pissed off that I wasn’t on set on time, there sure seemed to be a lot of shit left to do before we could start shooting.
My costar huffed out a long, bored breath beside me.
“Has he been like this all morning?”
“Yep,” she confirmed, “at least he’s not throwing things anymore. He really doesn’t like you or your brothers very much.”
I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly, causing the leather to strain against my bulk, “There are a lot of people who don’t like my family. The Westboro Baptists picketed our house once. Now that’s a special brand of stupid right there.”
She laughed quietly, showing the first sign that she wasn’t an absolute ice queen, “I worked with Parker once. He told me the story. Did they really stand out there for two days with signs and yell at you guys every time you came out of the house?”
“Yup. Poor Preston was only about six at the time. He didn’t understand what the hell was going on. He had snuck out to play and they yelled and screamed at him until he ran back into the house in tears. My mom had to lock me in the bathroom to keep me from going out there and doing something stupid. My dad was off on some shoot, of course, so I felt like it was my job, as the man of the house, to make them leave.”
“Did Parker really shoot off a shotgun to get them to leave?”
It was my turn to laugh.
“No,” I smiled, “I’m surprised he told you that version instead of the one where he lobbed a beehive into the middle of them. That’s always been his favorite. Unfortunately, the real story is a bit mundane. We just stayed inside for so long that they got bored and went away. If you go to their website, I think there’s still a page where they brag about the two-day stand they took against moral corruption outside the Ruff House. Those people are whack jobs.”
“If you two are done,” the megaphone screeched, “you have paychecks to earn.”
“I’m gonna kill him before this is through,” I growled to her through gritted teeth.
“Not if I beat you to it,” she chirped. The million-dollar smile on her face could’ve fooled even me.
At least I finally got to work with someone with some acting skills!
Unfortunately, it turned out that her only real ability was smiling.
Staging was tedious at best. Blocking was like trying to teach a cat to play dead. The girl just didn’t get it. Luckily, the script wasn’t too complicated. She only had to have her lines read back to her a dozen times each.
Ken had blown through an entire pack of cigarettes before the cameras even started rolling.
“Clear the set!” he screamed into his microphone.
Finally , it was time to start shooting.
I made my way over to the fluffer. She was probably in her early twenties. Mid-length brunette hair, too much eye makeup, and a tan so dark you could tell she spent at least four days a week in a tanning bed. Her eye shadow was silver over her greyish-green eyes and her lipstick, as she took my cock in her mouth, was Barbie pink.
I let my head fall back and stared up into the darkness of the rafters over head while she did her business.
Ken called Chardonnay back on scene and that was my cue. I retrieved my now-stiff anatomy from the pearly-pink clutches of Hooker Barbie and did my best to tuck it back into the tight leather.
It looked like I had a nine and a half inch club vacuum-sealed to my leg.
I shook my head over the cheesy representation of BDSM and walked into frame.
“It’s my fantasy, right?” Chardonnay asked in a low, smoky voice, “That means I can make you do whatever I want, right?”
I crossed my arms in front of me causing my biceps to bulge and strain against the harness and my pecs to swell into massive pads of muscle. I just nodded my head slowly in response to her question.
She reached over to the wall of toys that had been wheeled next to the bed, “I wanna start with this one.”
She grabbed the flogger off the rack and slapped it gently
My costar huffed out a long, bored breath beside me.
“Has he been like this all morning?”
“Yep,” she confirmed, “at least he’s not throwing things anymore. He really doesn’t like you or your brothers very much.”
I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly, causing the leather to strain against my bulk, “There are a lot of people who don’t like my family. The Westboro Baptists picketed our house once. Now that’s a special brand of stupid right there.”
She laughed quietly, showing the first sign that she wasn’t an absolute ice queen, “I worked with Parker once. He told me the story. Did they really stand out there for two days with signs and yell at you guys every time you came out of the house?”
“Yup. Poor Preston was only about six at the time. He didn’t understand what the hell was going on. He had snuck out to play and they yelled and screamed at him until he ran back into the house in tears. My mom had to lock me in the bathroom to keep me from going out there and doing something stupid. My dad was off on some shoot, of course, so I felt like it was my job, as the man of the house, to make them leave.”
“Did Parker really shoot off a shotgun to get them to leave?”
It was my turn to laugh.
“No,” I smiled, “I’m surprised he told you that version instead of the one where he lobbed a beehive into the middle of them. That’s always been his favorite. Unfortunately, the real story is a bit mundane. We just stayed inside for so long that they got bored and went away. If you go to their website, I think there’s still a page where they brag about the two-day stand they took against moral corruption outside the Ruff House. Those people are whack jobs.”
“If you two are done,” the megaphone screeched, “you have paychecks to earn.”
“I’m gonna kill him before this is through,” I growled to her through gritted teeth.
“Not if I beat you to it,” she chirped. The million-dollar smile on her face could’ve fooled even me.
At least I finally got to work with someone with some acting skills!
Unfortunately, it turned out that her only real ability was smiling.
Staging was tedious at best. Blocking was like trying to teach a cat to play dead. The girl just didn’t get it. Luckily, the script wasn’t too complicated. She only had to have her lines read back to her a dozen times each.
Ken had blown through an entire pack of cigarettes before the cameras even started rolling.
“Clear the set!” he screamed into his microphone.
Finally , it was time to start shooting.
I made my way over to the fluffer. She was probably in her early twenties. Mid-length brunette hair, too much eye makeup, and a tan so dark you could tell she spent at least four days a week in a tanning bed. Her eye shadow was silver over her greyish-green eyes and her lipstick, as she took my cock in her mouth, was Barbie pink.
I let my head fall back and stared up into the darkness of the rafters over head while she did her business.
Ken called Chardonnay back on scene and that was my cue. I retrieved my now-stiff anatomy from the pearly-pink clutches of Hooker Barbie and did my best to tuck it back into the tight leather.
It looked like I had a nine and a half inch club vacuum-sealed to my leg.
I shook my head over the cheesy representation of BDSM and walked into frame.
“It’s my fantasy, right?” Chardonnay asked in a low, smoky voice, “That means I can make you do whatever I want, right?”
I crossed my arms in front of me causing my biceps to bulge and strain against the harness and my pecs to swell into massive pads of muscle. I just nodded my head slowly in response to her question.
She reached over to the wall of toys that had been wheeled next to the bed, “I wanna start with this one.”
She grabbed the flogger off the rack and slapped it gently
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