blouse.  The rapid
clicking of the cameras helped distract her.  It was as if they
wanted to record every extra inch of breasts she revealed so they
could be replayed later in some sort of erotic countdown.  

	When she shed her blouse, Claire moved to remove her glasses. 
Sparky shook his head violently and stopped the cameras.  He
stepped towards her laughing.

	"The glasses stay on," he said.

	"All right," Claire said.  Except for glasses and knickers, she
was stark naked but oddly at ease with herself.  "What's next?"

	"Now we set up for the bondage scene," Sparky said.  He was as
giddy as a boy at Christmas.  

	Setting up for bondage meant more cameras were moved around and
Sparky had to dig out some rope.  He produced some thick red rope
that once tied up two girls to a see-saw.  He told the story to
Claire including the part where Barry got too excited and bound
the redhead's legs a bit too tightly.  Claire laughed as Sparky
recounted how the redhead's feet turned blue and started
screaming that they were going to fall off.  Sparky promised that
he would be a little less excitable.

	He had her face the ladder and he bound her hands to each side
of the ladder, above her head.  She leaned against the ladder
with her breasts sitting on one of the rungs.  He bound each
ankle to a side too and then pulled her knickers up in a wedge so
her sex would be covered but her ass revealed.  He stopped when
he saw her ass and whistled.

	"It looks like you've just been spanked," Sparky said.  "Wow,
what a beating!"

	"Yes, it was ahh, two days ago," Claire said.

	"Good, it's always easier to spank someone who does it for fun.
You can get much better welts."

	She didn't correct his assumption.  The alternative would have
been too embarrassing.  She only hoped that the welts he wanted
wouldn't take too many spankings to create.

 	A camera was placed at the side of the ladder and zoomed in on
Claire's torso.  Another camera focused on her face while the
last camera was aimed her at her behind.  She could only imagine
how her bottom looked and how tightly focused the camera was. 
Her knickers were just barely clinging to the curve of her bottom
and she was afraid that if she moved too much, her knickers would
slip completely down. 

	"This is the paddle I would like to use," Sparky said.  It was a
long piece of wood with the word, 'Overdue' spelled out with
metal caps.  Claire shuddered when she saw the caps.  Sparky
mistook her shudder for approval.

	"Yes, it is quite impressive," he said.  "What I want to do is
smack your backside once, and activate all the cameras at the
same time.  That way we can get a shot of your butt, your face
and your chest right at the moment of impact.  Course, I'll take
extra shots depending on much you struggle."

	"Would you like me to struggle?" Claire asked.

	"Oh God yes."

	Sparky began with light taps on Claire's ass but she was still
tender from the abuse she suffered the day before.  The metal
caps added a texture to each swing that further enflamed her
backside.  She squirmed against the ladder with each hit, and the
cameras clicked every wiggle for posterity.          

	The force of the blows increased as well as the speed.  Claire
bit down hard on her bottom lip while staring at the clicking
camera.  Sparky was really laying into her, spanking her with a
vigor she wouldn't have guessed for his age.  It was as if he was
making up for the years he had been denied his hobby.  Or Claire
speculated, he was punishing her for all the silly women her age
who would rather flash their tits at Mardi Gras rather than
contribute to a real art form.  As the paddling intensified,
Claire started cursing those drunk bar girls herself.

	The rope held her tightly no matter how much she pulled, and
when the spankings increased, Claire did nothing but pull.  At
first she was afraid of pulling the ladder from its mooring but
as the pain escalated, Claire cared less about disturbing the
ladder and more about escaping her bonds.  Sparky did his job
well; the rope held her ankles and wrists securely leaving Claire
with no outlet but to squirm and hope she could somehow dodge the
next paddle strike.

	Claire opened her eyes after one vicious whack and found herself
staring right at the camera.  It clicked as Claire groaned in
pain, and it clicked again as another blow landed on her ass and
she arched her back in pain.  She looked back at the camera but
there was no sympathy from its recording eye. 

	The spankings stopped and Claire breathed a sigh of relief.  Her
bottom was one large circle of pain separated only by the tight
bit of cloth that was riding up her ass.  The pull of the
knickers was also tugging against her sex.  Claire's cunt was a
sensitive bundle of nerves and she had to consciously stop
herself from grinding her hips.  It would have been no use
anyway, there was no ladder rung next to her crotch and Claire
had to wonder how deliberate that was.  She was tired from all
her struggling and yet at the same time she would have ran a
marathon if that was the only way she could get a climax.

	"I should stop there," Sparky said.  "You bottom is very purple.
 I have never seen that shade on a person before.  You have a
wonderful ass."

	Claire nodded, not sure what else to say.  She waited to be
released but Sparky walked away instead.  Twisting her body as
far as the ropes would allow, she saw that he had another camera
and was taking a close up shot of her ass.  The scrutiny he was
giving her bottom made her blush.  Not only was her ass hurting,
but now he was taking photos of only her ass.  He was reducing
her to a purple bottom.  Humiliation rolled over her followed by
the realization that her cunt was just as wet as it ever was. 
God, did she have any shame at all?  

	"Thank you very much, Claire," Sparky said.  He worked on
undoing her rope.  She had her ankles free before she realized
that he was done.  He was stopping now?  But she was so turned
on!  Claire looked at the old man with her best saucy expression
but Sparky's face had that grin that only came from afterglow. 
His photos were enough for him and more than likely, he had no
idea of the molten heat between her thighs.

	"I had no idea that there were still some women willing to pose
like that," he said.

	"With the money the Colette-Ashbee Collection is willing to pay
you, I'm sure you could afford to go looking again," Claire
said.

	"What?  You're still going to give me the money for the book? 
You don't have to do that.  What you gave me was much better than
money."

	Claire put her clothes back on and winced as the skirt wrapped
around her ass.  "The Collection hopes you take your money and
get back to work," she lied.  "The original offer will be
honored.  I'll have Mr. Dillon mail you the check and then you
can mail us the book."

	"That's all right.  Take the book with you.  I trust you, and
hopefully, I will be too busy working to have the time."



	Mr. Dillon was on the couch when Ms. Currie walked in.  He
looked up at her as she silently handed him 'Black Tie, Sweaty
Hands'.  A sense of achievement spread through him like it always
did when he acquired a book for the collection.  He opened the
book and read a page at random.  Halfway through, he realized
that Ms. Currie was still standing before him.

	She was a gorgeous creature usually but right at this moment she
was more beautiful from the flush on her face that crept down her
throat.  A button was undone on her blouse and he saw a peek of
dark skin that made him stir.  Her lips were pressed together
with the anxiety of an unspoken question.  

	"Yes, Ms. Currie?"

	"I told him that we would pay what we offered yesterday."

	"Of course.  I will make out the check right now."

	"Sir-?" she said.  Mr. Dillon paused in the act of getting up
and looked up at her.  She was biting her lip again.

	"Yes, Ms. Currie?"

	"I require release."  Her British accent sent a shiver down Mr.
Dillon's spine but he retained his professionalism.  He did allow
one of his eyebrows to arch and he enjoyed the nervous blush that
darkened her face even more.

	"Certainly, Ms. Currie.  Lay on the bed."

	She moved to the bed and stripped off her skirt.  He noticed she
wasn't wearing her slip.  Her underwear came off next and then
she reclined on the bed.  Mr. Dillon ran his hands along her
stocking covered legs and gently parted them.  Ms. Currie
complied easily and offered her pubis to him.  The black hair on
her sex was curly and inviting.  He didn't need a second
invitation.

	Mr. Dillon dropped his mouth on her cunt and licked the
incredible juices that were waiting for him.  Ms. Currie cried
out as soon as his tongue met her sex.  Her hands went to his
head and Mr. Dillon decided that her reward was that he was going
to let her use her hands.  She pulled his mouth harder onto him
and her hips bucked.  Mr. Dillon rode her undulations and kept
licking.

	It didn't take long.  Ms. Currie cried out a second time and
then whimpered as the orgasm blossomed in her body.  Mr. Dillon
lifted his mouth while her hands moved away and gripped the
bedspread.  He took one long look at her slick cunt and
impulsively kissed her swollen clit briefly.  Ms. Currie moaned
but Mr. Dillon decided that one orgasm was enough for her.

	"Thank you," she whispered.

	"When a fellow librarian needs release, it is only proper to
give it," he said.  

	"Am I librarian now?"

	Mr. Dillon flinched as he realized what he gave her.  "Yes, but
I am still your superior."

	Ms. Currie low throaty chuckle was not professional in the
least.

The end.

If you enjoyed this story, feel drop to drop me a line at
shonrichards@yahoo.com
	   

	  

	

	

      
 

  

	    

	

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