Bettie Page Presents: The Librarian

by Logan Belle

  “Jess, I can always count on you to work your magic,” he said. “And as for you”—he walked closer and put his hand on the top of her head; she looked up and the rapt adoration in his eyes made her heart leap—“you are truly beautiful.”

  •

  Regina stood poised on the roof of Sebastian’s building, underneath the winking tableau of summer stars, the Hudson River rolling behind her, silver in the moonlight.

  The whip was, by now, heavy in her hands.

  “Look at me, but position your body to the side,” Sebastian said. “Try putting the whip behind your head. Hold the handle with one hand, the tail with the other.”

  Regina positioned herself as he suggested. She knew by now, hours into the photography session, how to take his direction while also adding something to it. And of course, his most important direction had come early in the process: he reminded her that the best models were the ones who loved what they were doing in the moment—the ones who were not doing it for their paycheck or for their portfolio, but for the joy they got out of the give and take between themselves and the camera. “If you can find this joy,” he told her, “we will have gold.”

  She put her weight on one hip and smiled as if she was about to do something extremely wicked. It was a smile that reached her eyes, she was sure of it.

  She gave him a few variations of this shot, and then tossed the whip aside.

  “Show me your ass,” he said.

  Two hours ago, this command would have made her falter. But by now, she was full of ideas about what to do with her body. She had started out wearing a corset and leather skirt, but by now was clad in only a black bustier, black-lace boy shorts, and the platform boots she’d bought with Carly.

  She turned her back to him and looped the tail of the whip between her legs, her head turned to glance at him as if he had caught her in the midst of something.

  For the first hour or so, she had thought of Bettie—channeled Bettie—to get her through her self-consciousness. But by now, she had found a relationship with the camera that was entirely her own.

  “Drop the whip and sit on the ground,” he said.

  He climbed onto a step stool so he could shoot her from above. She looked up at him, and he brought the camera to his eyes, then lowered it again.

  “Where’s your necklace? I want you wearing it for these.”

  “Really? It’s inside. I took it off when I got changed.”

  “Go get it. When I look at the woman in these photographs, I want to know she’s mine.”

  •

  The ropes felt tighter, the blindfold darker, the room colder.

  It was as if everything was orchestrated in the extreme so as to remind Regina of her proper place. She might have been allowed to play the domme at the club and in the photographs, but now Sebastian was intent on bringing her back to reality—their reality.

  By now, it had to be four in the morning, and Regina was tied precisely the way the woman had been at the club: on her stomach, flat on a table, spread-eagle, with her arms outstretched and her legs apart. Completely naked, Regina felt the ache of vulnerability and unbearable anticipation, an itch that, if not scratched, would drive her mad.

  She heard Sebastian moving around, and then, without warning, the cold pressure of metal slipping inside of her anus. She gasped, and although she recognized the feeling of the butt plug, her heart still raced.

  “How many lashes did you give that woman?” Sebastian asked.

  “Four,” Regina said.

  “We’re going to do six.”

  She tensed, waiting for him to whip or flog her. Instead, the next sensation she felt was something hard but slightly rubbery pressing from behind against the lips of her pussy. Her first instinct was to resist, but she stopped herself from squirming and allowed him to start gently fucking her with the object. It filled her like a cock, and she knew it must be a dildo of some sort. It was too much with the butt plug, and she almost told him she couldn’t take it—but when he hit a spot that gave her a tremor of pleasure, she tried to relax into it. Then he stopped moving it, and she was left with it still, filling her. She felt herself throbbing around it, wanting more of the pleasure that had been promised with the last hard thrust. To have it inside of her but not fucking her was torment.

  “Ow!” The lash came down when she was least expecting it, and the pain was white hot. The fullness between her legs and the plug in her ass were all but forgotten as her body tensed for the next blow.

  The next was just as hard.

  “Count,” he said, his voice low, “you’re on three.”

  Again, the pain, sharper this time. “Three,” she said. Her only relief was that she understood they would just go to six.

  “If you lose count, or fail to count, we start over,” he said. The threat was enough nearly to make her forget what number she was on. Again, a strike. She didn’t know if it was less severe or if she was getting numb, but she didn’t feel it as acutely.

  “Four,” she said, trying to keep her voice strong. She thought about the woman at the club, and wondered how she was able to endure it from strangers.

  She heard the whip drop to the floor, and the next thing she felt was his bare hand slapping her bottom with force, bringing with it a stinging pain over a larger area. She was so surprised that she almost forgot to count. But mercifully, she managed to breathe, “Five.”

  And then, nothing. She felt him standing there, and every muscle in her body was poised for pain. But he did not touch her. In the absence of blows, she once again became more aware of the uncomfortable pressure in her ass and between her legs. She didn’t dare move, but she had the urge to squirm, to dislodge something if she writhed hard and fast enough. And soon, she found herself wanting the final administration of pain, knowing that only then would he free her from the tyranny of the metal and the rubber. All she could think about was getting rid of them.

  “Hit me,” she murmured.

  “What?” Sebastian asked, though she knew he had heard her.

  “Hit me again.”

  “You want me to spank you again?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “You have to ask nicely.”

  “Please, spank me again,” she said.

  She tensed, and sure enough, the final blow was the hardest yet, shocking in its force, its sound, and the sting that seemed to spread from her ass down to her legs. “Six,” she breathed.

  It was done. Heart pounding, she waited.

  CHAPTER 39

  Sebastian gently rubbed the smarting flesh of her bottom with his hands, then, to her relief, slowly pulled the plug from her.

  Then she felt the dildo moving out. And then there was nothing. The absence of the objects, and of his blows, was almost shocking to her body. She felt too much air around her, and a throbbing need to be touched in some way.

  Sebastian released her hands and feet. She was free to move, but her body was oddly unwilling. She stayed completely still, hoping if she did nothing, Sebastian would somehow answer her body’s need for something in the absence of pressure and pain.

  “Turn over onto your back,” he said softly.

  Slowly, she rolled over. The sight of Sebastian’s face was a balm for her aching mind and body. His eyes sweeping over her was a comfort, but only his touch could offer a cure. Surely he knew this, and that was why no matter what costume she wore or what photos he took, she would always, in the end, subjugate herself to him.

  “Close your eyes. And keep them closed or I’ll have to blindfold you,” he said.

  Oh no, she thought. She didn’t know how much more she could take. She had thought she was done.

  Still, she obeyed, pressing her eyes tightly shut. She heard him walk a few steps away from her, and she fought the urge to take a peek with every ounce of willpower.

  She
felt him draw near, and then something feather-soft brushed her collarbone. It trailed over her breasts, tickling her nipples, then traveling lazily down her navel until it caressed her thigh.

  “Spread your legs,” he said.

  When she was open for him, the softness fluttered against her pussy, tickling her clit until she felt her pelvis arch forward. And then she felt the warm stroke of his tongue, and it sent her to the moon.

  She moaned, reaching for him, pulling at him to get on top of her, to fuck her. But he ignored the frantic demands of her hands, focusing instead on following the path of his tongue with his finger, until he slipped it inside her and she writhed against it. She felt the orgasm within reach, and surprised herself by reaching her own hand down to touch her clit to make it happen. But he pushed her hand away.

  “Stand up,” he said. “Lean on me for support. And keep your eyes closed.”

  Her legs were shaky, and he looped an arm around her waist as her bare feet hit the cold floor. He guided her through the room until she knew she was outside in the hall.

  “You may open your eyes now,” he said.

  She opened her eyes to take in his body, his cock hard and more than ready for her. Sebastian took her hand, placing it on his shaft as he unwrapped a condom. She moved her hand slowly, feeling it throb against her fingers. She was surprised to find how much she wanted it in her mouth. She dropped down onto her knees and reached her hand behind him, pulled him to her so her mouth could envelop the tip of him. He moaned, pushing forward, filling her mouth faster than she was prepared for. She pulled back slightly, running her tongue along his shaft and then moving her mouth down to take it all in.

  He moaned, and the sound of his pleasure made her stomach flip with excitement. His hand stroked her jaw, and he was pumping in and out of her mouth in an ecstatic rhythm.

  He drew back and rolled on the condom. Then he reached for her, pulling her close, cupping her breasts with his hand and kissing her mouth hard. She felt his cock against her stomach and pressed against him. Then, with a quick movement of both his arms, he swept her up and carried her to the bedroom.

  He lay her down on the bed, and the comforter felt cool against her back. She barely had time to stretch out her legs before he moved on top of her, filling her so suddenly it made her gasp.

  Her mind slipped into the space it found only with him, a suspension of thought that turned her into a raw nerve, trembling with pleasure and rolling toward release. He moved in and out of her, slowing down and adjusting his angle on one thrust so his cock brushed her clit. She gasped and dug her nails into his buttocks, holding him inside of her as her orgasm broke in waves that sent chills through her entire body.

  “Come,” she murmured to him, sliding her hands up to caress his back. And he did, burrowing his face in her hair, his thrusts fast and harder until his body shuddered against hers and was still.

  CHAPTER 40

  Regina curled against him, her head on his chest, as the first morning light began to filter into the bedroom.

  Despite both of their best efforts to sleep, they were still wide awake.

  “I’m never going to make it through the day at work,” she said.

  “After the night you just had? You need to rest. Don’t even think about going to the library,” he said.

  “I have to. I want to. Look, what we have is important to me, but so is my job. I don’t want to blow it.”

  “You’re not going to blow it,” he said. “Just call and tell her you’re not feeling well and will be in later.”

  She nodded. “Okay. But I can’t keep doing this. I—”

  “Relax,” he said, silencing her with a kiss.

  “May I ask you something?”

  He propped up on one elbow and gazed at her, stroking her cheek. “Uh-oh. This sounds serious. And under the newly negotiated terms of our relationship, I guess I have to answer you.”

  “That’s right,” she said.

  “I’m so fucking happy you let me photograph you. I had my doubts about what you wanted to do in them, but you pulled it off.”

  “Don’t change the subject,” she said, though she was thrilled at his words. “I’m curious: Can you have sex without all the . . . bondage and discipline beforehand?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Although for me, just going straight to sex is more for one-night stands . . . throwaway stuff.”

  “What about that woman I saw you with in the library?”

  He laughed. “I was wondering when you were going to ask me about her. That’s a perfect example—just sex, nothing special. One and done.”

  “One and done,” she repeated. “Is it true what you said before? That you’ve never been in love?”

  She felt him tense up and for a minute she feared the question would set them back to where they had been the night he’d warned her not to “ruin it” and sent her home.

  “No,” he said, “it’s not entirely true.”

  Now she was the one to tense up.

  “Okay,” she said, practically holding her breath, waiting for him to continue.

  “I told you how I got into photography . . . that Astrid introduced me to it.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “She was just a few years older than me. I think she quickly got bored in her marriage to my dad. He had tons of money and he was handsome, but he wasn’t about to go running around to nightclubs with her or go hear a band play at Roseland. So sometimes, when he told her he was too busy or too tired or whatever, she dragged me along with her.”

  “Okay,” Regina said softly, grappling with the image of a teenage Sebastian running around New York with one of the world’s most famous models.

  “I think she knew I was bored and alone a lot, too. I had friends, but I was an only child. And my parents’ money isolated me somewhat. We had a lot in common, in some ways. And then she showed me how to use a camera, and she brought me along on some of her shoots.”

  “Okay, yeah, you mentioned that.”

  “And I fell in love with her.”

  Regina felt a pull in her gut. “Like . . . schoolboy-crush-from-afar love?”

  He hesitated. “No, we were lovers.”

  Regina sat up and turned so she could see him. “Really?” She didn’t know why she said it. It was stupid—as if he would joke about something like that. But it just sounded too incredible to her. A teenager, having an affair with his father’s wife . . .

  “Yes, I was madly, deeply in love with her. I don’t know what it was for her—physical attraction, maybe. Recreation. I don’t know. But we got careless, and my father caught us, and he threw me out of the house and disowned me.”

  Regina didn’t know what to say. She wondered how much of this was public knowledge and then decided it couldn’t be too widely known, or Carly or maybe even Margaret would have mentioned it to her. She put her head back on his chest.

  “I’m sorry. That must have been . . . I can’t imagine. Was it public?”

  “No.” She noticed that his arms had tightened around her. “My father has a lot of friends—and money—in the media. No one dared piss him off. But my mother knew. I begged him not to tell her . . . the woman who broke up her marriage, with her own son. That was the one thing I felt ashamed of. But my father didn’t listen to me, and he told her why he was throwing me out, and cutting me off financially.”

  “He stopped supporting you? But you were a minor, right?”

  “Yeah, but my mother had family money, and she got money in the divorce. Cutting me off financially was somewhat of an empty threat. I think that’s why he had to go the extra distance to punish me by telling her.” Even now, all these years later, she could hear the shame in his voice.

  “She would have asked why he’d thrown you out. I don’t know how you could have gotten around it.”

  “My father an
d I were always at odds. Believe me, I could have gotten around it.”

  “So why did you live with him and not her?”

  “After the divorce, she took off to visit her parents abroad for almost a year. I didn’t have much of a choice. She had been back only a few months when she was dealt another blow. And this time, it was my fault.”

  “Oh, Sebastian—you were just a teenager. And I guess Astrid was barely more than a teenager.”

  “After I moved out of my father’s place, my mother suspected I was sneaking around to see her—and she was right. I became at odds with my mother—lying to her, arguing with her. And then she killed herself.”

  Regina lost her breath. She picked her head up to look at him. She was shocked to find him near tears.

  “Sebastian, don’t tell me you blame yourself.”

  “No, I don’t,” he said, but his face told her otherwise.

  She kissed his cheek and tasted the salt of fresh tears. She threw her arms around him and held him tight, and he buried his face in her hair, gathering it in his hands like a rope he held on to for dear life.

  “It’s not your fault,” she said, stroking his head. Somehow, her words released a torrent of grief, and he sobbed against her like a child. She felt she would do anything to take away his pain.

  “My agent has had offers from publishers who want to do a book of my photos of Astrid. But I can’t do it. I don’t even want to look at them anymore. I agreed to use them in the Manning-Deere show only because that was what the gallery wanted, and it was my best chance to have a gallery show. I’ve never taken photos at that level since then. Fashion editors don’t know the difference. But the art world knows.”

  “Why do you say that? I’ve seen your magazine work. I see the photos on the wall in the other room.”

  “They’re fine. But they’re not special. And they’re definitely not inspired. I used to think it was because Astrid was simply the best model. At least, I tried to tell myself that. But I knew the truth, and it was that the photos were brilliant because I felt so much for her, and that came across in the work. And that’s why I was so desperate to photograph you, Regina.”