by Rose de Fer
The scene in my head changes in an instant, making the glow inside warm to a burn. Gone is that picture of empty solitude, morphing into a whole cluster of script advisers, light and sound technicians, clapper-loaders, boom operators, runners, extras, all sorts, all around the periphery of the twin cameras and the director sitting in the big chair. You wouldn’t think I could have failed to detect such a horde but I’ve seen it in the flesh – when Mason calls for quiet he gets absolute pin-drop silence. You’ve never seen focus like it: bated breath; eyes that daren’t blink; every ounce of concentration trained on the performers; scrutiny as intense as you will ever witness. And that scrutiny is falling on me.
They’ve already seen my backside come out, yawning for them in all its naked glory. You can’t open yourself up much more shamefully than that. I mean, in these days when rounder rumps seem to court more admirers than of old, I can’t say I’m not a little proud of mine, but I’m far from wanting to show it off to a room full of strangers, let alone that mass of avid porno watchers out there, all ogling my bare body as wank-fodder, imagining themselves finishing all over that rude arse of mine. The camera has already captured the dirty way she had it drenched. Thousands might get to see that, if this movie she’s making is given wider distribution, and all I have is a flimsy sleep mask to protect my identity. Imagine that shame. I doubt I’ll even be able to leave the house.
Of course, I don’t even know that I won’t be revealed to the camera in the final frames. I don’t know what lies in wait for me. They do. They have the script. They can see all the players. I don’t even know if it was a man or a woman who defiled me with their warm stream. How could I tell? There could be any number of other players surrounding me, already in character, their roles defined. Some might have their frilly maid’s knickers down around their knees, waiting for the order to present themselves to my slut face. Some could be stroking their oversized porn-cocks hard, ready once any spanking has subsided to bury themselves into me as the script demands, regardless of any oaths I have made to be true to one Master alone. Women I have made no such promises about, maybe because so many of my fantasies recently have seen me under the control of a gorgeous Mistress just like this one. In fact, when Mason spanked my most intimate secrets and fantasies from me, this was the one he said he would readily entertain.
‘I do want to keep you happy, after all,’ he said that day. ‘And keep you mine.’
There is no more time to flesh out the scene. The first of her spanks lands out of the blue. The slap echoes around the room, the noise louder than the weight of it. I still yelp. It is sharp but the afterglow swamps any pain. The camera will have zoomed in to show the hand mark she left. The watching crew will have stifled gasps. The waiting cocks will be straining harder than ever. Eventually the next slap comes, on the other cheek this time to even the score. I buck and yelp again. The delicious sear spreads and then the sting rises to the surface. The only way to stop it is for another slap to land to swamp the pain with that soothing glow. I’m still new to all this but I already know the cravings are as addictive as anything I will ever experience.
The next slaps have me waiting just as long. The tease is almost unbearable. The camera will have captured my wiggling slut arse, pleading silently for more. God, she is so cruel, making me whimper and writhe like this, the intensity of the moment so much greater because of all those eyes upon me. Mason always deals his spanks in a flurry, as if wanting to unleash an immediately gathering, unstoppable rush of panic-pain-pleasure inside me, sending me over the top so quickly I’m almost in a trance when his well-timed pinch allows the climax to pour from me. After that, I will gladly do anything he says, and he so loves me to finish him with my mouth – something his wife would never do.
Each fizz is made to count. She won’t pick up her pace for anyone. It drives me to distraction. The director must know this and either it’s what he wants or he’s seen how much more impact it will have on his audience. If it’s as tantalising for them as it is for me then something will have to give soon. Those cocks will be in me like a flash when the signal is given. How will I even have a chance to refuse them? She’s up to a dozen smacks now and I’m trembling. I expect to feel the press of hard flesh against my holes between each blow but it doesn’t come. Every eye watching will be wondering what it would be like to take my place, wondering what it is to feel your whole body on the edge like mine, tingling beyond any inbuilt coping mechanisms – an almost unmanageable bliss.
I must have taken two dozen to each cheek before I feel my hair being grasped and the softness, the gorgeous warm wetness of her smooth cunt pressed to my mouth. I mean, I suppose it’s her, since the slaps have abated for the moment, but I guess it could be one of the maids. She might be elsewhere, putting on a latex glove to protect her palm from the sting there. I can’t think too much of that now. This is a treat I’ve waited a long while to savour. I wish I could get my hands to her, at least to pull her closer. This woman just loves to punish me. She can’t even know how wet the tease makes me. It’s barely more than a titillating taster when I so want to feast. I want all of her forced into my mouth or onto my tongue. God, I hope I get to do so in the sequel.
My face is left dripping with her juice. The smacks come again – a faster pace this time and delivered with a paddle. I’m already so pent-up it feels like I might explode. The sound man is going to have to be on his game to cope with the screams. I’ve been good, though. I’ve done what she’s asked and taken it so far. I’ve wanted to cry out and beg but I’ve kept in mind that reward she promised, and I’ve stayed quiet. It is taking all my willpower now. My backside will be bright red, juddering for all the world to see, dancing open between each smack to show me off. Can that audience tell how much I’m longing for a cock inside me? A rock-hard pole to sink right to my belly?
Then there is one at my face, smacking my cheeks. I should close my mouth to stop it entering but the cries are forced from me with every slap to my behind. I will just have to pray it is Mason’s. I can’t get my hands on it to give me that familiar feel. I can’t get its scent because all I can smell is pussy, the cream from two now coating my top lip and up my nostrils. There is a chance it might be him. Who better to direct such a film? It is perfectly possible he might know this stuntwoman and have used her to lure me here. And if it is him I must open up and take him because it is my sworn oath to suck his cock dry just as soon as he has had his pleasure and spanked the orgasm from me.
The meat keeps beating my cheeks as the climax builds within, awaiting that trigger. The spanks have stopped but the glow and sting will pervade for ages. It will make the final rapture no less glorious. My hips are being gripped. I cannot tell if the hands there belong to a man or to a strong female like my Mistress. My yearning tells me I cannot now care. Something glides down the sodden split of my puss. I imagine her there with the toy strapped tight to her waist; then a burly male, a porn star, guiding himself into me. It feels more like a toy but I’m actually too wet to tell, my nerve endings too overwhelmed with pleasure. In it sinks and I do scream, as loud as I have ever done.
A hand has to hold my hair so that the cock can plunge into my waiting mouth. I suck and slurp with all the greed I show my Master. I feel the hand beat my lips as the cock is stroked fast. I am fucked deep and hard from the rear. I thrust backwards to aid this because Mason told me that time he’d want me to buck like a bitch if he ever got to see a woman have me. The final straw is a buzzing toy held to me. My brain is almost too scrambled now to picture who might be doing this. I think it is most likely to be a naked maid. Whatever, the effect is immediate. My mouth is flooded but I cannot concentrate on identifying the male grunts I hear through my own shrieks. The quakes are massive; incomparable.
Through muffled ears I hear her calling out, ‘Cut! That’s a wrap!’
She helps me up off the frame onto legs that can barely stand. She yanks my skirt down again and pulls my top back on, ensuring the blindfold stays in
place. I am led away from the room, the house. In the car I am still too shaken, my head too full of stars to speak. One thing does strike me: I will have to watch the film to see exactly what went on. I cannot ask Mason to show me the tapes in case it wasn’t him. I will have to sit in trepidation hoping he never comes across it, and he does like to watch porn, particularly scenes with young, round-arsed British girls getting spanked. And I could easily find myself blackmailed by the same woman. She could threaten to identify me as the star unless I agree to more of the same. When will that end? My fall from grace, my endless shame, seems inevitable.
I am pulled from the car and she tells me to wait where I am. I hear the sound of a door shutting and a car driving away but still I stand there bewildered for a while, unable to go against her wishes. After maybe half a minute I give in and remove the sleep mask. She has gone and I am by my car, released back as if nothing at all has happened. I have been used, though. Whether it was her idea or whether it was Mason’s I shan’t know. My shamed arse might be on countrywide release very soon or all over the Internet by midnight. There is nothing I can do except shiver with the indignity and bow for ever to those who know how to control me. Here’s the thing: when it comes to making movies, you think it’s all about the star, but really and truly it’s always about the director.
A Bid for Her Heart
Kathleen Tudor
As she stood waiting in the dark corridor, Eva wondered, not for the first time, why she’d allowed her best friend to talk her into this.
‘Because you love me very much,’ Tiffany reminded her when she returned, ‘and because it’s for a good cause. You look sexy.’
Eva let her lips quirk halfway into a smile. ‘Isn’t that the point?’
‘Well, yes, and I’m just telling you that you did a really good job. You’re third. Now go make me proud!’
Third. As in: the third person to be auctioned off to the highest bidder for charitable funds to help support veterans within the community. It was hard not to sigh; Eva was used to being in a position of strength and authority. She was known all over this area as a merciless Domme, yet here she was putting herself in a pretty damned helpless position. She tried to look at the bright side: the sub with the balls to buy a play session with her would surely prove interesting, at least.
‘OK, you’re up,’ a voice whispered. Then a gentle hand – she’d pay to know whose – gave her a shove at the small of her back, and Eva straightened her shoulders and allowed herself to be pushed onto the temporary stage that had been set up in the dungeon’s open hall. Her heels snapped smartly against the wood of the stage as she strode forward, hands on corseted hips, to stand beside a woman she knew only as Grayling.
Grayling, the MC for the evening’s festivities, introduced her to the crowd and invited her to give a little spin. Eva smiled against her gritted teeth and indulged in a little fanciful daydreaming about what horrible things she’d do to Tiffany the next time she had her in some rope.
‘We’ll start the bidding at a hundred dollars! Awesome! How about a hundred and fifty? A hundred and fifty! Now I’m looking for two hundred dollars, ladies and gents, for this fine-looking bitch-Domme!’
Eva added Grayling to the list of people who were going to have to watch their asses around her in the near future. She glared, but the MC only dropped her a saucy wink, and Eva had to smother the urge to laugh. This whole situation was absurd.
‘Come on, folks,’ Grayling continued, ‘Get your paddles up!’ They were using actual spanking paddles, of course, with numbers taped onto the ends. ‘Ooh, five hundred and fifty dollars! It’s getting hot in here, kinksters! Amazing! Six hundred! We have a new high for this evening, but can we push it any higher? Going once? Twice? Sold!’
Relieved at being allowed to retreat from the stage, Eva turned to the stairs and took the hand of the sub who’d been stationed there to help the light-dazzled and the dizzy out of the spotlight gracefully. A handsome Indian man replaced her on the stage, but Eva made straight for the desk, not interested in the bidding.
She almost turned right back around, though, when she noticed who was lounging against the front desk. ‘Hunter,’ she said instead, refusing to give in to cowardice. ‘Better hurry up with your paperwork or you’ll miss the choicest plums,’ she teased. He grinned back, though, and she had to keep her knees from going rubbery on her. Hunter was…Hunter. He was the embodiment of sex and chemistry, and she would swear that she could often feel his presence in a room, even with her back turned. He was intelligent, funny, painfully handsome and also the one thing she could never afford to fall for: a fellow top.
‘Actually, I’ve already got what I came for,’ he said, tapping a paddle subtly against his leg. Of course it wasn’t one of the borrowed paddles. No, he’d brought his own, dark and thick and wicked-looking. She didn’t often use paddles, herself, but she admired his taste in them.
She was so caught up in the gloss of the wood that it took her a moment to process what he’d said. Done already? She wished she’d paid more attention to the two people who’d walked on stage ahead of her. ‘Oh? I must have been backstage. Who did you…?’
Hunter’s grin grew wider and he slid a signed cheque across the counter. It was made out to the Leather Veterans’ Association. For $600.
Eva gaped as Rose, the desk-girl and co-owner of the club, grabbed the cheque and slid it into a manila envelope. ‘Thank you for your generosity, Hunter. Enjoy your special night!’ She looked at Eva and winked, and Eva snapped her mouth shut.
‘You didn’t just—’
Hunter interrupted her, thanking Rose and taking Eva by the arm, guiding her gently toward a table where refreshments had been laid out. She accepted the water and pretzels he handed her, but her mind was still a bit preoccupied.
‘You bid on me?’
‘Seems so,’ Hunter said quietly, his voice a rumble that she could feel as much as she could hear it over the din from the next room. He was too close…
She stepped back and nearly tripped over a misplaced cushion. ‘Hunter, I’m a Domme.’
‘Oh, I’ve noticed. Trust me.’ He hadn’t moved, but he still seemed so close.
She took another step back, reaching for calm. For cool. ‘I won’t kneel to you, Hunter. Not even for charity. Not for anyone.’
‘We’ll see,’ he answered, looking unconcerned.
‘No, we won’t—’ she started, but he stopped her with a gesture, and she wanted to kick herself for letting him.
‘I don’t mean to push you. We won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, OK? I promise.’ He stepped forward, back into her personal space, and this time she let him, refusing to let him chase her. Still, she damned near whimpered when he ran a rough thumb over her lips. ‘I’ve wanted to kiss you since the day we met, but you’ve never let me. We’ve got sparks, Eva.’ When his thumb moved from her lips to caress her cheek, it was all she could do not to follow it with her lips, she was so hungry for a taste of him. ‘But you always keep me at arm’s length. Is it because you don’t want me?’
All she had to do to save herself was to lie. But it was beyond her. ‘No.’ He couldn’t have heard her over the cheers in the next room, but he read the word on her lips and something kindled behind his eyes.
‘Then give me a chance. Just a chance.’ His wandering thumb had found her chin, and he tilted her head up towards his as he leaned forward. ‘Will you do that?’
Fuck! ‘Yes,’ she breathed. Her entire body was on fire for this impending kiss.
‘Good,’ he said, close enough for his breath to feel hot on her lips. Close enough that she could practically taste the Italian he’d had for dinner.
Then he backed away from her, his hand falling away from her face as he straightened, leaving her feeling untethered and dizzy. ‘Then I’ll book a room for next weekend. Is Saturday night OK?’
Eva gasped and rocked in her heels. ‘Fuck. You,’ she enunciated.
He laughed, then l
eaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, nothing more than a parting gesture between friends. She was going to…to…she didn’t know, but he was on her list.
‘I’ll see you then. Have you still got my number from that demo we did? I’ll text you when I have our reservation.’ Then with one last wink he turned and strode out, snatching up his motorcycle helmet on the way.
Tiffany appeared at Eva’s elbow as if by magic. ‘Wow, that looked steamy. Was that Hunter?’
Eva blinked twice, trying to clear her mind. Then she turned a glare on her good friend. ‘Are you done organising?’
‘Yes, why?’
This time it was Eva whose sharp grin threw a helpless woman off balance. ‘You and my rope have a date. Come on.’
* * *
Even with Tiffany’s enthusiastic help with taking the edge off, Eva was tense for the rest of the week. She jumped at every notification on her phone, but when Hunter finally texted her on Tuesday afternoon, it still managed to catch her by surprise. And once she had the time plugged into her calendar, the imminent train wreck felt all too real and painfully inevitable.
Maybe that was why she took such care with her wardrobe. She didn’t wear anything she might normally have been seen in, at least not at the dungeon. Instead, she slid a pair of ass-hugging jeans on over her thong, and coupled them with a button-up blouse and some sexy-but-vanilla heeled boots. She looked like any single woman might, getting dressed up for a Saturday-night date. Which was the point. She had to remember that no matter how sexy Hunter might be, neither of them was submissive enough to kneel for the other.
Rose didn’t even raise an eyebrow when she checked in at the desk. ‘Hunter’s already here,’ she said, and then waved away Eva’s $20. ‘He already paid for both of you, and he told me that whatever you threatened me with in order to get me to take your cash, he’d do twice.’ Rose smirked. She was a hardcore masochist who was known to take quite the thrashing from time to time, so it wasn’t a threat with teeth.