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I like punctual people. The door opens and as the internal light comes on, I watch her modest skirt ride high up her thigh exposing a shapely pair of legs. Miss James has freshened up but not had time to change. Miss James only catches a glimpse of my pussy peeking out from under my dress before the light goes out. I can now smell my sexual arousal seeping from my open and exposed pussy. We’re chatting like long lost friends as I pull into the hotel carpark. Exiting the car my dress exposes my pussy to anyone looking my way – the car does attract the initial stares from the men until they see me! Pulling my dress down and straightening the fabric I glance at Miss James, and smile. Taking her hand I confidently stride towards the entrance. The Maître d recognising me welcomes us and we immediately are shown to our ‘quite’ table. The Maître d calls over a waiter and withdraws wishing us a pleasant time. I once more slide my dress up so my naughty pussy only wets my seat. After studying. God how she loved his body, his chest. And his chest is where she would start with the honey, writing “I want you” before smearing it around with her own breasts. Ever-so-gently she would begin to lick him clean, using only the tip of her tongue while rubbing her breasts against his chest, his legs, his hard sex. Then she would start to draw on herself with the honey, dripping it down her shoulders, over her already stiff nipples and all over her belly. From the way she was sitting on Andy she could feel his penis throbbing between her legs. She wanted to grind down on top of him so badly and feel him deep within her womb. But they hadn’t yet had their 32 prescribed minutes of foreplay, and she knew he would make her wait. She smeared honey all over herself and Andy joined in, kneading her breasts, teasing her nipples. Andy took her arms and spread them wide, exposing her to his intense gaze. He knew just how to turn her on. Soon he was on top and she on the bottom. He spread her.
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As it was, half way through a days work, she just stopped and turned to look at me. ‘Why am I the only one in this film who doesn’t get a laugh?’ She asked loudly, her hands on her hips, a pout on her lips. ‘It explains everything in the script. You told me you’d read it, that it was fine. So what’s the problem now?’ I answered, in a much more high-handed way than I’d intended. ‘Everyone else plays their roles for a laugh, I have to play my role straight. You said I was doing comedy!’ ‘You are doing comedy.’ ‘Well it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like less fun than doing a drama, and I want to be funny. I’m going to see Clint.’ Her last statement confused a few people on the set for a moment, until they remembered Clint was our son. I let her storm off. If I’d gone running after her like she expected my credibility as director would have been shot to pieces. Instead I calmly called a break in filming and told everyone to go home and come back tomorrow. I waited until everyone had.

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