Dark Tales 4 : Imogen the Director

As the film starts to roll, the camera pans around a dimly lit cellar, before finally coming to rest on the figure of a man, visible only from the chest down. Slowly, he begins to walk across the floor towards a dark but otherwise indefinable shape in the centre of the room. He stops, and the click of a switch is followed instantly by two bright spotlights illuminating the central floor space. It is at this moment that the nature of this dark form is revealed to be a young woman sitting on an upright chair. But it is obvious immediately that she is not here by choice. For it is clear, from the taut coils of rope that encircle her body and legs, that she is tightly bound.  

The camera zooms in slowly, to reveal that she is wearing a snugly fitting t-shirt, originally white but now stained and dirty. The only other visible item of clothing is a pair of black tights. She is shoeless.  Zooming in closer still, the camera alights on her legs, showing that she is bound with ropes at the ankles and knees. The white ropes contrast starkly with the tights, which are now shown to have several ladders on both the calves and thighs. A hole, around an inch and a half in diameter, is also visible on the left leg just above the knee, revealing a patch of lilywhite skin beneath. Her ankles are held by some restraining force underneath the chair, which, as the camera now swoops around to the side, is shown to be another length of rope that pulls her feet up under the seat, and is then attached to the upright chair’s back. She is therefore unable to touch the ground with even the tips of her toes. As the camera circles her, it can be seen that her arms are not only lashed with more ropes to the wooden structure, but also that her wrists are adorned by a pair of steel handcuffs.

With this cinematic circuit of the helpless woman drawing to a close, the camera comes around to focus on her torso, which reveals that the ropes holding her arms in check are part of a stringently tied latticework of cords that dig deeply into the t-shirt and her flesh beneath, criss-crossing her breasts and highlighting her trim young figure.  Below this, the rope coils around and bites into her waist, mooring her in position. 

Suddenly, the camera redirects its attention to her head, which has been covered with what looks like a loosely fitting canvas bag. From beneath, strands of unkempt blonde hair can be observed around her shoulders. 

The man, having for the past few minutes been out of shot, steps forward now and loosens the drawstrings of the bag and slowly lifts the makeshift hood away from her head.  The woman is shown to be young – probably in her early twenties. She squints and blinks in the bright and unfamiliar light, then after a few seconds looks up wide-eyed at the man, at the same time uttering a stifled low whimpering sound, and it is evident that the lower half of her face, and indeed her head, is wrapped in grey tape which has bonded to her skin.  After only a few seconds, however, the man can be seen to pick at the end of the tape and then gradually begin to unravel it. Once several circuits have been stripped away, the removal of the final layer causes her to wince, and as the last inches of tape are ripped from her flesh, a muffled groan issues from her mouth. The tape, it is now clear, was not the only component used in the gagging process, for as soon it has it been stripped away, she is seen to attempt to spit out a large wedge of what looks like towelling material from behind her teeth. She has some difficulty extricating this obstruction with just her tongue however, and the man obliges by helping to ease it out. For several seconds, she gasps in deep lungsful of air, then opens and closes her mouth several times, gingerly exercising her jaw.

After a  short pause, the man, whose face has still not been revealed to camera, holds a bottle of mineral water up to the woman’s lips. She takes two or three large gulps, as if it’s been quite some time since she last quenched her thirst. But then, just as she is about to drink again, the bottle is removed. She gazes up at him for a second or two, then, as if given some off-screen cue, looks into the camera for the first time.  In a croaky voice that hasn’t seen service for some time, she begins to speak.

“Hi Mum and Dad, I bet you were wondering why I haven’t been in contact recently. Well now you can see that I’m not exactly in any position to do very much at all at the moment.  I was advised to say something about being a bit tied up lately, but that would sound slightly crass, wouldn’t it?”

The briefest hint of a smile creases the corner of her mouth, but it is a smile born out of irony rather than joy.

“Anyway, I expect you’re curious to know how I came to be in this state...”

At this precise moment, she thrusts herself as far forward as the bonds around her upper torso will allow, as if to highlight exactly what she is referring to by ‘this state’.

“...well the people who are holding me have been good enough to allow me to share with you the circumstances that got me into this predicament, just so long as I don’t give away any names and locations.”

She throws her head back momentarily and takes a deep breath, then with what looks like tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, she continues.

“So, here’s how it happened...”

"Cut!”I roar my voice into the movie set. “This is a farce...”

“Imogen, that scene was ....” I looked towards the lady who intervened into my decision.

“Emily, I don’t care if that scene could win her the Academy but on my set, I am the Director and its my call for the best takes. You may either shut the fuck up or take your star with you to another movie set.”

No one argues with Imogen the Director. Few have tried to the perils of their movie career, and one even commited suicide on my refusal to have him on my set. I turn to look at the named starlet.

“Call off your pooch, and come with me to my cabin, Ms Starling. You need some personal coaching in the art of acting. And no fucking delays or you can stay outside of my sight forever.” I turn to walk towards my cabin while the crews untie the lady from her restraints. I hired the best in the bondage on my set or I will walk. I am Imogen the Director and most producers will go on their knees for me to direct their movies. I got the wall in my office lined up with the array of awards that most others would pay millions to lick at the pieces.

My cabin was not huge like the stars but it did occupied three parking spaces for my needed privacy. I have my faithful hound guarding the area; the bitch does not take kindly to strangers or uninvited guests. I stop at the cabin door just when the bitch growl at the other bitch who was following up at my heels.

“Its okay, Bitch. She is mine.” I told the hound. Lovely creature and companion. They don’t talk back and listen well. I ursher my star into my cabin. It was not much to roar on; I am a minimalist in the taste. I have my bed, couch and dining table with the seating for two, and the smaller kitchen but the walls were lined up with my past achievements.

I grab the dining chair to the center of the cabin. I sat on it.

“Bind me up!”

The slap came hard across my face. I felt the sting in the hand.

“Shut up, bitch!” I heed my mistress then. She was standing there with her legs spread held back by the width of her stand. I could see the early tear on the tight had widen with the shreds handing loose. She had put on her stiletto and stood over me like the damned Queen of the Amazon.

“Out there , you are the fucking Director but in here, you are my bitch.” She gave me another slap in the face. Then her gaze went to my crotch and she reached for it. She placed her right index finger there and pressed down.

“You are getting all hard down there. Well, bitch. I am not amused at that. I am here to tell you that you suck at the scene. You do not shout cut when I am doing my best acting. You keep quiet and filmed on.”

“I...” My reply was met with a hard slap on my face, and then the fist that went down hard on my crotch. I slammed my legs shut to ease the pain there. She grabbed my knees and pried them open.

“I am the Director here now. Yoiu do not close your legs. You let them stay open.” My mistress then yanked my head towards her face. “You are my bitxh. You do as I say.”

I nodded. And then she licked her lips over my nose towards my eyes and then my ears.

“Are you perspiring in fear?” I could only nodded then. I feared my mistress when she is angry.

“I think you need to be loved.” My mistress stood up and then turned her back towards me. She pulled the tights down and showed me the G-string she wore. She then sat down on my lap and slowly gyrate her hips over me. I wanted to sit back but the chair was hard on my spine. She spread her legs and leaned down onto my chest.

“Feel me, bitch.” I could not control my hands. They were not mine anymore when the fingers moved towards her hips, and then stepped over as if I was crawling on my front to reach in between her legs. I was no more Imogen the Director. I was Imogen the Bitch.

My mistress moaned and called out names which I had no reference to. She did not have to move for it was my fingers who were doing the works there. My nails scrapped her flesh and drew out the secretions from her; trailing onto my fingers with the sounds that even my hound outside joined in unison with the howls. She then closed her legs togerher trapping my fingers and then slammed the back of her head hit my face I could taste the blood in my mouth but I was more into sniffing her hair at my nose. I smell every strand of her hair and it was my turn.

I could not stop it then. I came and it was huge. I was all wet.

“Was it good, bmy mistress?” I asked.

“Can we freshen up? We got a movie to complete.” I nodded. She was my favourite and half my awards was from her acting. “I am more into the role now. Is it shot 49 next or 50?”

“50, my mistres.” I do not need fifty shots to complete the scene, but it was worth the time and film. After all, I am Imogen the Director and nothing is complete unless its perfect. Just like my love for my mistress, its always perfect in every scene.

I love my works and actors, and above all, my mistress. She is a real bitch.