Struck By Lightning: Slow Satisfaction Part 27

I spread my fingers apart and flicked my own c.l.i.t. "Will it be more extreme than what we did at the 624 Gallery?"

"Perhaps not, though having the audience of a piece of performance art see your bare a.s.s is one thing. It's a bit different to have it all over the Internet. So you should think it over before you agree."

"Hey, who says it's my a.s.s that'll be bare in the video? You're the s.e.x symbol."

"True." He stood, pulling me up until I was standing, too, my hand still working in my panties. "Hands behind your head."

He circled behind me and then reached around so that his hand replaced mine, and then continued talking to me as his fingers ran in slick circles over my c.l.i.t. "What I haven't told anyone yet is that this actually plays perfectly into my plans for the theme of the show."

I could only make a general sound of agreement as I tried to relax into his expert touch. But then he seemed to stop talking. "And that theme is?"

"Well, I was thinking I'd explain it to the whole company in the morning at rehearsal." He lightened his touch as I tightened, nearing my peak.

"Does that mean you're not going to tell me now?"

"How about I give you a choice? Which would you rather have delayed, your o.r.g.a.s.m, or finding out about the show? You can have one now and one tomorrow."

"Oh, you're evil. Ah, f.u.c.k." I was too close now and didn't have the willpower to stop. "Make me come, please, James? Please, oh, G.o.d."

"Gladly, sweetness, gladly." He brought me off with one hand over my mouth, stifling my screams, while the other hand milked every last s.h.i.+ver of pleasure from my p.u.s.s.y he could wring, four or five o.r.g.a.s.ms in a row, until I was limp against him and gasping.

"One more choice for you," he murmured, as he s.h.i.+fted us to the edge of the bed. "Shall I come in your mouth tonight or your c.u.n.t?"

"My... c.u.n.t." I blushed intensely, trying to remember if I'd ever said the word out loud. When would I have had the chance? But it was easy to blurt out when I was this soaked in s.e.x already. James wasted no time getting inside me, but once there, he slowly inserted himself with long, soothing strokes, in no hurry at all.

The next morning he made good on his promise to explain what the show was about, although he and Alicia ran us through the number we'd been working on for an hour first. Then he gathered all the dancers in the VIP tables around the runway of the stage while he sat on the edge, his feet hanging down. He was in his dancing clothes, but wearing an Oxford s.h.i.+rt over them, unb.u.t.toned like a jacket.

"Thank you for being so patient with the artistic process," he began. "The idea for this show struck me quite suddenly and putting all the pieces together has been an interesting challenge. Since the record company wants to release a greatest hits collection, I was looking for some way to incorporate several songs from the past into a single storyline, and add one or two new songs. As it turns out, what I've come up with could only be performed here in Las Vegas."

"Does it have a burlesque theme?" Annika asked brightly.

"No, but good thought. It has a sort of futuristic bondage theme, hence the t.i.tle, which is being revealed in the marketing campaign later this week: Bonded to the Black. The plot is simple enough. Dystopian future ruled by a master computer, which has divided people into the haves and have-nots. n.o.bles and serfs, or masters and slaves, if you will. Our two princ.i.p.als find each other. If the rigging can be done the way I want, it may end with the two of us literally flying off together. When they get together, she is elevated from mindless drudgery while he is liberated from his role as a cog in the machine."

"Kind of like The Matrix?" asked Pascual.

James thought a moment. "Perhaps? I was actually inspired by a Kurt Vonnegut story. The production will have a bit of a Matrix-y appearance though, since we'll be using a modern fetishwear look to key the metaphor of bondage. The underlying message is about consent and mutual respect being empowering."

Alicia raised her hand. "You mean 'no means no'?"

"And 'yes means yes,' " James said. "Come to think of it, that might end up in the chorus of the finale. And on T-s.h.i.+rts. And on that note, if you'll excuse me, now that the band is awake, I had better go and work with them."

He slipped away, while Alicia made an announcement about costume fittings and hairdresser appointments for that afternoon. After lunch we had to clear the stage for a while as some work that couldn't be done at night had to happen on the sets, and the guitar player from the band came by with a tape for Alicia of all seventeen songs that would be in the production. Only six would have the full complement of dancers, including the opening overture and the finale, and two others would have a small ensemble of me, Annika, Ben, Pascual-and James.

I had my costume fitting early in the afternoon and then was sitting around listening to the tape with some of the others when I got another text from Becky.

Another video. This one's worse. Or better. Depending on how you look at it.

I excused myself from the group. From a stall in the women's room I texted James to let him know, and then I put my headphones in and texted Becky back. A few minutes later I was watching a video.

She was right. This one wasn't as "bad" in that there was no fake rape. No. It was a shaky, grainy cell phone video taken at what was clearly a Las Vegas wedding chapel. Ferrara holding the phone and pointing it at herself as she primped her miniature veil and mugged for the camera, then pointing it quickly at her tall, blond groom.

At a glance it sure looked like James. But the camera never focused on his face except as it tried to capture the actual kiss after the vows, and then it was Ferrara's face we could make out, not his.

The entire ceremony couldn't have been more than five minutes long, and this was an edit of it.

A text came from James. Have you seen it?

I texted back. Yes. It's of Ferrara and someone who looks a lot like you getting married in a Vegas wedding chapel.

James's sarcasm came through, even in a text: Gee, I wonder where she would find someone who looked just like me for her charade? Tell Ben and Pascual I need to meet with you all. I'll be there shortly.

Of course. I should have thought of Ben and Pascual myself!

I went back into the green room and found Annika first. For half a second I couldn't remember which name I was supposed to use for James. Not Jules... What was his dancer nickname? Jasper. Right. "Jasper wants a meeting with the small ensemble. Are Pascual and Ben here?"

She looked around. "I just saw Ben go into the men's room. Pascual might be outside the door?"

"I'll get Ben if you look for Pascual."

"Okay."

I caught Ben coming out of the restroom and led him back to the green room. Annika had Pascual in tow. We sat down together. My plan of having it look like it was about discussing the small ensemble pieces worked perfectly. Annika had no idea there was anything wrong, so she chatted away, keeping the other two fully engaged so they had no chance to notice I was a little distracted.

When James came sweeping in, the first thing he did was kiss me on the cheek. Then he looked around at our little group. "I'll talk to the boys first," he said, "but come with me in the car. Mult.i.tasking is my life."

If the two of them found this in any way odd, they didn't let on. I peeked out the side door as they got into the car. Stefan was driving one of the larger limos today.

Well, that would be an interesting ride, I was sure. If one of them was guilty, he certainly couldn't run away easily. And the car was probably a lot harder to bug or eavesdrop on than a room like this one.

When James hadn't returned by the time we wrapped for the evening, I went back to the hotel in the van with the rest of the crew. Upstairs, Ty made a nightly check of our rooms to be sure no new surveillance devices had appeared. After he left, I checked my e-mail and then saw I had a video chat request from Becky.

I joined the video chat to find Becky, Paulina, and Michel already in mid-chat.

"Karina!" Becky exclaimed. "Oh my goodness, this is so exciting!"

"Which thing is so exciting, Becks? Fill me in."

"Okay, so I'm all set to come out there and interview people for my thesis, right? And then Paul and Misha told me they were talking with him about spreading these videos around, and so I'm going to do these promo videos, too, while I'm there. I'm flying in tomorrow."

It took me a moment to realize that she wasn't talking about the ravishment-or whatever it would be-video that James and I were planning to make. "Fantastic! I've really missed you, Becks. And there's so much going on here." So much that I haven't been able to tell you over the phone or e-mail, that is.

"And we're going to come too, Karina, for the press conference and party," Paulina said.

"Is Las Vegas as odd as it is portrayed in movies?" Michel wanted to know.

"Odder," I said. "This place is hard to believe. I can't wait to see you all. It'll be great to have some friends here!"

I got the details about the press conference from James later. He didn't come in until nearly ten o'clock and he was ravenous. So was I and he chided me for not getting something for myself earlier. But I had gotten sucked into rereading my thesis and marking it up with revision notes anyway. It had been forever since I'd read it, and parts of it now were very obviously weak and in need of shoring up. But having spent the entire summer looking at and talking about the paintings hanging in the special exhibit at the Tate, I found myself easily tossing out whole sections and making notes for what to fill them in with.

Now wasn't the time for art a.n.a.lysis, though. Now I wanted to find out what happened with Ben and Pascual. "Well? What did you learn on your car ride?"

"I will have to tell you later," he said, making a gesture like he was still worried the room had ears. I knew Ty had checked it only a short time ago but I also knew this was one thing we really didn't want Ferrara to get wind of. "I can tell you that I've made some plans for our counteroffensive, though."

Our video, I a.s.sumed. "I talked to Becky, Paul, and Misha earlier. Becks will be here tomorrow, she said."

"Yes, I talked to her myself earlier today. She's quite sharp, your roommate! I'm impressed. I put all kinds of references and things into the songs and the music but I never expect anyone to actually get it."

I laughed in amus.e.m.e.nt. I don't think he quite understood that there were millions of fans out there a.n.a.lyzing his every word, every breath, on hundreds of websites, forums, and chat rooms all across the world. But Becky was quite sharp, too. "Just don't get her started on Foucault or you'll be talking all night."

"You don't like Foucault?"

"I like him just fine. You can't study art in the postmodern era without him. That's why Becky and I talked about him all night one night."

Of course, that meant that James and I stayed up late talking about art. Not too many men could keep up with me on the subject, but James had no trouble, and we ended the night with some artistic fun of our own.

Things got very very busy after that, as the night of the debut was only a few short weeks away, and there was still so much to learn, sets to be built, costumes to be made, et cetera. Rehearsal hours doubled, and for James they tripled since he was also rehearsing the songs with the band at some music studio a mile away. He and the band did most of their work in the evenings-as he put it, rock musicians were not morning people-leaving me some time to see the Vegas sights with Becky and to work on my thesis.

And yet, in spite of all that, he still found the energy to play games with me, tying me, spanking me, sometimes f.u.c.king me to the edge of o.r.g.a.s.m for both of us in the morning and then making us both wait until night to finish.

We had special fittings for a Peter-Pan-style flying rig that would allow both of us to fly together, as if joined in a somewhat suggestive pose. We tested it extensively as well as practicing how to get into it quickly. Leading up to the moment in the show when we would take off over the audience, Ben and Annika would briefly replace us on the stage. Because of lights and smoke no one would likely be the wiser that for those thirty seconds or so we were actually inside the set, getting the flying rig on, and then whoosh, out we would come as part of another switcheroo. I'd be on the bottom, with him on top. When we practiced it, the pose put his dance-belted c.o.c.k right in the crack of my a.s.s.

Becky was fairly busy, too, interviewing Alicia, Chandra, and the dancers about their interpretations of various works. Chandra got a bright idea then, as well, following on James's that we might have to release some videos of our own. She got Becky to interview various women, me included, about our thoughts on the bondage theme, and about James's statement that consensuality and mutual respect were empowering. I didn't feel like much of an expert on the subject, and I didn't want to talk much about our private life, but I could definitely see how it would be helpful to spread these videos around later, to undo any damage that the "rape tape" (as the ravishment video was being called) might have spread.

And Becky and I finally got to go shoe shopping, this time with no budget restrictions. I thought she was going to die of ecstasy. Amusingly enough, after trying on twenty pairs of shoes at three different insanely expensive designer stores, what she ended up buying was a Gucci scarf. She wore it everywhere, so I guess she really liked it.

In the midst of this, Ferrara released two more videos. One was another ravishment tape, only this time it had herself as the victim, and again the face of the man was obscured, this time by an elaborate carnival-style mask over his eyes. Snippets of James's voice were interposed at various points where his mouth was not shown, but it was overall smoothly done. Ferrara's face, of course, was huge, right in the camera. Her crying on camera was nowhere near as convincing as Vanette's had been, though. James brushed it off. It continued to play into his plans to create a publicity frenzy.

The next video she put out a few days after that, though, incensed him. It was a music video, using the music from Bride of the Blue, that began with some snippets of the Vanette ravishment video, then had some of the more recent one with Ferrara, this one making it look more like it was as if the couple in the wedding video had made a s.e.x tape that had gone wrong, with more footage of him tearing her clothes and her trying to push him away, and then toward the end, some footage that made my hair stand on end, too.

It was us, James and me, in bed. And it looked bad. It looked like I was struggling and shouting "no, no." He threatened to f.u.c.k me in the a.s.s and I continued to shout "no."

We were watching it on my laptop in the suite. James stood abruptly and went to stand at the edge of the bed, staring at the spot where it had been filmed. "When did they get that? When was that?"

"I'm trying to think. When was the last time you teased me about f.u.c.king me in the a.s.s?" I backed up the video and watched it again. "d.a.m.n it. I'm actually struggling to get your c.o.c.k into me here, but in the context of the other footage, it sure doesn't look that way."

He turned and stared at the media center shelf. "The camera vantage is from here."

"And a good thing, too, so your face doesn't show." I moved to stand next to him and it dawned on me. "Phil. The night he snuck in here dressed as a waiter. He must have taken the camera when he came in."

James pointed to the books. "Yes. You're right. Remember when I signed the room service check? He had me lean on a book, which I thought was odd since the folder was adequate enough for that. But that's it. He ran off with the book. It wasn't a book. It was a camera." He cursed loudly.

"Well," I teased, "we were planning to put out a film clip featuring me of some kind, weren't we?"

He sat on the edge of the bed. "True. But I do hate having choices taken away from us. From you especially."

"It's all right, James." I sat next to him. "Don't let it bother you. That's what she wants. Does this mean we don't need to do a tape of our own?"

"We might not," he admitted. "The press gala is coming up, though. Did I tell you Mand.i.n.ka is going to come in to do hair and makeup for it?"

"For you?"

"And you. And more important, Ben and Pascual, so that the two of them and me will be perfect matches. But we were speaking about me doing something wicked to you."

"On video?"

"At the press gala. I was thinking of making you into a kind of centerpiece of bondage art. What do you think about that?"

"I think that would be a great way to avoid having to make awkward c.o.c.ktail party talk."

The next day, Ferrara got even more impatient and desperate. She e-mailed me herself, though from an anonymous account, of course.

A different edit of the video of me and James having very rough s.e.x was attached to the e-mail. The message read: The first thing that will happen if you don't help us is that this video will be sent to your mother.

You will threaten to drop out of the show if he doesn't meet our demands.

If he refuses, then you will drop out of the show. If you do not, the second thing that will happen is we will send you back a tape of this happening to your mother. Do you understand? We know where she lives.

I don't know what Ferrara was thinking. Did she really, seriously think she could blackmail me into betraying James? She'd already tried to play on my worst fear, and failed. I showed him the e-mail immediately.

He sighed. "Call your mother. Invite her here. Free vacation on me. I'm having my own mother come here, too. It's long past time when I should have told my mother about what I do. I'll feel better when they're in our security's hands."

I had to agree with him there. "So you're going to come out to your mother."

He smiled. "Yes. 'Mom, I have something to tell you. I've been hiding it from you all these years.' 'What, son? Are you gay?' 'No, Mom, I'm a rock star.' " He sighed. "Honestly, I can't imagine she's going to have a problem with it now. When I first started keeping the secret from her, she was having terrible empty-nest syndrome, clinging to me fiercely and the only thing I could think of was I had to get away. I didn't want to seem like I was anything less than a dutiful son, though. So I rebelled... but I didn't tell her. It seems rather stupid now."

"I wonder if my mother will be cool with it, too, or if she'll flip back to being the judgmental person who drove me crazy ever since I got old enough to date." I held out hope that she'd be accepting, but I figured if not, our rapport was nice while it lasted. I hadn't ever really expected her to approve of my life choices, so if we went back to that, well, I'd live with it.

Sixteen.

As Long as There's Fire My conversation with my mother went something like this. "Mom, you know that show in Las Vegas I was telling you about? James and I would like you to come to here to be with us while we work on it."

"Oh?"

"Yes. We've got a whole floor of a hotel to ourselves, and we'd love if you could join us."

"You didn't tell me James was involved in the dance show, too. Is he a financial backer?"

"Yes. James is inviting his mother, too."

"Oh! Oh, well, I should definitely come, then!"