Chapter Six
“Cut!” Jake calls out while I’m in the process of manhandling Miles into my lap for a cuddle.
I tune Jake and the rest of the small crew out, knowing that everyone on board is well-versed in BDSM and, in particular, my feelings on providing proper aftercare.
They’ll give us space and wait for my signal to proceed when I’m good and ready.
Miles goes practically boneless in my arms, tucking his face into the crook of my neck as he sniffles and hiccups, easing out of what I can only assume is sub drop.
Stroking his back, I kiss his sweaty temple and nuzzle my beard into the side of his face, murmuring, “I’ve got you, precious.
You did so good for me. I’m here for whatever you need, okay? ”
That first scene was surprisingly intense. I went into it expecting a blow job, maybe some frotting, and a lot of silly Christmas-themed puns, and I would have enjoyed that.
But what I got was an introduction to Miles as a sub.
And wow.
Wow.
He’s a bit of a contradiction. He clearly craves —and obviously gets off on— praise, but he’s determined to push boundaries and make getting that praise even harder for himself.
He seems to want to be good, but needs to be a brat.
He’s bashful and shy…and then really enjoys performing for people.
I even think he might have a bit of a humiliation kink, which he didn’t mention earlier but which would have been good to know because I probably wouldn’t have gone straight into spanking, considering how close to the edge I’d known he was.
Still, watching him fall apart was glorious.
The way his lips had parted and his eyes fluttered shut, long, dark lashes dusting rosy, red cheeks. The way he’d whined ‘Daddy’; panicked, apologetic, but with a touch of euphoria…Fuck, I’ve never been so close to coming untouched during a scene, either.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, barely loud enough for me to catch, completely pulling me out of my happy musings.
I frown and rest my cheek against him, tempted to try and get him to make eye-contact, but not wanting to make his comedown uncomfortable. “Why?”
“I broke the rule,” his breath turns shuddery, before his tone takes on a steely, self-deprecating edge, “and I started crying. Jesus. That’s so hot in porn, isn’t it?”
“Dacryphilia is actually a kink…” I muse, then snort when he pulls back to give me a flat, unimpressed stare.
The expression turns startled when I smile and kiss the tip of his nose.
“But the crying is just the come down from the rush of endorphins and stuff.” A stray thought hits me.
“Is that the first time you’ve cried from sub drop? ”
“I…” Miles pauses, tilting his head to the side. “That quickly and unexpectedly? Yeah. I mean, I’ve been irritable after scenes, maybe a bit weepy and depressive a couple of hours later, but…nothing that sudden.”
Still stroking his back, I keep my tone gentle as I prod, “What made this time different, do you think?”
“Aside from the fact that it was with you, and I guess I put you on a pedestal —a totally valid one, so far, by the way— I guess…well, there was a lot going on.”
“Can you talk me through that?”
“I, uh,” he clears his throat and looks away, “I just discovered that I have a bit of a humiliation kink, I think. And, um, that I really like the idea of people watching me. Us. That’s never really been a thing for me before, but…
well, I haven’t done many performative scenes, either.
They’re usually one-on-one. Maybe with only one other couple watching.
But this…” Miles sits up a bit straighter and waves his hand around the studio.
“This is an actual audience, y’know? Not other kinky people who are also naked and vulnerable, but…
people who are fully dressed and seemingly impassive and…
holy shit, yeah, that’s…that’s a surprising new turn-on for me.
” He glances down the length of his body, where the outline of his spent dick is already firming up again, more than obvious through the wet mess he’s made of himself. His blush comes back. “Wow.”
Fuck me, but he’s adorable.
“So, you had no idea you enjoy being embarrassed? Or that you’ve got an exhibitionist kink?” He shakes his head and at least that explains why he didn’t say anything earlier.
I smile. “Well, they do go hand-in-hand nicely.”
“Yeah,” he looks down again, rueful, and scrunches his nose. “I would have said something. I mean, you knew about the praise kink, and you dragged that out, so…”
“We’ve got plenty of time to play around with all your kinks, precious, don’t worry. But, for now,” I gesture towards his crotch, “let me clean you up, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy.”
The way my heart skips a beat over the sweetly spoken agreement, with Miles still a little soft and pliant from the scene and the orgasm, spikes a tiny frisson of terror inside me.
This is just part of our roles, I tell myself, even though I know the cameras aren’t rolling and Miles is at his most open, genuine and vulnerable. Do not get attached.
I’m a little concerned that it’s already too late for that.
Some professional I am.
***
“Are you comfortable continuing?” I ask Miles once he’s clean and has changed into a pair of bright red boxer briefs which have molded to his skin and leave nothing to the imagination.
I’m wearing my long, red jacket like a robe, cinched around my belly with a long length of fuzzy white material which I think has actually been borrowed from a bathrobe. My legs are bare, and I keep catching Miles’s gaze lingering on the tops of my hairy thighs.
We’ve hydrated, and I made sure he snacked on some celery and carrot sticks, as well as a handful of grapes to replenish his energy. He nods and I signal to Jake that we’re good to go.
He sets the thermos of coffee he was drinking from down on the snacks cart and heads back over to his seat.
“That first scene was capital H hot, guys,” he declares enthusiastically. “Your chemistry is off the charts.”
“No notes?” Miles asks, and I arch an eyebrow at him, confused by the question, until he follows with, “You told us to make love and then we, uh…went a bit off-script, so to speak.”
Jake just grins wider and shakes his head, mousy brown hair flopping into his eyes before he brushes it back. “Nah; that was much better than some vanilla lovey-dovey stuff. You’re a natural, kid. Keep playing it up for the cameras. People are gonna eat this up.”
“And there’s nothing specific you want us to do in this next scene?” Miles prods a little more. “Just…pick up from where we left off, or…?”
“Actually,” using his fingertips, Jake taps his lips thoughtfully, “why don’t we imply a little time jump, hmm? Maybe Miles feels the need to feed Santa some cookies and milk to make up for being such a naughty boy. That is sweet, right?”
Miles’s eyes light up. “Oh, I like that idea.”
That doesn’t surprise me.
Jake claps his hands together. “Perfect. Let’s move the bed out of the way and set you guys up on the rug in front of the fireplace and tree.”
And that’s how I find myself reclining against the feet of a comfortable-looking armchair, wearing only my jacket draped over my shoulders as a scantily dressed Boy handfeeds me cookies.
Crumbs tumble down and get stuck in my beard and in the coarse hair over my chest, but Miles tells me not to worry about them.
He’s kneeling between my spread thighs, smiling coyly. “I’ll clean them up for you, Santa Daddy.”
“And how will you—oh.” His mouth is on my skin, sucking kisses over the soft mound of my belly and up my pecs, his wet tongue darting out to lick the crumbs away as he travels up my body.
I can’t wait to see how this is going to look on film. Him, with his smooth, unblemished, muscular body pressed up against my softer, rounded, hairy and heavily tattooed one. His arguably much more youthful features next to mine, cleanshaven and sweet against my bearded gruffness.
He gently nibbles the crumbs from my beard and peppers kisses along my jawline before he reaches my lips.
“That was very nice,” I murmur softly into the charged air between us, my eyes locked on his. “What else do nice boys do?”
That tempting pink tongue darts out, wetting his lips and getting rid of any remaining traces of the cookies. He swallows roughly, then practically whispers, “They kiss their Daddies.”
“Are you a nice boy, Miles?”
He nods.
“Then what are you waiting for?” I goad him playfully, then gasp when he slots his mouth over mine, leading us in a slow, sensual kiss.
In this moment, I definitely forget that we’re acting. That we’re being paid to do any of this. That he’s not really my Boy, and I’m not really his Daddy. It’s impossible to believe that this is all just a scene.
Because this kiss…
This kiss is electric.
Miles has stolen my breath and —as dramatic as it sounds— my heart in one swift, sweet move, and he’s got no fucking idea that it has happened. One second, I’m performing a semi-planned-out porn scene, the next, my heart is beating rapidly, and I can’t gather my thoughts.
All from a kiss.
I’ve had countless kisses over the years.
On screen, in the clubs, and with romantic partners…
but none of them have felt so instantly overwhelming.
I’ve never felt quite so topsy-turvy after just a kiss, either.
And I’ve certainly never said something as asinine as someone stealing my heart from one before.
I have no way to explain why this one feels so different, though. It just does.
Maybe it’s the mistletoe.
My inner voice thinks he’s hilarious.
The mistletoe in question is fake and is currently suspended above us on fishing wire.
Also, everyone knows mistletoe magic only works in December…and we’re only faking that it’s Christmas right now.
But still, there’s nothing fake about the way Miles’s tongue is teasing mine, slowly twisting and twirling around it like it’s doing some kind of sensual dance.
There’s nothing fake about the way he’s melted into me, all breathy sighs and mewls of delight.
There’s nothing fake about his fingers clutching at my shoulder blades, or the softness of his hair between my own fingers as I cup the back of his head.
“Daddy,” he whines against my lips when we part for necessary oxygen, “Santa…I need…” His hips rock forward, the cotton of his briefs doing nothing to restrain the hard bulge that bumps against my own aching dick.
“You need Daddy’s cock, don’t you, Miles?”
“Please,” he breathes, and I force myself to pull back to look at him, only to find his eyes shut, his cheeks rosy again. “Please,” he repeats.
“It is very nice of you to ask so politely.”
His eyes flutter open and he bites his lip while his hand skirts down the length of my body to fondle my erection. “Santa…Daddy…Please.”
It’s almost like that first orgasm earlier knocked the brat right out of him. Or maybe it was the spanking. Either way, this Miles is yielding and sweet, and I have the sudden urge to give him everything his heart desires.
He’s like the human embodiment of that Puss in Boots gif with the big round eyes you just can’t say no to.
He’s dangerous in all the best ways.
“You’re not getting your mouth on it, precious,” I remind him, smirking when he makes an exaggerated sound of disappointment. “I warned you what would happen if you came in your jammies earlier.”
Instead of arguing with me or sassing with me, he nods. “I know. But it’s such a gorgeous cock, Santa.”
“One might even say it’s jolly right now. If we put a Santa hat on it, we could call it Jolly Old Saint Dick.”
The expression on Miles’s face is hilarious, but he quickly schools it back into something a bit more reminiscent of his earlier bratting. Eyes gleaming, and neatly sidestepping my admittedly clumsy pun, he says, “I have to be careful with it, though.”
I’m going to regret this; I just know it.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because Santa only comes once a year,” he answers, lips curling all the way up with his ridiculous joke. “And if that’s really the case, I want to make it an epic orgasm.”
It’s all I can do not to groan. I guess I deserved that for reaching with the ‘jolly’ thing.
Cupping his jaw, I rub my thumb over his cheekbone and, bringing our lips to a point of nearly touching, I wait until he begins to part his before I murmur, “Get on the bed, Miles.”
“Argh.” His quiet sound of frustration is music to my ears. I swat his perfectly rounded ass in warning, gentle with my touch, knowing that he’s still probably a bit sensitive after the spanking.
“And take those off,” I add, gesturing at his underwear. “You’re not going to need them for this.”