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Everyone Lends a Hand... Preparations for the big day are made.

"Yeah, just gimme two seconds." Unceremoniously, she wiped the toy off on her skirt and stashed it somewhere in the sheets.

Mark St. Pierre waited about five seconds, then opened the door and shoved a suitcase in before him. "Mind if I room with you today? I don't think I can take another minute of those three by myself." He jerked his head in the direction of the room next door, tossing his well-groomed brown hair.

"Were you on the other side?" Carrie giggled.

"Got it in one. Man, what a racket." Mark kicked off his loafers, dropped without preamble onto the unoccupied bed, then raised himself up on one elbow to face his companion. "So is that what you're wearing tonight?"

Carrie blushed slightly, keeping the real reason she'd changed a secret. "Quite possibly. Not this top, but the skirt would work for a hippie character, don't you think?"

"Definitely. Wear that top, though, and even if they don't like the play, your figure will earn us a standing ovation!"

"Mark!" She threw a pillow at him, mostly to hide her blushing. He caught the pillow, rose, returned it to its rightful place on the bed, and tackled her, pinning her to the bed without warning. Gently, he clasped both her wrists above her head with one hand, brushing her hair out of her face with the other. He leaned down and kissed her lips ever so gently, placing one hand on the bed for balance...and finding something hard and round beneath the sheets. "My, my...what have we here?"

Carrie's face turned as red as her skirt. "Uh. I don't suppose you could forget you ever saw that?" She moved to release one hand and take the toy, but Mark's grip was too strong. He held it well out of her reach, inspecting it with interest. "Only five inches? Man, your expectations are low."

"Hey, that was what Spencer's had that could fit in my purse," she retorted. "Now, can I *please* have it back?"

"Au contraire. I think we can have a little fun with this." Mark grinned, then expertly unbuckled his belt one-handed and removed it. Slightly less expertly, he used it to bind her hands. "Now, wait there like a good girl while I go look for something." He crossed the room to his suitcase, unzipped an outer pocket, and produced one of their props: a less-than-realistic plastic blank-firing handgun, with a wide, smooth barrel.

"Mark, what is that doing out of the prop bag?"

"Jason's too afraid of the props being stolen, so he handed them out and told us each to keep one. Lucky me." Mark twirled the gun on one finger, stalling for time as he studied his director's body. He picked up her vibrator from the bed again and inhaled. "Man. This is still fresh. Did I catch you in the middle of something?"

Carrie's response was a challenging grin, totally unsuited to one with her hands tied. "Why don't you come find out for yourself?"

The bulge that had been growing in Mark's jeans nearly snapped into full hardness when he heard that. He slipped his hands under the hem of Carrie's camisole and drew it upward, leaving it tangled around her hands with his belt. The girl's bare, 34C breasts were a tantalizing sight, nipples half-hard and the size of a silver dollar. With a wicked grin, Mark turned on the vibrator and rubbed it gently over her nipples, coating them with her juices as he watched them harden before his eyes. Carrie gasped and nearly bit through her lip to stifle a cry of pleasure.

This display was just too enjoyable for him to remain a spectator.

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