Dutch Movie Pt. 01

The evening betrayed the turn of seasons, the clicking of her heels on the pavement like the ticking of seconds as time ran out on summer. It had fallen from a swelteringly hot thirty degrees centigrade to a little over half that: cool enough for bare legs but still grounds for surprise when the breeze played over them, flapping the silk of the dress across her thighs. The city had come back to life that week with a bustling intensity that matched the determination with which they walked: they were late for a dinner party at the house of an artist and film director, whose disordered creations contrasted with his hatred of unpunctuality.

The wind teased her perfectly cut, below the shoulder blonde hair, pulling a disordered length across the classic Nordic frame of her face. She was middlingly tall. Over the years she had mellowed into one of those enduring northern beauties, blonde and chiseled cheekbones: far from hiding from age but surpassing it. A natural beauty set miles apart from the Barbie or the Stepford wife.

Her athletic economy of motion spoke to years in the pool as well as her continued training. At just notch over 40 she was as toned and fit as when they'd first met in her late 20s. Her body was unchanged, and frankly, was better than that of most women two decades her junior. Her breasts were round and ample B-cups (really verging on Cs) that sat proudly, swaying only a bit when she walked. Graceful arms. Long legs. A soft rounding at hips and breast (not the austere and severe frame of the hard-core athlete). She would criticize her ass, but it was shapely and well formed and invited him to stroking, even if it was not the taut and boyish one she wanted for herself.

"We'll be late". The severity of her resting face - chiseled by years at a white shoe firm - softened again and a girlish smile played across her face.

They were late. Their austerely dressed host kissed her, shook her husband's had. "Isn't it the Wall Street power couple, like a pair of Holbein's late studies." He drawled out the word 'late', making his point.

Cocktails were being served in the hall, onto the walls of which were being projected scenes from his latest collection of movie shorts: ranks of determined men, jaws thrust forward, marching forward is a dada-esque angle. Soft focused panning over women, nude but for gauzy sheets whipped this and that way by an off camera fan even as the screen shaded into hues of mauve and purple. This gave way to geometric shapes that then resolved into a close-up of a breast or a thigh. The projection was from above, and anyone descending the wide staircase of the 19th century townhouse cast oddly distorted shadows over walls.

She was chatting with the executive of a media company, not quite a friend and yet not purely a business relationship. "Yes, my husband is working on a deal. He'll be in Singapore for at least two or three weeks. He leaves early to be fresh for Monday."

"And what will you do in all that time?"

He host had materialized at her elbow. He was more than usually attentive and had leaned in so his arm was level with hers. The touch of his arm to hers was glancing but perceptible.

"Likely go to the country this weekend. They've been working on the barn." Her answer was firm. Was he flirting?

"I am starting a new movie this weekend. Why don't you come see the set? It will be work and a party: fun."

He extracted his phone and texted the address of a discreetly plush hotel on the Upper East Side. "starting 4pm Friday." He said. Early but doable. "Save the hellish drive out of the city on Friday evening. I will include the details for the production assistant" (a woman who acquiring small if growing renown) "and come made up, perhaps we can use you as an extra". His voice caught on a note of excitement.

The dinner was enjoyable. Their host had produced magnums of a decent Ribera, now a decade and a half in age, and they were in a slightly more leisurely and relaxed mood as they left.

"Ought I to go?" she asked after she'd explained his offer.

"I imagine that the movies themselves are slightly repetitive processes: his art seems to be in the editing, not the acting."

"Still" she mused "it might be interesting to see."

That Wednesday, as she watched her husband be driven off to the airport, she received another text from the director.

"Making a small drama: partly the plot of 'Centuri' by Götz (the Austrian director) but set on Wall Street. Want to be in it? Look professional but alluring."

She smiled. Why not and texted assent.

---

Her Husband rang on Friday, sounding surprisingly cheery for a jet-lagged man in a steamy city on the other side of the world. She was at the office.

"How's the movie extra? Bet he'll want you to take a speaking part because you are beautiful with a very sexy accent."

She smile. "Actually I may not bother. I agreed to go but then watched the movie he is basing it on: 'Centuri' by an Austrian director."

"Tell me more."

The offices were expensively done, equipped with expansive views, but open plan for all but the most senior. She paused as she walked to a quiet corner with her mobile.

"Austrian movie, with a pretty actress, blonde, early middle age. She..."

He interrupted "...gets her clothes off?" He sounded excited by the conversation.

"Yes, and more. She's having an affair. Proper hotel. Full frontal, brightly lit, and then she poses for photos, spread on a bed. Answers the door for room service nude."

His voice picked up an octave. "Really. He's making that?"

"It gets worse, or better I suppose for you. She gives the actor she's playing with..."

Now it was her turn to drop her voice "... a blowjob on camera. And I am sure the sex was not simulated."

"Well that would be something. Is that the role he has in mind for you." He was laughing. She glanced around: her firm's global reputation did not exactly jibe with this sort of talk. She cupped her hand around the mobile.

"Oh, so now you want me in a pornographic scene?"

"It would be an art film, darling, not porn!" He was laughing and she joined in his merriment.

"And would you watch it with interest?"

"With great interest."

They laughed and bantered a bit more and she again resolved not to attend the movie making session. "I won't be done by 4 or 5 anyway."

---

The call to the meeting in the tower on East 57th came a short hour later. A client seeing a decline in a rival's share price wished to explore an approach. She called together a team, was driven up and led a focused meeting. By 5pm she was free. She bade the team goodbye - they were heading back downtown - and consumed by a curiosity ordered an Uber Black.

She emerged from the car every inch the elegant and well coiffed professional. She had been to the hotel bar and restaurant before, and glided through the lobby to take the elevator to the 6th floor.

She emerged into a bustling atmosphere. The suite at the western end of the hallway stood open, a hum of voices emanating. Curious yet apprehensive she peered in. The director saw her immediately and came over to greet her. He motioned to the assistant, a severe-looking brunette, thin and hiply clad all in black. Smiling he asked for a moments patience and consulted with the assistant, who nodded, looked at her, and then vanished into the other room. She returned a long minute later with a glass of champagne, which she pressed into her hand.

He raised his glass to her and they drank. He engaged in chit chat and encouraged her to drink. "We can open the Deutz next, so drink up." Being a celebrity artist was clearly even more remunerative than she had imagined. The room had two cameraman (one male, one a plump dirty blonde) and two other girls adjusting lighting, a ginger-haired woman holding a sound boom and a tall, dark actor in a starkly white robe (which set off his coffee and cream complexion) holding court to the assistant and another woman in a clipboard. The actor was two meters tall and seemed handsome in a muscular way. His smile was dazzling and his hair close cropped.

Her glass drained a refill was poured and she asked. "What am I to do, you scandalous man. I saw 'Centuri' you know."

"Did you?" His eyes twinkled at her.

"What is my part? Part of the crowd scene in the lobby?"

She was feeling slightly unsteady as she said that, just a slight flush really. The director looked at her. "Here - scan the script. Well, as this is improvised it is more just a set of motivations."

As she sat on a sofa to look at the script a comfortable glow began to spread over her. She looked at page 1. 'The Blonde Professional' it read in bold. 'Confident, happily married, she seeks an illicit excitement to regain that sense of youthful freedom she had so recently left behind. She meets the man in the hotel. They do not talk much. Dominant in her work here she is more compliant...' She paused. The glow was spreading.

"Where is the description of the extra? And what was in that drink" She looked searchingly at the director, who had been watching her intently.

"Oh, I want you to act the main part. The actress who was supposed to play her is sick. And you would be perfect. I can do a dry run with you. I have a contract ready that this won't be released without your permission... And there was MDMA in the champagne." He grinned, clearly thinking himself clever.

He motioned to a paper on the table. "Read it. We shoot for real tomorrow but whatever you do with the actor will allow us to make the ultimate movie better. You only do what you want to do... this is improvisation, and this is planning, not for general release. At any event you do not have to do everything - or anything - you saw in 'Centuri'!"

She glared but the soft euphoria of the drug was stealing over her. She was no stranger to ecstasy from trips a decade and more earlier to Ibiza, and the pleasure was welling up in her.

She continued to read the paragraphs outlining the motivations of the main character as a way of blocking him out and allowing herself some time to think. She took another sip of the Deutz, the light bubbles and crispness of the drink magnified on her taste buds.

The main character was a professional woman, no prude at home - quite adventurous even - but seeking something more dangerous to recapture her sense of adventure.

And then she looked up, an apparent resolve written across her. The director was still gazing at her. She nodded. He beamed. She scanned the contract on the table, signed it and motioned for him to do the same. Once signed she photographed it and emailed to her personal account.

The room resolved itself into some order around her as she sat passively watching. From time to time she glanced over at the actor, still tall and muscular and handsome as he leaned against the door to the bathroom. Finally he came over to talk with her, but it was unfocused small talk (though she found his voice soothing). Lights were positioned. The director and the assistant huddled in the alcove of the window. Lights were set up and the curtains opened to catch the westering sun visible over the roofs of the townhouses and the Central Park beyond. The cameras were set up in enfilade, able to move up and down on either side, the sound boom emerged from the bathroom. She remembered that MDMA had been invented by Merck before the First World War. Useless fact.

"Just remember - act go as far as you want. Give us some sense of how this should play out." The director was speaking but it was hard to focus on him. The handsome actor was smiling at her.

And so it was time for lights to go on, for camera to be ready. Action. It was time for her to act. To improvise. The digital clapper clapped. The director focused. And she went into the hall and knocked on the door. Alcohol and MDMA and warm feelings. She could act.

She knocked. "It's open" said the melodious voice of her fellow actor, and she stepped into the brightly lit room.

"So you came." He said. Eyeing her, one camera on him, one looking unblinkingly at her. He smiled at the cameras faded into the background as she focused on him.

She nodded. He eyed her inquiringly, raising an eyebrow. Acting was easy!

'What do you want?" he asked. Was the dialogue really going to be this cheesy?

"I didn't rush up here for nothing". She tried to present a sharpness in her voice, a nervousness.

They gazed at each other and, as her eyes widened, he unknotted the bathrobe. This was not in the 'script'! Tall and lean and muscle. Hairless except for a light shading around his groin. Her eyes widened at his cock. Six inches long even though it was flaccid, hanging with a dark brown circumcized head below plump balls. The cock head shone against the paler brown of his muscular thighs.

He set the bathrobe on a the back of the armchair and then settled into it, legs slightly parted to allow for his package to settle between.

"Take off your clothes" he said neutrally. Was he Milan Kundera fan? She opened her mouth to say something sharp, but the languid allure of the man... Why not have a bit of fun?

She slowly and deliberately placed her handbag and briefcase on the sofa. She casually slipped out of her jacket, short, expensive, verging on the demure. Holding the actor's gaze (perhaps stealing looks between his legs from time to time) she unbuttoned her expensively crisp white shirt even as she untucked it from the navy skirt. He picked a phone up off the table.

"What are you doing?"

"I want a memory of this." And he snapped her as her bra became visible. She shrugged and kept unbuttoning. The shirt slid off her shoulders. She undid the cuffs and threw it towards her purse.

She kicked off the Jimmy Choos and reached behind to undo her skirt. A button, a zipper slid down. It was open and she slid it down til it puddled at her feet and she stepped out to stand in matching white bra (soft with a discreet pattern - Agent Provocatuer at its most subtle) and matching panties. She wore navy thigh highs to match her skirt. Standing hands on hips she looked at him levelly, more clothed than on the beach.

"perhaps we should stop" she said, or she had her character say. He responded firmly.

"I want you naked. Now." There was an undertone of determination in the statement. He stood, not menacingly, but in a manner that brooked no argument. His cock swayed and swung. It had thickened marginally.

She felt a rush of euphoric and sensual feeling. She unhooked her bra and shrugged out, tossing her blonde mane as she cupped her breasts. To her surprise her pinky-brown nipples had stiffened. They locked eyes for a second and then she let her hands fall. He snapped more photos. She was dimly aware that she was half naked on film, the two cameras intently aimed at her and him, but her focus was on the fellow actor with a cock that had lengthened by an inch, though it still swung low, thicker now.

He motioned to her lower half with his eyes. As his phone and two cameras aimed at her, and as blood coursed to her pussy, she placed one foot on the coffee table and unrolled a stocking. Then the other. It was time for her to be nude, fully nude. Or could she stop?

The actor squatted for a better shot. Would her character be bold? Yes she would. As he squatted his half-tumescent cock rested its head on the pale striped carpet. Almost involuntarily she half bent and began to slide her panties down her legs.

Her panties fell to the floor, Daintily she stepped out. She was naked. Standing for a man photographing her. She'd been to the spa that Monday and her pussy was waxed smooth and bare. "Turn" and she did, revealing her ass as she slowly revolved. Facing him again one hand tidied a stray lock of blonde hair as the other fell to half obscure her waxed lips. She would stop now.

But he stood and approached her. He smelt of shower and soap and expensive shampoo. He moved her hand by grabbing her wrist and leading her to the bed. Wordlessly he propelled her, slowly and firmly to sit on the edge of the bed. Cock waving he took a photo. As she readied herself to say 'stop' he came forward again - her eyes mesmerized by his member - and he held her left shoulder. She took the camera from his hand and took a photo of his cock, which twitched. He took the camera back and she was propelled down onto her back.

His character was photographing her on her back. In the soft-focus glow of MDMA she wondered how to delete those photos, but then the momentary pleasure dispelled the thought. Her knees were up and locked, offering a modicum of modesty. Then his hand was on her left knee. His caress felt gentle, even soothing. And also arousing. Her knees were parting. And parting some more. She peeled open for him, waxed folds opening to pink. A Penthouse pose, bold. She raised her head to him, to the camera beyond. Her eyes closed. She opened them, he was gazing rapt behind his phone. And behind him was a camera capturing every inch of her spread pussy on film.

Time to go, but he was kissing her belly and caressing her pussy lips. It felt good. His tongue was caressing her outer lips. He was on his knees and he was licking her up and down before shifting to flick his tongue over her clit side to side. His hands began to twirl her nipples. His tongue buzzed faster over her clitoris. A hand descended from her breast and spread her legs farther. It descended to her pussy and a digit started to slide in before it was extracted and then began to play lower, towards her now exposed bumhole. It toyed with her anus, teasing, pleasing nerve endings and then he was performing analingus on her as he penetrated her now wet cunt up to the first finger.

The drug and champagne had fully kicked in now. As he returned to tonguing her clitoris wave upon wave built and she raised her hips as the orgasm spread. She turned her head to one side, opening her eyes. Through disordered blonde tendrils she confronted the gaze of a camera lens. The orgasm subsided and she lay still.

She was pulled to her feet and guided to her knees before him. His cock was full now, the head dark. Perhaps a little over eight inches and a handsbreadth around. Thank god he was more shower than grower, but at eight inches plus he was still a magnificent and potentially stretching sight.

Hands knotted into her hair, creating an almost Edwardian bun. She was pulled towards the cock. She rose on her knees and wrapped a hand around the warm and slightly throbbing shaft. She began to lick the head, lollipop style, slurping faster and faster, and then it was on her lips and being guided in. One inch, she swirled her tongue around the head. Two inches in, sliding over her tongue. The cock swelled in her mouth. She felt the presence of the camera behind her. Both actors seemed to intensify their performance as the camerwoman drew nearer. He increased the grip on her hair and slid deeper, three inches, then four. It was at the tip of her throat. She gagged and pulled off. She'd never taken anything that deep before. She inhaled deeply but before she had fully finished the cock was presented to her again. She resisted moments longer before she once again gagged. Pulling off she grabbed the shaft and raised it, beginning a vigorous stroking motion as she began to lap at his balls. To do so she had to sit flat and incline her head up, a supplicant at his feet. He began moaning, the sound blending nicely with her slurping and licking.

He paused and moved to sit on the bed. This required her to edge forward and then lean into his groin, her ass partially jutting back. She resumed her work on his balls, her handstrokes reaching up to his cockhead, which she cradled momentarily in her palm. His hand held her in place and she lapped away until a gentle pressure impelled her head to below his balls. She began to trance the tip of her tongue over the smooth skin of his perineum, resisting having her tongue directed fully to his ass crack.