No CGI: Matte Painting 1
Story by Tagenar on SoFurry
Seems you have a valuable skill, and Hollywood has noticed. Finally, being a dinosaur slut pays off!
No CGI: Matte Painting 1
by tagenar (https://www.furaffinity.net/user/tagenar | https://tagenar.sofurry.com/)
{Seems you have a valuable skill, and Hollywood has noticed. Finally, being a dinosaur slut pays off!}
Your first day on set as R’s personal assistant has you following R around with a mop and bucket. At first you thought he was kidding, but he needs it. You asked him why the hell he is dripping so much, as there is nothing here that should make him horny. He said smelling all of these dinosaurs on set is more than enough to keep his urges up. He jokes his slit likes to perform for the crowd, which is why he dances at so many clubs.
The makeup department has buckets of brown and black paint, and gradually the crowd of dinosaurs goes from a brightly-colored flock to Earth-toned monsters.
A few minutes ago, someone stopped you and asked if you were R’s personal assistant. You said yes, and she said good, and handed you a bucket of brown paint. She didn’t want to go anywhere near R.
“He smells weird,” she had said.
Certain this is breaking some kind of rule, you paint R’s scales, just as you did at X’s studio.
“Get between the legs,” she tells you, walking by. “Director wants to be able to shoot them from any angle, without workarounds.”
So you lie on the floor between R’s legs and paint every crevice, imagining yourself as Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel. R’s dick behaves and stays hidden, but you can almost hear it vibrating in there, ready to burst out and spear you in the eye.
When R steps away, you have attracted a little crowd of humans exchanging looks.
One of the men speaks. “That doesn’t bother you?”
You notice you have some paint on your shirt. “No. Should it?”
Some of them giggle. They know.
The lady who handed you the bucket is inspecting R. She adjusts some overhead lights, looking him over from every angle.
“Looks good,” she says. “What’s your name?”
“___, and I’m with him.”
You point to the over-muscled theropod while he works with a lighting technician. He looks weird in muted colors. The tech is trying to light him in a way that minimizes his bulk. R just stands in place, acting dinosaur-like.
“How’d you like a little work under the table? Get between the legs of all of these fine actors for us.”
You look them over. Lots of raptors. Two T-rexes. Herbivores. It’s the entire dinosaur cast.
You look at R. Your muscle-dino winks at you, and then you turn back to the lady.
“How much is it worth to you, and this isn’t breaking any union rules, is it?”
She smiles. “Technically yes, but I think it’s win-win.”
You smile back. “All right. Line up. I want my name in the credits as _slit painter_.”
“_Matte painter_,” someone quips.
After giving you a head-mounted flashlight, you spend the next hour and a half on your back as dinosaur after dinosaur steps over you and receives their makeup. You transform their inner thighs and slits from bright whites, oranges, greens, and violets to greys and blacks with some rust mixed in there. The makeup team is watching from afar, guiding your brush strokes remotely.
You honestly don’t know what they’re complaining about. Dino slits are awesome, and you get to sample their scents. You draw an audience of dinosaurs and humans.
With the last dinosaur painted, you sit up, and humans are patting your shoulders in thanks.
The lady who first handed you the bucket and brush wraps an arm around you as she slips you a few greenbacks of large denomination.
“Thanks, ___. You took one for the team.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. Listen, you’re not in the guild or on the payroll, but I can pull a string to put you on as a ‘paid intern’ for as long as you’re here.”
You smile. “Tempting offer, but I’m only here until next Friday. That’s all the time off I could get. Flight leaves that night.”
“Hmmm, I’ll find you after the shoot. We’ll talk. For today, thanks. You have no idea how big of a help that was.”
She moves away. You find R again and grab your mop and bucket. Sure enough, he has left a trail of lube, and you dutifully wrangle it.
When you catch up to R, he turns to you and bumps noses.
“You should hear what the [m]akeu[p] tea[m] is saying a[b]out you.”
“I think that lady is offering me a job as a slit painter.”
“You should take it.” He huffs. “You have a [m]arketable skill, Co[mm]a.”
You almost slap him on the shoulder, but you catch yourself and hold back, terrified of disturbing the body paint. “Unlike my writing. So what now?”
“Now we wait for our cue.”
“I can’t tell where in the script we are. What’s your role?”
“We get to chase Jeff Gold[b]lum. If you’re lucky, you’ll get to [m]eet hi[m]. There’s a stunt involved, but it [p]ro[b]a[b]ly won’t ha[pp]en today.”
“How long do we have to wait?”
“For the rest of our lives.”
He sits. You lean on your mop and look over the set. So many people curating it, making sure it looks authentic from every angle. R points and explains what this guy does, and what this lady over there does. Pryo experts working out how to set up controlled fires and such.
It passes the time.
So much time.
X sits on your other side. You barely recognize him in black and grey paint. You lean over, peeking under his legs to make sure your handiwork is still intact.
X: “Look, I [m]ade a friend.”
He is holding one hand out. A Daddy Longlegs is crawling across his claws.
“Aw, cute,” you say. “Where’d you find him?”
“Hiding under a light fixture. Scoo[p]ed hi[m] u[p] [b]efore he got tra[mp]led.”
He passes it to his other hand. The little arachnid seems quite content to explore his scales. You hold your hand out. X passes the bug to your wrist, and now you have a little friend climbing on you.
R sniffs it. The arachnid feels his muzzle with two legs and then turns around.
You smile. Tiny oval body, eight ridiculously long legs holding it up.
“Who’s taking care of your bug collection while you’re gone?”
X: “A few dinosaurs. Several hu[m]ans, too. [b]ug enthusiasts.”
“Must give your preying mantises lots of kisses so they don’t get lonely.”
R: “The [b]lack widows need cuddles, too.”
You laugh. “Still can’t believe you have black widows as pets.”
“Their veno[m] doesn’t har[m] [m]e. In fact, it gets dinosaurs high.”
“Oh, now the truth comes out!”
R laughs. “He didn’t tell you?”
“No! Do you let them bite you?”
X meets your eyes, taking the Daddy Longlegs back and letting it climb his shoulder and neck. “So[m]e dinosaurs [p]ay [m]oney for those things. It’s a [b]anned trade in Ohio. Wanted to [b]e sure I could trust you with for[b]idden knowledge.”
“Why are you telling me all of your dinosaur secrets? I might crack when the authorities question me.”
You feel R’s nose against your neck. “That’s why I fuck you three ti[m]es a day. [b]uys your silence.”
“A sacred oath,” you say.
The three of you pass the arachnid back and forth.
So much time.
{If you like what I do, consider buying one of my published books. Links below. Thanks!}
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4539730.James\_L\_Steele