Contemporary UK Story: In the Studio Today

This story was inspired by the appearance of Sarah Rose, a renowned swinger, on the 'James O' Brien Show'

In the Studio Today

“It’s not going to work.”  Gary complained as he walked stridently into the office.

Trisha looked up from her desk.  She had been working for the television company for fifteen years now and was used to people, whether they were producers, directors, camera crew or publicists, let alone presenters, losing their temper.  Many of them seemed to run on adrenalin.  As a result it was often useful that she was there - Trisha Webb, the one calm and competent administrator to resolve things or, at least, calm someone down.

“Well, can’t we do it without Sandra Royle?”  Eleanor asked.

Gary hesitated before shaking her head.  “It won’t have as much impact.  You know she is probably one of the most distinctive people we’ve had on recent shows.  That particular programme got some of our highest catch-up viewing figures - what this publicity is precisely about.”

Trisha knew they were talking about the Maguire Programme.  It was a studio-based reality show which addressed serious ‘issues’ typically with a panel of ‘experts’ and a crowd a little less rowdy than those programmes on which there were DNA and lie detector tests.  Today was about doing publicity shots of people from previous episodes to encourage people to watch on the catch-up service.

“Is it a question of money?”  Eleanor asked.

“No, she’s simply in Ibiza.  This was all supposed to happen last week, remember, but then Ben got sick.”

Ben Maguire was the charismatic host of the programme and Trisha did recall that even when she had seen him two days earlier he had been recovering from the flu.

“Okay, but what about a stand-in?  If Sandra doesn’t mind, we use a look-alike.  It’s not even as if we’re going to go in as close as on the programme.”

“Well, we can text her to see if she minds.”  Gary conceded.  “Then we need to find a slender woman in forties with long black hair – the clothes, well, I guess we have that kind of stuff in wardrobe.  Nikki!   Nikki!”  Gary called.

A few moments later Nikki, who Trisha knew oversaw both the make-up and whatever ‘costumes’ were needed on the Maguire Programme, bustled in.

“Nikki, do you remember what Sandra Royle came in?”

“Sure.”

“Do you have something similar?”

“Erm, well, yes, a black leather jacket; the leather bustier; those shiny leggings with the cut-through panels, maybe not, but I can secure some quickly enough; red high heels, well, we have some sizes.”

“Okay.  Pull out everything that fits … you know goes with that look.  We just have to find a woman to stand in.”

Eleanor looked down at the floor and Gary started swiping through something on his phone.  Then he looked up abruptly.

“Trisha.”  Gary said abruptly.

“Yes, Mr. Hudson.”

“Gary, please, Trisha.”  He responded.

“Gary – what would you like me to do?”

Trisha guessed that he had pulled up someone from a list on his phone and wanted to get on to that woman or perhaps her agent, to see if she could come in at short notice.

“How would you like to dress up as Sandra Royle for the afternoon?”

It took some moments for Trisha to take in what he was asking.  In the meantime Eleanor had perked up and came over to the two of them.

“Look.”  Gary said, holding the screen of is phone close to Trisha’s face.

“Yes, I see it; very much alike.  With a bit of work from Nikki, I am sure we can get a good match.”

Trisha laughed.  “I can hardly look like her.”

Trisha typed the name into the search engine on her computer and saw a range of images pop up.  Sandra was about her age that was for sure.  She was not what Trisha would have called beautiful, her face was a little angular with a broad forehead.  She seemed to have got her glasses, rectangular ones with a black frame from the same place as Trisha; maybe that was the main similarity Gary had picked up on.  Looking at the images, Trisha conceded that, perhaps, at a distance this Sandra would have looked like Trisha, but then again, Trisha knew she lacked that glint in her eye and that mischievous smirk which seemed to be what made this woman of interest.  Her own hair was the same length but mid-brown and not dyed the raven black Sandra Royle had nor cut in that stylish way, running very straight to her shoulders and tapering slightly to the back.  Added to that, though Trisha was pleased that she kept trim through doing Pilates, she hardly envisaged squeezing herself into these type of clothes.

“It would really help us out.”  Eleanor said.

Trisha was always keen to help out, to go that extra mile.  Usually that meant ringing around restaurants trying to get a table or standing in the rain with a huge umbrella for some arriving celebrity, but she guessed this task was probably less onerous than those.

“And you’ll get a bonus, as if we had to hire a model.”  Gary added.

The money could always come in handy, Trisha thought.  She had been wondering about affording a holiday away.  Since her husband had left her for some woman he had met at his golf club, eight years ago, Trisha had usually managed to get her friend Jacqui to go somewhere nice and quiet each summer.

“In for a penny, in for a pound.”  Trisha said, standing.

“Wonderful.  Go and find Nikki and we’ll see you in an hour.  We’re using Studio 1.”

Trisha headed down to wardrobe.  When she got there she saw that Gary had phoned ahead and Nikki was waiting along with Keri who did hair and make-up.  Nikki was soon pulling up pictures of Sandra Royle.

“Right, Nikki I’m in your hands.”  Trisha said hoping she sounded confident.

“We’ll do your hair first.  Now I know what sizes I’ll need to look for, it will make life easier with the clothes.”

“Over here, Trisha.”  Keri called.

Trisha walked across to the chair and sat down.  Keri had that manner of the kind of women who worked in this department, and quickly made Trisha feel at ease, indeed a little excited at what was happening.  Her hair was taken out of its bun and soon was being dyed and cut, though Trisha still found it difficult to believe she would look genuinely like the woman she was being modelled for.

Eventually it was finished.  Slipping her glasses back on, Trisha looked at her hair now dyed black, straightened and cut to come to tapered points.  Though the square-black framed glasses she put on were her own, they somehow looked very different in the setting of the hairstyle.  The make-up Keri added – some lipstick and some eyeshadow, were not extreme but more certainly than Trisha would have worn to work.  Soon, however, her nails had been extended and turned into scarlet talons.

“Excellent, now, strip off, it’s the clothes next.”  Nikki said, holding up a selection.

Trisha recalled what Gary had said Sandra Royle had worn.  She knew it was going to be very different from what she wore to work, a blouse, cardigan and skirt, and even what she might wear on the weekend.  However, she told herself, that given this woman had been on the programme for the number of sexual partners she had had, it was probably no surprise that she dressed that way.  As she stepped out of her court shoes and then her skirt, she told herself it was no worse than putting on a costume and no-one would know it was her in the photos - that was the point.  Nikki helped her get into the leggings that clung so tight to her.  She had a couple of plain black ones at home, but none as shiny and figure hugging as these, with the added factor of panels cut along the two outer sides to show her skin below.

Trisha was a little apprehensive as her bra was removed but here with just the two women she knew to be professionals, she was quickly reassured.  Nikki wrapped the leather bustier around her and zipped up tight at the front; holding her breasts tightly - this was something even more different.  Still coping with how it felt, Trisha then giggled as Keri used stencils to provide a spray-on flower tattoo for her breast.

“It’s alright, it will wear off pretty quickly.”  Nikki reassured her.

As Trisha looked down at her body, she felt as if she was viewing that of a different woman and that helped a great deal.  She thought of herself as an actress.  This was not the real her, this was a role as if she had been in a soap opera or a drama.  She knew many actors sounded very different from how they appeared on screen and was often pleased to know them in their everyday personas.  She told herself that today she was debuting as an actress and her first role was as the promiscuous Sandra Royle.

It was easy to slip on the cropped leather jacket and with some help, to get into the pair of scarlet stiletto-heeled shoes that contrasted with the shiny black of everything else she now wore.  As she walked up and down in the shoes she found they gave her a saunter that she was sure fitted the role.  She was surprised how good her legs and her breasts looked in these clothes.  As the moments passed, she not only felt comfortable dressed this way, but a little frisson.  These were sexy clothes and perhaps it was no surprise that she felt sexy as a result.  It seemed no wonder that Sandra dressed this way.

“Right.  You know where you’re heading?”  Nikki asked.

“Studio 1.”  Trisha replied.

“Great.  We’ll see you there, in case anyone needs a bit of pancake to take off the shine.”

“Thanks Nikki; Keri.”

“Just doing our jobs.”

As Trisha walked to the studio, she was very conscious now that she was moving in a different way.  It was not the first time she had worn high heels; indeed she sometimes wore a lower heel to work.  Perhaps it was the leggings clinging to her legs or how she was conscious every time she breathed of the leather quite tight against her chest.  Were her nipples getting excited pressed down by the tight bustier?  There was an aroma of soft leather that she found surprisingly heady.  Trisha wondered if it was simply that she was dressed differently to how she would ever have done that gave her that frisson.  Perhaps pretending that she was someone else, meant she was letting go a little: Trisha might be embarrassed to look this way, but Sandra was happy like this, actually she enjoyed it.  Trisha felt a little guilty at that.  Sandra Royle was a very different person to her, she told herself.  This was just a favour for her employer not her having a change of lifestyle.  Yet, for whatever reason she felt it, Trisha found it difficult to shake off a thrill as she neared the studio.

Gary was there and grinned broadly as Trisha entered.  She said nothing to him and thought it best to pretend she was Sandra; only admitting the truth if she was challenged.  As she looked around the room she saw that most of the people there had been on different episodes of the programme so would never have met the real Sandra anyway.  She caught sight of a large man in a grey suit right across the room and remembered that he had been on the other side of the debate in the programme featuring Sandra.  He glanced at everyone as they entered and casting his eye over Trisha looked away in clear disgust or annoyance.  Trisha kept smiling and spoke to those who spoke with her.  It was apparent that some people there, among the twenty or so the company had gathered for these shots, judged her immediately by how she was dressed whether for the good or bad.  One young man could not take his eyes off her, but neither did he seem able to speak to her.  Mischievously she wondered how he would react if she propositioned him.  Chuckling at that thought, Trisha imagined it gave that kind of look she had seen on the real Sandra and she guessed that was for the good.

The next hour was spent being directed around by the photographer; put in chairs or standing in groups for various shots.  Then they were all invited into the green room, the place where refreshments were laid on.  By now Trisha was feeling that she was right into her role.  No-one had questioned that she was not Sandra Royle and she felt she had managed to get through the queries about how many hundreds of men she had had sex with, pretty well.  Looking so different to her usual self, Trisha felt no qualms about lying and simply dismissed the issue around what it might be like to have so many sexual partners as not being of her concern.

Reaching the end of the session, Trisha hovered by the table of food and drinks, picking up canapes as best she could with the long nails she now sported.  A man, about her own age, looking trim in a smart but casual blue suit and dark shirt, walked over, a couple of glasses of wine in his hand.  He offered one to Trisha without saying anything and she found herself accepting it.  Sipping the wine for a moment, she recalled that this was Mark Caterham, a hypnotist who had been on one of the recent shows.

“Sandra Royle?”  Mark asked.

“Yes, yes, that’s me.”  Trisha smiled as she lied; pleased that she was able to continue the pretence.

“I thought it was you.  I enjoyed the programme you were on.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course, I’ve seen you more on websites.”

“Oh?”

Mark held up his smartphone and scrolled through a number of online newspaper articles but then moved on to websites that Trisha imagined would not be allowed through to her work computer’s browser.  Soon she was looking at a range of Sandra Royle’s partners in stills and short video clips.  Trisha felt it strange to see someone looking so much like her doing those things; shown with the kind of clothes she was in now.

“Isn’t that you on those websites?”  Mark asked.

“Yes … yes, it is.”  Trisha replied but now being a little more cautious, concerned that what her response might lead Caterham to expect.

“Yes, I thought so.  That is you.  That’s you, Sandra, in all these pictures; on all these websites.”  Mark said with that sonorous tone.

For a moment, Trisha felt that she should argue against that; tell Mark that he was wrong.  However, as Mark’s words sunk in, she found it difficult to find any fault with them.

“That is you.  That’s you, Sandra, in all these pictures; on all these websites.”  Mark repeated, continuing to scroll through the various images.

Trisha was not certain whether it was the words or the images, but as Mark continued, she felt he was right, that she had been foolish to think otherwise.  He slowed the images until it fixed on one showing the woman in shiny leggings, a bustier and a black leather jacket.  Surely that was a picture of her.  Then she saw it move and she realised it was a live picture of herself.  That had to confirm it.

“Sandra, tell me I’m right; tell me the truth – that is you in those pictures.”

Trisha hesitated but then there seemed no reason to say anything different.

“Yes, that’s me, that’s me in the pictures; you’re right.”

The response seemed to please Mark.

“I knew I was right, that’s you in the pictures.”  He echoed.

Trisha was now curious to see where she was featured, to track back and see the other outfits she had worn.

“You like to swing, don’t you; you’re famous now for going to swingers’ parties.  How many men have you had sex with?  Was it five hundred?  A thousand?  I can understand what they like about you Sandra; you’re one sexy bitch, aren’t you?”

Trisha found it difficult to accept that she had slept with so many men, but then felt that she could not deny that fact.  If Mark knew it, then surely it was true.  As she began to think of men she could have slept with; men she might have had sex with, they became men she had truly had.  Now the number grew quickly and she could soon recall at least sex with some of them.  Where had she met them?  Where were these swingers’ clubs?  She thought of hotels she had visited down the years; surely it must have been in some of those, perhaps all of them.

“I can see you remembering some of them.  Those memories make you hot and wet, I can see that Sandra.”

Trisha could not deny that Mark was right.  As she thought of the men, she increasingly felt aroused as if she was reliving many of the encounters she was seeing pictured.  The clothes she wore, so tight, so shiny, so sexy, just amplified those feelings.  She knew how the people had looked at her even just here.  Surely that emphasised that she was Sandra Royle the renowned swinger; the woman unafraid, indeed proud of her sexuality and the pleasure she derived from every encounter.

“I’m guessing you’re wanting to go somewhere.”  Trisha smiled, feeling the Sandra persona really taking over.

“Sandra, yes, I do; but the kind of thing you like – a swinger’s party.  There’s the Hamilton House one this evening.  Coming from out of London, I guess you’ve not been to that one, Sandra.”

“No, I haven’t but it sounds fun.  The thing is …”

“You’ve got nothing good to wear; not for an evening event anyway.  Well, let it be my treat; let’s go and see if we can find you something just right.  Doesn’t that sound good, Sandra?”

“Yes, yes it does.”

Trisha turned and looked back at the green room.  Somehow it seemed distant and unfamiliar to her.  She guessed she had only been here a couple of times.  She glanced around for that man and the woman, had she been the producer?  Then she saw them in deep but animated conversation with the man in the grey suit and that was not a chat she wanted to gate crash.  In moments she was out of the room with Mark Caterham shepherding her to his sports car, talking about all the sexual positions he enjoyed in quite a bit of detail and Sandra found herself excited by these; sure she had done many herself already, but keen to give them another go.

****

They pulled up at a shop on the outskirts of London and from the mannequins in the window, Sandra was sure that she was going to get something excellent here.  The woman inside was dressed in a latex version of a 1950s dress and had bubblegum pink hair piled into a complex structure.

“I know you,” the shop assistant said excitedly, “you’re Sandra Royle.”

Sandra smiled and confirmed it.

“How can I help today?”

“A swingers’ party, tonight.  What do you fancy, Sandra?”  Mark asked casting his arms wide to encompass the shop.  “It all looks so good, doesn’t it?  Make you look so damn hot.”

Sandra looked excitedly around the shop.  In just over an hour she was stepping from it in a skin-tight cobalt blue latex dress and matching platform shoes.  She could not stop running her fingers over the latex that had been polished to a high shine by the shop assistant while she wore it, heightening Sandra’s sense of arousal.  She was soon back in Mark’s car and Sandra found her handbag with the latest smartphone and condoms ready for her evening ahead.

As they drove into the suburbs, Sandra felt that sense of anticipation that she imagined she got every time she went to an event like this.  Mark added to that by getting her talking about the kind of men she hoped to meet there and what she would do with them.  She began pondering what she really ached for this evening, but by the time they reached the large house, set back from the road and well concealed by thick bushes and trees she realised she just wanted cock wherever she could get it.

There were expensive cars all around and distantly Sandra wondered what this place was the rest of the time.  Probably some centre for business conferences or training.  It was early evening, but already she was seeing really fit looking men and some very sexy women emerging from the cars.  Looking at the fine lawns and the folly in the distance, she wondered if it might be warm enough for some action out here.  Mark took Sandra’s hand and led her inside.

“Mark, glad you could make it.”  A man in his fifties, that Sandra took to be the organiser, greeted him.  “And who have with you tonight … ah, I see a celebrity.  Sandra, so glad you could come.”

The man reached forward to kiss her cheeks, but allowed his hand to stray to cup one latex-coated buttock.  Sandra simpered at the sensation and rubbed the back of her hand across his crotch.  This elicited a broad grin from him.

“Already getting friendly, Alec?”  Mark asked.

The host chuckled.  “Sandra, there’s drinks through there.”

He pointed into a room still lit by the fading daylight and small spot lamps.  A long table stretched the length of the room again filled with canapes and wine and Sandra chuckled to think that today this seemed to be the pattern for her lunch and dinner.  People were in couples, speaking in low voices, still eyeing each other cautiously in the way Sandra was sure she must remember from the many events she had seen herself pictured at.  She checked out some of the men and then thought she ought to see what Mark wanted first.  He was fit and successful and imagined there were games they could play with hypnosis.  She also fancied this Alec for a session.  There was a confidence about him that she found excited her.  Collecting a glass for Mark she headed back to the entrance way.  Alec and Mark had retreated into the lee of the main stairs.  Sandra caught the sound of their voices and stopped.

“Sandra – she’s not the real one is she?”

“No; she’s in Ibiza.  This is a lookalike that the TV company brought in for some publicity.”

“And you, being you, Mark, decided to make her the real thing.”

“Well, as close as I can.  The tattoo is not real …”

“But I imagine it soon will be.  I know you, Mark, it’s not just about the sex with you; it’s about raising the quota of sexy … sexually available women.  However, in this case, you can’t have two Sandra Royles; what happens when the real one comes back to this country?”

“I will gently guide my one towards some other similar but different identity.  I pinned her into the Sandra identity by showing her shots from the websites.  Now, soon she’ll have pictures of her own and we can start building her up as her own star of the swingers.”

Alec chuckled.  “God, Mark, you are a devil, but I love you for it.  Moving the female population one woman at a time to the swinging side.”

Mark and Alec now turned from the stairs and came in Sandra’s direction.  Her mind tried to process what she had just heard.  However, she found that the idea of getting shots of her with some of the men here tonight and putting them up on a website, was getting her hot and she focused on that, pleased that Mark was keen to do it too.  This was a classy event and she was pleased to find he had such connections.

By the time Mark reached her, she was grinning and shifting awkwardly in her dress, aware of how excited her body was becoming; the latex reflecting her growing heat.

“This is for you.”  Sandra pressed the glass of wine on Mark and then lent in for a long kiss chasing his tongue with her own.

“A lovely lady.”  Alec commented.  “I can’t wait to come and see you later.  Here, I know what you need.  Go up to the second floor; head to the red door.  You’ll love that room.  I imagine that once the evening’s going properly, there’ll be a queue outside.”

“Just the way I like it.”  Sandra chuckled and quickly kissed Alec’s lips.

In the next few minutes Sandra was making her way tentatively on her high heels, up the stairs and on to the long corridor; each room with a different coloured door and a number.  However, to Sandra it looked like a magic box of drawers rather than a hotel.  The red door opened into a sumptuous room, perhaps on an Arabian theme, with terracotta and crimson shades plus a large circular bed with a canopy above it, against one wall.  Putting down her glass of wine, Sandra kicked the door closed and then turned to Mark, she pulled him tight against her, rubbing her latex clad body up and down him; loving this dress he had bought her.  Step by step, without letting go, she worked him back to the bed.  She tossed him on to it and stripped him of his jacket and shirt, then pulled up his legs, to remove, shoes, socks, trousers and pants.  For herself, she shed her shoes and hitched her dress up at the skirt and down at the bust, but was eager to keep the rest of herself sheathed in the glistening rubber.

Mark lay back watching as Sandra went to the bedside drawer; picked through the condoms and found a dotted one she somehow knew would feel good.  To her experienced eye, Mark’s erection looked good and soon it was coated in rubber dots.  She slid her wet pussy on to it to try.  She found it the right size and with sufficient curve to nicely butt against her g-spot.  However, given their earlier conversation, Sandra, sat him up and found herself deftly bringing him into the spider position, face-to-face, delightfully rocking, teasing her with those tiny dots that spiked little pleasure bursts into her.

It was probably no surprise that Mark came quickly.  He had been building up to it all day.  Sandra prided herself that in this dress, a man would have to be gay not to have a hard-on for her.  However, she used his cock and then got his fingers working on her clitoris wondering why she had not shaved down there recently.  With her own thumb working her pussy and Mark’s fingers and then his tongue pressed into service on her clit, Sandra reached a decent first orgasm, feeling the room swaying and sending those pulses of thrill up and down her body.  As she toppled away from Mark on to the bed, she heard a voice at the door.  It had to be Alec.

“Enter.”  Sandra called, laughing at the double-entendre and loving the sense of control.

Alec was in a towelling robe and abandoning Mark, Sandra stood and went over to him, stroking his cock back to life to emerge from beneath the robe.  Sandra felt good; her head still buzzed from the orgasm and she knew she had not dropped off the plateau.  If she could get another decent cock in her or a tongue and fingers back at her clit, she imagined that multiple orgasms lay ahead.  She wondered what her tally of men would be for tonight.

As Alec toyed with her excited nipples, Sandra pulled him in for a kiss, tasting the delicious wine on his lips and tongue.  She felt out of time as if she had exited the world and that here was simply about pleasures of her body.  She knew that ahead would be more encounters and tomorrow she would walk from here precisely as she was, one of the sexiest, one of the most adventurous, women in the country.  Sliding back into tight shiny clothes would just bring that home not just to herself but anyone who saw her.  For that fact, Sandra found she felt very proud.