Creative Sith Body Painting
One. Two. Three.
The lights flash on. Sirens follow, echoing through the set. I draw myself up to my full height, gaze lingering on the camera just for a moment. My lips twitch up into the faintest trace of a smile. The black and red oil based makeup feels odd on my skin.
The director lifts up a hand and I spin around, raising up my fake light saber. It burns red in the darkness of the forest set. I weave through the trees that have been set up but I never look over my shoulder. I’m the hunter here, after all.
At least, that’s what I’m supposed to think.
The reality is this – there’s someone stronger out here, hidden among the shadows. They leap at me when my back is turned, knocking me to the ground. Alien claws rake over my skin, hard enough to leave red welts in their wake. A large weight settles on my back, pinning me in place.
“Get off me,” I snarl, thrashing about.
It’s no good. I’m trapped. Pinned. Unable to break free.
“You dare trespass in my lands?” The voice is deep and rough, reverberating through the air. “Fool of a hunter!”
“I am no fool!” No matter how much I stretch, my fingers consistently fall short of my light saber’s handle. I can’t reach it. Excitement swells inside my chest but I narrow my face into a carefully practiced expression of fear.
“You have come here to kill my people,” says the stranger, draping himself over my back. The paint is dried against his skin and slick against my own. I twist about until I’m able to look at him over my shoulder and have to bite back a laugh. The make up artists really had fun with him. Dark green scales have been painted over his arms and shoulders. They turn almost black as they travel down his body.
I want to laugh. Instead, I scream.
A hand slams down next to my face. I start trying to fight again. This time, he lets me break free. Near frantic, I grab up my light saber and swing around to face my partner. Vaguely, I recall a name from the back room of the studio. Henry, maybe. Harry? It starts with an H, that much I’m sure.
Whatever the case is, whatever the name is, I find myself fighting him. My movements are slow and exaggerated. Each strike misses by just a fraction of an inch. We circle each other, ‘round and ‘round, weaving through the trees and ducking behind Styrofoam boulders. I can feel sweat beading up on my forehead and have to struggle with myself not to swipe it away.
This is one of the critical moments, after all. This is where the movie takes a turn for the dark – where the lights go dim and those watching at home will have to double check that their bedroom door is locked, less someone else come barging in and catch them watching one of the most depraved acts of all time.
I draw in a deep breath and fling myself over the boulder, slashing at his paint-scaled form. But it’s not to be. My foot catches on a root and I go down, hard. He’s upon me in an instant, pinning my hands to the ground and straddling my hips. Our mouths crash together in a battle just as fierce as our previous one. I lose on purpose, letting his tongue invade my mouth and run over the sides of my cheeks.
His erection presses against my lower stomach, thick and hard. There’s a practice art in how I move, so that every attempt to get away is in reality rubbing up against him. When our lips finally part, I spit at him. I curse and threaten and the words mean absolutely nothing because the script has already been set and we have a dead line to meet.
“You will regret coming here,” he growls, right before he sinks his teeth into the sensitive juncture between my jaw and throat. More bites come after that, and they aren’t just for show. I’m certain to have bruises by the end of this screening, and I wonder how much make up will have to be caked over top of them before the next take.
“I regret nothing!” I bite him back, on the shoulder. I’m trying to appear strong but frightened. It’s all about the look on my face, the turn of my lips when I pull away and press my face against the ground. My character, she’s a stoic thing, and she would rather taste dirt than stare at the face of this villain.
Where I look doesn’t matter to him. All that he’s concerned about, this alien, this Harold, it’s about making me suffer. And so he takes me right then and there – the cameras cut off, the lights go bright. Three different people rush at us, slipping a condom over my partners cock, slicking me up, getting us right back into the same position.
I nod at the camera’s and the director gives them the signal. We’re rolling again and this is what I’ve been waiting for all day, what everyone has been waiting for.
He takes me hard and fast. The slick helps to ease his way but fuck if he isn’t still big. His cock stretches my pussy in all the right ways, leaving me feeling full and horny. I scream like he’s branding me; rake nails down his bag; push at his chest; thrash beneath him as he fucks me. Uses me, even, with a hand resting lightly on my throat, glued on claws scraping over already bruised skin.
We’re lewd sounding, the two of them. The slap of skin on skin, the groans, the feeble protests. They fill the air like some bizarre radio special. It’s not just a movie – he’s fucking me for real, this man. The grip on my throat tightens and I gag, struggling to pull in a breath of fresh air.
For a moment, the terror is real.
I can’t breath.
Each thrust sends pleasure curling up along my spine.
I can’t fight him.
His free hand twists and gropes my tits.
I drop my hands away from his chest, letting them land limply on the faux grass. There’s darkness starting at the edge of my vision. I curl my fingers in the astro turf and try to match his rhythm but I can barely move. My limbs feel too heavy, the burning heat in my loins seems distant.
And then he pulls out completely, slams back in to the hilt. I’m vaguely aware of a few sputtering thrusts after that, even less aware of the hand striking my cheek. But then the grip on my throat is gone and that first breath of air is sheer euphoria. I scream through my gasping, gaping pants. My world twists, lurches, explodes – and the knowledge that it’s all on film just makes my orgasm that much more amazing.
When I speak, even the words seem to scrape at my raw throat. “That will never be enough to bring my down.”
I try to struggle up onto my elbows, but I’m still too weak. My limbs are trembling.
He stands above me, and I finally remember his name. Herbert. There’s a smile on his face, but it’s twisted and sour. “No, but this is only the beginning. There are many on this planet who would have suffered from your actions. Now, you will suffer from theirs.”
And that’s when I see them. Other men, standing in the trees. Their eyes gleam and their forms are bare. I count three of them already stroking their own erections, faces twisted with an eager sort of pleasure.
“Cut! Alright,” says the director, from his rickety folding chair. “I think that take’s going to be a keeper. Take five while we get the set ready for the next film. Mandy, go get someone to take that paint off you. We need you ready for that dancer film!”
I rub at my throat as I sit up and take the hand when Herbert offers it to me. He says, “good show.”
“Yeah.” I bump my shoulder against his as I saunter off the set. “If you play your cards right, I might sign on for a sequel!”
He grabs me before I get more than a few steps away, spins me around to face him. Our mouths are dangerously close together and his lips draw up into that same smile from filming, more tooth and gum than anything else. “If I play my cards right?”
I give him a coy smile and run my fingers along his chest, nails just barely dragging against his skin. The paint is starting to bleed together in spots. I wonder if we’re going to need to retake any of the scenes and decide, almost immediately, that I wouldn’t mind it.
“Mhmm.” I stretch up, brush my lips over the side of his cheek, just beneath his ear. “Play your cards right. Treat me to dinner this evening, and I’ll see if I can’t convince the director that this is going to be a big hit.”
“It will be.”
“It might be.” I can’t help it. Our budget for CGI is dreadfully low and there are a lot of picky people out there, perusing the world of internet porn. It might not do well just because the ‘alien’ has a base that’s too human in appearance. “It might not. But one way or the other, it would mean another night with me. And I know that’s what you want.”
That grin softens, just a hair. “Italian sound good?”
“Pick me up after eight.” I pull away from him, shaking my hands as if his skin has left me sullied. “I’m sure if you ask around enough, you can find out where my trailer is.”
And then I’m gone, vanishing out of sight to find some lovely lady to help me get cleaned up for the next show. A dancer…I think there are a few mirrors in this shoot, and the thought of seeing myself pressed against the glass is enough to get me excited all over again.
Story by: Paintedzipper