DOS Ch-340

A warm, almost hot sensation spread across my right cheek as Tiffany pressed the freshly waxed skin with her gloved hand. For a moment, the soothing pressure nearly made me relax, distracting me from what was happening behind me. Unfortunately, the next second brought me crashing back to reality.

“Motherfucker!” I yelled, my fingers curling into fists as the lady behind me ripped away another strip with ruthless efficiency.

“There, there,” Tiffany said calmly, her tone practiced and reassuring. She kept her palm pressed gently against my cheek, easing the sting. “Just a minute, and it’ll be back to normal.”

“I know,” I groaned through clenched teeth. “This isn’t my first time doing this.”

And I hated the fact that it wasn’t. Waxing your ass just wasn’t natural. There was no universe where this counted as a pleasant experience.

“Your laser therapist will be here this evening,” she reminded me conversationally, already preparing the next strip. “If everything goes well, you won’t have to do this anymore in a few months.”

“I will have to,” I muttered. “I’m not lasering my chest or arms, only the legs, and…”

“The tush?” she offered politely, her lips twitching slightly.

“Yeah,” I admitted. “And the back.”

“Why, though?” Tiffany asked as she applied another layer of hot wax with smooth, practiced strokes. The warmth spread across my skin, deceptively comforting. “Wouldn’t it be better to just remove everything? Given your profession?”

I shrugged as much as my position allowed. “Scarlett likes the hair on my chest. And it’d be hella weird if I had a hairy chest but smooth arms and pits.”

“Uh-huh,” she said knowingly.

Before I could brace myself, the strip came off in one swift motion.

“Fuck!” I hissed, my whole body tensing involuntarily.

I absolutely fucking hated this. But it had to be done. This time, I needed everything clean, even the areas I wasn’t planning to laser permanently. The only exception was the pubic area. Apparently, most people didn’t find a completely hairless male body aesthetically appealing, or so I’d been told.

Body standards were strange like that. As a man, I preferred my women completely hairless below the eyebrows, and Scarlett had always known that. She’d never complained about my own grooming routines either, even when some roles required repeated waxing.

“There,” Tiffany said at last, patting my butt lightly in a gesture that was equal parts professional and teasing. “All done.”

She stepped back, admiring her work with open satisfaction.

“Honestly,” she added with a grin, “this is the richest ass I’ve ever waxed. And probably ever will.”

I laughed, the tension draining from my body now that the ordeal was over. Carefully, I stood and walked toward the full-length mirror positioned against the wall. I examined my stark naked body critically.

At the risk of sounding like a narcissist, I looked great.

My skin was still slightly red from the extensive waxing, but that would fade soon. Beneath it, my physique was exactly what I’d aimed for. Muscled, but not overly defined. Strong without looking sculpted for vanity. Ever since wrapping [Crazy, Stupid, Love], I’d deliberately shifted my training toward overall musculature instead of sharp definition. It was a more practical build for someone meant to look like they belonged in a medieval world.

“Scarlett is one lucky woman,” Tiffany said from behind me.

I glanced at her reflection in the mirror. She wasn’t even pretending to hide her appreciative gaze.

“I mean,” she continued shamelessly, “if you were single, I might’ve ignored my professional ethics for a moment.”

I immediately brought my hands down in mock modesty, covering myself.

“Tiffany, you pervert!” I exclaimed in exaggerated horror.

She burst out laughing, and I quickly joined her.

The relationship between you and your body hair removal specialist was a unique one. Tiffany had been working with both Scarlett and me for years now, ever since I’d made a habit of taking off my shirt in front of cameras. Over time, the awkwardness had faded, replaced by an easy familiarity built on shared routines, mutual trust, and far too many painful sessions like this one.

I’d had her flown in specifically to Malta for this. Sure, there was no shortage of wax specialists in the world, but I trusted her with my privacy. When you lived a life like mine, flying someone across the world for a small job didn’t even register as an inconvenience.

Now the easy part was over.

The hard part was actually shooting the scenes that had required hours of torture to prepare for.

The difficulty wasn’t just the lack of clothing. It was the emotional intensity of the scenes themselves. Combined with the inherent vulnerability of the situation, it was bound to make things uncomfortable on set.

(Break)

The day began like any other.

I woke early, my body still heavy from sleep but my mind already focused on the day ahead. After brushing my teeth and splashing cold water on my face, I headed straight to the gym area. The workout was intense, pushing my muscles to their limits, filling me with the familiar burn that reassured me I was still in control of my body.

Afterward, I showered quickly and sat down for a Skype call with Scarlett and the twins.

Seeing them instantly softened something inside me. We spoke for a few minutes before I finally ended the call, reluctant but aware of my schedule.

Breakfast was light. Just enough to fuel me without weighing me down.

Most actors would’ve avoided both food and water entirely if they knew they’d be removing their clothes on camera later. Extreme dehydration helped enhance muscle definition temporarily. But I didn’t want to try those torture methods again.

I’d done that when I was younger. Back then, I was just a kid trying to look bigger than I was, clinging to whatever tricks I could use to appear convincing.

Now, my body was in its prime. I didn’t need illusions.

When I arrived on set, I immediately noticed how quiet it was.

Fewer crew members. Less movement. Less noise.

But it made sense.

This entire week had been dedicated to filming the two most difficult scenes of the show for me. Today’s scene was the easier of the two. It involved nudity and sex, but not graphic violence. That alone made it more manageable. We’d deliberately chosen to shoot this one first, easing into the emotional and physical demands instead of diving straight into the worst of it.

Hair and makeup didn’t take long. The makeup lady offered to cover a few moles and spots on my back, but I declined her request. I wanted to keep this scene as natural as possible.

They adjusted my wig to match the character’s rugged, unkempt look, fingers moving quickly and efficiently. Once they were done, someone handed me a thin robe.

I slipped it on immediately, grateful for the barrier it provided, however temporary. The fabric brushed softly against my freshly waxed skin as I stepped back onto the set.

“Ready?” Roxanne asked the moment she saw me.

She sounded eager. Too eager.

I forced myself to meet her eyes, masking the discomfort building inside me. I’d been dreading this moment ever since the schedule was finalized.

If it weren’t for my lawyers insisting that every actress performing intimate scenes with me sign a strict NDA, I wouldn’t have agreed to do this with Roxanne at all.

Once filming was complete, the actresses would be given the option to void the NDA voluntarily by signing an affidavit confirming that nothing inappropriate had occurred during filming. It was a safeguard. The industry had too many stories of exploitation, too many blurred lines disguised as professionalism.

I’d added an additional clause myself. If any misconduct or crime occurred during filming, the NDA would become immediately void.

Protection went both ways.

“As ready as I can be,” I said, keeping my tone steady.

“Wanna practice before Jim calls for the shot?” she asked, winking playfully.

I shook my head without hesitation. If anything, I was the one who needed protection here, not her. I had absolutely no intention of touching her outside the exact requirements of the scene.

“We can practice our lines if you want?” I offered after a few seconds. Before she could say anything, I added, “Just the lines. Not the actions.”

She pouted, then nodded as we started running our lines.

After what felt like forever, James Cameron walked over to us.

“Everything’s set,” he announced. “You two ready for this?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Roxanne chirped. James gave her an unimpressed look.

Then he turned to me. “I believe this is your first scene of this nature?”

“It is,” I agreed.

“Well,” he inclined his head toward the door, “I’ve got a few bottles of tequila in my trailer. Other actors I’ve worked with say it gives them the edge to be bolder.”

I shook my head. “I don’t drink. And I don’t need it either. I’ll be fine.”

“Suit yourself,” James nodded before stepping back. “Come over whenever you’re ready. We’ll take it slow today.”

The moment James left, two women approached us: Jenny, the intimacy coordinator, and her assistant, Trudy. We spent the next few minutes going over the scene again. They walked us through the choreography in detail and offered alternative ways to play it. They even asked about our preference for physical protection.

“I don’t think I want any padding,” Roxanne said with a shrug. “That’d just make the scene unrealistic.”

“To hell with realism. I definitely need some,” I insisted, not wanting to take any risks. “As thick as you can get me. And her too. I want the actual skin contact between us down there to be as minimal as possible.”

“Gotcha!” Trudy hurried to her boxes of supplies and returned with a thick, flesh-colored modesty pouch that had self-adhesive tape on the end. She handed a similar one to Roxanne, who took it reluctantly before heading to the changing room.

I followed suit and found it easy to stick the pouch on. Once that was done, it was finally time to begin.

I untied my robe and handed it to Benji, who was assisting me today.

“All the best,” he murmured, carefully looking away from my body.

“I don’t need it,” I said with a shrug before walking toward the bed, where Roxanne was already waiting. She was just as exposed, wearing only her modesty pouch.

Originally, this scene was supposed to be shot in a bathtub, but the different writers this time around had visualized it differently, and had shifted it to a bed instead. I will still have a bathtub scene, but that won’t be shot with Roxanne.

All around me, people were trying to sneak a look. Strangely, I didn’t mind. It felt like the old days, when everyone and their mother wanted a piece of me. The number of ugly women and gay guys I’d turned down over the years was astronomical.

“Alright,” James stepped forward once we were both in position. “I don’t want any small talk between you two. I want to cut straight into the moment. You’re having sex. Doggystyle. Start.”

I groaned. “Do you have to be so… crass?”

Rather than angry, James seemed amused. “Alright then, Troy. I want you to place your crotch near her ass and thrust into her hard. Repeatedly. I hope that was less crass for you?”

I couldn’t stop the laughter that escaped my mouth.

“You got me,” I conceded. “Be crass. Shorter is better.”

“Thought so,” James nodded sagely. “You two have already discussed choreography, so I won’t waste time on that. Begin whenever you’re ready. We’ll all be extremely quiet unless I have to call cut or give out instructions. The rest is in your hands.”

I really liked this approach to his direction. And true to his word, not one person spoke as we got into our positions. James must have talked to them extensively before today’s shoot.

Roxanne was on all fours, her shapely ass visible for me to see. I positioned myself behind her, fully aware that multiple cameras were capturing every moment. By this time next year, the whole world could search for and see my ass on the internet.

I pushed that thought aside and did as Jenny had told me. I reached forward, grabbed Roxanne by the waist, and thrust into her. My padded dick met her ass cheeks with a weird plopping sound that was unrealistic as hell.

But the motion was correct.

“Aaah! Aaah! Yes, your Grace!” Roxanne moaned like her life depended on it as I pounded her from behind.

I pulled her hair back, making her arch her spine. I grabbed her breasts and brought her upper body close to mine before engulfing her in a hungry French kiss, all while making sure my hips never stopped.

Roxanne seemed to enjoy that moment far too much and leaned into the kiss. Her tongue darted forward to meet mine, and I reciprocated. My hands gripped her breasts tightly as her butt collided with my hips repeatedly.

“More passion, guys!” James directed. “This has to be the hottest sex scene in the history of sex scenes.”

In the heat of the moment, I’d almost forgotten he was even here, but the moment I heard him, I did as he requested.

After what felt like hours, the scene had been shot to James’s approval, so of course it was time for some sexposition, a term originally coined for [Game of Thrones], where a lot of exposition is given either during or right after a sex scene to keep the audience hooked during an ordinarily dry info-dump.

“Can you tell me more about dragons?” Roxanne asked, her fingers raking through my chest hair while her knee rested right on top of my crotch. The main camera was placed on my side of the bed, so it would show the entirety of my naked body, with the sole exception of the area covered by her leg. “Have you seen one?”

“The last of the dragons died before I was even born,” I confessed lazily. “But I’ve seen their skulls. When I was young, my father used to walk me down the rows, and I’d recite their names for him. There was Ghiscar, and Valryon, Vermithrax, Essovius…”

As I continued naming the dragons, the girl on top of me grew more and more excited with each passing moment. She started jerking me off, as if each name turned her on more.

She wasn’t actually touching me, the camera was now placed behind her, so it would only seem like that. And since I was lying on my back, naked, with my legs wide open, it was obvious what she was doing.

I closed my eyes and groaned in pleasure when she decided to stop her ministrations and instead sit on top of me. Her lips crashed hard on mine as we started another intense makeout session.

I’m in a unique profession where I can make out and roll around naked with other women without technically calling it cheating. I don’t know whether to call this messed up or lucky.

(Break)

Scarlett smiled at the reporter in front of her. She didn’t want to do this right now, but she had no choice. [Black Swan] was up for some major awards considerations, with everyone calling her performance extraordinary. The only thing left was the campaign, which had already begun.

“Thank you for coming, Scarlett,” the man greeted her with a nod.

“Thank you for having me,” she said politely.

“[Black Swan] is undoubtedly the best performance of your life,” he remarked.

“Thank you,” she smiled. “It wasn’t an easy shoot at all. Multiple times I thought I’d almost died, but thankfully, I didn’t. It was intense, difficult, and so painful, but I’d never give up that experience for anything. I’m very proud of this film.”

The man seemed to like that answer.

“You’ve previously worked with many acclaimed directors like Sofia Coppola, Rob Reiner, Robert Redford, and Woody Allen. How is your experience working with Darren Aronofsky different from theirs?”

Scarlett thought about it for a second. “Darren is very intense. I haven’t seen a more passionate director who throws everything he has into his role.”

“Not even Woody Allen?” the man pressed.

Scarlett paused, sensing the conversation was heading in a dangerous direction but unable to stop it. “Yes, even more than Woody. Darren prefers to shoot as many retakes as possible in as little time because he wants the correct emotion, while Woody likes to take his time and shoot slowly because he wants perfection beyond the emotions.”

And then came the twist question she hadn’t expected.

“Do you think the allegations against Woody Allen, made by his own stepdaughter, were false? In the wake of the #MeToo movement, do you think celebrities should stop working with people like Woody Allen?”

In that moment, Scarlett knew she was fucked whichever path she chose.