Chapter 3: I Thought I Knew These Guys

The paperwork was an experience all by itself. Cynthia was amazing; I could watch this woman for hours. Sean’s secretary always seemed cold, but Cynthia worked with her like beer with pretzels. In half the time I would have guessed, two of the security guys were loading up the van, and we were heading for Cynthia’s studio.

Paul and Richard, Mr. Richard’s security men, were cool. We had worked together for three weeks. After hours, we had knocked back more than a few brews. I showed them some of my pics and introduced them to some of the girls. Having them at my back should have been reassuring, but it was not happening. There was something different about those two today. It seemed like Cynthiashe owned them like hired muscle, not someone else’s security detail. Weird. It was just one more thing to set me on edge.

When I saw her place, edgy took on new meanings. Paul and Richard stiffened when they saw it. Nothing was a surprise. We had seen it all in the pictures in her portfolio. But there is nothing like seeing a BDSM studio in person. Everywhere you looked was another way to tie someone up or inflict discomfort or outright pain. Cynthia twirled and watched us take it all in, but never said a word. Then she turned and unlocked a door.

I was wondering why we bothered with the stuff we brought. It turned out that Cynthia had no intention of using them. She just wanted close matches from her prop room. It was a revelation unto itself. There were rows of outfits ranging from full formal to strappy bits of nothing, which did not cover the usual places. Other places held restraints, floggers, whips, even a cat of nine razor tails. Of course, there were boxes of cuffs, collars, gags, and harnesses in every size and color.

We were in there for an hour. We, Paul, Richard, and I, worked up a sweat, pulling down boxes, going through a thousand items, and finding things that looked right and fit me. When we were done, I could hold everything in one hand. Maybe she was doing it as a tease. I would not put it past her. But, by the time we came out of that room, you could have sent any of us to the roof with a tap on the shoulder. There are worse things -- as I soon found out.

As bad as being in the prop and costume room was, heading for the changing room was worse. I was in the lead, with Richard and Paul a step back on either side. I was feeling very crowded, but I kept telling myself “She is a professional and so are you. Get the shot and get back to the hotel.”

It was not working.