After a particularly shameful photo of twenty-three-year-old movie star Kirsten August is leaked online, her fall from grace is swift and she is soon without a job and feeling hopeless. When handsome, confident screenwriter Michael Rollins finds her crying in a local coffee shop and offers to cheer her up, Kirsten agrees to give him a chance.
Upon learning that Michael is working on a screenplay about romance and kinky sex, Kirsten presses him for details. It turns out that the screenplay mirrors her own situation in many ways, which upsets Kirsten at first, until she considers that this may be the only role she is offered for a while and if she plays the part well she might earn back some respect in the industry.
But when she asks to try out for the role, she is shocked to discover what Michael has planned for the audition: he will have her recreate the moment she took the fateful selfie, and then he will give her the bare bottom spanking she deserves. Kirsten quickly realizes that if she accepts this part, she won’t just be submitting to her director’s instructions while the cameras are rolling. Though she blushes to admit it, the thought of being stripped bare, punished thoroughly, and dominated completely excites her deeply, but is she truly ready to put herself in Michael’s hands so that he can train her to be his?
Author: Emily Tilton
eBook Price: $4.95
“In here.” Kirsten’s voice came from down the little hallway, past the kitchen, where the bedrooms must lie. A little puzzled, Michael walked slowly in that direction. He found Kirsten in her master bedroom at the end of the hall. If he thought the house was lovely, to step through the door of the bedroom seemed to overwhelm his senses. The furnishings weren’t frilly, certainly, but they were definitely feminine, in a way that seemed to express Kirsten’s image as a post-feminist feminist: an actress who wasn’t afraid to take parts that made her look—sometimes, as with The Haunted Air, in the very same picture—vulnerable on the one hand or assertive on the other. A light blue comforter covered the enormous four-poster bed, and a Victorian escritoire occupied a corner by a picture window almost as big as the one in the living room. Michael wondered what she wrote there. To the right, through a door, he got a glimpse of an enormous bathroom, and with a shock of recognition he realized that he knew it—the selfie had been taken there.
Kirsten herself sat on the bed, regarding him with an expression he found entirely unreadable except that it definitely had at least a little apprehension in it. She had hunched over slightly and she was hugging herself the way she had on the street.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.” Michael resisted the urge to reach out and stroke her cheek. His hands still seemed to burn with the memory of holding her in the clearing at the top of her hill (how could he think of it as anything but her hill?) He wanted to touch her again so very much, but he knew that certain important things needed working out, first.
“I…” She spoke in a very small voice, and then the voice vanished, and she looked away, toward the bathroom door. Then she took a sharp breath. “I’m a virgin,” she said, suddenly looking up at him again. “But… I’m, um, on the pill—to regulate…” Her voice trailed off.
Michael knew that she wanted him to respond in a particular way—her eyes, searching out his own told him that—and, with a cock-hardening thrill, he knew what that way was. Nor did he feel the urge to respond just as she wanted him to because it constituted some sort of code that would let him, impossibly, be the man who deflowered Kirsten August. He responded the way she wanted him to respond because it was the right way for him to respond, for both of them.
“We’re going to change that tonight,” he said gently. “But, first, you’re going to have a spanking.”
She drew a sharp breath, and sucked her lips into her mouth, her eyes widening. Then she gave a little nod, and she put her arms up to him, like a little girl asking for a grown-up’s embrace. Michael took a step forward and put his arms around her, feeling her hold him tight in return. He stroked her hair and bent his head down to kiss her atop her head tenderly.
“That’s what consequences means, isn’t it?” Kirsten whispered.
“Yes, Kirsten. That’s what it means for you, from now on.”
“Will it hurt?”
“Yes,” Michael said.
“Can I keep my jeans on?”
She tried to shake her head, where it rested against Michael’s sternum, and to pull away, but he held her still.
“No panties either,” he said.