The Nexus - Book 3: the Bondage Dilemma
Copyright© 2024 by Smutreader
Chapter 24: Jade
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 24: Jade - The saga of Kitt, Marcy, and Jade continues as they begin to realize the consequences of creating witnesses with their abilities. Meanwhile, the war between the forces of light and darkness begins to grow hotter, in more ways than one! Reading of Nexus Book 1 and 2 is required to understand everything in this story.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Fa/Fa Blackmail Coercion Consensual NonConsensual Reluctant Lesbian BiSexual Shemale Fiction Futanari Demons Incest Sister BDSM DomSub Light Bond Rough Spanking Orgy White Male White Female Oriental Female Hispanic Female Anal Sex Cream Pie Double Penetration Facial Lactation Oral Sex Sex Toys Squirting Big Breasts Size
Sunday, December 24, 2023
It was not how I planned to spend the start of my winter holidays. My parents kept calling and texting, wondering where I was. All I could tell them was Marcy needed me, and I would be home as soon as possible. Opal called me three times and then texted me that she urgently needed to speak to me. Whatever was going on, I knew it wasn’t as urgent as what I was involved in with Marcy. Besides that, Opal was with my mom and siblings. They could help her with whatever she needed until I got there.
It was after 3 a.m. when Marcy returned from bailing Robin out of jail in Denver. Robin had been arrested and charged with trespassing and disturbing the peace. She would probably have to plead guilty to a misdemeanor and pay a fine. It was not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, and she was practically buzzed from getting in trouble with the law for the first time.
The three of us discussed our options until we were too tired to make sense of anything. I crashed on the couch while Marcy and Robin retired to the bed. I fell asleep to the sounds of Robin softly whimpering as she came under Marcy’s ministrations. Some part of me wished I could trade places with Robin, but I quickly pushed that thought away.
I woke at about 8 a.m. on Christmas Eve. Robin was already awake and cooking breakfast. That woman had so much energy. I thought wistfully about how I used to be like that before this mess started. Would I ever be that person again?
I politely declined breakfast, returned to my apartment, and spent the next three hours on my laptop researching Black Velvet. My parents and siblings continued to pester me about when I would arrive at the house for Christmas celebrations, but I ignored their messages. I didn’t have time to deal with that. How could I enjoy Christmas with so much hanging over me? I needed to put this mess to bed right away.
Through my research, I learned that Black Velvet had multiple locations worldwide, operating as a sort of franchise like Chik-Fil-A but more exclusive than an ice queen’s panties. Black Velvet accepted only three applications for franchise requests per year with no guarantee of any approvals. The buy-in cost was well north of $1 million.
The Denver location for Black Velvet was not owned by anyone named Marjorie French but rather by a company called Uxor Diaboli Incorporated. UDI held the deed for the manor where Black Velvet events were held, plus six other properties in the greater Denver area stretching as far south as my town. Two of these properties were residential, and four were commercial warehouses. One of the residential properties was rented by Marjorie French.
So, who owned UDI?
A little more digging gave me the answer. The head of the company was one L. Rex Tenebris. I couldn’t find any other information on this person. He or she was practically a ghost. But it didn’t matter. I had the locations.
I used Google Maps to calculate the driving times from my apartment to UDI’s warehouses. Two of those times roughly matched how long it’d felt for Sir’s town cars to take me from my apartment to the studios where my events with Sir were filmed. I hadn’t been allowed to bring my phone to know the exact times, but these distances felt right. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but the information was enough for me to keep digging.
Three of the four warehouses I found under UDI’s holdings were listed as used for furniture and studio storage and one for data storage and video editing. My heart skipped a couple of beats when I read that. What if that was the location where my videos were being stored? I pulled up the address on my phone and got into my car.
Just as I was about to leave, my phone notified me I had a get-together with my study group to exchange Christmas gifts. I couldn’t go. I texted the group and made my apologies. Then I got a text from Fanny:
Fanny: I have a gift for you. Can I bring it by your place today before I fly to my dad’s house?
Me: I’m not at my apartment. What time do you fly out? I can try to be home before then.
Without waiting for a response, I pulled out of the parking lot and followed my phone’s directions. The warehouse site was almost an hour north, about halfway between my town and Denver. It was practically in the middle of nowhere, just outside Colorado Springs, with only a small power plant a few hundred yards away.
The small warehouse was surrounded by a fence topped with barbed wire. A guard station stood near the gate, but I saw no guard inside it. The entrance to the lot was shut and locked but could be opened via a keypad at the entrance to the drive. Security cameras covered most, if not all, of the angles approaching the building. Beyond the fence, the lot was empty except for one car, a lime-green Camaro. I had a vague feeling I’d seen that car somewhere or one very similar to it. Footprints trailed through the snow from the car toward the building, but the footprints didn’t come back out.
I stared at the building for about five minutes before deciding to go inside. I texted Marcy to let her know where I was and what I was about to do.
Marcy: We’ll be there ASAP.
“ASAP is still an hour away,” I muttered, putting away my phone. Then, I shut off my car, grabbed my laptop bag, and climbed the fence.
Snow and gravel crunched under my winter boots as I approached the doors. They were locked, and I needed either the correct number for a keypad or a key to gain access. I tried not to look at the cameras, but they were right there. I had no way of knowing if somebody was watching me, but I quickly realized I didn’t care. I couldn’t turn off the part of my brain reminding me of the laws I was breaking. Thus far, I was trespassing. If I broke the lock on the door, I could add destruction of property and breaking to my list.
“Wait a minute...” I said out loud.
I didn’t have to break the lock. I had been given a key. There was no wondering if this was the lock the key was meant for. I knew in my bones it was. I hurried back to the fence, climbed it, and emptied my glove box to find the stupid thing. The key slid into the lock without a fuss. And the door unlocked and opened.
When I went to retrieve the key from the lock, it burned bright hot. I yelped and let go as the key melted into pure liquid and poured out of the keyhole, leaving the lock cold.
I rolled my eyes and called to Nicholas, “You could have told me it was a one-time use!”
I couldn’t unlock the door from the inside, but I needed to leave a way for Marcy to enter the building without me having to let her in, so I slid my Subway card out of my phone case and put it in the door between the locking mechanism and the jamb. Then I let the door close, and viola! The lock did not engage.
My surroundings were a small reception office with two desks, chairs, computers, and filing cabinets. Nothing had been used in weeks, maybe months, or years. There was a clear path through the dust where people went into the next room, but nobody was using the office space, so I ignored it and moved to the door to the main warehouse area.
I had seen server farms in movies and TV shows but had never been inside one. While this one was nowhere near the size of farms owned by companies like Google, Apple, or the US Government, I guessed it housed at least two hundred or so towers. The ample space was cold and dim, with most of the lighting from the server towers. I followed the walkway around the perimeter of the large room until I came to a second office. Inside this room was a girl on a desktop staring at her screen.
She had long brown hair obscuring the headphones covering her ears, huge green eyes, magnified somewhat by her glasses, which sat on a tiny nose, and fair skin. These features, combined with a healthy chin on a small round face, made her look like a baby doll—a really cute baby doll.
I watched her for several seconds before wondering if I should interrupt her. Finally, I decided to pretend like I belonged there. Stepping forward, I knocked on the open door, startling her but not severely. She took her headphones off and smiled at me. That was when I realized I knew her.
“Kimmy?”
“Who are you?” she asked. Then she looked at me again. “Jade?”
I was not expected to run into someone I knew here, so I pretended to be a little clueless. “Are you the girl they said works here?”
“I’m one of them,” she said. “Did you just get hired?”
I nodded. My mind raced to decide which name Marjorie would use to hire someone to work here. Marjorie, M, or Sir. Probably M.
“M told me to come up here and meet you.”
Kimmy frowned. “You barely caught me. I was doing some quick edits before heading home for Christmas. My flight out of Denver leaves in three hours. M didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“I was supposed to text you three days ago,” I explained, entering her office and sitting at the desk beside hers. “But I accidentally deleted your contact info before I sent you the text. I asked M to resend it, but she never replied. I think she’s on vacation.”
“What does she have you doing?” Kimmy asked. “Cataloguing?”
“Yeah,” I said, grateful she had suggested something, as I had no idea what to say.
“I am in charge of editing, so it might help if I explain your job to you. It’ll make my job easier if you do things my way.”
“Okay...” I said.
“Is that your laptop?” Kimmy pointed to my bag. “You won’t be needing that. I can get you onto the network.” As I sat down, she regarded me with an odd expression. “This is so weird! I can’t believe she hired you, of all people.”
“Why is that?”
Kimmy’s face told me she thought the answer should be obvious: “Because you have been in a third of the videos lately...”
“Oh, right. It helps pay for school. I don’t want to do that forever, so this will help me earn a little extra money.” I laughed awkwardly as though it was funny, but inwardly, I thought my guts would explode from fury. Kimmy was editing my videos, but sending them to whom?
Kimmy spun her chair so she fully faced me now. “Well, it’s not hard. All you’ll do is take raw video files, splice them according to scenes, and catalog them according to the naming system I want so it’s easier for me to edit them. Then, you’ll run them through a video processor, so I have them in a format I like. We save all the original files here as soon as they are made.”
“Can’t I just do this at home over the internet?”
“No. All of the video files are brought here immediately after filming. They stay here for cataloging and editing. Once I’m done editing, the final product is copied onto a drive and mailed out to the buyer. There is no internet here. Only intranet. Let me show you how to do your job.”
Kimmy walked me through logging onto a server desktop and gave me access to the local network. They hadn’t had a cataloger for weeks, so my help was needed. I understood why. Each time I’d filmed with Sir, our shoots had filmed from several cameras. Each of these sessions lasted from up to eight hours. That was a lot of video that needed to be spliced, labeled, and processed.
After showing me the basics, Kimmy asked, “Are you ready to try it? I’ll watch you to make sure you have it down. It’s easy. Would you feel awkward cataloging one of your own videos?”
The answer was yes, but I figured I needed to pretend I was okay with it, so I answered that it was completely fine.
“Great. Let’s go to the next one that needs to be cataloged. “It’s labeled J and O.”
My mind had to search for O. I had been with O only once, as far as I could remember. Although, at this point, all of the letters ran together in my brain. It could have been three or four times. Twice-a-week sessions for the last several weeks had led to my memory becoming a bit like an alphabet soup.
I loaded the video into the editing software as Kimmy had shown me. Each set where Sir filmed included an LCD screen that acted as a cue card. These cue cards told Sir how each session would go based on pre-planned prompts. Once a prompt was completed by the actors—say, for example, doggy-style fucking followed by shooting a load on the performer’s back, Sir would cue the LCD screen to turn red for one minute. The red screen was a cue for editors that the scene was over. A gree-glowing screen was Sir’s cue to the editors that a new scene was about to start. Since all the cameras began rolling simultaneously, they could all be spliced for scenes simultaneously. These made it easier for me to cut the videos so Kimmy could edit a nice, professional-looking scene.
“Who watches these videos?” I asked as I worked.
“M never told you when she hired you?”
I shook my head. Kimmy thought we were paid performers. I wondered what she would think if she found out some people were forced to do our jobs under threat of blackmail.
“M works for extremely wealthy porn connoisseurs who want scenes shot in a certain way. They call themselves White Velvet. Snobby, right? These patrons pay good money for the scenes I edit.”
“Why don’t they hire porn stars to perform in them?”
“Some probably do, but I would be willing to bet a few bucks that most of these rich guys find porn stars to be tacky. They want realistic-looking, hot women and men willing to do kinky shit on screen. Not porn stars. I think it breaks the illusion if you have a well-known porn star doing it. Plus, porn stars are probably used to a big production with all of the makeup and bad acting. From what I’ve seen in these films, it’s just people fucking with lots of BDSM involved. Out of pure curiosity, what do you get paid for your work on camera?”
My stomach hit my pelvic floor. “I can’t say.”
“Oh, no problem,” Kimmy said quickly to cover her embarrassment. “I figured you might have to sign an NDA. I probably shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s okay.”
I spliced the first cut of the video where I saw the green cue and wrote down the time stamp to apply it to the other files in the set. Then, I began to fast-forward to the red cue. As I watched the scene unfold, memories returned from this scene. O had been a very expressive lover until a certain point in the evening when she suddenly shut down. Something had happened. What had it been? Maybe she’d had one too many orgasms and burned out. I couldn’t recall all the details.
It had been a more prolonged session involving about six different stops and starts per the colored cues. After checking my time stamps, I cut all the other files at the same stamps and labeled them the way Kimmy wanted. The last two files were security tapes of the dressing rooms, making sure no phones or other contraband had been snuck into the studios. Kimmy said we usually ignored this footage unless a patron wanted footage of them changing clothes.
Without asking for permission, I opened one of the four changing room files. In the video, I took off the black dress I wore to the studio and donned the black latex catsuit Sir had provided me. Zippers had been sewn into the catsuit to expose different parts of my body to my partner. This was standard costuming in my sessions.
Kimmy laughed awkwardly. “You look like a prisoner putting on her jumpsuit for the first time. Does it get old or something?”
I shrugged, not wanting to risk exposing how much I hated the sessions. Instead, I closed the file and pulled up another. It was of O arriving and changing into her outfit.
The cameras in the dressing rooms were motion-activated, so they turned on as soon as the door opened. My heart stopped beating as soon as the footage began on my screen. My stomach clenched in knots. I needed a garbage can. I looked around and found one in the corner. I ran over to it.
“Are you okay?” Kimmy asked. “What’s wrong—oh—!”
Vomit ejected from my stomach as I wretched over and over again into the can. Tears poured from my eyes. I wanted to scream but knew I had to control myself.
That evil bitch.
That evil, sick, fucking bitch.
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