[Summary: a vain actor with a secret feedee side, who has been fat shaming his peers in the industry in order to maintain his cover, is taught a lesson in body acceptance when his new co-star turns out to be a practiced hypnotist. TWs for hypnotism, mind control, and degrading dirty talk. I'm writing this for a friend in the community who helped me out with a monetary donation so I could buy groceries when the covid-19 lockdown hit. Don't like don't read. Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and does not reflect the views of the author. Please don't go around turning your colleagues into hypnoslaves.]
ONE
Kurt Casey would say he was having a pleasant week off from filming, even though it was concerning him a bit how out-of-character he was acting.
The previous night, he had gone out to dinner with his co-star, Moira Darling. He never ate late dinners, and he rarely drank, but the successful starlet had gone out of her way to procure a reservation at the poshest steakhouse in Los Angeles as a gesture of friendship now that they were working on the same project, so he thought it best not to be rude by refusing to eat, or refusing the two glasses she poured him from the bottle of Chilean pinot noir she ordered for the table.
Those two glasses of wine had been enough to get Kurt quite tipsy. Actually, more than tipsy. Upon waking in the morning, he barely remembered a word she had said at dinner, though he did recall laughing a lot and having a wonderful time. The steak had been excellent, and Moira was a jovial dining companion. Beautiful, too. Just a little shy of his own 5’10” frame, she had a slim, delicate build that gave way to a prominent, shapely derriere and cleavage for days that had been put on display by the dress she had worn, which draped off her toned shoulders and arms in delicate black chiffon. Her hair was as black as her dress and fell just short of her shoulders in glossy curls that Kurt had fantasized about touching all through dinner. Her pouty lips, seductively upturned brown eyes, and caramel latte complexion seemed to indicate a mixed background, despite the part she was playing in the miniseries they were shooting being originally written for a white actress--shit, if he’d been the casting director, he’d have given her the part, too.
It had been an entrancing evening. They had exchanged numbers, addresses, and even a few movie recommendations. But it was over now, and it was time for him to hit the gym and work off last night’s indulgences. But first he had to do something about this splitting headache.
Rolling out of bed, he grabbed his phone off the nightstand and found he had one new email.
The Sake of Authenticity
by stevita
by stevita
ONE
Kurt Casey would say he was having a pleasant week off from filming, even though it was concerning him a bit how out-of-character he was acting.
The previous night, he had gone out to dinner with his co-star, Moira Darling. He never ate late dinners, and he rarely drank, but the successful starlet had gone out of her way to procure a reservation at the poshest steakhouse in Los Angeles as a gesture of friendship now that they were working on the same project, so he thought it best not to be rude by refusing to eat, or refusing the two glasses she poured him from the bottle of Chilean pinot noir she ordered for the table.
Those two glasses of wine had been enough to get Kurt quite tipsy. Actually, more than tipsy. Upon waking in the morning, he barely remembered a word she had said at dinner, though he did recall laughing a lot and having a wonderful time. The steak had been excellent, and Moira was a jovial dining companion. Beautiful, too. Just a little shy of his own 5’10” frame, she had a slim, delicate build that gave way to a prominent, shapely derriere and cleavage for days that had been put on display by the dress she had worn, which draped off her toned shoulders and arms in delicate black chiffon. Her hair was as black as her dress and fell just short of her shoulders in glossy curls that Kurt had fantasized about touching all through dinner. Her pouty lips, seductively upturned brown eyes, and caramel latte complexion seemed to indicate a mixed background, despite the part she was playing in the miniseries they were shooting being originally written for a white actress--shit, if he’d been the casting director, he’d have given her the part, too.
It had been an entrancing evening. They had exchanged numbers, addresses, and even a few movie recommendations. But it was over now, and it was time for him to hit the gym and work off last night’s indulgences. But first he had to do something about this splitting headache.
Rolling out of bed, he grabbed his phone off the nightstand and found he had one new email.
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