The Director's Cut

by JS Taylor

  Suddenly there is an electronic pulse, deep inside me, and I feel the toy come alive.

  Oh. Wow.

  I make a loud gasping moan, unable to control the sound as it escapes my lips.

  “I take it you like the sensation?” says James. He sounds amused. But I can hardly register it. Inside me, the end of the U-shape feels like a million warm, pulsing flashes. As though every intimate part of me is being deeply massaged at once.

  “How are you doing that?” I gasp, fighting to get the words out against the barrage of pleasure he’s creating.

  “Surely you’ve heard of remote control?”

  “I… Not for this.”

  James laughs. “The device works through the Wi-Fi connection on your phone. I’m pleased I can have such an effect on you, from so far away.” He sounds delighted.

  “Mmmmm,” I moan as the pulsing continues. It’s as much as I can do not to writhe on the bed.

  “Do you think you could come like that?” asks James as the vibrating continues an internal barrage on my senses.

  “I… I think so.” It’s difficult to tell. It’s a different feeling from how James has made me come before.

  “You think so,” assesses James. “But I think I might like to make you come a little sooner. And more spectacularly.”

  More spectacularly? What does he mean?

  Then another hot sensation strikes my body, and I realise what he’s talking about. The other end of the U-shape, the one fitted against my clitoris, has now begun vibrating.

  “Arrrgh!” I can’t help myself. The feeling is so intense. I feel my entire body convulse and leap towards orgasm. And then, suddenly, the vibration on my clitoris ceases, and my body drops back to the warm internal buzz on my G-spot.

  “But I don’t want you to come quite that quickly,” adds James. “The purpose of this is for you to reach orgasm at the point where only your G-spot is stimulated.”

  He pauses for a moment, giving me time to sink deeper into the pleasurable pulsing on my G-spot, and then suddenly, my clitoris is alight with sensation again.

  “Oh James!” I hear the words without realising I’m saying them. It’s as though my entire body has been gripped in an iron-vice of pleasure. I’m completely powerless to do anything but let it take me. And then the external vibrations stop, and I sink back to the steady stimulation of my G-spot.

  But this time, the internal vibrations have pulled me up into another level. They feel stronger, more powerful. As though I were just on the verge of a different kind of orgasm.

  “I want to be in complete control of you, Isabella,” whispers James. “Give me your trust, and I will give you pleasure you never dreamed possible.”

  “Yes,” I whisper, feeling myself throbbing with desire for him.

  “When I next see you,” says James, his voice dangerous, “I am going to show you exactly what that means. You will be utterly obedient to my will. Do you understand?”

  The feelings inside of me, combined with his words, are pushing me close to the edge. I would say anything at this moment. Anything this man wants me to say.

  “Yes,” I gasp.

  “Now,” says James, “I am going to allow you to orgasm. In exactly the way that I choose.”

  I moan as I feel the vibrator swirl into action again, sending golden waves of pleasure across my clitoris. Inside me, I feel a warm pull as my body begins to contract.

  Then the sensation on my clitoris stops.

  But instead of fading down, the internal contractions have now built their own momentum.

  I feel my entire body pulsing, throbbing with light, as the powerful waves of orgasm sweep through me.

  I throw my head back and moan aloud, writhing on the bed as the force of the feelings take me. I feel as though I am being lifted up, off the bed, and am floating, weightless in an ecstasy of sensation. And then the waves slow and begin to fade, and my body settles, as though I’ve slid into warm water.

  “Ahhh.” The first semi-coherent sound comes.

  “I take it I succeeded in bringing you to orgasm,” says James. His voice is tight again.

  “Yes,” I breathe. “That was... It was amazing.”

  “Good.” I can hear the smile in his voice. His tone softens.

  “I wish I was there to hold you in my arms.”

  “I wish you were too,” I murmur, still drugged with pleasure.

  James sighs.

  “Get some sleep,” he orders, his voice becoming firmer. “You are due to take an early flight tomorrow. And I need you refreshed for what I have planned for you.”

  Somehow, I don’t think he’s talking about acting.

  “And remember, Isabella,” he says in husky tones, “if this is what I can do to you without being in the room, think of what I can do in person.”

  There’s a click as he rings off. And I’m left to float inside sleep, dreaming of what James Berkeley might be able to do to me in the flesh.

  Chapter 4

  As the cast and crew assemble the next morning, I can barely look at James without blushing.

  His expression is infuriatingly self-satisfied as he glances over my face. I look away quickly, images of last night racing through my brain.

  James is wearing a white T-shirt and black jeans which would look ordinary on most men. But stretched across his broad chest, and tight around his muscular thighs, it makes me want to dive into his arms and grab his behind.

  “I trust you slept well, Isabella,” he says, his lips twitching.

  The almost imperceptible crookedness to his otherwise perfect features looks even more sexy this morning. If that’s possible. I feel my fingers yearning to ruffle his tousled brown hair.

  “Um. Yes. Thank you,” I manage, trying to push thoughts of kissing his mouth to the back of my mind.

  I feel my face burning and pray that none of the crew are observing the dialogue. How is it that he seems to get better looking every day?

  Then I hear a familiar voice.

  “Isabella! Gorgeous girl. You look fabulous.”

  Callum Reed, as ever, larger than life and bursting with compliments.

  I laugh. “Hi Callum. Hi Will.”

  I wave to Callum and Will, who for a short time acted as my bodyguard.

  Although we’ve only known each other a short time, I feel indebted to both of them.

  When I was in danger from the Lipstick Stalker, they were true friends. And I will never forget Will’s kindness in insisting on working as my personal protection.

  This morning, Callum is wearing tweed trousers and a matching waistcoat with a thick linen shirt. On his stocky frame, they look adorably casual. His brown hair is greying around the temples, but his choice to wear it a little longer than short makes him look youthful.

  Will has ditched his security navy for Adidas sweats. He is one of the few men on the planet who makes gym wear look as the manufacturer intended. With his perfect physique, razor-sharp cornrows, and designer shades, he looks like a cross between an athlete and a rock star.

  I give them both a hug.

  “Did you have enough time to get ready?” I ask, knowing they had less than twelve hours to ready themselves for the Barcelona trip.

  “Ample,” Callum assures me. Will grins and rolls his eyes at me. So I can only assume that their packing was a little hectic.

  “It’s not us you need to worry about,” adds Will. “Once Mr Reed here has his favourite teddy bear packed, he is good to go.”

  I laugh, and Callum shrugs and raises his eyebrows.

  “But Natalie Ennis,” continues Will, rolling his eyes again. “You better pray you’ve been good in this life, Issy. Cause I reckon those who misbehave are reincarnated as Natalie Ennis’s packing staff.”

  I stifle a giggle. I heard vague shouts this morning from the direction of Natalie’s chalet, which I presumed was her balling out her staff.

  “She’s got a lot of stuff,” I suggest.

  “Jennifer Lopez has a
lot of stuff,” says Callum gravely. “Natalie Ennis could open seven department stores and never need to restock.”

  I hide my smile. I’ve resolved to try and think the best of Natalie from now on. Though I can’t help but agree with Callum. It took two whole days to load Natalie’s chalet, and from what I could make out, she wasn’t half done yet.

  The sudden decision to fly out to Barcelona must have been a logistical nightmare for her staff.

  My thoughts flit to Camilla. This sudden change of plans means further delays in bringing her back on set, since she’s not needed for the location scenes.

  I’ve missed Camilla. In fact, I’m missing female company in general. I haven’t been able to get hold of Lorna.

  She’s gone incommunicado for a few days. Which is nothing unusual for Lorna, since she can party for three days straight. But I’d love to hear what she’s up to, all the same. I could really use some girl-talk.

  I look over to James. He’s talking with some of the crew, and I feel my heart ache. I’d love to go stand alongside him, but I know that would be unwise.

  The noise of a plane forks suddenly overhead, and James makes a tiny movement, which I recognise as him flinching, and quickly collects himself.

  What’s wrong, baby?

  Then I realise. The plane overhead. Callum talked about helicopters arriving if the paparazzi got a good story. James is nervous about press attention before we leave.

  All the more reason to stay away from him then. I sigh to myself, wondering briefly if there’s anything he hasn’t told me.

  Callum catches the expression and gives me a puzzled glance. I shake my head that it’s nothing. And then a large bus rolls up in front of us. I presume it’s what’s been arranged to take us all to the airport.

  I’ve been told the plan is for us to fly charter, since it would be too difficult to arrange clearance for a private jet. But James managed to have all of the first class deck booked out for the actors and crew.

  Since I’ve never even seen inside first class, I’m super-excited. But I also feel a little sad that, during my first flight to Europe with James, we’ll be pretending to be work colleagues. Presumably sitting apart. But I squash the feeling.

  It will all work out, Issy, I tell myself. You’ll be able to have a normal relationship soon. A less hopeful part of me is not sure that’s possible. Not with James Berkeley.

  I turn my attention back to the bus. It’s huge. The kind of transport I can imagine rock stars using on tour.

  “Wow,” I say to Callum. “That’s some bus.”

  Will nods, letting out an appreciative whistle.

  But Callum is shaking his head.

  “James had better prepare himself for a battle,” he mutters. “He will never get Natalie Ennis on a bus.”

  As Callum is saying this, a harassed looking woman appears on the horizon. I recognise her as Natalie’s personal assistant. I’ve seen Natalie ordering the poor woman to arrange a hat to be flown in from LA.

  “Hello, Carol,” says Callum as the assistant draws closer.

  “I’ve been sent to tell you, we’ll only be another ten minutes or so,” she explains. “Most of the packing has been finished. I’m sorry we’ve kept you waiting.”

  Poor Carol! Having to apologise for Natalie.

  Carol is in her late thirties, and I find myself wondering whether she finds it demeaning to carry out the demands of a woman at least ten years her junior.

  Judging by Carol’s neat grey suit, she earns a reasonable salary for her efforts. But her limp brown hair, and lined face, suggests it’s taking its toll. She looks exhausted.

  “Don’t worry about it,” says Callum generously. “We know you and the staff are doing all you can.”

  Carol gives Callum a smile, but it looks like it takes some effort.

  “I think it’s going to be difficult to persuade Natalie to get on the bus,” says Callum, gesturing to the transport.

  Carol’s face falls. “There’s no limo? But I specifically requested…”

  She looks over at James, and seems to be considering her position. I feel for her. I wouldn’t want to be placed between James’s authority and Natalie’s demands.

  After a moment, she seems to decide against confronting James.

  “I’ll go let Natalie know,” she sighs. And then she turns and walks dejectedly back down the pathway.

  Callum raises his eyebrows as she goes.

  “Oh dear,” he observes, “I feel sorry for Carol. Looks like we might be in for some fireworks. Let’s hope we can get Natalie on the flight sometime today.”

  Chapter 5

  We land in the steaming sunlight of Barcelona airport. And I can almost hear the crew breathe a collective sigh of relief.

  As predicted, getting Natalie onto the bus was a nightmare, and almost all my emerging sympathy for her drained away during the trip.

  First we all waited for half an hour whilst Natalie complained and fought for a limo to take her privately to the airport. Then, despite a first class seat, the airline wasn’t her favourite choice, so we had to hear her complain about that.

  The only positive to the whole upheaval was watching how well James dealt with her. He was calm, assured, and firm, never losing his temper, but never letting her get her own way either.

  As we boarded the plane, he snuck by my side and gave my hand a secret squeeze.

  “How you doing?” he whispered in a voice which made my insides melt.

  “Good,” I whispered back. “Way to go with Natalie. You’ll make a great father someday.”

  His mouth twisted as he fought back a smile.

  “I’m hoping children will be less hard work,” he replied. He squeezed my hand again. “I’ve got to be in a different part of the plane,” he added apologetically.

  And then he was gone.

  Now that we’ve landed in Spain, Natalie has thrown off the petulant child act and gone straight into travelling starlet. She dons shades, stretches elaborately, and treats us all to a wide smile.

  “I love Europe,” she murmurs, standing in the aisle. “So much great culture. And parties!” She yawns like a cat and opens the baggage compartment.

  Everyone else is taking their belts off and staring at the sunny view from the window as Natalie reaches inside the overhead and yanks hard at a designer purse.

  Barcelona airport is an amazing mesh steel construction, and the modern design has almost everyone riveted. So I’m the only one watching as Natalie’s purse catches a little, and suddenly a flood of pill packages tumble out and onto the floor.

  My eyes widen in alarm as I watch the blister packs scatter. Natalie curses and ducks down onto the floor.

  Are they painkillers? Something else?

  Her assistant Carol is in another part of the plane. And no one else seems to have heard the spillage. But from what I can see, they look like prescription drugs. Lots of them. And since Natalie has dived down to stuff them back in her purse, it seems she’s very keen to keep them hidden.

  Her fumbling attracts the attention of an airhostess, who moves towards the spillage and stoops down to help.

  “It’s fine,” hisses Natalie, trying to shoo her away. But the hostess has already seen the deluge of blister packs all over the airplane floor. She freezes in the act of helping.

  “These need to be declared,” she tells Natalie in a thick Spanish accent. “Any drugs must be declared.”

  I see Natalie turn her head left and right to check no one else is paying attention to what’s happened. I pretend to be looking at my lap.

  “They’re prescriptions,” I hear Natalie say. “There’s nothing here that needs to be declared.”

  I look up to see the airhostess is shaking her head.

  Oh no. From the airhostess’s expression, it looks as though this is going to be an issue. A sudden headline shouts out at me. “Natalie Ennis arrested for drugs in Barcelona”.

  Stupid, stupid Natalie. I feel like screaming in frust
ration.

  Spanish law is strict on prescription medication. If this becomes a customs issue, then the press could easily become involved.

  “Drugs need to be declared,” the airhostess is saying. “Spanish law.” But she’s frowning, as if she’s not quite sure what Natalie is saying.

  Taking my moment, I slide off my seat and stoop down to join them.

  “Es un problema no de,” I say, giving the hostess my best smile. “Estas solo vitaminas. De América.”

  It’s not a problem. They’re only vitamins. From America.

  The hostess looks uncertainly at me. But she at least seems reassured by someone who speaks her language. I smile again.

  “They’ve been through customs already,” I say, continuing to speak in Spanish. “From America to England.”

  I’m betting this is true, so I don’t feel so bad lying. I pick up a pack and tap the English writing on the back. It’s a drug name, which I’m unfamiliar with. But there is a price label with a dollar sign.

  “You see,” I add. “American.”

  The airhostess stands slowly, looking from me to Natalie. I stand too, pulling Natalie up by the arm and hoping no one else is paying attention.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see the ever attentive Will has one eye on what’s happening. But everyone else seems too involved in the excitement of the landing. And the noise of the plane engine can still be heard.

  “Ok,” says the hostess after a moment, looking at me. “But next time, they need a cabin label. Even vitamins.”

  I nod, my face tight with smiling.

  “Of course,” I reply in Spanish. “We’re sorry for the inconvenience.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief as the hostess turns away, and tighten my grip on Natalie’s arm.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” I hiss. “What are all those pills?”

  Natalie pulls her arm away from me and bends to scoop the pills back into her purse. She looks as though she’s going to cry.

  “I need them,” she mutters. “Hey,” she adds, grabbing my arm, “don’t tell anyone.”