Of course, the grounds were beautiful: the terrace, leading down to the manicured lawn, the rose beds just bursting into an early spring collage of colour. Quiet, too: the sound of guests playing tennis barely audible; a mower somewhere in the distance. The gentle chink of china as one party braved the cool air and took tea outside, refusing to concede that the April breeze was just a little too chill for outdoor tea and scones.
But so typical of Alan, she thought as she pulled on her coat, to drag her away from comfort. Cocooned in the cosy hotel drawing room, pampered by the ever-so-attentive yet always-discrete staff, she’s been warm, cosy, safe. She’d protested, in that childlike way that had won him around so often in the past: “But it’s coooooold”, mentally stamping her feet.
Yet he’d led her away – her agent and the lawyers left to ponder the detail of the contract, whilst the director dragged her outside.
It’d been like this on the last shoot. She was a star, for goodness sake. People came to see her, to adore her. He was just the director. Well, not ‘just’, of course. Three Oscars: real, solid, actual Oscars, not like her mere nominations, even if two trips up the red carpet were more than a girl her age could have rightly expected. (I’m gonna win one day. This time. This movie. I know it).
But non-stop. Do this. Come here. Change that. Stop! Go!
Did she want all that again? She’d proved herself. She could do it.
Yet what a script… No more corsets (although, as she smiled to herself, she did look very good in a corset). Period dramas? Last year’s trend, my dear. You should see what she’s working on now…
And Nicole would be so envious. (“I got casted. My role. Hah!”).
He met her at the top of the steps, wrapped in his grey overcoat. An arm around her. Loving? Protective? Controlling? Whatever… it felt good.
He propelled her towards a bench, facing back towards the manor house. Far enough away to see faces at the windows; far enough distant not to be overheard.
“Happy?” he asked, breaking the silence.
“Excited.”
“I thought you would be. That’s why I wanted you for the part.”
“It’s strange, though, isn’t it? Here we are, all country house hotels and luxuries and fawning waiters, yet we’re talking about all these horrible things.”
“Are you sure you’re tough enough?”
Tough enough? Hey, she’d show him. I can do tough. I did tough at school, when I had to. I may be successful, but I’m not that sheltered, you know.
She nodded. “Some of the scenes worry me a bit. When she gets captured and…” She let the sentence trail. They both knew what the ‘and’ entailed. ‘And’ a closed set, ‘and’ as few crew as possible, ‘and’ huge amounts of comfort and re-assurance afterwards. Inevitably, it wouldn’t just be a character in a movie who felt humiliated, abused.
“It didn’t have the plot in mind.”
She turned to him, looking at him closely. Falling silent. Studying the stone flags in front of her closely.
They sat in silence for hours. Or so it seemed. Minutes, more like. Seconds, even, before his arm returned to her shoulder.
She tried to banish the images from her mind; she knew he must have similar pictures engraved in his mind, from oh-so-different an angle.
Remembered his steady, unflinching gaze as she’d lowered her panties. Strong, focused, sparing her no embarrassment.
Remembered her fingertips in the deep carpet.
Felt her bare thighs against his woollen trousers.
Felt… every moment that she wanted to forget, but so needed to remember.
Felt the warmth of his shoulder afterwards, as she nestled into his linen jacket.
“I’ll do the same again if I have to, you know?”
She bit her lip and nodded. Felt a hundred eyes on the set afterwards: had they know? Had they heard?
Felt the linen sheets against her, cooling the pain. Felt the moisture of her tears on the pillow.
He continued: “Only this time I’m going to start as I mean to go on.”
Softly: “Meaning?”
“Meaning that if you think you’re going to behave like you did for much of our last shoot together, you’re sorely mistaken. Very sorely. I’m going to monitor every ounce of your being from day one, this time. How you stand. How you breathe. How you behave. And…”
She felt the warmth of his arm around her.
She wanted this. So much.
The role.
The praise, the cheering fans.
Wanted to be taught how to succeed. By him.
“And…”
She leant her head against his chest, nodding. “I know… Promise I’ll try.”
And he stood, propelling her to her feet. “Then we have a contract to sign and a movie to make, my dear.”
I love how the actress’s ambition for success mirrors the yearning of a kinkster for his or her kink. The honest, raw emotion that runs through the story is beautiful.