"What?" came out of Emma Watson's mouth as soon as she heard the news from her agent. Apparently, he'd jumped on the rumors of her playing the "famous" role of Anastasia Steele. Deals had started flying, money had started changing hands, and apparently now Emma had preemptively signed on to actually play the role. Of course, she'd heard of the series; she'd even dared peek at the books. It sounded decidedly unsexy from start to finish, much like Twilight in all the wrong ways.
But the rumors had started, and her agent apparently was more interested in money. And now that Emma was signed on to the project, she felt she had to commit. However, apparently there was "training" that you had to do to get the part. That, in the general sense, didn't surprise the British actress all that much. She'd undergone dance training before; she'd done accent training; she'd even done some training with "wand waving" and so forth. But the moment they mentioned training for 50 Shades of Grey...
Apparently they got a famous "BDSM expert," or possibly some sort of "sex expert" or "sex trainer" on board. The claim had become that they'd found the best guy in the business to help Emma along. He'd show her precisely what she needed to know to play the innocent girl exposed to BDSM for the first time.
The irony of this situation wasn't lost on Emma, who'd been fending off suitors since before she even became legal. Unfortunately, between being Hermione Granger and her busy work schedule, such details as sex sort of fell to the wayside. Emma had learned to use various toys. Funny "fans" had ended up sending various wands for years to her, and Emma had picked one up about the time she'd gotten just curious. Sometimes she needed to destress, and that was the best way to do it. There were times when she dug her toes into sheets and clenched her jaw to swallow down some orgasms from time to time. They often teased that English were sexually repressed, and at times Emma fit the bill.
Not that she wasn't attractive enough. Again: the fans had made that clear. As had the modeling agencies and several others. Emma had that good balance between girl next door and high scale model that held mass appeal. Some light freckles dotted a slender face. Brown eyes expressed almost every one of her intelligent thoughts. Her body was slight, built like the dancer she played in at least one film, but it seemed to fit her well. Her long legs had been shown in a few of her roles, and she'd learned to use them well enough.
And now that woman stood outside a relatively reclusive location. It apparently belonged to the sex trainer, and he apparently made a bit of money, judging by its impressive location and facade. The message had been for Emma to pack a few bags for a weekend, and she'd done so. Simply a duffel with some clothes and a satchel with some makeup and accessories. For now she'd dressed simply, as was recommended: black workout pants and a pink exercise shirt. Her russet hair had been twisted up into a slightly sloppy tail that kept the slightly curled strands off her slender shoulders.
Sighing, she knocked twice before sliding into the domicile, knowing she was already supposed to arrive. She looked around curiously, trying to find where the "trainer" happened to be and where she was supposed to go to get this training started.<|im_end|>
Eric Wright had agreed to help Ms. Watson prepare for her roll, for several reasons. The huge sums of money they were throwing at him to prepare her for the role didn't hurt, but his primary impetus was that he was going to get his hands on Emma Watson, and he had plans to put in a bit of... 'extra' work, gratis, to take her and mold her into his owned woman. He smirked to himself at the thought. But that would come in time; no need to get ahead of himself. Normally what he did was borderline therapeutic work; helping a bored housewife discover her sexuality to delight her husband or even the occasional work with a couple porn stars to help them with some of their performances.
Eric was a hair over six feet tall, with a lean yet muscular build which he worked hard to maintain. He had handsome, chiseled features, with short brown hair, piercing hazel eyes and perfect teeth, his face religiously kept clean-shaven, along with his chest and manhood. Today he was dressed in a pair of blue jeans, a simple white t-shirt, and a pair of running shoes that he could easily slip off when he needed to.
The location she'd been directed to was off the beaten path, on the outskirts of L.A. in a mostly abandoned industrial area, specifically a 'hidden' loft in an old warehouse; the entire setup screamed 'privacy'.
When she knocked he opened his door, locking it again behind her.
"Ah, Ms. Watson. A pleasure." he said, his voice smooth, with only the barest hint of a Texas accent.
"I'm Mr. Wright. I'm sure you have been told exactly why you're here, correct?" he asked, crossing the room to prepare himself a drink at the minibar, motioning to her to ask if she wanted anything.<|im_end|>