I’m at a pool party in Encino, California the weekend before the Monday that is the 4th of July. I thought it’d be cute if I wore a bathing suit decorated like the American flag.
The guy throwing the party is some fat cat. I mean that literally and figuratively. He’s pointed out to me by Joanie, my friend, before she goes out on her own to flirt with someone across the near-Olympic-sized pool. Jonas is three hundred pounds of greed, conspicuous consumption, avarice. He doesn’t seem shy about showing it off, whether that comes to his nice, large home, or his not-so-nice, large body, which he’s showcasing in a speedo bathing suit. I have to wonder why a man would choose to wear a tiny bathing suit when his body is so unattractive. I wonder if Jonas grew up or spent a lot of time in Europe, where bathing suits like his seem more popular for older guys. Jonas appears to be in his sixties. He confirms this with his first words to me.
“I remember when the flag first started appearing on clothing,” he announces. “There was a movie called “Myra Breckinridge” with Raquel Welch wearing a flag bikini. Remember that?”
“No, s-s-sir,” I reply.
“Before your time, I guess,” he returns.
“I’ll check it out. I’m a c-cinephile. My name’s Jeannie, b-b-by the way.”
“Jonas,” and he extends his hand, we shake.
“I’m a friend of Joanie Lewis,” I volunteer, so he won’t think I just wandered in off the street.
“Oh, Joanie!” he says and she hears her name and waves from across the patio. This gives me the opportunity to scan the crowd. It’s not the usual pool party of couples paired-up. There are about five or six older guys like Jonas, probably colleagues from whatever work he does, and about thirty younger women like me. The girls are all fit and attractive, the guys are all older and not so much.
I try to be casual as I inquire, “And what is your line of work, Jonas?”
“I’m a casting director,” he says just as offhandedly, “I thought everybody knew that…”
Miraculously, suddenly Jonas isn’t such an ogre in my eyes.
I have to make an effort to maintain that casual air as I ask, “Oh? Are all the gentlemen here p-poolside working c-casting d-directors?”
“No, that one’s the director for the movie we’re working on, those two producers…”
Besides all the back-hair and beer-guts, they are all connected and powerful in an industry that captivates everyone, including me, the movies.
“You’re working on a movie! How f-fascinating! Would I have heard about it?”
“Probably not, we’re trying to keep it under wraps to avoid unfair comparisons. Did you see any of the “Fifty Shades of Grey” movies?” This question stops me cold. As a thinking, informed submissive, I hate this series of books by E.L. James that were then made into just as stereotypical, wrong-headed movies. Jonas sees my visceral reaction. “That. That right there. We are trying to make a high budget film that is truthful about our scene, the antithesis of those pieces of shit!” Jonas is looking better and better all the time. I feel complimented that he just referred to B&D, S&M as “our scene.” I smile warmly and sincerely for the first time. “I assume that you’re a bottom, Jeannie?”
“You assume c-correctly,” and I let my eyes fall to the concrete pool pad.
“And that you’re an actress like the rest of these social-climbing starlets,” and he gestures expansively across the gathered throng.
“Oh no! I m-model, but d-don’t act, b-because of this s-stutter,” I return, and now it’s Jonas who looks at me with renewed interest.
“I see, well, you’re unique around here, Jeannie, and I’m not only referring to your incomparable beauty. All the women here, except you, are here to audition for the speaking parts in this movie. The fireworks are about to begin…”
I look up in the brightly lit sky. It’s three P.M. on a sunny day. The fireworks won’t start until after dark. But as if on cue from this powerful man, across the pool a hopeful starlet is taken across the lap of the movie’s director. Her tiny bathing suit is pulled down, not that it covered much of anything anyway, and he begins to spank her. It’s not play-acting, he’s really walloping her pretty bottom, and she’s clearly struggling to accept the publicly administered pain. She yelps loudly, begs his mercy, kicks her long legs vigorously, nothing slows the onslaught across her ass. After about a dozen hard swats, he puts her on her feet again.
“I’m sorry, my dear, you just won’t do. You’re dismissed,” he pronounces.
She sorrowfully picks her bathing suit bottoms off the concrete and slinks away, red fanny wriggling as she goes.
That seems to open the floodgates. All around the backyard, the six or so men each take an auditioning lady over his knee, bares her, and they both see if she can “pass the test” while the rest of us watch. I notice as Joanie is taken in-hand by a producer, her hind-end is exposed, and she stoically receives a sound spanking.
“You get a call-back,” he decrees, “stick around.”
Joanie looks ecstatic through her shimmering eyes. She unabashedly rubs her flaming bottom before stepping back into her bathing suit and pulling it up into place. She exchange smiles.
You can do the math, it takes about five rounds for the men to “audition” the assembled actresses. Many more are dismissed than told to remain, but that’s show biz. I wander into the kitchen where a long buffet table is heavily laden with finger-foods. Mine is the only female set of fanny cheeks that are not flaming red. I advertise this fact by leaning over the counter. Jonas approaches me, looks at my tush as he strikes up another conversation.
“Are you sure I can’t interest you in auditioning? I could find a part for you as a featured extra where you wouldn’t have any lines, but would be able to showcase your talents…” His eyes stay glued to my bottom as he asks this.
“Thank you, b-but no thank you.”
“Well, the rest of the evening will be spent on call-backs, where some actresses will be asked to read some lines, then re-audition with more, heavier corporal discipline. So that you don’t get confused with this mix, I’m afraid I must ask you to leave…”
“I understand,” I say and offer my hand for Jonas to shake, “thank you for a m-memorable f-fourth!”
On my way out the front door, whom should I see on his way in but Rick Revere, a to-die-for Hollywood actor.
“Hey, why are you leaving? I think you’re the love of my life and I need to get to know you!” I laugh and explain with minimal stuttering that I’m not auditioning, not an actress. “All the better,” he exclaims, “now I know that we were meant to be lovers! Please give me your phone number so I can call you after I’m finished reading with these girls.”
I blush and give it to him, thinking that he’s just charming me. I go back home and brew a cup of tea and read a book until the fireworks start. I get in my pajamas at dusk, planning on watching the pyrotechnics from my balcony. But my phone rings just as the first firecrackers start to blast. I don’t recognize the number, but answer anyway.
“Hi, it’s Rick. As promised, I’m calling you back, overjoyed that you gave me your real number. Listen, I have to see you again!”
“I’m already in my p-p.j.’s.”
“That’s okay. Please let me come over, Jeannie! We were meant to be together…”
I don’t know what possessed me, but I had a gut-feeling that Rick might be right. I gave him my address. I didn’t change out of my nightie, just put a robe on. Not too long thereafter, my doorbell buzzed.
We sat and talked over tea. He was low-key, not pushy, sincere and not egotistical, and so fucking good-looking!
With my heart hammering out of my ribcage, I asked, “Being cast in the movie, are you an authentic Top?”
“Yep, always have been. And you, Jonas couldn’t stop raving about you all afternoon to me, was he correct that you’re submissive?”
I wasn’t playing coy as I looked down at my tea mug; I was sincerely blushing. But I needed to be sure. I took my mug and his and placed them on an end-table, then stood up and let my robe drop to the floor. My nightie was rather revealing, fairly translucent.
“I think I’ll need for you to prove that you’re the authentic Top you claim to be…”
I crawled over his lap. Fireworks started outside.
“So you’re auditioning me, huh? Okay!” Mindful that you can never create another first impression, Rick caressed my upturned butt in preparation for what was to come.
The fireworks started indoors, in my living room. It was spanking as seduction. It was spanking for foreplay. It was everything I hoped for in a spanking and so much more. It was a Goldilocks spanking, not too soft and not too hard. Rick spanked my bottom just right, stinging spanks that didn’t warp my mind as single swats, but did accumulate into a really nice disciplinary session that had me squirming and creaming and falling in love. I let the spanking work as the pretense for me losing all modesty, parting my thighs, letting him see all my feminine charms as he warmed my cheeks.
The fireworks display was reaching its crescendo outside. Rick stopped spanking to ask me a question.
“Do you have a dildo or vibrator I can use on your clitoris while I spank you more?”
“I have a Hitachi wand. Will that do?”
“Perfect! Get it, please,” he asked, and I obeyed quickly, anticipation making me want to burst. I handed it to this handsome man, then re-assumed the sexiest position I know, draped across his knee. He fired up the big massager, applied it to my sex as he resumed spanking. I knew that I’d only be able to remain sentient for seconds more, so composed a quick haiku.
Fireworks explode but
nothing compares to what is
happ’ning to my butt.
I started to cum. I couldn’t stop. I was a blithering idiot by the time Rick removed the wand from my sex and let me up. I looked him in the eye.
“I need your cock inside me! Do you have a c-condom?” He reached into his pocket. “G-good for you! You p-passed the test, you get to f-fuck me…” Fortunately, Rick chortled at my feeble joke. It was no joke when he dropped his trousers. He was hung like a porno star instead of a movie star. “Oh, my…!” I heard myself utter as he rolled the rubber down over it and aimed it at my slit.
Everything that had transpired before was just prologue. Rick fucked my pussy silly, fucked me into the middle of next week.
He was a gentleman, he stayed the night and slept in my arms. He let me cook him scrambled eggs for breakfast. One question was uppermost on my mind. I couldn’t get it out of my mouth without my eyes filling with tears.
“Am I ever g-going to see you again, or was I just a c-conquest?”
“Would tonight be too soon?” he countered.
I cried for joy. “Yes! I mean no, that wouldn’t be too s-soon. I’d love to have you over again!” I couldn’t stop kissing him. He got out the door only by promising to return at seven that night.
Joanie called me mid-morning, filling me in on her audition.
“They told us that two main leading roles were available for women, to star against that dreamy Rick Revere. He actually read with us later in the day. They filmed us each getting spanked once more. I felt I did my best, but they called my agent this morning to say they ‘were going in a different direction’, that I didn’t get cast…”
“Oh, I’m s-sorry!”
“Me, too! Oh well… What’s new with you…?”
I was dying to share my good news, but didn’t want to rub my good fortune in when Joanie was so miserable. “Nothing m-much. Watched the f-fireworks, used my Hitachi wand, went to s-sleep, just a typical f-fourth…”
Rick and I established a routine where he came by every evening. I would’ve been photographed and caused a media scandal if we went to his place. I cooked him dinner, he spanked me and we made love. We never went out. He kept our involvement secret. I didn’t mind, but we did face a crisis when I discovered (by reading his script) that he had a love-making scene with his leading lady on the movie. I was upset, unable to discuss it, withdrew into my shell. He knew just how to address my issue.
“Get over my knee,” he commanded, and as soon as I obeyed, I was bared. “Filming a love scene is not romantic!” He started to spank me. “It’s just technical, with about eight teamsters standing around watching, even on a closed set!” He spanked me very hard, for a long time. “I don’t even like my co-star!” Then he said the magic words. “And I love you, Jeannie!” That cured this blow-up, but Rick presciently wanted to deal with my jealous tendencies. He stood me up and caned my tender bottom with twelve stinging stripes. I wasn’t able to sit comfortably for a week after that.
Rick gave me no reason to mistrust him. I knew that I loved him. We didn’t say any more about it. Shooting wrapped-up, life got even more idyllic, we sunbathed together and read books and talked. Oh, and fucked our brains out. A half year later, post production was done and the movie premiered. Rick finally told me that he wanted to be seen and photographed with me, even bought me a designer evening gown. It was very modest from the front, covering me from collarbones to ankles, but in the back it plunged down nearly to my butt crack. It made me feel sexy as hell! It was a night like an out-of-body experience, paparazzi calling out Rick’s name to get him to pose for them, with me on his arm. We stayed out until two A.M., partying with Jonas and all the others. Then we went home and he spanked and fucked me, just like it was a normal night, just postponed four hours later.
Without concern about any of that, or that we were hung-over on champagne, Joanie phoned me at nine A.M.
“How fucking long has this been going the fuck on?”
It was a long conversation. Joanie finally forgave me for keeping Rick a secret. The tabloids wondered “who the mystery beauty on Rick Revere’s arm was.” The reviews of the movie came out, were barely better than those of the “Shades of Grey” series. I think this is because vanilla people don’t get our kink. The majority of the world sees spanking as infantile, something wrongly done to children. But word of mouth is spreading and the movie is slowly becoming a cult classic.
Rick got cast in a European flick, called me for a while from Paris, but eventually told me that he’d met someone else, that we were through.
I have a copy of the DVD of the movie. I watch it sometimes with my Hitachi wand and remember my brush with stardom.