Day 3--Geoffrey
Looks like another warm one, I mused absentmindedly as I checked the
clock.
Six a.m. Time's a-wasting.
Sabrina wasn't amused to be rousted out of bed so early, but I
wasn't in the mood to be charitable. Minutes later, she was
following me down the dirt trail toward the barn, naked and groggy
and trying to shield her eyes from the rising sun. We went past the
barn and into the woods, finally stopping in a clearing.
I reached into one of the duffel bags I had brought along and pulled
out something light and brown.
"Here, put these on."
I didn't think she recognized the suede apparel. Elaborate symbols
and ornaments were embroidered into the leather with colored beads.
Fringe hung down from the hems. Moccasin-style boots complemented
the matching top and bottom.
"They're now referred to as 'original Americans,' which replaced
'native Americans,' which replaced 'Indians,' not to mention
'redskins,' 'braves,' 'chiefs' and other colorful team mascots," I
explained. "But for this morning's session, we're going to be quite
politically incorrect in our portrayal of the noble savage."
Sabrina stepped into the bottom part of the get-up and pulled them
around her hips. Somehow, I doubted that Sioux and Cherokee women
dressed in buckskin hot pants, but historical accuracy was far down
my list of important elements for this shoot.
I helped her knot the leather lacings that held the skimpy top
against her chest, and then busied myself with my camera equipment
while she sat down to tie the straps around the moccasins.
"Are you ready?" I inquired redundantly, as she looked absolutely
ravishing in spite of her disheveled state. I produced a black wig
from the duffel bag and positioned it on top of her head, helping her
tuck the stray strands of her own hair under the scalp covering.
"Perfect. Now, you need to look authentic."
I reached down and grabbed a handful of loose dirt, then smeared it
against her thigh.
"Like that. Dirty yourself up. All over your body. Try not to get
any on your face though."
When I was satisfied with her grime quotient, I pulled out the
makeup kit.
"Now we'll add some war paint, and you'll be all set."
After I finished applying the various colors to Sabrina's cheeks and
around her eyes, I wrapped a beaded band around her head and handed
her a quiver, a tomahawk and several long leather straps.
"We'll pass on the feather, but that just about does it. Put the
bow and arrow over your shoulder, and stick the axe and the straps
into the side of your pants. Now, here's what I want you to do.
You're a fierce Indian, er, original American warrior. You've
spotted a paleface snooping around your territory. I want you to
pretend you're tracking her. Hide behind those trees over there."
The shutter clicked like a machine gun as we progressed through the
woods. After an hour of stalking, I directed her to pretend that she
had caught her prey. She looked confused, so I tried to explain.
"Just imagine there's someone else in the picture with you. I'll
combine the images in the darkroom. Take out the bow and arrow.
Pretend to be aiming it at someone. Good, excellent, now take out
the tomahawk. Look menacing. Pretend your captive is in your face.
Now, get down on the ground. That's it, perfect. Okay, now you're
taking your captive back to your camp. Follow me."
We walked a short distance to another clearing with the trunk of an
old tree, stripped of its bark and most of its branches, standing in
its center.
"You're doing great, Sabrina. Pretend you're tying someone to the
post. That's it, a little higher. Use all the leather straps. Toss
them out of range over there. Almost done. Take this..."
I reached into my backpack and pulled out an old-fashioned bullwhip.
"Your captive was stupid enough to be carrying this when you caught
her. Use it. That's right, I want you to whip the post. As hard as
you can. Get your arm into it. No, like this."
I took the handle from her hand, reared back and gave the post an
enormous whack.
"See, you want it to snap. There, that's better. Harder. Meaner.
You don't like this paleface. She wants to take away your land.
And...stop. That's a wrap. Good girl. Great stuff. I'm starving,
aren't you? Let's go back to the house and get you cleaned up and
into your cowboy clothes for this afternoon's shoot...well, who did
you think was going to play the paleface?"
--Sabrina--
While trying to finish at least half the salad on my plate, I turned
to look at the quiet surface of the pool with envy. I sure could've
used a dip. The cool water might have silenced the millions of
thoughts in my mind.
Geoffrey's last words certainly hit their target. How had I not
seen this one coming? Of course I would play the cowgirl. And he
was giving me enough time to consider our forthcoming session, with
the post and the whip to look forward to. Was I supposed to get
worried, possibly scared? This was obviously the price to pay for
his lost wine.
Well, I had screwed up marvelously last night, but he had given me
no time to apologize and try to make up. At least I could have
cleaned up the wine cellar. Playing with jagged glass would have
been better than the awful night I had spent tossing and turning.
I laid down my fork, unable to swallow another green leaf, and
raised my glass instead. A glance at his face proved he was still
mad at me. Alright, Geoffrey, I thought to myself, I know what it
would take to get even. Once I played prey to his satisfaction, he
would insist on tying me to the tree. "For effect. Honestly." I
would struggle and argue, but eventually, I'd give in, because I knew
this is what he wanted and, okay, I owed him one.
I sipped more wine as I continued my silent confrontation with him,
creating a strategy while my thoughts were still clear. I knew how
easily he could bring me to a state of confusion, and I wanted to
make sure I'd be in control at all times, even when he would think
otherwise.
Being bound should make him happy, I reasoned, but that wouldn't be
enough. When both of us knew I was helpless, he'd try to scare me
with the whip, maybe wait until I screamed in protest. And maybe I'd
give him all that. But that's as far as the payback game would go.
If he even dared to brush me with the tip of the whip...
"Are you finished?"
His interruption startled me, and it took me a couple of seconds to
admit I couldn't eat more. I declined his invitation for coffee--my
nerves didn't need more stimulation--and helped him clear the table.
Then I waited for him to take us back to the woods.
--Geoffrey--
As expected, the leather chaps looked stunning around Sabrina's
slender legs, as did the matching vest around her chest. She
probably hated the fact that her ass was uncovered, to say nothing of
the lack of buttons or snaps for the front of the vest. But her
opinion would be the only negative once the film was developed. A
most suitable model. Her board of directors, to say nothing of the
adult paysites on the Internet where I planned to sell the pictures,
would be very appreciative indeed.
I accessorized her with a leather thong, a pair of snakeskin cowboy
boots, a black Stetson, and a red bandanna for her neck that
eventually wound up in her mouth when we returned to the clearing.
As usual, she kicked up an awful fuss as I lashed her to the tree in
the center. I ignored her and concentrated on the tasks at hand.
Once Sabrina's wrists and ankles were bound behind the back of the
post, she seemed unusually nervous, even though we were clearly just
working. I wondered if she expected me to actually use the bullwhip
on her. Silly girl. That's much too clumsy a weapon. A crop, or
perhaps a flogger; those were suitable for human flesh. Plenty of
time to try the entire collection. Later. But not too much later,
as customers who paid handsomely for flesh generally preferred to
receive their purchases in pristine condition.
After I finished the tree shots, I took her to the side of the
clearing where I had planted five stakes in the ground. At first,
she protested mightily about lying on the dirt spread-eagled, but
when I threatened to gag her again, she calmed down and allowed me to
bind her outstretched wrists, ankles and neck to the short wooden
posts.
"Be thankful there isn't an anthill underneath you," I joked as I
poured a jar of honey on her exposed parts. "Don't want to be too
authentic."
Speaking of which, I actually kind of liked the way her face
contorted when she yelled at me about getting her all sticky and
messy. Again, I went about my business, even encouraging her to
scream and thrash as if she really were being devoured by tiny
insects.
When I was satisfied with the shots, I sliced away the leather
straps and helped her to her feet.
"We made a lot of progress today. Thank you for being so co-
operative."
While I began packing my equipment, she turned on her heel and
started marching back toward the house without a word.
"Sabrina? Come back here!"
Models will be the death of me, I decided as I watched her storm
away. But such a necessary evil. Tomorrow, I planned to spend the
morning in the darkroom while giving her some down time. Then, in
the afternoon, we would run through the rock-star scenario on the
stage in the studio; she was going to look smashing in tight leather
pants and stiletto heels with a guitar strap pressing against her
breast.
And after that...I reached into my pocket and pulled out the
crumpled piece of paper covered with the calculations I had scribbled
while talking to my wine broker this morning about the current price
for three cases of premium Merlot.
