On Set

On Set

By

Billy London

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Copyright
© 2011
Billy London

Editor:
Lacynda Hill

Cover Art: Shara Azod

On Set

His purpose wasn’t at all revenge, Sean McNeil thought, watching his prey step out onto the set. It was more of an exercise to open her eyes to the world he inhabited, the one she was so quick to judge. If they both got a little pleasure out of it, good for them.
Or rather, me
.

His producer had raised eyebrows at the thought of a film critic on set, moreover being an extra, but Sean persuaded him otherwise. “She hasn’t been my greatest fan of late. The budget is so tight with this production any good publicity will help. A sneak peek will do wonders, I promise you.”

His producer acquiesced. Whether from Sean’s words or the rather obvious crush he had on him, Sean didn’t know and didn’t particularly care. He was getting his way. Hence, why Melanie Beckford, critic for
Epic
Magazine and all-round film bible was dressed as a barefooted fairy and dusted with glitter. He nearly started beating his chest,
King Kong
-like but that would indeed give the game away.

She followed the assistant director who formally introduced them. Sean didn’t take his eyes from Melanie, her skin as smooth and polished as an acorn. “Hello, Mr McNeil.”

“That’s very formal, considering you called me a lazy visual prostitute after my last film.”

He could tell she was blushing, burgundy slashing over her dark cheekbones. “Er, that. Right.”

“Call me Sean,” he insisted, holding out his hand to her. As soon as she placed her hand in his, he slowly stroked his thumb over the pad of her own. Hurriedly, she removed her hand and cleared her throat.

“So what’s the scene I’m doing?”

“You’re not doing a scene, you’re doing me.”

Her mouth dropped open. “I beg your pardon.”

“A little fairy orgy. I thought it would help you to understand why sex scenes are so difficult but they can add to the film.”

“There’s no orgy in
A Midsummer’s Night Dream
.”

“There is in this production, making male fairies sexy,” the director interrupted. “Hello, Melanie. You look fantastic. Are you ready for your first film?”

Her eyes were wide open and he told himself her immediate panic was not at all amusing. “I just don’t think this is appropriate. Isn’t there another scene I can take part in?”

“'Fraid not,” Sean said, making the sort of sincere face of apology that had gained him awards. “It’ll help with your blogging. It’s not as easy as it looks to be gratuitous.”

“I promise, Melanie,” the director smarmed again, “it’ll be all very tasteful.”

“Can we get rid of the wig?” Sean demanded, his eyes narrowing on the curly confection on Melanie’s head.

“Absolutely. Back to hair and makeup, Melanie. We’ll need you in half an hour.”

The director turned away, calling over his assistant. Melanie hadn’t moved. “You’ll have to hurry,” Sean prompted. “Time is money.”

She glared at him. Had he been a more superstitious person, he would have sworn there was a hint of red in her pupils. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

“You wanted in, Melanie,” he reminded her softly. “This is your in. By the way are you wearing any panties?”

She blinked rapidly. “What?”

“Underwear. You’ll have to take them off.”

She visibly swallowed before she could answer him. “But we’re not really going to...”

“All for show. Can’t really have you sporting any high street goods on screen. Advertising standards and all. Be quick now.”

He watched her turn and practically run back to the hair and makeup trailer. No, none of this was at all for revenge.

***

Melanie was panicking, panicking, panicking, panicking, like she had never done before. The hairdresser was so accommodating, removing her wig and curling her short hair with tongs, before running his fingers through them. “Sean was right, you look better without the wig.”

Sean was playing Puck and obviously they’d decided there needed to be a serious amount of mischief in it to appeal to all the movie going ladies ready to see more of Sean McNeil’s admirable assets.  

All she could think about was Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie in
Don’t Look Now
, as she removed her panties with shaking fingers. People even now still talked about not the film itself, but whether the two actors really had sex on screen or not.
Sean McNeil was fantastically gorgeous, all rippling muscle, startling grey eyes, and that insane Scottish lilt that he could whip out in any film. She hadn’t really thought too hard about what she’d put on her blog, but honestly, she had been annoyed with his last film. He just got nude for the sake of it, and whilst other critics praised his performance as breathtakingly brave (because they caught a glimpse of a rather impressive looking cock), Melanie was disappointed. He was an actor in the same mould as Daniel Day Lewis. He didn’t need to show anything but his talent. She’d never admit it, but that scene had been the subject of many a late night with her and her battery operated boyfriend. And now she was going to do it for real.
Get a grip
, she told herself.
It’s not real. They fake it. Hollywood has not turned into a pornography machine yet.

The director called her over to the clearing, surrounded by forestry. A fire roared in the centre. Other extras dressed similarly to her, were in various states of undress. “Sean’s coming from the edge of the forest with the trunk and he’ll place it in the middle of the fire. Everyone’s going to cheer. It’s a celebration. Then Orgy Fairy One, he’ll grab you and you’ll just go at it.” The director frowned at her and called to the makeup artist. “Can you make her more sparkly?”

Where the hell was that brush going, she thought as the makeup artist paid far too much attention to the cleavage bared by the ribbon laced dress. Sean helpfully came to stand in front of her. He tapped his fingers in succession over her collarbone, letting them drift to the tops of her breasts. “I was thinking of doing that then if I can tug the dress at the back, so it goes to your waist. Are you alright to show your breasts?”

No!
“I like them,” she answered.

“So will everyone else,” he sucked in his breath through his teeth as he hooked a finger into the neckline and tugged. “Ready?”

“Sure.” It flittered through her mind, as Sean went to take his place, that there were around about a billion women, if not more who would gladly swap places with her right now.
She barely heard the director call action, music that heralded a tribal call, her vision, her body, was all focused on him. Bare chested, Sean came storming onto set like royalty and threw the huge log onto the fire. The cheer startled her, but not as much as Sean taking her into his arms and pressing her into the hardness of his chest. His mouth went to her neck, teeth nipping insistently. Her eyes drifted closed, a sigh evaporating from her throat.
Okay, that was enough
.

She made to pull back but the director made a circling motion with his hand, “Keep going!”

None of this can be good for me
, she thought as Sean tugged at the ties of her dress, exposing just how easy this scene was for her to ‘act’.

***

Sean had no idea when this stopped being about teaching Melanie Beckford a lesson and started being an absolute howling need to taste her all over. Possibly, he thought, when he tugged her dress to her waist, exposing those beautiful breasts of hers, nipples so dark his mouth watered to taste them. Partly hiding his mouth with a hand, he took one into his mouth and nibbled, feeling the bud harden on his tongue. Half surprised, Melanie stretched an arm above her head, releasing her forearms from the sleeves of her dress, to pull him closer to her chest.

With a grunt, he curled an arm about her waist and pulled her to the ground, wood chips grinding into his skin. The skirts of her dress flew up around her knees.

“Carry on,” the director hissed.

“If you lift your leg a little,” Sean directed, his voice barely controllable.

He was trying to lean most of his weight away from her, but god the way she was looking at him, with those big dark eyes, her breasts pouting at him every time she breathed. She lifted her hips to move into position and he barely stifled a groan as he stroked a hand over her thigh to her hip and he touched nothing but bare skin. It made his cock leap with need.

“Any better?”

“No.”

“What can I do?” she asked, parting her lips in a smile. He kissed her, damn the set, damn the director.

“Yes!” the director’s voice broke through Sean’s haze, his body rubbing against hers, mimicking what he really wanted to be doing to her. She returned his kiss just as fervently, arms around his neck, thrusting her hips against his own. Any self control he had before vanished when her creamy wetness began to seep through the material of his trousers.

He’d never done this before. Hell he’d never wanted to until now. With her skirts covering any modesty he used to have, he fumbled with the ties of his costume, releasing his cock, rock hard and already leaking. Levering himself more firmly on top of her, he gazed at the way her lips parted, how heavy lidded her eyes looked. There was no one else on the set but the two of them. Straining to control himself, he allowed the tip of his cock to brush over petal soft, slick pussy lips. He watched her gasp at the feel of him.