Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 94181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“I think we need to shoot on the bedroom set first,” Master Paul said. His voice had shifted seamlessly from the intimate, low register he’d used with me to the professional authority he wielded with the production team. “Before we get to the shaving. There’s a scene we need to shoot—Anne and I discussed it just now. A confession scene. It’ll set up the emotional context for the bathroom.”
Melissa’s eyebrows rose. Her gaze flicked to me—taking in, I was certain, the violent flush on my face, the brightness in my eyes, the way my hands had found each other in front of my skirt and were holding on for dear life—and then back to Master Paul. Something passed between them, a silent communication that I couldn’t fully decode, but that seemed to carry the weight of professional shorthand developed over years of collaboration.
“A confession scene,” Melissa repeated. Her lips curved. “About what, exactly?”
“Anne broke a rule,” Master Paul said. Simply. Factually. As if he were reporting a weather condition.
The floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet. Hearing him say it aloud, in front of Melissa, in the open space of the studio where anyone could hear, sent a wave of mortification through me so intense that I actually swayed. My hands tightened against each other.
Melissa’s eyes widened fractionally. Then they narrowed, and the smile that spread across her face was the smile of a woman who had just been handed exactly what she wanted.
“Oh,” she said. “Oh, that’s perfect. That’s—yes. Absolutely yes. Let me get Darlene.” She turned and called across the studio, her voice carrying with the practiced projection of someone accustomed to being heard. “Darlene! Change of plan. We’re going to shoot on the bedroom set first. Is it still up from yesterday?”
Darlene emerged from behind a partition at the far end of the studio, her silver-cropped head appearing first, followed by the rest of her wiry, black-clad frame. She had a light meter in one hand and an expression of mild irritation on her face.
“I’ve been in the bathroom for two hours calibrating the tile reflections,” Darlene said flatly. “What do you mean, bedroom first?”
“Paul wants to shoot a confession scene before the shaving,” Melissa said, already moving toward the monitor bank, her fingers flying across her tablet. “Something came up. It’s going to be incredible—trust me.”
Darlene’s pale eyes moved from Melissa to Master Paul to me, and I watched her perform the same rapid, clinical assessment that everyone in this studio seemed capable of—reading my flushed face, my rigid posture, the way I couldn’t quite stand still. Whatever she saw made her expression shift from irritation to something more calculating.
“The bedroom’s still set up,” she said. She looked at Master Paul. “What’s the blocking? Same bed position as yesterday, or something different?”
“Different,” Master Paul said. He put his hand on the small of my back—a light, proprietary touch that sent electricity racing up my spine—and guided me toward the bedroom set. “Anne’s going to be standing. Facing me. She has something to tell me, and I want her on her feet when she says it.”
Darlene nodded once, already moving toward the lighting rigs. “Five minutes,” she repeated over her shoulder. “Melissa, I want the B-camera on a low angle. If she’s standing and he’s in the chair, I want to shoot up at her face during the confession. The vulnerability reads better from below.”
“Let’s talk wardrobe,” Melissa said.
Master Paul nodded. “I think I’ve just gotten back from a business trip. So, a suit for me.”
My jaw slackened and my eyes went wide as I understood just how good at this he was. Then he glanced at me, and my face blazed anew at the look of assessment in his eyes.
“For Anne… hmm… something I won’t like.”
Melissa cut in, nodding along with him. “New Modesty training bra and panties, under jeans and a tee. She’s retreating… defending… because she knows she’s going to be in trouble. You’ll be displeased. Perfect.”
I looked from her to Master Paul, my stomach dropping. This had been my idea, but the realization of it… I swallowed hard as I thought about the training panties I’d seen in meetings with Penelope.
“Um,” I said.
They both looked at me.
“I… can we… I mean… can I wear, you know, like regular underwear, with a dress, maybe?”
A tiny smile played on Master Paul’s mouth, but his eyes narrowed. He shook his head.
“Don’t make this harder for yourself, Annie,” he said, with a note of firmness in his voice that made my heart quail. “You’ll wear what I decide you should wear, or you’ll be in more trouble than you are already.”
The words landed hard. I almost let out a whimper. They felt like a hand—like my master’s hand—pressing down on my shoulder, urging me to my knees in front of him. That pressure seemed to grow heavier and more real with every hour I spent in this man’s orbit.