more manly and confident than he came across on TV. The self-deprecating humour was still there, along with that refusal to take himself seriously which she found so captivating and attractive.
He dressed better in real life, too, playing down his boyish gawkiness. He’d looked stylish and elegant in his simple black outfit and his slenderness had given him the look of a young Bryan Ferry.
It was easy to see how he used his natural charm and that appealing quality of innocence to manipulate his subjects. He looked so wholesome, so honourable, that somehow you just had to trust him. Jo could imagine their stunned, mystified faces as they watched the final film, unable to work out how he’d got them to make such fools of themselves. But, she was willing to bet, they’d grown so fond of him that they couldn’t quite find it in themselves to resent it.
He was a dangerous man and a courageous one too. In one programme about naturists he’d spent the entire hour naked. As his own producer and director, Jo knew he could have insisted that the cameras shot him only from the waist up to preserve his dignity. Yet he allowed his body to be seen freely, indicating to his subjects and the viewer alike that he was entering into the spirit of things.
In one of the excerpts he’d received a Brazilian wax, the camera lingering over every detail of the process in vivid close-up.
Not that he had anything to be ashamed of on that score. His chest was surprisingly muscular for such a slender man and he had the solid shapely legs of a rugby player. His belly was flat and hard with an obvious six-pack and a trail of dark hairs leading down to paradise. His cock was thick and long and had a pleasing soft curve to it as it lay over his balls.
She found herself wondering if it grew much when he was hard because you never could tell. Sometimes a cock that was only a chipolata when flaccid would surprise you by turning into a python when roused. Likewise a promising package might barely grow at all. She closed her eyes and imagined a naked Dan looking down at her with his erection standing out purple and proud in front of him. Her belly seemed to turn watery and her nipples stiffened and tingled.
After Madame Cyn’s party Dan went home with Sarah, his co-producer and ‘fuck-buddy’. The term was Sarah’s own. A middle-class public schoolboy like Dan would never have called a woman who was generous enough to sleep with him anything so derogatory. But Sarah was American; a loud down-to-earth New Yorker who was outspoken, direct and often foulmouthed. A tough Jewish broad was how she described herself.
Half the crew were scared of her and she used their fear to her full advantage. Dan was happy to let Sarah play the dragon because it got results and freed him up to concentrate on the creative side. They were a good team at work and away from it, and they spent so much of their time together that the sexual side of their relationship had just sort of evolved.
It was friendly and undemanding and without strings. If they were both at a loose end they’d end up in bed together, and in the morning neither of them had to feel guilty, or make any promises they didn’t want to keep. But that didn’t mean it lacked passion. Sarah knew Dan better than anyone and vice versa.
Between the sheets she was as demanding, earthy and loud as she was at work, except that she nurtured a deep attachment to receiving erotic pain and verbal abuse. Dan knew she’d have died rather than let their colleagues know about her private preferences. Likewise, he could imagine their looks of wide-eyed shock if they knew how hard and excited he got when Sarah was bossy with him and demanded orgasm after orgasm without even thinking of giving him his turn.
As he sat in the passenger seat beside Sarah the fly of his trousers was damp from pre-come and his cock was tingling. Unconsciously, he stroked his crotch with the heel of his thumb.
Sarah laughed. ‘There’s no
He dressed better in real life, too, playing down his boyish gawkiness. He’d looked stylish and elegant in his simple black outfit and his slenderness had given him the look of a young Bryan Ferry.
It was easy to see how he used his natural charm and that appealing quality of innocence to manipulate his subjects. He looked so wholesome, so honourable, that somehow you just had to trust him. Jo could imagine their stunned, mystified faces as they watched the final film, unable to work out how he’d got them to make such fools of themselves. But, she was willing to bet, they’d grown so fond of him that they couldn’t quite find it in themselves to resent it.
He was a dangerous man and a courageous one too. In one programme about naturists he’d spent the entire hour naked. As his own producer and director, Jo knew he could have insisted that the cameras shot him only from the waist up to preserve his dignity. Yet he allowed his body to be seen freely, indicating to his subjects and the viewer alike that he was entering into the spirit of things.
In one of the excerpts he’d received a Brazilian wax, the camera lingering over every detail of the process in vivid close-up.
Not that he had anything to be ashamed of on that score. His chest was surprisingly muscular for such a slender man and he had the solid shapely legs of a rugby player. His belly was flat and hard with an obvious six-pack and a trail of dark hairs leading down to paradise. His cock was thick and long and had a pleasing soft curve to it as it lay over his balls.
She found herself wondering if it grew much when he was hard because you never could tell. Sometimes a cock that was only a chipolata when flaccid would surprise you by turning into a python when roused. Likewise a promising package might barely grow at all. She closed her eyes and imagined a naked Dan looking down at her with his erection standing out purple and proud in front of him. Her belly seemed to turn watery and her nipples stiffened and tingled.
After Madame Cyn’s party Dan went home with Sarah, his co-producer and ‘fuck-buddy’. The term was Sarah’s own. A middle-class public schoolboy like Dan would never have called a woman who was generous enough to sleep with him anything so derogatory. But Sarah was American; a loud down-to-earth New Yorker who was outspoken, direct and often foulmouthed. A tough Jewish broad was how she described herself.
Half the crew were scared of her and she used their fear to her full advantage. Dan was happy to let Sarah play the dragon because it got results and freed him up to concentrate on the creative side. They were a good team at work and away from it, and they spent so much of their time together that the sexual side of their relationship had just sort of evolved.
It was friendly and undemanding and without strings. If they were both at a loose end they’d end up in bed together, and in the morning neither of them had to feel guilty, or make any promises they didn’t want to keep. But that didn’t mean it lacked passion. Sarah knew Dan better than anyone and vice versa.
Between the sheets she was as demanding, earthy and loud as she was at work, except that she nurtured a deep attachment to receiving erotic pain and verbal abuse. Dan knew she’d have died rather than let their colleagues know about her private preferences. Likewise, he could imagine their looks of wide-eyed shock if they knew how hard and excited he got when Sarah was bossy with him and demanded orgasm after orgasm without even thinking of giving him his turn.
As he sat in the passenger seat beside Sarah the fly of his trousers was damp from pre-come and his cock was tingling. Unconsciously, he stroked his crotch with the heel of his thumb.
Sarah laughed. ‘There’s no
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