Adam reached over to note on Suzi’s pad that he needed that sound; the echo of metal spike heels stabbing cold concrete, circling, circling, endlessly circling while she bestowed litanies of vitriol upon his breaking back; and an extreme close-up of Roy’s face rippling with conflicting emotions. Adam also noted the low, somewhat disturbing calm tone to her voice, and her deliberate enunciation in a language steeped in design; each word carefully chosen for the power to crush.

"Such pouty silence from someone so filled with his own self-importance. Could it be that you’re afraid I will discover your little secret? What you cannot hide from me? That you have nothing to offer other than a face and a pair of bulging shorts. What happens when the face becomes a tired road map caving in upon itself? And the shorts contain little more than shriveled reminders of dissipated masculinity. When it’s all gone, then everyone can see, and will know what you and I already do—that beneath it all, you are truly ordinary. Nothing special. Nothing talented. Ordinary. Nothing." She walked over to the other side of the set. "Now, crawl to me and beg forgiveness for your ordinary, insignificant existence."

Surprisingly, to Adam, but not to Dru, Roy immediately dropped to all fours and started toward her. Beside him, Adam heard a sharp intake of breath; Suzi’s admiration plummeting. "Sick," she muttered, returning her attention to her pad.

A few steps short of his goal—Dru’s waiting feet to grovel at—pride surfaced; a bare fraction, but enough for him to see, as though through spectator’s eyes or Suzi’s disgust, his pitiable position. He stopped and quickly sat up, face red, burning behind a curtain of molasses brown hair. No. He shook his head, no. Emphatically no. He never expected nor saw it coming; only heard a hiss cutting through the still air, then felt leather connecting with the meaty part of his upper thigh; a light blow, more sting than actual pain. Enraged, he started to rise, he was not tolerating anymore of this, only to freeze in mid-crouch when he noticed the beginnings of what could become a sizable erection; looking up to find Dru’s focus also upon his crotch. She smiled. To his horror, and added humiliation, his member, independent of his own will, seemed to rise all the more under her triumphant gaze. Something broke in his gut, leaving an infinite chasm between pride and his body’s ultimate betrayal. Drawing his knees up to hide his shame, Roy huddled back down on to the floor, pressed his hot forehead to the chill concrete and prayed for release.

Dru looked past the lights, barely discerning Adam’s outline against the harsh glare. She tried to place his features, trace the strong bridge of his nose, the tiny dent in his chin—how sweet the curve of his lower lip—and, now, could only remember his self-centered delight in putting her into this situation, without so much as a thought for her personal feelings. The acoustics allowed her to overhear what was being said while she performed. Yes, that was exactly what this was; a professional performance for his professional benefit; so he could get an accurate scripting of an act of subjugation for his movie. This knowledge put a harder edge into her words and actions, and she was about to take it a step further. Something to spite Adam for disappointing her and teach him a lesson in the frailty of human emotion.

Roy’s unexpected arousal had given her reason to pause, to end the demonstration. This was not a private session, and this was not what the actor was here for. Roy had no conscious desire to confront his secret fears; his unbidden erection clearly troubled him, as any man would be who never explored the darker recesses of passion; it was like stepping over the edge of a cliff. This type of revelation was an intensely personal experience. Come to think of it, this was not what Dru had come here for either. She had expected a pleasant lunch with a desirable man; to, perhaps, discuss where she stood in his life, where their relationship was destined. Why he kept her at a safe distance while, at the same time, voraciously demanding her time and attention; casting her lot looks, stopping her with cool actions. What Dru was now experiencing was also intensely personal. She was as confused, angry and humiliated as Roy at being treated as little more than a lab animal.

‘I could have loved you,’ she thought, ‘as no one ever could.’ If Adam wanted to know what ‘this stuff’ is all about, she was now more than happy to oblige.

Dru kneeled down before Roy’s huddled figure. "Look at me. I want you to look at me." Roy raised his head, eyes full of sweat and tears; confused, humiliated, angry, pleading. "Oh? You weren’t expecting this? When big boys behave like little boys I, most certainly, treat them as such. You do realize that your insolence will cost you dear; that was only a taste of what I promised you. I shall now have to punish you so you will remember all that I have said. Remember, I strike more in sorrow than in anger." She again glanced in Adam’s direction, speaking to the air beyond the lights. "I only do this because I love you."

"Yes, Mistress," Roy whispered. Funny how quickly they fall into their established role.

Dru rose, then slowly walked behind Roy. She waited, allowing her presence to sink in, make him anticipate what her next move might be. Sweat was breaking out on his bowed back. She caressed the sloping curve of his waist, brought her finger to her lips, licking the tiny drop of moisture at the tip, tasting his fear; silently laughing as he flinched at her gentle touch when expecting violence. Grabbing the back of his briefs, she yanked them down with enough force for one side to give way.

Adam started in his chair; sitting upright, he grabbed Suzi’s wrist hard enough to bruise. "What is she doing!" he exclaimed, more to himself. "I don’t know," Suzi hissed twisting free from his grasp. "And I don’t want to know! Here!" She dumped her notes in his lap. "I’m leaving!"

Adam gave Suzi’s retreating figure barely a glance. He was actually relieved at her indignant exit. He hated to admit that shiver that ran down his inseam at seeing Dru savagely expose Roy’s backside; his own flesh thrilling to her hand slipping between Roy’s trembling thighs, running her fingernail under and around his vulnerable scrotum, and up, coaxing his clenched buttocks apart. This was a private show now.

Adam wiped his damp upper lip with a shaky hand. What was Roy thinking? What was he feeling? Was he in as much conflict as Adam regarding this bizarre turn of events? Did he, too, feel the same blind anticipation, on the brink of an arcane mystery revealed? ‘Oh, Lord,’ he thought, ‘this is too much.’ This was like those tremulous few moments before orgasm, when it all could go either way; hollow disappointment or an ecstasy here-to-fore unknown.

Dru took a firm stance to one side, allowing Adam a clear view of the proceedings. She tapped the whip against her open palm. An involuntary convulsion shook Roy’s body at the surface of the skin; a perfect outline of the crop glowing bright red on his thigh. He pulled in tighter, only serving to expose himself even more; stretching taut like a skin canvas, ready for the artist to begin. Dru raised the whip high overhead, grasping the free end in her left hand, bowing out, stretching the shaft to increase the momentum when it came down upon Roy’s flesh.

Adam half-rose in his seat, tempted to get closer; feel the sharp wind of the first blow executed, hear her breath exhale with the effort, smell the mingled odor of male and female laboring toward a common, yet different, purpose; afraid lest he enjoy it. Like Roy. A split second of insight dawning on Adam that Roy—macho man pretty boy Roy who had been porking his assistant AND Amber—was controlling what was happening. He was a big man, he could easily push Dru out of the way and leave. His hands were free, nothing held him save the strength of her command. Instead, he lay complacent, at her feet, prepared to take whatever she meted out. Complacency wasn’t even the word to adequately describe what Adam was seeing; more like need. Roy was orchestrating his own humiliation, and that knowledge must weigh heavier than his erection ever could.

Dru cast Adam one last look, a long hard one, before releasing her hold to send the whip hurtling for its target. Adam saw it as in slow motion; the perfect arc of descent, connecting with a resounding crack on Roy’s buttock; his flesh rippling, shuddering, and a groan passing from his lips that could be mistaken for pleasure. How many blows followed? Maybe five or six, irregularly spaced to prevent his senses preparing for the shock. Adam watched, mesmerized, the sound of his own heartbeat competing with the blood pounding in his temples. He felt lightheaded, panicky, desperate. Everything was taking on a surreal edge; a Dali landscape housing a perverse rapture. He needed air, now. Or he would surely pass out; or court his destruction and crawl into the tableaux. On legs of water he stumbled for the exit, but not soon enough to miss the finish.

A long agonizing bellow—the likes of which could only mean that Roy was cumming—caused him to turn and look back, regardless of the nature of what he might see. It was as compelling as the destruction of Sodom and Gomorra; nothing could erase the sight of Dru’s size 5 leather shod foot on Roy’s chest, pinning him while his hips bucked, releasing a joyless orgasm into the uncaring air. Dru had turned him over at his crucial moment, exposing his ultimate degradation. Roy simultaneously cried and ejaculated under her foot; she was expressionless as thick salty tears erupted from both ends, unmoved by the havoc she had wrought.

Adam shoved hard at the door, throwing himself outside, dazed and blinking in the afternoon sun. Fortunately, everyone was still at lunch; no one to embarrass him with solicitous questions regarding his manic appearance. He restlessly paced, taking deep, gulping breaths, afraid to return to the set. He should have called a stop to it all after the first hit. This was much more than he had asked for. Dru was much more than he had asked for; a sweet dark angel with a heart of barbed wire.

What could he say to her after all this? Ask for forgiveness for taking advantage of her? Praise her for providing an education? Explain what he was feeling? Should not be feeling! That would be like admitting that he slowed down in traffic at car accidents, hoping to see some blood. That was exactly what this was, an accident; and he not only saw blood, he tasted it in his mouth.

Gathering his courage, he went back inside to find Roy, alone, still sniffling, trying to cover himself with the remnants of his soiled navy blue briefs. Dru was gone, the riding crop lying in the spotlight like an accusation. He picked it up, weighing it in his hand, the handle still warm. He pressed it to his lips.
 
 
 

FINAL SCENE--->