Dutch Movie Pt. 02

The water cascaded over her lean form, sliding in snakelike patterns down and over her and between the perfect swell of her breasts. It caressed her arms and legs, gently tracing the perfect line of thigh and calf. It slithered down her back and ran between the fine roundness of her ass. Water pulsed and steamed curled, slowly misting over the glass walls of the shower, obscuring the white and black marble of the bathroom's floor and walls. It wetted the base of her mane of blonde hair, tucked as it was into a loose Edwardian bun. She ran the scented soap in and out of her fingers, foaming it. She applied the soap suds to her neck with langour. She slicked her legs, her arms, her belly. The suds left a gentle tingle as she cupped her breasts and her tight, pinky-brown nipples. She slid her hands over her hips, hips so recently grabbed by the handsome actor in her recent and shocking 'art' film. Last she ran a soap-slicked finger over and between her hairless pussy lips and below to the rosebud of her ass, the ass that had so recently held the impressive cock of the actor. Her soapy finger caused the nerve ends of her anus to tingle. She squinted through the steam to the largely obscured door, closed for privacy, which now seemed odd given that she had acted a sex scene -- or more accurately had sex -- before a small and arty film crew of strangers.

She was sober now and her lawyer's mind was racing.

Turning off the shower she stepped out and reached for a robe. She paused, gazing at herself in the mirror. She was middlingly tall, Nordic-framed, athletic and had a body that could have belonged to a woman twenty years her junior. Long legs, blonde hair, high cheekbones, piercing and lovely eyes. She had a swimmer's grace. The face was beautifully angular, prominent cheekbones setting off a determined look. It was a very youthful face, but serious. 'Resting bitch face" they joked about at the office, but one needed such a thing in her line of work. She smiled and her look was transported. She stood and the C-cups (just) of her breasts settled into soft perfection.

She towelled herself off and began to dress in the clothes she had piled onto the white terry-covered stool. She pulled up a legal resource on her iPhone, read it and soon after emerged, dressed and armed.

She found the director in a small huddle with the actor and the camerawomen. The director turned. Raising a cautionary finger to his team he turned and walked to her, feet padding softly on the plush carpet. The din and lights of the city floated up six stories.

He was intuitive enough to sense the change in her from drugged participant to sober negotiator. He grinned, albeit uncertainly. "That was fantastic -- you were fantastic..."

She used silence to unnerve him. When she spoke the negotiation was brief and to the point. "Article 130 of the New York Penal Law. Look up the definition of 'Mentally Incapacitated' and 'Lack of Consent'."

Succinctly, clearly she laid out that drugging and having someone participate in a filmed sexual act was, under New York law, something that would lead to a long and burdensome time in an upstate penitentiary. His entire crew could also be liable. Whether the inmates were going to understand his value and status as an artist was beyond her ability to tell. "You do not have the stomach for this" she told him. Her message had a profound impact. She continued. The photos on the actor's camera were to be deleted. The film on the left camera to be deleted and she would keep the camera on the right. That could be downloaded onto one of the computer's with editing software, which she would also keep.

The downsides for her - release of the film or challenging him - were tinged with scandal, but his downside - worrying about picking soap up for a decade and more - was much, much greater. "Though a stiff cock in your ass really can be rather nice" she reassured him. He was fully compliant now.

"And, as an insurance policy in case any files are somehow found, I shall photograph you. Our little secret. My little security blanket"

The stunned look on his face lasted only a short while. He moved pretty efficiently to deal with the actor's phone. He had the sequence from one camera transferred to a Mac and then one of the cameras memory wiped. The room was cleared.

She sat in an armchair. There was so much fabric in the generously-sized suite that it seemed to absorb and retain the squeaks and honks of traffic on Madison Avenue and, slightly more distantly Fifth Avenue. Oddly the ventilation system managed to strike a distinct note; she had noticed it before and now understood that its insistent hum created a sense of the room somehow being apart from the city surrounding it.

She picked up the camera. Canon XF200. Meekly he said "That a $2000 camera."

"Which you can amply afford. Just the way you can afford to give me the Mac that has the editing software on it" she noted. "Your paintings sell for hundreds of thousands and your video installations fetch a pirate's ransom." She paused as she found the record button. "Now undress."

She locked eyes with him. "If you are nice I will let you see my film again."

She propped the Mac open and said. "I want to watch you stroke yourself watching me."

He undressed with surprising speed. He was not unfit for his age and he had a large cock he clearly had been hoping to show her under different circumstances. Straight, uncircumcised and at least seven inches partially tumescent. "Tell the camera you consent" she said. He did. She pressed play and watched him stroke his cock into an even larger girth and length. It filled the viewfinder of the camera. He soon ignored her and focused on the screen, his hand stroking. His small moans mixed with her louder, recorded moans. She was a little turned on, but disciplined enough to see this through. His cockhead pulsed , half emerged from his foreskin. He came with a deeper grunt, much of it aimed into his hand.

"Be seeing you." she said. "Perhaps we can do a project together... one we both consent to." She smiled and left with camera and computer. She passed the camerawoman in the lobby and smiled at her.

---------

She had not seen eyes that wide in years. He was practically bug-eyed. Her husband's mouth was also slightly agape.

"I am sorry, but would you mind repeating that?"

She had ensured that he was on a second martini ("this Monkey gin is rather good stuff"). They had an uncomplicated and entirely unprudish approach to sex, but this was decidedly new territory. She had raised it gently and nervously. She had his attention from the outset.

He was calm and rational. "Let me follow the logic here. He slipped you ecstasy in champagne, which you failed to notice. He then convinced you to act in a film. Before you knew it you were undressing for this actor fellow, pirouetting for the camera and then he went down on you, you let him fuck you and you ended by having his cock in your ass. All on camera."

"Yes. And then I turned the tables on him and scared him into performing for me. At the minimum I have some leverage on the conniving bastard." She held his eye "But I did keep a copy of the tape to show you... How do you feel?" she asked "at the thought of me in that position?"

"How do you feel, fucked like a slut on camera?" he retorted. Her initial recoil was at the bite in his voice; her second reaction was to sense him masking... excitement?

"Diminished responsibility". He nodded, accepting that "though it was a slightly, weirdly exciting thing for a girl to do. I terrified him with the penal code, but the drug clearly loosened my girdle of inhibitions more than I would have thought possible." She was testing the ground under their feet. "I have no intention of proposing we become swingers..."

It was his turn to hold silence for a time.

"I'll know how I feel when I see it." A long pause followed. "Show me the movie" he demanded. It was a rhetorical device, as the bulge in his trousers demonstrated.

She extracted the computer, slim and silver and emanating a slightly weighty sense of power things held within, and placed it on the dark shine of the coffee table. She popped the screen open, nudging the vase of orange gladioli to the side.

Her finger dragged the arrow and left it hovering over the play symbol. Her eyes looked into his and asked if he was certain. The tension in the room - some combination of nerves and fear and erotic anticipation - had climbed another notch. He nodded, involuntarily brushing strands of slightly greying hair into place. She gulped. Her finger tapped the pad.

The lie of his trousers suggested that he was three quarter erect already. As the film began she edged closer. Her shoulder touched his. He leaned into her, though his eyes remained riveted to the screen. As she fully undressed on screen (this camera angle was a view of her ass) she tentatively began to trace her fingers over his groin. His rod stiffened. She gently kissed his cheek and then his neck.

As her screen persona began to moan she unbuttoned his fly and extracted his cock. She bent, blonde hair trailing over him until she tucked it behind her ear.

He was fully stiff now. She swirled her tongue around and around the head before sliding down to engorge the first three inches. She removed her mouth and then traced the hard length up and down with the tip of her tongue.

She undid his trousers and slid them off. He kicked his shoes to either side and used one foot to position the computer screen so the view was not obscured by her head. Kneeling between his thighs she began to lap at his balls, the slight slurping noise complementing her on-screen moans.

She dawdled there for some minutes, gently stroking his cock before returning to suck his length down. He was hard, softly pulsing. Determined to draw this out she sucked him slowly, tongue tracing and wrapping his outline.

As the on-screen blonde was positioned on hands and knees and a slicked cock aimed at her ass he began to stiffen. Taking him slightly deeper she swirled her tongue again. By this point her hand was under her skirt, actively working her pussy.

His fingers twined in her hair as he erupted into her mouth, holding her in place until she swallowed. This coincided with her orgasm. She pulled off him, his hard cock linked to her by a small trace line of saliva. Their eyes were fiery with excitement and they locked gaze with each other.

-----

"That 787 was rather comfortable, wasn't it?" They were both surprisingly fresh after an overnight flight. "The new sleeper seats are better and so is the air pressure".

He smiled at her. "You will put the locals to shame."

They arrived at the cab rank. "Széchenyi István tér 5 - Gresham" he told the driver.

"It is funny that we stumbled across the article in The Independent..."

"You stumbled..." she corrected him. His inaccuracy earned him a poke in the ribs. He continued.

"What a 'nom de porn' this fellow picked... Rod Steely! A true entrepreneur and easy to deal with when you call him. His 'porno weekend' business is described with such brio. 'Bring interactive to a new level' ... 'don't just choose the scenes, star in them if you like'. I don't know if this will, how did he put it, end the porn world being 'closed and draped in taboo and suspicion'. I also don't know if this will make him any money. 3000 Euros for the crew for the afternoon... The crew will use cameras we provide. Even the actors are medically tested -- just in case, though that is not part of the script. " (Another nudge in the ribs.) " He wanted to rent me a place somewhere in the Kampa, but I had the concierge find an empty office space instead - one near the river. . All cash in both places. No names."

She thought back to the article that had sparked this. It read: "I've been inundated with requests from men, women and couples -- straight and lesbian -- inquiring about directing or taking part in a scene," says Rod Steely"

The journalist asked one actress who is directed by the porn tourists if she feels exploited or victimised, " Bianca was adamant. "Absolutely not. I love this work and I'm proud of my body. Why shouldn't I show it to people? I'm well paid, I choose the hours I work and I only do what I want to do. I always make a point of telling my boyfriends what I do and they have no problem. Did you know that pornography represents roughly half a per cent of this country's GDP?"

And it was that article that had prompted their trip. A longer, and tamer itinerary after this city-stop was planned, but it was to begin with a bang. (Well not quite literally a bang, but a highly erotic, exhibitionist movie. A movie directed by her husband.)

The traffic being what it was they inched, rather than swept, up to the hotel. Situated at one side of the Chain Bridge and offered views to the hills and palace across. The doorman helped them decant and then invited them through the vast, swirling wrought-iron doorway adorned with strutting peacocks. The lobby - variegated tiles on the wall, an expanse of white marble on the floor and a vast wrought-iron skylight above - was buzzy. Several suspiciously young, quite attractive women flitted to and fro, and one of them was at the front desk. Blonde, more Eastern- than Central- European looking she greeted them with a smile. 'Bianca' her name tag said. She was tall in heels, though without she was probably less than 5'5". A round face and an appealing smile somehow married well with strikingly high cheekbones.

"What a lovely name" he commented. "I was just reading an article about a Bianca". That too earned him a nudge.

They were given the keys to their room - river view - and a very chatty Bianca accompanied them up to show them the various technological wonders. The austerity of her uniform (accented by her hair being pulled right back) contrasted with the softness of the whites and beiges and flashes of purple in the room's decor.

----------

The waterfront road was named after a Church of Scotland missionary murdered during the Second war, which was slightly discordant given their plans. They had parked themselves in the hotel bar for two martinis before they hustled above this traffic clogged road. Their goal was a short walk away. They cut up the side street to reach a corner building: a pre-war structure facing two rather charming beaux-arts blocks across the road (Palazzo Doryttya the banners read: Dorothy was certainly not in Kansas any more).

They met the building manager. Payment had been received so it was a question of having the office opened for them. The top floor offices, furnished in an anonymous modernist style, offered a northwest exposure ideal for the afternoon light.

They attempted to punctuate the nervous silence with jokes, but the efforts were falling flat. The production assistant and the promoter were the first to arrive.

He was soberly dressed: black suit, white shirt, grey tie. Slicked back hair set off a surprising air of respectability. "Pleased to meet you Mr Smith." was uttered in a tone that suggested ' what a boring pseudonym'. His English was very good.

"Pleased to meet you Mr Steely" was pronounced with the right note of comedy about the archness of his porn pseudonym.

"This is Anna". His production assistant was, slightly disconcertingly, a carbon copy of the hotel front desk's Bianca (with her blonde hair now worn loose). Anna did not betray any recognition, and in fact was surprisingly serious for this type of production. Was it her?

"Hey Mr Smith, my crew will be here soon. Good guys. We have discussed this movie idea you have Mr. Smith: all arty not porny. You have provided the camera. I guess we use the skin enhancing setting? Now not to be fussy about this, but skin tone has a lot of green and these fluorescent lights have a lot of green. We can either compensate by makeup or we can shoot over here where there is a lot of daylight. The downside is that you will be partially overlooked, but not too bad."

Rod Steely continued: "Anna, Madam Smith is very pale. Will she need makeup for dark areas; the elbows and knees?"

"No. Madam's brows are already a lovely arch. I am sure she will be a beautiful colour. We will need to see her to see if there are any areas where we need the hocus locus concealer". " What scene we doing? You need anal loosener?" and Anna looked at the blonde, slightly bemused amateur actress. This was all coming very fast.

"we were making a more artistic, less well, well less porno movie" 'Mrs Smith' responded to Anna. Anna had a very strong stare.

There was a knock at the door and Rod Steely went to open it. Various friendly greetings suggested a sense of camraderie. Four men came into the room. Rod brought them over. "These are the cameramen Mr Mrs Smith" -- no surprise given their general state of shabbiness " and these are Balazs and Kristof."

Kristof was blonde and well muscled in a fit sort of way. Over six feet, he bowed, to the clients and then moved to kiss the hand of the Blonde "actress". "So beautiful" he said. Balazs was dark haired, more of a body builder (though not a fanatical one) and was slightly less tall. " This will be all pleasure Madam Smith" and he beamed.

Rod ordered the cameramen to set up where the digital cameras had been placed: 20 feet away by the window near two leather covered knock-off barcleona sofas and a matching ottoman.

"Janos and Balazs will shower now. Where is it?" 'Mr Smith' directed them to the shower room at the end of a corridor of offices.

Anna had taken Madam in hand. "Please undress Madam. We must catch any camera blemishes. I apply makeup and make you glisten on the screen". Anna beamed.

Janos answered the phone. Budding blonde actress 'Mrs Smith' stepped towards the window and, as she did, the westering sun caught her mane and flamed it into wild shades of gold. Smith (Mr.) began to film Smith (Mrs.) on his wife on his iPhone as this budding blonde actress stood and began to undress. First she kicked her pumps off, then she unknotted her scarf (she'd remained fully, fully dressed to this point) and unbuttoned her tight fitting tweed coat -- a coat that lovingly hugged those lean and perfect curves. The skirt was unzipped and shrugged off. The shirt unbuttoned -- more slowly now -- and then removed. She was gazing absently out the window at the building across the way. Seeing no movement she unrolled the thigh high stockings. In bra and panties (matching, translucent, bought in London) she paused. She had an audience of strangers and was by a window. Anna gazed at her and rolled her hand as if to say "hurry up Mrs Smith". And so she reached behind and unhooked her bra.

Janos was by now deep in conversation, but he looked up curiously. The bra came off and perfect C cups swelled into view. Milky white, surmounted two pinky-brown nipples. Soft, natural, high-placed: the envy of a younger woman.

Anna was accepting no delay. Her makeup kit was set on the table and she turned and ostentatiously waited. The audience was no longer simply Anna and Rod, but also the cameramen and, joining them, Kristof and Balazs. They settled on the sofas at back, but did so in a way to ensure a proper view. The entire room behaved as though they'd seen this many times before (as they almost certainly had).

She hooked her fingers in her panties and slid them down, bending her bum towards the window and buildings across as she did. She stood. The panties puddle at her feet. A perfect, freshly waxed pussy was now on display. All of her was on view. Her creamy complexion caught the golden light and she radiated beauty and loveliness and desirability.

Practical Anna positioned 'Mrs Smith' centrally and began to move around, inspecting elbows and knees. "Madam is beautiful. Such a beautiful body -- you are 25 no? And your skin, so milky!". As the actors some distance away joked and talked (and looked) Anna lifted up her left breast and examined a beauty spot. "Does Sir want this not visible?"