The gag tasted new. After more than a dozen undercover jobs gone array over the years, she had become some sort of an expert. Mind you: she had solved over seventy cases during the same period. She was by no means a bad PI. But everynow and then, things went off the rails, and boy did they this time!
Caldera stood in the middle of the small, empty room, the pole deeply embedded in her. If she could have moved her feet close to it, she might have been able to slip off, raising herself on her tippy toes. But the steel ring forcing her legs apart prevented that.
Four walls, mainly empty. Behind her was the one with the only door in it. She stared at the one in front of her, the one with the monitor and the small camera lens above it. The monitor had gone dead. A few minutes ago it had been very much alive.
"Hello Dominique, how very nice to see you again! Please gag yourself, and make it tight... Very good! Now, grab your breasts and start squeezing them. Go ahead... yes, that's it. Keep going! And look into the camera at all times!
I'll be with you later this afternoon."
Agnes Healy is one of the upcoming young photographers of today. While still at the academy, this young lady has already received multiple awards in the fields of landscape, architecture and portraits. But after her latest feat, a session for a company called Fetish Fortress, Shoot Magazine was intrigued and eager to have a talk with her in her Tiny house, in Felicia Village. Here follows an excerpt.
(You can read the full interview in the upcoming issue of Shoot Magazine, February)
Wow! Is this consensual?
Of course it is! We had a long talk about it, and after two and a half years
Irene finally agreed to give it a try! Aren't you happy for me? For us?
Of course I am! But I didn't mean the tieing up stuff. I meant you taking
this picture and showing me that?
Carmen Galena Morales grunted as she was being led along. She felt lightning in her lower back, and her calves and thighs were burning. But still, her biggest concern wasn't with herself. In front of her, she could see her mother, forced to hobble forth in the same awkward bent over manner. The old woman clearly had difficulties keeping up, stumbling along in her narrow knee-length skirt, and she was breathing heavily.
"Please let-my mother go! She... has nothing to do... with all of this! She was just-visiting!"
"If that's the case we'll find out soon enough. She is going to be interrogated, just like you yourself. For the moment you are both suspects in the largest fentanyl trafficking case this state has ever seen!"