Page 58 of Always Alchemy

I don’t miss the little moan she makes, for my ears only. Iknow how much she loves it when I’m in disciplinarian mode. I release her ponytail and put a palm between her shoulder blades, coaxing her forward so she’s hinged over the wooden desk. I nudge her legs wider so I can step right in behind her. My poor cock is aching already. ‘Like this?’ I ask Graf.

‘Very nice,’ he says, cocking his head thoughtfully. ‘Natalie, can you try coming up onto your elbows, and then wrap your fingers around the far edge of the desk as if you’re holding on for dear life?’

‘Yep,’ she says, pulling herself up. By doing so, she arches her back more fully and thrusts that barely-concealed little backside against me.

‘That’s wonderful,’ he says approvingly. ‘Turn your head a little so you’re facing the camera. Now Adam, you can pretend to spank her.’

Hmm.Pretend, my arse. I flip up Nat’s little skirt like we’ve pre-agreed, baring her pristine white schoolgirl panties to view. Holy fuck, it’s a good thing I didn’t pursue a teaching vocation. I would have got myself arrested, in all likelihood. With my free hand, I give her bottom a leisurely stroke, and she lets out an embarrassed giggle.

‘Adam!’

‘Mr Wrightto you, young lady.’

She squirms.

‘Ready?’ I ask the photographer, and he gives me the nod.

Because I’m a philanthropic kind of guy and feel deeply about putting my best foot forward for the rainforests, I put one hand between Nat’s legs—no one can see it but me—and stroke the cotton covering her pussy as I bring this excellent wooden ruler up in the air.

Two things then happen at once.

One, Graf starts snapping on his old-school camera.

And two, the ruler hits the part of Nat’s cheek not covered by her panties as a lovely cleanthwackrings through the air, immediately accompanied by her audible gasp.

I’d put good money on her mouth making the most authenticOof schoolgirl shock at the same time as I smirk triumphantly.

That’s what I call the perfect shot.

CAL

I’m dragged away from what feels like a full-time job of dog chaperoning and coffee making and prop lugging to shoot my Mr Balaclava moment with my lovely wife. Tobias was very taken by the lustre of the backlit pink onyx bar and proclaimed that we absolutely needed to shoot at least one scene in the bar area. Apparently, it will glow beautifully in black and white.

You would think it’d take Aida longer than me to get ready for a shot like this than me. Trousers and balaclava, you might say. What else does the guy need?

In my defence, Aida arrived straight from the hairdresser with a full—and immaculate—face of makeup already on. There’s a makeup artist here, but my news anchor wife has learnt so many tricks of the trade over the past couple of decades that she claims not to need assistance, even for TV appearances.

Also in my defence, she’ll be wearing a mask anyway.And in additional evidence, I’d also like to point out that her dress is very easy to put on (and even easier to take off). It’s the same gorgeous red one she wore that first time we fucked, and presumably will match the bar far better in black and white than it does in colour.

The final part of my defence is that a good part of my prep time involves having the makeup artist contour my abs and oil up my entire torso. What? It makes perfect sense. I’m taking this thing seriously, and I want to look my best under the lights. Rafe and Zach may be keeping their clothes on, but I’m fucking well giving anyone who shells out for one of these calendars their money’s worth.

I’m considerate like that.

‘What the fuck is that?’ Aida asks as I stroll into the bar. She’s lounging against the bar itself, looking like a red-hot Italian temptress, her ornate gold mask on a nearby table. I grin, knowing she can never resist me with my balaclava on. When the mask goes on, it’s game on, too.

‘What’s what?’ I ask.

‘All that shit on your body. Is thatoil?’

‘Yes it is, baby,’ I say, advancing on her.

She starts to laugh. ‘Oh my God! You look like a Chippendale circa 1986.’

‘You’d know.’

She barks out a disbelieving laugh that I’m age-shaming her. ‘He’s bitchy, too. Wowzers. Should we lose the mask and get you a nice Chippendale bowtie instead?’

‘Now now. That’s extremely hurtful. Do you have any idea how many women would kill to be in your position? Alot,that’s how many.’ I pull my phone out of my pocket and hook it up to the sound system, swivelling around to face her in a Patrick Swayze style move as those excellent opening beats of Robert Palmer’sAddicted to Lovepump out.

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