PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT
“Take your clothes off,
The young man in front of me flinched – his arms moved instinctively to the hem
of his shirt.
“Please, my Lord…” he whimpered.
I stood back a little way – I let the hint of my most sardonic smile tease at
the edges of my mouth. “Get on with it. I want to see you stripped. Will you
disobey me even now?”
The wide blue eyes flashed up at me with an erotic mixture of excitement,
misery and fear, and I saw my proud expression reflected in his pupils. My cock
grew hard in my pants. I let the crop drop slightly in my grip, and the end
brushed at my thigh.
“Now! Or you’ll feel the weight of this against your back until you scream for
me to take you!”
The man gasped, his eyes widening even further with the anguished anticipation
of what was to happen to him. He peeled the shirt up over his head with shaking
fingers. His chest was smooth and pale, as befitted his youth, but with
well-defined adult muscles. I let my eyes run up and down the lines of his
ribs, savouring the erect nubs of his nut-brown nipples.
“And the pants,
He let his eyelids droop briefly, as if to shield himself from the hunger in my
expression. His hands were slim and smooth, unused to a servant’s work, and
they moved clumsily to his waistband, tugging half-heartedly at the ties that
held up his poorly sewn britches.
There was a sudden pause.
“For fuck’s sake, Dave…” came a plaintive cry from behind me. “Are you crying?”
“No!” snapped the young man. He straightened up suddenly, showing a slender,
muscled body that was as tall as mine, and now looking a lot less juvenile, and
a hell of a lot less submissive.
I sighed. “He is, Paul. I must have scared him.”
“For Christ’s sake,” growled Dave, glaring at me. “Humiliate me, why don’t you?
It’s just the damned lights in my eyes –“
“Cut!” came the voice of Paul, our director, and there was a communal sigh from
behind the cameras. “So… guess that’s not going to work. Back to your
trailers, everyone – we’ll try the scene again later. Dave – Stuart – script
review in ten. OK?”
I glared at Dave, shivering now without his shirt. He glared back at me.
But we both answered promptly enough – you didn’t upset your Director without
good reason. Not when you were $1.2m over budget, and three weeks behind schedule,
and Will Smith had just opened in another blockbuster.
“OK, Paul.”
~*~
“Take your clothes off.” My voice was still imperious, though it was sultry now
with the hint of repressed passion, and a fascination with the rebellious young
man who lay at my feet on the stable floor.
“I’m damned if I will!” he replied, bravely enough. “You’ve no right to treat
me like one of your damned horses – nor do I have to obey you like one!“
I laughed, a harsh sound that echoed in the bare stable. My elegant accent
covered an edge of pure steel. “Oh but I think that you do,
I saw his body shake; his face pale further. There was still the light of
resistance in his eyes – the dark flash of hatred and disgust. It was a look
that inflamed me; that inspired me to take him tonight – and to take him hard!
“Take off your clothes,” I repeated, and could barely hide my triumph as he
started to pull his meagre shirt over his head.
“All of them!” I snapped. “Now! Or you’ll feel the weight of my crop across
your haunches –“
There was a sudden pause.
“Fuck it!” came Paul’s voice in the background again. “He’s laughing!”
I stared at the man on the floor, who was now rolling on his side, convulsed
not with fear of his master – but with roaring laughter.
“Haunches -!” he gasped between hiccuping. “Haunches
-! What am I, a pig?”
“Dave – Stuart!” came the cry. We could tell that Paul was speaking through
gritted teeth. The camera crew exchanged weary glances. There was going to be
no ‘wrapping’ tonight.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence in my performance, Dave,” I hissed. “If you
can’t act professionally –“
“Trailers!” yelled Paul. “Script review! Now!”
~*~
“Take your clothes off,” I said. My voice was quiet and firm. It had an edge of
desire to it that leaked from my mouth like melted chocolate. There was a hint
of desperation, too. I would never beg, that was obvious, but my body would
plead for his in every ache of its nerves.
He knelt before me, his eyes shadowed under his fallen hair. His dark pink
tongue slid out from inside his mouth, and licked swiftly at his plump lips.
I let the slightest of groans slip from my throat.
“All of them?” he murmured. His voice lapped around me like summer waves under
a waning sun. His fingers played gently with the fastenings of his shirt; his
gaze flickered greedily from my face to my lap, and back again. My pants felt
impossibly tight.
“Yes, all of them,” I commanded.
I reached out and took a firm hold of the thick blond tresses that pooled around
the man’s neck and shoulders. He gasped as I pulled him towards me, none too
gently.
I kissed him – firmly. Almost harshly. Several times. And he kissed me back
with as much enthusiasm.
"So what do you say?" he murmured as our lips peeled apart.
“…off,” I moaned. Words were escaping me, words that should have been my
livelihood. “Please.”
He stretched like a feline, his eyes holding mine with a gleam of awareness of
his power. He smiled – a wide, generous, hungry smile. He lifted his shirt over
his head, and I saw the ripple of muscle across his shoulders like the shudder
of lust and love combined.
He leant forward, balanced as he was on the end of my bed, and the trailer
rocked slightly underneath us. We never got the really good quality ones on
location shoots. Particularly not when we’d just wasted another day’s filming
and incurred the wrath of both Director and crew alike.
“You only had to ask nicely, Stu,” he purred. He
slipped a hand inside my own shirt, and pinched at my painfully erect nipple. I
sucked in a desperate breath, and he laughed softly and deliciously cruelly.
“You only had to ask.”