"Yes … signor.” As in sir, or even Master. “Sir, I want…” The words caught in her throat. Though not a vain, stereotypical movie blonde, she was not used to being in this position. Julie Marie Summers had never had to seek out sex in her life, much less beg it. If anything, she'd spent her time fighting off men who wanted it from her, ignoring everything else inside her, including what was between her ears.
"Want what, my dear?"
"I want to make love,” she spared herself the more graphic term.
"There is no room for love in this room,” pronounced the Director. “Nor in this film."
"In that case I want to fuck,” she braced herself, another climax on the way, soon to rob of her speech once more. “I want to fuck … both of you."
Oh, heavens, had she really said that out loud? Only once before had she been in on a threesome, her and another girl, in the bed of a sleazy producer hyped up on cocaine about a decade ago. It had left her cold, in more ways than one. But with these two men to share a bed with, how could she go wrong?
The new orgasm was like sharp tongues, whipping up and down her back. You naughty thing, they seemed to be chastising, nice females don't ask for such things.
"I see,” said Ambrosiano as the servants cleared the empty plates, as well as her full one. “That would be an interesting change … in your role. It would involve, I think, a fresh audition."
Julie was in no position to arguing, no matter what perversions the man might have in mind. “Anything…"
He ordered a servant to turn off the vibrator and remove it. The touch of the stranger's hand made her come one more time. Degrading, wild and more overpowering than all the others combined. A hundred suns exploding, moons shattering. Looking across the table, she reached for the Dasklovian, who was sitting like a statue, so very stoic, that perpetually half sad look upon his face as though he could never really touch her.
But his eyes, ah, his eyes danced with sympathy.
"Get up now, Julie.” Ambrosiano gave her no time to recover. “You will remove your dress and your bra, but leave the shoes."
Nothing spelled wanton woman to Julie more than this: a female wearing only high heels. A woman like this was dressed to fuck and for no other purpose on earth. She was snagging men, inviting them, their hands and cocks to come and possess saucy flesh, highlighted by flashing patent leather covering pretty feet.
She let the dress fall to the floor, like a petal. The carpet absorbed it in sweet silence. Reaching behind her back to reach the clasp of the bra she put her hands temporarily in a position of helplessness. She was so exposed this way. If the men should tie her thus, she would be unable to prevent them doing as they wished to her hyper sensitive, swollen breasts peaked by agonized nipples.
The red silk cups dropped away, her last protection gone, flimsy as it had been.
"Hands down,” the Director said as the bra joined the dress, both fire red.
Julie had been trying to cover herself, using her own palms. They were sweaty and warm as she placed them, for wont of a better place, on her hips. The sound of her heart was almost overpowering to her own ears. As were the catches in her breath. Did the men not hear this? How could they bear it, the sound and sight of this pinned, trepidatious womanhood, so still on the outside, but internally squirming with desires barely imagined much less tapped?
"You never married,” the Director said, holding true to his reputation for taking sudden stabs into his actors’ souls. “Why not?"
A dozen lies raced for primacy at her lips. It was the truth, however, that fell out first. “I have never met a man I could trust … with everything."
"That is because you have too much to give. You are not like other women. You do not know to hold back. You do not know to forget. You do not know to play the games, to wear the masks. This is why you will be great-from the moment I saw you I knew. You are incapable of acting."
"Thank you … I think."
"Touch your breasts, Julie. “Caress them, as you would wish a man to do."
She closed her eyes, grabbing both globes eagerly, greedily. They could be Grigori's hands, or Giovanni's, or maybe one of each.
"Grigori conquers bears,” he observed, “but he has more trouble with you. After tonight you will be a bit more open."
"Is this what it takes to get you off?” She demanded boldly. “Seeing people humiliate themselves? Is that the only way you can get it up?"
His face was expressionless. “Pinch your nipples,” he said, not giving her insult the dignity of a direct reply.
She was powerless to disobey. She needed this too much, needed them too much. “It hurts,” she whined almost immediately.
"Harder,” he said cruelly.
Julie made no effort to cheat. In seconds she had brought tears to her eyes. But she did not want it to stop either. She wanted more pressure, more attention, more punishment.
Groaning she fell to her knees. Still she did not let go.
"You have a high tolerance for pain,” he noted. “You may let go now."
She did so, openly panting. “Thank you,” she gasped.
"I want you to crawl to us, Julie. Under the table. You will tend to our cocks while we consume the second course."
Julie had never felt so weak in her life. This went beyond being treated as a prostitute. This was something a slave would do. “Signor, Ambrosiano-"
Her feeble objections were cut off before she could properly begin them. “You have a choice, Julie, you can service the two of us or you can attend to the needs of every other man in this house."
Julie bit her lower lip, a mini-spike of pleasure skewering her helpless sex. The Director was prepared to give her body to others; in fact he would do exactly that if she refused to perform. She thought of all those cocks lined up … her hot little mouth suctioned to organ after organ, each pulsing and throbbing, her head bobbing obediently, man after man grunting above her, grasping her head, feeding her his dick till at last he exploded, giving her hot mouthfuls, on and on till her stomach was overflowing with semen.
Was it an idle threat? Just part of his “movie"? It didn't matter now. She was too absorbed herself, too deeply into the submission implied. Giovanni Ambrosiano was right. She never had been a great actress. Just a person able to put her heart on her sleeve enough to fool some people some of the time. And not even the right ones at that.
"Do the servants have to watch?” She inquired.
"How else will they know how best to take advantage of you if they ever have the opportunity?"
There was an odd logic to this and every instinct in her head told her she best resist it unless she wanted to end up at this man's complete mercy, perhaps forever.
"What you are doing is wrong, you know that,” she declared, putting as much resolve in her voice as she could manage. “I have the law on my side."
The lines on the Director's face pulled tight. She could sense an impending mood shift, one of those emotional turnabouts the man was so famous for. “Perhaps you are right,” he said, his voice subtly cooled and detached. “I shall have my secretary bring you to the railway station at once. You are released from your contract."
She felt the world drop from underneath her. He had called her bluff. She did not want to be exploited, but the thought of leaving now, of abandoning this project, and Grigori was too much to bear. She had a stake in all this. She was irresistibly curious, too, filled with complex building desires that she knew instinctively could only be resolved here, in this situation.
Too, she could not endure this man's disapproval. Not in her current state, at least.
"I-I want to stay,” she summoned her courage.
The Director was silent.
"I want to stay,” she said more forcefully.
Still no answer as he sipped his wine.
Staving off panic, Julie sunk to her knees on the carpet and then down onto all fours. She did not want to go to any railway station. She did not want to be alone, ever again.