Dutch Movie Set Villa

This story begins slowly and takes a while to catch fire. It is exhibitionist but could also fall in the loving wives category.

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For all the world they looked the part: successful corporate lawyers, partners of their firm, perched at a discreetly expensive bar several floors above the honking noise and rain-slicked streets of Midtown Manhattan. One, with carefully coiffed brunette waves, was slightly shorter, perhaps five and a half feet with classic, freckled American good looks. Her drinking companion was slightly taller, more lithe, high-cheekbones, north European, pale with shoulder length blonde hair, also carefully coiffed. They were both fit, though the blonde had the lean from of the competitive swimmer she had been in college.

It was the in between season, not yet summer weekends in the Hamptons and not winter ski trips. It was a season when you could stay in New York on a Friday evening and drink, companionably, with an old friend. The bottle of white burgundy in their ice bucket was already largely empty

"What prompted the sudden divorce. What happened? He had the money, the degrees, the unusual and attractive name..." The brunette was leaning forward conspiratorially, pouring the last of the bottle into their glasses as she did.

The blonde caught a waiter's eye and inclined her head towards the ice bucket: please bring another.

"The dirt?"

"Yes, the dirt."

"You'll have to suffer through the back story. It began, and ended, on our honeymoon." The brunette nodded agreement. "It began on the honeymoon, and ended there too..."

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The couple had picked the rental car up at the airport and hour ago. They felt very far from the wedding in time and space, even if it had only been a few days. Their speed had slowed after they left the main road and entered into the hills that lay baking in a Mediterranean heat.

"It is worth the trip" said Tycho. "My father's friend loves it here. He chooses to shoot his movies near here so he can always be close to this villa. Dad has visited a few times." His voice bubbled with excitement as he boasted about his father's friend.

The road to the villa twisted through the landscape like a convoluted thought, one that couldn't quite arrive at a resolution. She was driving and turned as instructed at the tall pair of columns. The road became a long gravel driveway, cutting a trail between the cypress trees that sat on each side of the narrow avenue. A faint tang of saltwater mingled with the warm scent of pine, filling the cabin of the car with an air that seemed thick with something--perhaps anticipation.

She glanced out the window, her green eyes sparkling beneath the shade of her sunglasses, as her husband's brow furrowed with concentration. He was not a good traveller.

"You okay?" she asked, her voice soft, laced with concern. She recognized the signs. He was nervous, just as he had been all week. She was learning that her newly minted husband's nerves, so buttoned down during courtship, were capable of spiralling out of control. He needed reassurance, and was weak, which was not what she had believed during their months of dating.

"Yes" Tycho muttered, his voice tight. "I mean, but I am worried. What will he think of me. Of us?"

She picked up where he trailed off "You mean you're worried that we should be at a lovely hotel rather than staying with friends of your parents?"

He glanced at her and her green linen shirt, worn braless and unbuttoned enough to show the swell of her high and rounded b-cup breasts. She was an athletic, long-limbed blonde with a graceful neck. Sporty, she stayed this side of the angular and muscular, giving her clean lines, leanness, full breasts and soft curves.

"No. Dad looks up to him. And you are showing up dressed... well what will he think?"

"That we are newlyweds, and I look like a recently married young woman looking sexy for her husband?"

"You're right. I won't let nerves get to me. We're here to enjoy ourselves."

Tycho gave her a strained smile, but his eyes, still not fully present, betrayed his unease. The blonde (Cameron was her name) didn't know exactly why he was so apprehensive, but she had a feeling it had something to do with his anxiety over being judged by his father: that complicated and domineering figure who cast a shadow over their marriage, and indeed over that of all his children.

The father, Martin, had been a figure in Tycho's life who loomed large even in his absence. He wasn't the warm, encouraging father figure one might hope for, but rather an authoritative one. He had named his son after a famous early scientist, which was unusual. As a couple they had spent more time than would be normal with Martin, and he had tried to dominate her. He was eerily handy -- hands on back or at the very top of her bum, never more- but not enough to spark unease. Once, at a restaurant, he was irritated by their orders and over-ruled their choices.

But he had friends, and one of those was the film director, Massimo Delgrande, beloved of European Union arts grants and art house cinema in general, though he had only had two movies that could be termed hits. Massimo was a man who had built his life in the sun-dappled world of cinema. The films he directed were talked about in reverent tones--exquisite, hauntingly beautiful, yet often difficult to understand. They were works of art and enigma, and they left an imprint on their viewers.

And now, Massimo had invited the young couple to his villa, perched on a low cliff near the sea, for a long weekend getaway.

Massimo's villa was a substantial structure of whitewashed stone and glass that seemed to grow out of the earth like an organic extension of the land itself, sunk into the rocks of the hillside in harmony with the sea. The gardens at the end of the long driveway were lush with ivy and shaded trees, merging into surrounding olive groves, while the sea stretched out beyond, a bright blue carpet that met the horizon at an angle that seemed almost too perfect to be real. The moment they arrived, a sense of quiet luxury enveloped them.

They parked the car, and a few moments later, a man in a crisp linen shirt appeared to greet them.

"You must be Tycho and Cameron," he said, his voice smooth like velvet. "I'm Ricardo, Mr. Delgrande's assistant. Welcome to the villa."

Ricardo led them through the large, open courtyard, where other guests were gathered. There was a woman with dark, flowing hair and a stunning figure, dressed in a simple sleeveless sundress and a deep cleavage, standing near a marble fountain. A man with a beard, wearing sunglasses, stood leaning against the wall, sipping from a glass of wine.

Massimo appeared at that moment, walking down a flight of stone steps with his trademark slow, deliberate pace. He was tall, lean, and commanding, his face weathered but handsome in a way that suggested he had lived a life of indulgence and internal struggle in equal measure. His features were sharp and angular, his dark hair swept back in the kind of style that could have been plucked directly from the pages of a film magazine. He smiled, but his eyes were too bright, too calculating. These eyes locked onto Tycho for just a beat too long before he turned his attention to Cam.

"Ah, Tycho! You've brought your beautiful and accomplished lawyer wife. And I must say, she is every bit as beautiful as I imagined. Lucky man." His English was accented -- in a difficult to place sort of way - but flawless.

Cameron smiled warmly, brushing a long blonde lock from her face, though she could sense Tycho stiffen beside her. The director's gaze lingered on her a little too long, and she felt an uncomfortable shiver run down her spine, though she masked it quickly. Massimo stepped forward and took her hand in both of his, a touch that felt heavier than it needed to be. His fingers were long, almost theatrical, as if he were a puppet master holding the strings of a delicate marionette.

"Ricardo will bring the bags to your room. You are in the Islet Suite with, do not be shocked, a view of that small islet." Massimo gestured seawards. "Since you arrived later than planned..."

Tycho interrupted "Sorry, the connection from Madrid was late and..." he was almost stammering with embarrassment.

"No worries, Tycho." He smiled. "Your father told me you would probably be late. I was going to say you have only half an hour before drinks on the terrace. I'd go and unpack and clean up." Yet he did not let them go, and she watched fascinated as the Massimo withheld and then offered approval to her husband so effectively that all of Tycho's desire to please his father was now manifesting itself towards his father's friend.

After showers they joined the other guests on the terrace. Cameron was chatting to a gay couple from Paris when their host interrupted, gathering the attention of the small crowd.

"I hope you'll forgive my somewhat unconventional invitation," he continued, his voice rich with his difficult to place accent. "As you know, my current movie is all about Ancient Rome. I thought it would be fitting to have all of you join us as extras for a scene in this Roman epic, the thinking man's Gladiator. We're shooting just down the coast. A small part, of course, but one that I think you will all find most exciting. The ladies will be part of the Princess' retinue. The gentlemen can be Roman legionaries. Of course, no obligation! IF you wish to participate then transportation will leave here at 7am."

Snatches of conversation suggested that the 7am start was enough to put most of the guests off, but Tycho seemed keen. They were debating this when Massimo joined them.

"So delighted you will join the cast" he said smilingly. Cameron responded with a hesitant "Well, we were actually thinking to not crowd you with houseguests and allow you to pursue your art..."

"Nonsense" Massimo interrupted. You will be an adornment to my movie. Beauty and sex appeal in an extra is a tremendous addition to a scene. Tycho's father was particularly keen on the idea."

Tycho's face reddened slightly, his discomfort palpable. Massimo turned to him.

"And you, Tycho," he said, his tone suddenly shifting to one of mock concern. "You mustn't be nervous. I'm sure your wife will be excellent in the role. You, on the other hand, I'm not so sure about." It was a tone of challenging mockery.

Tycho didn't respond right away, but the slight flush on his cheeks deepened. He opened his mouth, but Massimo continued, sweeping his hand through the air as if dismissing his concern.

"It's all in good fun, I assure you," the director added, his gaze now flicking back to the blonde. "We're shooting a scene set in the era when Republican Rome was conquering Greece. It's just before the Romans storm the city. You'll be part of the retinue of a Princess.' He smiled at her, his teeth almost distractingly white. "This retinue will be a beautiful, ethereal group, moving about her as she contemplates her fate should the Romans breach the walls. You have that blonde beauty adored by the Macedonians." He stepped back to admire her in her cocktail dress of pale blue linen. "Athletic. Firm, high breasts, wavy golden hair."

Massimo continued, his words laced with more than flattery. "So graceful, so... regal. I'm certain the camera will love you." He then started telling Tycho about the Roman uniform he would wear. She tuned out. Tycho eagerly lapped up the praise.

In fact, Cameron was hesitating. She wasn't sure about taking part in a film shoot, but something in the director's manner, his air of certainty and the alure of the movies, made her pause. There was something magnetic about him, something that drew her in against her better judgment.

"I... I don't know," she said slowly, glancing at Tycho.

"Oh, but it will be so much fun," Massimo insisted, turning his gaze back to her husband.

"Tell her. You father would be thrilled at the idea." Tycho obeyed. Massimo had him under his thumb.

"Splendid," Massimo said, clearly pleased. "You'll be perfect. You'll wear a simple but aristocratic gown -- fabric dancing with the sunlight. You'll look like a goddess. No, not a goddess--more than that."

They were newlyweds, but were seated apart at dinner, she to the left of one of the Parisians and to the right of a tall, well-muscled and bearded film financier who was initially very flirtatious. He then had to leave the table to take a video conference with Los Angeles.

Tycho drank too much and, after behaving boorishly at dinner, let her guide him to bed, where he collapsed. Repelled, she showered and went to bed in a long t-shirt. He tried to drunkenly climb on top of her. She pushed him away, pointing out that his cock was semi-flaccid. He lay back, whined for a blow job to make him hard, and promptly fell asleep.

Her alarm went at 615, so she could ready herself. Tycho stirred. He was groggy and reached an arm over to her. His hand wormed under the shirt to cup one of her grapefruit sized b-cups, his fingers inelegantly seeking a nipple to twirl. Unless aroused, she hated having her breasts touched. "No" she said "We have to go". His hand stroked down her belly under the shirt and aimed for her pussy; when it reached the small triangle of trimmed, blonde pubic hair she pushed it away. "No" she said, pleasantly, but insistently. "We have to go to the movie you want to act as an extra in so badly." She was irritated by his behavior.

He turned his back and left her to get ready alone. He fell asleep. She left.

Massimo had laid on a small people carrier to bring the extras to the set, and she and one of the husbands were the only members of the party travelling to become part of the cast. The 7am start had put off all the others. As director he had travelled early, for it was an extensive day's shooting. The husband soon fell asleep, and she was left to her own thoughts.

The set sprawled over land next to an actual Roman temple historic site that was closed to the public for the filming. The set was perched on the coast above a cove. A mass of film-set Grecian buildings had been thrown up around a film set agora. These were anchored on a palace complex of steps and columns that looked impressive from one side, and very plywood and ramshackle from the side hidden from the camera. It was done very effectively to create a view from inland of a beautiful seaside ancient Greek city.

The scene was scheduled to begin at 830am to still capture some shadows, necessitating wardrobe and makeup for the Princess and her retinue. She and her fellow extra were met by an assistant, who showed them to separate tents. Hers was a busy makeup and costuming tent for actresses. Makeup and hair left her looking exotic and somewhat unrecognisable. Her eyebrows were darkened with a soot-like substance and made to seem closer together. Heavy necklaces were given to her, and dangly gold earrings below a loopy hairstyle. Her lips were vermilioned to a deep red. Rouge was applied. She was then asked to undress from her shorts and t-shirt, which were placed in a plastic bin with her name on it. The assistant motioned at her bra and panties: "We have to lighten your skin, pale as you are, because you have a bit of a tan." All this was historically accurate, she was told, by the young makeup technician called Luisa. Two of the other extras, both women in their 20s (obviously younger and more compliant than her) were already naked and being powdered. "You are wearing a gown that cannot have underwear, or a tan, or bra marks showing. Hurry up." Luisa treated her more like an irritation than a VIP extra.

Luisa glared at her, so she shrugged off her bra and placed it in the bin. She hooked he thumbs in her panties and looked down to slide them off. Glancing up she saw to male staff carrying costumes taking her in as they walked. She turned her back and stepped into the shadow of the two other extras, now costumed. It was strange and somewhat frightening to be naked amidst the bustle of the tent. And slightly exciting.

She was given the same costume as the others: jewellery, sandals and a simple, gauzy white gown that flowed effortlessly around her frame, caressing her body and clearly showing the flow of her body as she moved. The weight of jewellery at her throat actually held the gown, accentuating her naked breasts underneath. They were asked to go to the set. Stepping out, the gown caught the breeze. The fabric had been white in the relative darkness of the tent, but it became clear that, in the direct light of the sun, backlight revealed every curve and in direct light her nipples and the trimmed triangle of pubic hair were visible. The other extras had arrived, which was helpful in that the eyes of the passing crew members flitted from one gauzy, half naked woman to another: too much to take in.

The sun had risen higher into a sky of unbroken blue. They were directed to wait in the shade of an awning cooled by gentle fanned air. Massimo materialised with a venomous and effeminate looking assistant. Massimo grinned at her and said "Excellent. I knew you would come. Now impress Tycho and his father." He then told his creature to explain their costumes. "A scandalized Pliny describes this costume as having been popularised by Pamphile of Kos, who shocked the Romans by the nakedness of their fashion. Which says a lot, because the Romans were not prudes." Historically accurate and pervy in one gauzy combination, she thought. "All you have to do is follow Anita (the actress playing the Princess). Wait for the Romans."

It had occurred to none of them how busy the set would be, and how on show they would be in their flimsy dresses. They sought security in a small group, and when called pushed onto the set away from the organized chaos of the crew and towards the relatively calmer space near Massimo.

She felt strange in the revealing costume, otherworldly on set, and far away from both her world of the law and indeed of the modern world.

Massimo was already in his element, directing with a sharp efficiency, his voice ringing out as he adjusted the lighting and moved actors in and out of shade. He hardly glanced at the women, but every now and then, his gaze flicked to her, and she felt it--his eyes measuring her, appraising her.

The scene began. Following instructions, they walked in two lines some paces behind the Princess with slow, deliberate steps; gliding across the set as if the weight of the world was too much to bear. The queen, draped in more regal robes, paced before them.

The sunlight streamed through the gaps in the stone walls, casting long shadows on the earth. She was aware of the effect that every sunbeam had on her as the camera conducted a tracking shot alongside them. The woman in front of her had her dress seemingly almost evaporate in sunlight every time she passed from the shadow of a column, her shapely ass and back quite visible through the light-admitting fabric. She wondered how she looked. The soft fabric caressed her nipples, stiffening them, which was no doubt the costume designer's goal. The film crew was silent, save for the occasional command from Massimo.

"The princess' kingdom is on the brink of destruction, the tension in the air is palpable, thick with dread. This is a beautiful, mournful moment. Look proud in the face of fear."

They reshot the scene twice before a break, and then the Princess and retinue were to stand in the shaded portico of the temple above a turbulent crowd of the city heaving in the agora below. The feeling of near nakedness had faded, but she did find that she and her fellow actresses were still sometimes the object of the stares of extras.

"Look to the Princess as a saviour. Seem a frightened mass." He instructed the mob oof extras in the agora.

Then came the break. "A bit daring," she mused to herself, "but not that much worse than being topless on the beach in a string bikini bottom."