This left Adam to choreograph something he knew next to nothing about, but afraid to challenge lest he be thought incapable. This was his first chance at directing a full length movie, his previous ventures a few commercials and a lot of music videos. Everything was humming along smoothly until this one scene; a scene that had no visible contribution to the story line other than to cash in on the current leather and lash craze. Just 10 minutes—10 minutes out of 96 hanging about his neck like an albatross!

Perhaps it will look better when all spliced together. His final vision was to be shot in several sequences then intercut. First was Amber wielding the whip; using forced perspective she looked to be thrashing Roy while actually a safe distance away. Then, close-up shots of Roy’s shirt being flayed open by a stage blood soaked prop quirt; and, finally, sound effects, a lot of sound effects.

Panting slightly, swaying in needle thin stiletto heels, Amber tottered over to Adam to breathlessly complain about the undue strain of her role, the discomfort of her costume (what there was of it), the excessive amount of time being spent on this one scene; and a steady stream of unrelated matters such as why her personal trainer wasn’t on the payroll, since she had Adam’s attention. Tactfully dodging her demands and menacing breasts, Adam shot Dru a helpless look; Dru countering with an exaggerated giggle behind her hand.

He hadn’t known Dru long, a bare two weeks. A consistent, comfortable two weeks; she easily working her schedule around his. They also hadn’t been intimate. Not that Adam wasn’t attracted, he was; very much so. He glanced at her again. Dru definitely wasn’t one of those polo-shirted, pager on a jeans clad hip type he was used to. Even though she was sitting, he could tell her black skirt molded to her down to her ankles; a tight, boned undergarment was clearly visible under her filmy black blouse, a thick leather belt cinching her waist. She also wore perilously high heels, but navigated her torturous steps far better than the top heavy Amber. It was just that her cool demeanor—her words, actions, and look so carefully chosen—intimidated him; frightened him, actually. He fantasized about, but could not bring himself to kiss those cool, red lips.

Fortunately, Suzi came to his rescue, escorting the still chattering Amber back to her dressing room on the pretense of properly documenting her needs. Dru approached at their exit.

"So," he greeted, smile forced and overly bright, "this is it."

"Yes. Interesting."

"Of course this is not integral to the overall picture," he continued, not realizing he was rambling; fishing for praise he knew was undeserved. "But it is a very important scene. That’s why I’m spending so much time perfecting it, fine tuning the mood, the emotions. There are a lot of nuances I am trying to capture." He was drowning in his own rhetoric, rambling like a first year film student seeking to impress. And she was letting him; head tilted to the left, her bemused smile half hidden by a long wave of dark hair. He felt she was laughing at him. "Pretty bad, huh," he mumbled, deflated.

Dru waited a few beats; for Adam to finish his thoughts and she to gather hers. "Well," she began, "if you are really trying to accomplish a sense of reality, you could start with those chains. Suspending someone from bare metal is far beyond torture; not only are you restricting the circulation—you could at least use cuffs—but, at that height and position, breathing is difficult and his shoulders could dislocate."

Adam stared at Dru as if for the first time. "You, you know about this stuff?"

She hesitated a moment, then smiled. "You could say that, ‘this stuff’ is my chosen profession."

"So, you really know a lot about his," he continued, more to himself; soaring hopes for a possible solution overshadowing his initial shock at this unexpected revelation. What was it he thought she did? Freelance therapist? Where did he get that idea? Come to think of it, he never really asked; nor did she volunteer. Or was he just not listening? "You could help me! Could you help me? Show me how you would do it?"

"Oh, I couldn’t, not in front of the camera."

"No, just me, Suzi, and…SUZI! Suzi , get Roy back in here, I need him!"

Before Dru could reply, Adam hustled her on to the set; Roy, still in costume, soon followed.

"Roy, this is Dru, she is…ah…a technical advisor and is going to go over the scene with us. Suzi will take notes." To Dru: "Please help me with this." Brown eyes pleading. "If you could just do this one thing for me."

This was not how Dru expected to spend her afternoon, standing in a hot spotlight expounding on the proper way to discipline a slave. She hadn’t missed that fleeting look of disgust cross Adam’s face before being replaced by one of sheer elation. She was eventually going to tell him; carefully feeling around, searching for and finding purchase in common ground.

"First of all, he shouldn’t be dressed," she began. "When you take away the clothes, you take away the identity. While your actress does have a phenomenal body, if the sole objective is to dominate—if no direct sexual activity is to occur—she should have a bit more coverage. A fully clothed Mistress and a naked slave establishes the balance of power. I think, though for your purposes, he could be stripped down to his underwear."

Adam nodded. "Roy, would you please?"

Roy shrugged, then shed his clothing down to a pair of dark blue briefs, pleased to display a physique only hard work and sweat could maintain. Adopting a calculated pose of casual masculinity—legs spread, thumbs hooked in his front pockets—he smiled and winked at Suzi from under a playfully cocked eyebrow. Dru was not pleased with this exchange. Roy’s overt posturing was an affront to her authority.

"Now then, a slave should know his place—on his knees, no head may be higher than mine." Roy cast Adam a questioning look, then kneeled down on the floor when Adam nodded. Dru firmly grasped Roy’s chin between thumb and forefinger, turning his head away from their audience to face her censorious stare.

"I am your sole concern. No one and nothing exists but me. You are to give undivided attention and utmost obedience. Show me the respect I deserve by keeping your eyes where they belong, on the floor. You will only speak when you are spoken to, and confine your answers to ‘Yes, Mistress’, ‘No, Mistress’, ‘Only if it should please you, Mistress.’ After you are deservedly punished say, ‘Thank-you, Mistress, may I please have another’ Which, of course, you will be refused. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what."

Roy frowned. He was not liking this, rehearsal or not. He dared to look up at this strange woman, then quickly down again. "Yes, Mistress," he barked, voice overly loud.

Adam watched, fascinated. Dru had changed from a confidant, striking woman into a commanding ice queen; he could feel the temperature drop under the hot lights. She seemed to grow in stature, and Roy shrunk down from his six-foot bulk in just that one instant; a fraction of a second looking into whatever lay behind those golden brown eyes and Roy was mesmerized.

Satisfied the subject was suitably admonished, Dru turned her attention to all the paraphernalia hanging from hooks set in a fake stone wall and heaped upon a small folding table. Gathering up a good handful of silvery chain and dull leather, she dumped it on the perimeter of the set.

"This is overkill, Adam, not necessary." She kicked aside the bullwhip, the most expensive piece of the lot. "And this is a definite NOT. The purpose is to inflame the senses, not rend the flesh. A bullwhip can do serious damage, not to mention the training required to correctly use one."

From behind the lights came Adam’s voice. "What would you prefer?"

"Something smaller, more compact, easy to handle. This is perfect." She held up a simple riding crop, flexed the shaft a few times, then slipped the braided loop at the handle around her slender wrist. She slapped the wide leather end against her open palm. "With this I can control the degree of pain I inflict; from a light tap, to a severe blow that could leave a very pretty welt. It may also be used to direct the slave’s actions, or, to caress when they have pleased me. Or," she brought the whip down hard against her hand, the resulting crack sounded hollow, but deadly. "to emphasize a command. We will start with something simple."

She turned to Roy, "Over there, to your right, are a collar and cuffs, go over there and fetch them. Crawl," she stated firmly when he started to rise.

Roy hesitated a moment, feeling Dru’s hard stare; those cold marble eyes that pulled him in, allowing no entry beyond her contempt; knowing Adam would prompt if he didn’t respond. He started crawling, carefully sliding his palms and bare knees over the cracked concrete the required six feet, that felt like a mile, to retrieve the three thick bands of studded leather.

"Now, put then on and return to me. This is to remind you that you willingly submit to my control."

He fastened the restraints about his neck and wrists then returned to resume his position at her feet.

While Dru continued explaining the purposes and uses of the dramatically pared down cache of instruments Roy remained kneeling; straight up on his shins, body raised, legs together, arms at his sides, head slightly bowed; his full lips compressed into a grim line. A slow swell of anger was building; anger and frustration at his roll –or lack of a role—in the proceedings. None of this escaped Dru’s notice. While Adam was studying Dru, Dru was studying Roy; analyzing his reactions, searching for strengths to destroy, weak points to exploit. She markedly ignored him, save an occasional poke or pat with the riding crop to illustrate a point. His skin prickled at being the object of attention, yet, so invisible. At some point, she decided his positioning was wrong. She put his head farther downward and placed his clenched hands on his thighs; rearranging him into a more subservient position without so much as a pause in her oration. He hissed through his teeth, a murmuring curse low in his throat.

Dru stopped and stood before him, legs firmly planted, arms akimbo, the whip dangling from her right wrist. Roy couldn’t take his eyes off the swaying 28 inch shaft, his focus narrowing, every detail in harsh relief. He could see the grain in the dull black leather; could smell the handle’s pungent rubber mixing with the perfumed perspiration of her hand.

"I believe I still detect a bit of defiance, we will have to rectify that, You overestimate your role, little man. You are not here to thrill the ladies with your perfect profile and tanned muscles; such attributes are detriments in my domain. You are as a piece of furniture—furniture of flesh—only viable when you are to be used. And what is your use? Your use is to amuse me. Your pretty face does not amuse me. Your insufferable vanity does not amuse me. What car you drive, what clothes you wear, where you go and who you know here is irrelevant to the glaring fact that YOU DO NOT AMUSE ME! The way to my heart is you in pain and enjoying every delicious moment."
 
 
 

PLEASE, MAY I HAVE SOME MORE--->