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Haze smiled gently. “Good luck to you, Mabel. Please drop by my place before you go. I have some survival equipment that I’d be more than happy to hand over.”
With that, Haze shut the door.
When Mabel was sure that he was out of earshot, she yanked off her crown and hurled it at the toy soldiers. “Dang it!”
Where was she going to go now?
If it hadn’t been for that idiot Dom working on the movie set, maybe Haze would have never ended up coming to see Mabel, and she wouldn’t have been thrown out of Liberty. Whoever he was, he sounded like a real dick.
CHAPTER 2
Twenty-five years in the military, and now this.
Rip shook his head at the twenty Littles lined up in front of him. “This is not good enough. You all need to try harder! All of you!” he barked at them. “Half of you haven’t evenhelda goddamn gun yet. The other half are holding your weapons like you think they’re about to explode!”
“Well, theyareweapons,” said one of the Littles, immediately sucking her thumb and blushing after she spoke.
“Yes,” another Little said, agreeing with her friend. “Weaponsdohave a habit of exploding. And some of them look very, very scary. Definitely explode-y.”
Rip began to march up and down outside the old silver mine, swishing around his blackboard pointer like he was an angry orchestra conductor. This was the first time he’d ever worked on a DDlg movie. Probably because it was the first big budget DDlg movie to ever be made. Brandon Marshall had come out of the closet as a Daddy Dom a couple years ago, and somehow, it had only made his career stronger. After the initial shock had subsided, the public — and the media — had lauded the bravery it had taken to be honest about who he was. Obviously there were still some people who weren’t over the moon about the idea of Age Play and Littles being out there in the open, but luckily, they were a minority. Now, Brandon was directing his first movie, and shooting it exclusively with actors who identified as being part of the DDlg lifestyle.
Kind of a genius idea. A way to break the taboo surrounding the lifestyle.
But also, kind of a great big fat fucking disaster.
Problem was, most of the Littles were basically impossible to work with. They were silly, naughty, scaredy-cats. They had shitty work ethics and when theydidwork, they always seemed to do the wrong thing.
Rip had only been working on this movie for two weeks, but already those two weeks felt longer than any war he’d ever served in. He longed to go back to the simplicity of those days. To be given a clear objective, to smash it, to wait for the next one, to smash that too. Piece of cake.
But his military days were behind him. He’d worked in the Marine Corps as a sniper for over two decades. He’d only stopped that when a knee injury had sent him back home. He’d trained carefully to work as a Weapons Master. And in many ways, it suited him. Working with tools. Managing danger. Controlling the actions of a large group of people.
The problem with this movie was that the people he had to control were all Littles.
Totally unpredictable, never listening to him, always acting up. He didn’t know how anyone could be a Daddy Dom. The Dom part he got, obviously, but not the rest. How anyone could nurture one of these naughty creatures was beyond him. He wanted to lock them all in the town jail until they started behaving themselves. Mind you, he could definitely see the appeal of a good, hard spanking…
“Let me spell this out for you for the millionth time,” said Rip through clenched teeth. “None. Of. These. Weapons. Are. Unsafe. As. Long. As. You. Handle. Them. Safely.”
He spat out his words with such force that the Littles jumped with each one.
“You!” he said, pointing at the thumb-sucker. “Get up here, now!”
Thumb-sucker shook her head.
“Now,” Rip growled. “Or I’ll tell Brandon Marshall you’re not up to the role.”
Speaking of Brandon Marshall, where was he? The guy should have been helping him whip these Littles into shape. Instead, he’d effed off back to Hollywood for a couple weeks. When he got back, he wanted them ready to shoot their scenes. They were about as ready as persimmons in June. Distinctlyunripe.
Thumb-sucker squealed and scurried over to him.
Using the pointer stick he was holding, he tapped hard at the blackboard he’d set up on a small easel behind him.
The Little startled.
“What’s that a diagram of?” he asked, tapping the blackboard again.
“Um, it’s a g-g-gun, sir,” squeaked the Little.
“What kind of gun?”
