Cut to the actor

Cut to the actor

Cut to the Actor
By Benji Bright

If you want to read more of my work or contact me, you can check me out at the follow spots: email (benjibright at gmail dotcom), my website (theeroticledger.com), or twitter(@benji_bright). Also, please consider donating to help check nifty running. It really is an amazing resource.

Adam has an ass that I swear was sent by god himself to torture me.

I know you probably won't believe this, but once upon a time I was a good kid. I went to my hebrew lessons for my Jewish mother and collected the names of saints like baseball cards for my Irish-Catholic father. These days my religion is Adam.

I'm filming a B- movie for a distributor that specializes in putting attractive faces in schlock engineered for the small screen. I'd like to say that I still have my pride, but, well, a paycheck is a paycheck, right? Adam is the star. if you can call someone who can't even remember lines as simple as "Mallory, are you leaving me?" a star. Between you and me, I don't even know if Adam is a candle flame, much less a star. But things being what they are, he's what I've got and the studio has emphatically ignored my requests to have him replaced.

Barry, the Director of Photography, catches me staring at Adam as he runs lines with his co-star Leah, our film's female lead. She's alright, a little stiff for my taste, but she takes her top off readily enough.

"I didn't know your libido spoke idiot, Finn," Barry says.

I shake my head and try to will away my headache. "Trust me, I'm trying to quit...anyway, I need good news. How does the set look for the warehouse scene?"

"It's alright. The lighting guys are doing what they can, but they're not miracle workers and neither am I. It'll come across fine on-screen if you don't look too hard."

"When's the last time someone looked hard at one of our movies, Barry?"

Barry shrugs. "Look, we're wrapped for the day, why don't you come out with Lorraine and I? You can bring that girl you were seeing...Mary? Marie?"

Adam is laughing at something Leah's said. He lifts his shirt and scratches his stomach.

"Malia," I tell Barry without looking at him.

"You're hopeless, Finn," he says.

I used to be on track to actual fame, believe it or not. I made a film that went on to get two of the leads SAG awards. My second film was shelved indefinitely after the studio associated with it downsized. The next five years were a string of bad luck: an actress overdosing a month before filming, a tyrannical studio head with a vendetta shutting down my production, a messy divorce from my childhood sweetheart. I find it's easier these days to stick to B movies. You don't get your hopes up as high and the money spends just to same.

"Go on without me. I have something in mind tonight," I say to Barry. It takes a while for me to realize that he's already gone.

I walk over to where Leah and Adam are talking.

"Excuse me, guys. Sorry to interrupt. Adam, can I talk to you for a minute?" I say.

"Sure, boss. You don't mind Leah?" he asks. Adam calls me boss. I've told him that Finn is ok, Finnegan is fine, even Mr. Stein would work. He calls me boss.

"Nope," Leah says, putting her hands up. "He's all yours, Mr. Stein. I'll see the both of you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Leah," I say to her. Adam echoes me.

Once she's walked away, I round on Adam.

"So you had some trouble with your lines today." It's not a question.

Adam scratches his head. "Yeah, look, about that. I'm sorry. It's just, I've been distracted for the last few days. I've been having some --"

"Look, Adam. I don't care about what's going on with you. At all. What I need from you is simple: do your fucking job. Is that so hard?"

He winces and I feel like I've just kicked a puppy, but it's starting to feel good to let the anger out.

"You had exactly sixteen lines to say today. Sixteen lines. The list of specials at Chuck's Seafood is longer than that, Adam. And surprisingly, those servers don't get paid half as much in a week as you got paid today. So you know what? You're going to come with me and we're going to go over every line that you have for tomorrow until you've memorized them. All twenty-seven of them. Hopefully we both won't die of old age by the time you do."

"Uh, tonight, boss? I don't know. I had --"

"Plans? I don't doubt it. I had planned to never work with anyone whose IQ is the single-digits, but when life hands you lemons..."

****

Adam rests his jacket down on my couch in what is possibly the most infuriating way humanly possible. He puts the jacket down so slowly and gently that I want to yell at him, but I manage to keep the peace for another moment.

I tell him to take a seat and he does so.

"Do you want something to drink?" I ask.

"No thanks, boss. I'm good, I have this guava-passion --"

He continues talking, but I'm not listening. I fix myself a double gin then I think better of it and make it a triple. It's been a long day and at the end of it, Adam is sitting on my couch in a t-shirt and jeans. I don't know whether to grin or weep.

I take my gin from the kitchen into the living room where Adam is seated. I sit across from him on the loveseat and toss him a copy of the script while keeping one for myself. They're still warm from the printer.

"Let's do a quick run through. We'll start from the scene where you rush into the warehouse to save Mallory."

We read through the scene and he does alright. He seems a little nervous, but he doesn't totally fuck it up.

"Good job," I say.

He smiles. "Thanks, boss. You don't know how much I appreciate --"

"Let's go through it again. But this time there's something I want you to consider," I move over to the couch next to him and take out a highlighter so I can outline a few lines for him. I make the notation on his paper and pat him on the shoulder. "...and those are the emotions I want you to consider while you're reading through, ok? Alright, let's go through it now."

This time it's a disaster. Adam stutters, drops lines, and reads through the whole thing in a jittery monotone that's not even his natural voice.

"Goddamnit, Adam. Do you have to hitch you to a wagon and beat you to get a decent line reading out of you?"

Adam blushes so deeply and looks so contrite that I immediately sprout wood. I feel guilty for causing him anguish, but there's something about seeing him abashed that sends signals to my junk.

"You don't have to beat me, boss --" he says.

"I fucking know that, Adam. It's a figure of speech for god's --"

"--but you could."

Huh?

Adam looks at me from underneath those long lashes of his like a grade school kid turning in his book report a week late.

"You could hit me if you wanted. You could do whatever you wanted. You're the boss and I...maybe it would help with my performance?"

"How...?" I intend to say more, but my voice cracks and I think it's better to take a minute to recuperate.

"Well, you've kind of been looking at me and I get distracted on set. I mean, maybe I've been imagining it, but I think...that you want to do stuff with me. To me."

"Do you know what you're saying?" I ask. Now I'm the one saying stupid shit.

"Yes. I'm asking you to help me with my performance. And you're my boss. So, will you?" he says each word slowly.

I just look at him for a long time. Like he's a fucking meteorite that just dropped through my ceiling. He is without a doubt, sitting right here in my living room asking me to fuck him, the most beautiful thing I've seen.

"And you'll let me hit you? You want me to?" I ask.

He nods. Not eagerly. It's a slow affirmation, like he's thought about it. Like he's just signed up for war.

I lean forward and brush my lips against his. He closes his eyes and I kiss him. His mouth tastes like that guava-passion shit that he's been swigging from his water bottle. It's sweet and exotic and leaves a trace on my tongue as I pull away. He opens his eyes again gradually.

"If it gets to be too much, just say...'Michelin'," I tell him. It's the last name of the character he plays in the movie we're shooting. But right now he couldn't look further from Jack Michelin.

"Ok," he says.

"Take off your clothes and get back on the couch, face the wall."

He stands up and unbuckles the silly cloth belt around his waist. It rattles and clinks until he drops it to the ground. He unbuttons his jeans which are tight enough that he has to push them down his toned legs and pull them off his feet. He's standing before me in a pair of bright yellow briefs with a sunburst emblazoned across the crotch. It's a fitting image considering.

He pulls down his briefs, lets them fall to he floor and pull the shirt up over his head. It falls as well.

Adam is everything I thought he'd be naked. His pecs are gym-sculpted to perfection, his arms are in flawless proportion, his legs are enviable. But it's when he turns around that I start to feel light-headed. That fucking ass. It has taunted me since the first day of shooting. Adam's bubble-butt is a frigging work of art and I'm already salivating just thinking of how I can defile it.

He climbs up on the couch and gives me a long look before he turns toward the wall, exposing his backside to me fully. I walk up to him and run my hands over him. His skin is soft and warm. He makes little helpless noises and goosebumps rise on his skin. I lean over and whisper to him, "I'm going to use you now."

"Ok," he says.

I pull away from him and just tap his left ass cheek. I just want to watch it bounce which it does admirably. My mouth waters yet again. I slap his ass for the first time. A hard open palm to his left cheek.

"Ah," he groans.

My dick gets so hard that I have to unzip and let it hang out of my fly. I slap the other cheek and he pushes forward a little.

"Don't you dare get your dick-spit on my couch. Do you know how much I paid for that couch? Idiot."

"Sorry."

"Sorry, who?"

"Sorry, boss."

I bring a palm down on the top of his ass and lower back. He jolts forward again and cries out in surprise. Clearly he thought that was the right answer. "How many times have I told you to call me Finn? Hmm? Mr. Stein? You have trouble learning, Adam. And I --" I slap his butt hard. "--am not--" Another slap. "--a patient--" Another. "--teacher."

His butt is starting to redden. I rub it and feel the heat radiating from it. I run my fingers up and down his crack and just brush his hole. His whole body tenses.

"God, you want it so bad. Why'd you wait this long to come to me?"

"I was scared, Mr. Stein."

"Yeah?" I ask. I'm squatting behind him, rubbing the head of my cock against the soles of his feet. My dickhead leaves a wet trail on one of them. "Scared of what?"

"Scared that you wouldn't want me."

"Stupid," I say. "Maybe I shouldn't want you. Maybe I should just send you home? Do you want me to."

"No!" Adam cries, he turns his upper torso as much as he can without moving entirely. I jump forward and grabbing the back of his neck push his face into the wall. I'm pressed against him, even fully dressed I can feel the warmth of his body against mine. My dick is sitting astride his ass as I lean my weight into him. He's mewling like a kicked puppy.

"Why should I even fuck you? You worthless idiot. You've fucked my production from day one. You're the worst actor I've ever worked with and you flaunt this ass of yours --" I squeeze his butt hard for emphasis. "--like it doesn't already belong to me. Like you haven't been mine from the first second I laid eyes on you."

"I have, Mr. Stein. I am. Please, don't send me away."

"I'm not going to send you away Adam. How could I? I've barely even started yet."

***

The next day everyone remarks that Adam is doing much better. The executive producer, Sharon, notes that even his stride is more masculine, more assured. His warehouse scene goes off without a hitch. At one point he drops a line and looks over at me shyly from across the lot in between takes. I return his gaze and give him a single terse nod.

At the end of shooting, I go meet with Barry and the producers to chat about our next project. We meet at a dive bar that serves incredible bloody marys and cheap, decent whiskey. What else would anyone need? The meeting only runs an hour or so and when it's over I tell everybody that I have to turn in. That I haven't shaken my headache from the day before.

Barry catches me on the way out.

"So your boy actually knew his lines today, would that happen to be your doing?"

"Me? Nope. As much as I'd love to knock some sense into the little shit, I think he took the initiative to stop the leaks in his brain all by himself."

"Uh huh. Well, you have a good night, Finn. Whatever you're running home to do," Barry says.

I take my time driving home. I stop at the grocery store and pick up some more gin, I browse the Redbox for new releases, and as I'm leaving I forget that I've run out of dish-soap. I go back and pick some up.

I get home and unlock the door. I bypass the living room and go into the kitchen where I unload my purchases and make myself a gin, triple of course. Then I take off my shoes and jacket, and walk into the living room.

The coffee table is pushed back against the wall and the carpet is covered with a big blanket. Adam is on his back stuffing a black buttplug up his hole. He's make that sound again, the animal in distress noise. I'd given him a key and express instructions the night before:

"If you miss your lines tomorrow, even one. You will come back here and you will spread out this blanket and you will fuck yourself until I come to relieve you."

I wonder if I should try to get the buttplug into the credits as Adam Pell's Assistant. After all, it has been crammed up his fuck-chute all day doing more work on set than some of my crew. I told him to do it, of course. I fought with myself all day about taking him into my trailer and fucking the shit out of him, but I realized that he needed the structure of rules in order to continue to shine.

And I have to admit — seeing him work that plug into his butt, smelling the smell of him — he's a fucking star. I sip my gin.

"How does it feel?" I ask.

"Good. But you would feel better, Mr. Stein."

I held off fucking him last night. Instead I pressed him into the couch and fingered his hole for a bit. I rimmed that gorgeous butt of his until I could feel him relaxing against my mouth, giving in to my attentions. Then I pulled him away and saw the trail of precum stretching from the back of my couch to his hard cock. After that I had no choice but to put him over my knee. I'd told him not to get his cock-sauce on my couch and he did it anyway. So I spanked him good, gave him a buttplug, instructions, and sent him home for the night.

Now he's here again, on my floor this time with a hole that's been stretched all day for me. Just for me.

Adam is red-faced and gorgeous and for maybe the first time I don't have it in me to hate him. I strip quickly and join him on the floor. I crawl toward him and put my hand over his. He slows down his relentless fucking and then stops altogether. I slowly pull out the plug.

"Are you ready for me?" I ask, lubing my dick. "For me to fuck you? To cum inside you?"

"Since the first time I saw you," he answered.

And that takes me by surprise. I'm pushing forty now and in my twenties I wasn't much of a catch, but Adam wants me. Has always wanted me. So what am I waiting for?

I push into his horny hole and he sucks in a deep breath between his teeth and then slowly lets it out through his open mouth. And what is there to say about the rest of it? I play with his nipples, I slap his ass, I fuck his butt until I'm sweating and he's insensible. He looks at me in a way that I hardly imagine, like he's seeing someone he trusts, and respects. I think it's that look, more than anything else, that sends me careening toward orgasm. I try to hold back, but he's pulling me in deeper and he's shaking his head.

"Now. Please, Mr. Stein."

What can can I say? I'm a soft touch. I blow my load in him.

And afterward, after the clean-up and the post-sex shower, I grab the dvd and I heat up leftover Chinese food, enough for the two of us. I invite Adam into my bedroom for the first time and let him change into some of my pajamas. We get into my bed and I put on the movie. He groans as soon as the title screen comes up, it's one of his first films when — if you can believe this — he was an even worse actor than he is today.

I intend to spend the next two hours berating his performance, but he falls asleep after ten minutes in the middle of a particularly good burn on my part about his horrible haircut. I turn off the movie and watch him sleep for a while before turning off the lights and joining him.