I kind of crave attention.
It’s baked into the Donnelly genes.
I mean, when you’re beautiful, you owe it to the world to flaunt what you've got, right?
It’s like it’s my job to be on display so everyone can want me.
Christian Donnelly — bound for the spotlight.
This tape is strong stuff. I can barely breathe. He’s wrapping me too tight…
It was a harmless game.
Girls have always been into me.
Why should I deny either of us a good time?
The redhead from Fendi next door gave me a wink on my first day.
We hooked-up during a break in the service hall of the food court.
Bada bing, ring a ding, make Jess Rabbit sing.
Then a J Crew blondie came round at closing to offer me a special deep discount.
Next day, a Lacoste brunette invited me for some putting practice on the green.
The punk chick from Hot Topic, day three, blew my mind. Among other things.
He’s done circling my chest. Now he’s on to the arms. Endless silver wraps, pulled tighter than the last.
I had summer goals:
Score a little cash…get noticed for my designs…
“Bagging babes at work” wasn’t a consideration.
But never say never.
Especially when you’re on a roll.
So I made a list of the girls working in the Outlet shops.
I drew rows of blocks on my sketch pad.
Put their names inside.
Made a kind of advent calendar.
I’d check off a name…
…as soon as her, ahem, box had been opened.
My fingers are taped into place. I scream for him to stop, but I just end up blowing angry air from my flared nostrils and across my fully stuffed and duct-taped mouth…
The dark-headed girl from the Maison Luisant fragrance counter was the only hitch in the game.
Lauren.
Said she was newly married.
Faithful to her husband.
But she was absolutely gorgeous. And the last name on my list.
It took almost two weeks to break her.
She put up a fight, but, I mean, look at me, who could resist?
So, yeah.
The last box got checked.
Now I’m wishing like hell it hadn’t.
My right leg is moved into position, and the “scriiiiitch” from the unrolling tape begins again.
I could have modeled this summer.
But I wanted to shift focus to my clothing designs.
Walking the runway makes you feel super sexy and powerful…
But if you want real power, be why people come to the shows in the first place.
The general manager of the store said he’d let me work on my designs after hours in back.
He even gave me a worktable where I could construct my pieces.
It’s a Tom Ford concept store; a new venture.
Ford himself is attending the grand opening.
Once I heard that, I knew I had to apply.
When he shows at the store, I’ll be ready with samples and my portfolio.
This is what’s going to propel me into the spotlight.
The tape winds up to my inner thigh. He yanks the left leg into place and repeats the process.
[image][/image]
His name is Aden.
That’s what it says on his name badge, anyway.
Decent-looking guy.
I’ve seen him on the grounds.
One of the mall cops.
His flashlight raps against the front door glass.
I notice the store room clock as I come out of the back.
Almost 4 AM.
I completely lost track of time.
But I’m almost finished with my last piece.
Almost ready for Mr. Ford’s arrival in a few short hours.
“Sorry, didn’t hear you, I was working in the store room,” I say as I open up. “The GM gave me permission.”
Officer Aden doesn't crack a smile, shines his torch into my eyes.
“Security camera check,” he says coldly.
“Yeah, sure,” I nod, swinging the door wide. “It’s been only me since closing.”
He steps in and locks the door behind him.
Training the flashlight around the empty store, he makes his way to the side office.
I hold in the doorway, watching.
At the security controls, he locates the current time record point.
Searches back an hour.
Presses the “delete” tab, wiping the file.
Then he shuts down the system.
“Hey, why’d you do that?” I manage to ask before he’s pointing his gun at me.
Okay… Not the response I was expecting…
I raise my hands.
“What’s going on?”
He doesn’t answer, just reaches behind to his belt and tosses a pair of handcuffs at me.
I catch them in mid-air.
“Put them on behind you.”
“No way, man,” I start to laugh, “are you crazy?”
He cocks and raises the gun.
“Do it, or I end this right here.”
So, definitely crazy…and also angry as hell.
There’s nothing but rage behind those dark eyes.
I’m not usually intimidated, but this guy’s got me shaking.
“All right,” I start. “But what do you mean by ‘this’? What is ‘this’? What’s happening here?”
He gestures with the gun.
I click a cold cuff around one wrist and hesitate as I bring my hands behind me.
In a second, he pushes forward and buries the gun barrel into my forehead.
Reaches behind and clicks the other cuff in place.
Both manacles ratchet down tight, pinching my wrists.
I wince in pain.
Great. Now I’m good and truly fucked.
He turns me and shoves me toward the back room.
I’m pushed into a chair.
Nearby, my supplies are strewn on top of the worktable.
Cutting tools. Fabric scraps. A couple rolls of tape.
He swings a knee across my stomach, forcing me down, then he balls-up scrap material and shoves it into my mouth.
I try to squirm away, but forced down and handcuffed like I am, I can’t stop the invasion.
He wraps silver duct-tape around my face, sealing the fabric in.
Hell, shoving it in — hard! — as he forces tape around my stuffed mouth.
When he finishes the gag, he moves off, and I quickly make to stand, but the gun is in my face again.
That same rage ignites his eyes.
A firm hand grips my collarbone and presses me back into the chair, momentarily defeated.
He begins to pace the room, rifling through everything, as if he’s figuring out his next move.
He discovers my sketch pad, my portfolio, my drawings.
He flips through it all, motions to me. They mine?
I blink and nod.
He drops the papers carelessly to the floor. Grinds them under his heel for good measure.
I tense up. I could charge him, run him down. I figure I’d get one good shot.
…Then I’d get shot…
In the next moment, he’s found my advent calendar, confused at first of its purpose.
But he catches on, slaps the page on the worktable, finger hovering over the last box.
It all comes clear now.
He digs out his wallet, flips open a picture, shows me.
He doesn’t need to. I can guess who’s in it.
The dark haired beauty from the fragrance counter. Lauren.
So, this is about your wife, huh, Officer Aden? This is about revenge?
He grips the wallet close and sinks to his knees, sobbing.
Correction.
It’s about heartache and revenge.
Hey, Aden, man, buddy.
If I could give you a big hug and tell you I’m sorry, I would, dude.
But I’m kinda handcuffed and tape-gagged right now.
This apologetic stare will just have to do for now.
But it’s from the heart, bro.
Come on, these peepers have always melted the ladies.
Don’t tell me you can’t feel the teensiest bit of…
“Don’t fucking look at me!”
I glance down.
Officer Aden is up, pocketing his wallet, pacing.
“You have to pay,” he keeps repeating. “You have to pay for what you did.”
His eyes settle on a stack of mannequin forms resting in the corner.
My general manager was super excited when they arrived the other day.
They aren’t full 3-D mannequins like in normal stores.
They’re flattened metal — black human shapes twisted into poses.
Arms bent. Extended up. Runner poses. Dancing.
They’re pretty striking. Pretty cool.
Officer Aden stares at the mannequins.
A plan begins to take root.
As he reaches for one of the flat forms, I make a sudden break for the door.
Crack!
The butt of his gun slams against the back of my head.
Pain like none I’ve ever felt.
The floor rises to say “hello.”
[image][/image]
*****
Sheers cut through my linen shirt.
Fabric torn, pulled free from under and around my arms.
Slacks unbuttoned, yanked loose.
Socks peeled free.
I’m rendered naked, except for my skinny briefs.
The handcuffs unlatch.
I’m pulled and stretched onto the mannequin form.
Wrists, neck, chest are wrapped and secured to the metal with loops of silver duct tape.
The form is hoisted upright and onto its wheeled base.
My body has been crucified to the metal shape.
*****
As I return to consciousness, he’s finishing with the tape.
Still groggy, I look down at what he’s done.
Silver duct tape criss-crosses my near-naked body, sealing me to the mannequin form.
Arms and hands above — legs and feet drawn low — wrapped tight to the extensions.
My chest and torso held fast to the center shape.
I squirm to get loose, but there’s no play.
My briefs, intersected by several bands of tape, have suddenly grown tighter.
Shit. Of all the times to sprout a semi.
But I can’t help it.
I like how I feel.
How exposed I am.
And how good I look in the tape bondage.
Suddenly, the sound of ripping clothes pulls me out of my reverie.
Officer Aden has found my prototype designs — the mock-ups built from my drawings.
He’s taking a box knife to them all.
I mmmmmmmmmfffph in futility behind my cloth and tape gag.
Don’t do that, get off it, that’s my whole summer right there!
But he’s a man possessed.
In no time at all, he’s reduced months of toil to nothing but tattered shreds.
My semi droops.
What a way to kill a buzz.
[image][/image]
Then the wildest thing happens.
Officer Aden starts to hang pieces of my slashed mock-ups on me.
It’s hard to see what he’s doing, but whatever it is, he’s getting into it.
Taking his time.
Choosing the perfect combination of colors and textures.
I strain my head to see better, but that’s too much mobility for him, so he plasters my forehead back against the metal shape.
Cruel bastard.
I feel his breath against my neck as he cuts and drapes the fabric.
It’s hot and sensual.
He reaches around, brushing up against me, all controlling touches and aggressive tie-offs.
I once fantasized about doing a guy. About getting done by one, too.
I’d be fine if Officer Aden was my first. Why not?
Get the husband, too.
Own the complete set.
I mean, he can see I’m excited about the situation.
And when he brushes up against me, I can feel his excitement, too.
But there’ll be no “happy endings” for either of us.
Revenge might be a strong aphrodisiac, but it’s still revenge, after all.
Suddenly, I’m tipped back and wheeled out onto the showroom floor.
Spun around and propped at the entrance to the store…
…ready to greet my public when the doors open at 9…just in time for Tom Ford’s arrival!
Well played, Officer Aden.
Well-fucking-played.
He bags the evidence (knife and tape) and goes out the front door, not saying another word. Just a smug smile spreading across his lips.
When he closes and locks the door behind him, I finally catch my reflection in the glass.
Ripped leather and vibrant silk fabrics stream around me.
Still visible underneath: the silver tape and exposed muscles and flesh of my chiseled physique.
I’m like some high fashion S&M angel in flight.
A Caravaggio wet dream dressed by Donatella.
My briefs spring to life as my semi goes to ultra.
I decide then and there I'm not pressing charges.
Sure, my head is pounding.
And the good officer showed proper disrespect for my designs.
But, let’s face it, I had it coming.
I messed up his marriage.
I‘m sorry for what happened.
I really am.
But if it hadn’t happened…
Well, I mean, look what I’d have missed.
This look right here…
…it’s wild, I grant you…but honestly…I think it’s the best work I’ve ever done.
The Outlet opens in a couple of hours.
The shop girls will be the first to see me when they arrive.
I’m rock hard and probably still will be when they find me.
If not, it won't take much to get me there once they start taking pictures on their phones.
I can't help it.
It’s in the Donnelly genes.
I was bound for the spotlight.
)
