Hooked on Porn-fliks: Another Cut
IntriguingAG © 2006

“Goodnight, beautiful,” would be the last words out of my mouth at just past 1am on this ecstatic day of firsts. This would not be the first time Aria and I made an erotic film, but it would be the first time we did it away from the comfort and privacy of our home together. It would prove to be a day in which I not only “drag” into her place of business for the first time, but also up the risqué rating on our sexual encounters to an all-time high . An unexpected first comes about when three other womyn get in the fray!

Lookin’ like the most debonair brutha around, I pass, undetected into my woman’s studio office and shut the door behind me. In a dark gray wool suit, a white shirt and gray and navy micro-print tie and similar socks, I walk around quietly, surveying.

Aria knows I’ll be here one day this month, new digital video camera in hand, to film our remake of an adult film we’d seen will at home spooning on our king-sized bed several months back. It was an office scene with a dominant business executive and her accommodating husband who made out while voyeuristic coworkers got all the way off on their lunchtime interlude. The music was bad, the videography even worse, but – as one just a happy to watch as to be watched - the idea was worth revisiting. I move a few game pieces around and come up with this scenario, which I am certain she will like a lot better than the original flick. Check. We’re in it!

I will not only love it, but also capture it on tape.

She has been doing a piece for her magazine on bondage discipline domination-submission sadism and masochism, and she drops a hint or two that she likes some of the toys practitioners use for heightening pleasure. I order something harmless online, a gag and some specially- treated rope, and I already know when I’ll need to use them on her. She will protest my presence in her place of business, because she is working, but I don’t plan to listen to her protests long. No, not long at all.

I sit in her consultation chair, cross my legs and admire the leather slip-ons that I got on sale at Nordstrom to complement this outfit. I am happy as a woman, and wouldn’t trade in anything besides pieces of my wardrobe in order to be perceived otherwise. So, I neither know what that makes me, nor do I care. I like the variety of looks I can pull off, and so does my baby. 

Does anyone else matter?

My back is to the portion of the studio in which Aria she is just finishing up with her 10am shoot. Little does she know, that I, “Kev Cummings”, am her noon interview! As she walks her three scantily clad models out to the dressing room area, she hollers over the back of the leather, highback chair, “I’ll be right with you!” I don’t respond.

When she returns, she is talking on her cell phone, ironically, leaving me a message. She believes we are supposed to meet for lunch. “Kimber, Babe, I didn’t realize until this morning that I have an interview at noon. If you want to drop by around one…,” she says into the phone. A crafty smile comes across my face.

When Aria gets to the side of her office that allows her to see me, her complexion and countenance shift right before my eyes. They are subtle changes that only one who knows her and recognizes her look of confusion beneath a cool exterior, would see. I stand and put out my hand for her to shake. “Hi, good afternoon, Mrs. Farrell,” I say. “I’m Kev Cummings here for the Adult Toys Are Us - your local adult sexual novelty shop- interview. We are owned and managed by womyn, but I am the marketing department, so don’t hold me against them.” Knowing where this is going, she shyly takes the hand I am offering her to shake and when she does, I jerk her, unexpectedly, close to me, so that I can whisper in her ear. “I have a plan; so, I do not want you to offer your opinion of my being here today. If you do, I will keep you from further commenting. My being here is going to please you, but only if you can submit and follow my lead without question. This will please me.”

“If you cannot do this,” I continue, “I’ll leave and go back to work without another word, and I will not discuss with you – not so much as even acknowledge - the fact that I was here. But you will never have another chance to get this day. There are no replays, no retakes, no do-overs, and this is not a dress reherarsal. Have I made myself clear, Mrs. Farrell?” I ask her in the low controlled anger that is my constant companion. Today, my anger is stemming from my belief that she will not be able to do this, that she will interfere and rob us both.

Predictably, she begins to talk. “Honey, can I just say…” “No. You have no chances. No say. Speak again, Mrs. Farrell, and I will either gag you or walk out the door. You cannot have it both ways.” 

“What about,” I spin her around quickly, causing her sweet smelling hair to swing outward, and I apply pressure to her twisted arm in effort to have her bend forward and over toward her desk. She looks up at me, anger flashing in her eyes and temples, then dissipating as quickly as it came. This is about trust, I think to myself, becoming agitated.

I remove the wood-under-leather gag from its bag and tell her to open her mouth as I fit it in-between her teeth. “You will not be any good at this if you cannot learn what I am expecting from you. Do you want to be a failure, Mrs. Farrell?” I ask her. But now she cannot answer.

Her arm twisted awkwardly behind her back means nothing to this “double-jointed” dollbaby; so, I have her lean her face down toward the desk until her nose then her cheek, touch the polished cherry wood. She protests across the gag with a whine. “I brought you some decent shoes, I tell her. Take those off.” She does so, and I notice perspiration beading across her nose and forehead. There is a such thing as good stress.

“I’m sure you are naked underneath that skirt today, since you promised you would leave the house everyday this month (except for those five days) with neither panties nor nylons. Have you done that, Mrs. Farrell?” She nods her head vehemently, grimaces, then shifts onto her other cheek, as though she is uncomfortable. Yeah, well.

I walk away from her to close a set of blinds on the inside of her office door. Her assistant would be back any minute; so I lock the doors, too. 

“Visualize yourself wearing a golden collar, soft, pliable, durable, and attached to a metal the leash, as though you were my pet. Imagine not moving unless prompted to by me to do so. Today is the day, Mrs. Farrell, that we expand your sexual limits. First, I’m going to talk. Then you’re going to give me a show. Then I’m going to fuck you. Then we’re going to make love.”

“Climb onto the desk and stay while I talk to you,” I tell Aria. She gestures to say something and then drops her head, removes her shoes and climbs up onto her almost empty desktop. When she sits on her butt and begins to swing her legs over the side, I inform her, “no, Mrs. Farrell, you are done living the charmed life! Right now, your personal comfort is of minimal significance.

Get on hands and knees and let me check to see if what you say about having no panties on is true.”

I am contemplating what thoughts might be running through her head right now. Strong-willed black woman that she is, I am –though I will never tell her this – wonderfully surprised that she has not aborted my effort thus far. It simply shouldn’t be, that someone so beautiful and ample in all her physical attributes and talent, is so rowdy when it comes to taking simple instruction. And yet, it is. So, on this auspicious occasion, I am going to lay out small but significant warnings that go with these toys she thought were so, “cute”. Today, I bring it right home to her, albeit at work, so that there is no misunderstanding. I say, “Pay attention because this day, this hour will keep coming back to you over and over again.”

The two Kenyan girls on her office wall, the Austin statues guarding the entrance to the actual studio, and the countless black and white portraits of children, pets, teens, entire families, and couples of all persuasions seem to be asking also to be set free as we begin to set ourselves free. I wait. There is a knock at the office door, which I ignore. Whoever it is goes away. Suddenly, I feel I need more space, but it is really that my temperature is rising, just circling the desk looking at her smooth legs and butt, which I have unveiled already. No panties. I concentrate on patience. Soon enough, I shall have more, much, much more.

I get harder and wetter when I think about the fact that I am packin’ today and I’m gonna leave here with her juices all over that. When I am in her line of sight I let her see me stroke up on it, underneath the fabric of my suit pants. She moans loudly and whines out shorter, faster breaths. She knows that the trick that holds it down is about to be untied. Aria’s quivering makes her beautiful, brown ass shake and her hair touches the desktop as she looks back between her arms and legs to see her glistening pussy juice ease out.

I intentionally digress, not allowing her the full pleasure of looking at herself and being looked at by me. “What I have learned about making movies is that the light and angles have to be just right, but you didn’t ask that; did you?” As I set up the video camera on her tripod, she is sighing and shifting her wait, without question trying to ease the pressure on her knees from her hard desk. She is not going to fail at this because she is not going to be beaten, not easily anyway. For her, losing is not an option, and this will work in my favor, thus in ours.

“Some of these implements are for my use in helping you to better understand the virtues of self-discipline. Self-discipline is the first line of defense, but when it fails you, as it most certainly will, you have me as back-up. I, too, must embrace the virtues of discipline – self and other – more readily, if we are to be successful. 

You: respecting, trusting, obeying, submitting. 

Me: respecting, trusting, obeying those principles in place for safe and sensuous domination.

Me: where the buck stops. 

You: handling what I ask you to handle, and being mine until this pact is no longer consensual.” I smack her ass because she is starting to lean back on her hind quarters to get the pressure off. She squeals and gets back to her all-fours post. I briefly remove her gag. “I am asking you with true sincerity, what do you want me to know about what I have just said?” “I admire your clarity,” she says, out of breath, eyes glassy. “Fear is as natural as love,” she adds. “What shall I call you?” she asks, acknowledging that she may know more than she’s letting on. “Today, call me Mr. Cummings. Tomorrow will be a new day.” 

“Mr. Cummings, may I sit down,” she asks right away. 

“Yes. Put on these shoes, clean that puddle honey off of your desk and then come over to the studio. I’ll be waiting.” When she changes positions to get down, she moves as though her bones and muscles might be aching or stiff. Good, no whining. I walk away, leaving the camera running.

I can hear the heels on the hardwood floor as she approaches, and just the clicking makes my nipples hard. I have to compose myself, which I do just as she walks in. She has removed her skirt, so that only her shirt is covering her. It ends just where her bikini line begins. 

I avert my eyes and instruct her to stand with her back against the wall while I go to retrieve the camera. She, instead, goes to the wall and assumes the position, looking back over her shoulder at me and grinning devilishly. I do not respond. Well, no, that is not true. Arousal slaps me in the front so hard, I want to collapse into it for a moment, but I am strong, and she does not appear to notice. So, from her perspective, there was no reaction. This surprises her. Disappointed, she slides her hands down the wall and rolls against it onto her back. “Thank you, Mrs. Farrell,” I say sarcastically. 

When I return, I am carrying the video camera, talking and filming as I re-enter the studio where she is standing. I get close-ups of everything as I say, “Oh, I almost forgot. Sometime I will use this red rope to keep you honest. That perfect pussy… those hard ass, dark nipples on succulent melons… that queen’s neck… those toes… they are mine unless I release them – formally - back to you. Do not touch or fondle them anymore than it takes to wash, wipe, and dress yourself. That, too, is about self-discipline, and rest-assured, I will know if something on you is out of sync. ‘How so?’ you might wonder, but all I can tell you is that I will be often strict, other times patient. For example, you removed your skirt without permission. I was patient. You disobeyed me when you went over to the wall. I was patient. “Do you see that you were not compliant, Mrs. Farrell?” “Yes.” “Yes, who?” “Yes, Mr. Cummings. I see.” The main thing is that you are honest if you make a mistake. Don’t ever, ever think you are playing me, because you will not know that I know until I unleash my punishment on you, and it will be harsh. 

I am being neither cryptic nor mysterious in my explanations. I am purposefully very clear. Any questions, Mrs. Farrell?” “No, Mr. Cummings. Well, actually, yes. The three people who were my early appointment are still here. As they were leaving, I had an idea. They are in a relationship, the three of them, and not only is their sexual intimacy driven by BDSM tenets, their entire lifestyle is. We’re doing an article on them. They offered to take me through a scene with the three of them, two bottoms and a top, but I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about that; so, I told Carla to order in their lunch and thought I’d discuss it with you when we spoke. Well, here we are. There they are. Would you like to invite them in?” she asked. 

Hmmmm. This was throwing a wrench in my master plan, but, then again, it might be just the thing to get Carla out of the office for the rest of the day. Aria could send her on a bunch of errands and tell her to go home afterward.

“That will be fine,” I told her, “but we will not be part of their scene. We’ll watch and learn. And so that they are clear that this is work and art, not sex for money, take a few photos.

Go put your skirt back on. ”

After she calls Carla on the intercom and dismisses her for the day, Aria invites the clients in. The first, a dark chocolate, exotic-looking sistah comes in alone, carrying towels and lined, wearing panties, a collar, and a leash. She walks quietly, avoiding eye contact with us. She lays out a blanket, covers it with flat sheets and sits on the floor. The door opens a little wider, and in walk the other two womyn, one Asian Indian butch, buff & cut as hell with bound breasts and wrists and a waist collar, also on a leash. She has old stripes on her back, which look almost like brands. The third, clearly the Top, a pretty-ass, voluptuous, middle-aged femme, is holding the end of the other's leash. They proceed as though we are not present.

We watch a 40-minute, live sexual scene with all the bells and whistles! “Throw it in my face! I’m hungry,” demands the Top. At that point, both Aria and I are about to burst! She is squeezing my thigh, digging her nails into it, and I am so wet-hot, it feels like I am sitting in a mother-fucking Jacuzzi. Each of the other two womyn gives the third all she requires, and in doing so they are thoroughly, exhaustingly satisfied themselves. Whew! It is mind-blowing!! They clean up and leave in under an hour, leaving only the smell of sex in the air. By the time we are all alone, dusk is upon us.

I ask her, testing her “what do you want to do now,” and like the seasoned submissive lover she has yet to become, she says, “to please you, Sir.” I could not contain my pleasure with her response. “Well, good because I’m going to undress you and fuck you right here, right now. Then, at home, after dinner, we’re going to turn in early and make sweet love – no toys -- in our own bed.” I replace her gag.