Page 75 of Bound By Brielle (Crave & Cure Productions)

After I make a call, I collect my things and head out to the set, where everything is moments from beginning. Lance has run many scenes, and he’s a wonderful director, too. This isn’t the first time Crave has made a film without me pacing the edge of the set. Before though, when they’d film without me I’d feel anxious and concerned, and not because of Lance’s skill or talent. More like, I didn’t know how to exist without directing.

I stand a few feet back from where they sit in their canvas chairs, Lance’s feet on the wooden bar, knees spread as he stares at the set waiting. Brielle’s knees are together, ankles crossed, pink leather heels perched on the foot bar. She motions to something on set, and Lance leans in, narrowing his eyes. A moment later he makes a comment, and she nods. Cohen comes over, the three of them share words, he adjusts where the faux hearth on casters rests, and they fall back into comfortable, anticipatory silence.

Watching them create together, work together, direct the script that came from my heart—that anxious idle feeling I’ve always had before isn’t there anymore. Rather, I imagine this must be what it feels like to watch your child take their first steps or something. I’m proud, and fighting a corny grin.

Reaching for the remotes in my pocket, I tap each of them, sending a singular buzz to each toy. Brielle’s back straightens as Lance’s head falls back, his groan of frustration heard from here.

They’re both going to be so miserably grouchy tonight. I can’t fucking wait.

I find my way to them, taking a seat next to Brielle, who always sits between us. “One minute,” Lance calls to the set full of people, and the three of us watch as set hands and Alexa scatter off, leaving the three stars under the dim lights.

Lance leans forward, elbows to knees, glaring at me. “I haven’t flipped through the script but I’m telling you now, if they use any of the wordsweuse, you better not use that remote.” His brow falls into a firm line as he cautions me. “It’s been four days,” he reminds us, as if we weren’t running our own mental tally. “Don’t use the remote.”

Brielle fans herself with the script as Lance taps on his iPad and a moment later, while I’m basking in my power, he calls a countdown. I watch Brielle’s pink fingernails curl around the slates as she slaps them closed, shouting, “Go.”

A collared Uma drops to her knees, fingertips bracing the floor as she looks up to Fox and Dean. Fox extends his hand out, and I watch with rapt attention as she nuzzles against it, a low purr rumbling in her chest. He hooks his finger through the metal loop on her collar, guiding her to the hands of Dean, who strokes his hand through her hair first in a gentle, stroking pet.

While he pets her, Fox retrieves a brush from the table nearby, and begins pulling it through her hair. She nuzzles the petting hand, as Fox brushes her and at that moment, I click the remotes, putting the plugs into a three-minute intermittent vibe mode. Brielle shifts immediately, and when I dart my eyes to Lance, I see him gripping the arm rests of his chair, head tipped forward, a strand of his blonde hair dangling over his eyes. He hates hair in his face, it’s part of why he does the James Dean swoop. But he’s not pushing it away and I know why.

He’s on the edge. Any slight movement at this point could cause… an accident. Even just brushing hair off his face.

Last week, we moved in together, the three of us. But for the last four days, we haven’t had quality time alone. The first two evenings were spent tidying up at Lance’s place, waiting in the rental office to get his deposit back, and getting his mail transferred along with running back to pick up packages. We were so tired by the time we got home, the three of us just slept in an exhausted heap. The last two evenings had been spent getting everything from Brielle’s apartment near campus, replacing the light fixture we broke when moving out her mattress, and then finding places for her things. We donated most of it, but that took time, too, as places in the city don’t always take full bedroom sets and couches due to space.

Four long days of lying in the arms of your lovers and having no sexual release.

They’re miserable, and so am I. Only, I’m having fun watching them squirm.

Lance calls for a cut, ordering Brielle to reposition Fox slightly so that Uma’s head doesn’t block either of their cocks.

“Why don’t you go do it, since it’s your call,” she says through a fake smile.

His nostrils flare. “I can’t do it, but you can,” he hisses.

I tap the remote again, turning Lance’s from level one to level five, because him hot and bothered is exactly where I want him later. With Brielle’s, I turn it to level three because she’s had less anal stimulation so a three for her is comparable to a five for Lance.

Brielle leaps up from her chair, breathless and sweaty, pushing the actor around by his shoulders, mumbling something about seeing his dick, and I have to bring my fists to my lips to stifle my smirk.

Lance leans over her empty chair, barely moving his lips when he whispers, “I’m making a mess over here.”

I reach into my pocket and turn it up another level, earning a hiss and grimace from Lance. “Fuck,” he whispers, facing the set, the word meant for me. “I can’t take it much longer.”

I roll my fingertips against the wooden armrest, smiling. “You have to.” I turn to face him. “It’s a command.”

“Please,” he rasps across the empty chair as Brielle finishes speaking with the actors, turning to come back.

I shake my head. “Hold it.” Brielle takes a seat, sighing as she does, though her sigh sounds an awful lot like a moan. I lean in and warn her the way I warned him. “Hold it.”

She nods fervently and then Lance calls “Go” and the scene resumes.

And the three of us watch in silence as Uma is fed by hand by her two Sirs. After she’s full, they take turns mounting her, using her hot, wet cunt for their pleasure. When she cries out too much, they finally muzzle her, and when they’ve left her full, slippery cum sticky on her ass and thighs, they guide her by the collar to a pen. She curls up in a bed as they cover her crate with a dark sheet, and the scene ends.

Lance jumps out of his seat, waving to the actors as he heads to the office, iPad in front of his crotch. “Good work, great work everyone, see you tomorrow, have a nice night.” He’s down the hall and likely in the office before I even rise.

Brielle’s face is flush, her eyes gauzy and distant, and when I outstretch my hand to her to help her down from her chair, she stares at it like she’s never seen a hand before.

“C’mon, let's get our things from the office and go,” I tell her quietly as she blinks at my open palm.

“Oh, yeah, okay.” she nods, slowly easing off her chair like her back is hurting. I guess having a vibrating plug stuffed up your naughty pup asshole looks a lot like throwing your back out. Who knew.

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