...shows him who's boss

"Up against the wall!" Jon commanded.

The naked man, Johnson Biggie, complied. he pressed his hands against the wall, placing his feet half-a-pace behind him, allowing him to put his weight into the lean. Grinning through bee-stung lips, Jon revelled in the empowerment he felt getting into character. This was going extremely well. Perhaps there was a future for him as an action star!

Methodically, swaying his hips and placing one high-heeled foot in front of the other to show the camera that he meant business, Jon made his way behind the large man. Jon's new diminutive size made it easy to show the filmmakers that the controlling this prisoner was no laughing matter, not to be left to anyone but the toughest of guards. Biggie towered above him, although Jon felt no fear. It was, after all, part of the show. The tension that the director was building would be effective. Helga, the smaller, yet extremely manly guard, played by him, would have to use wits and skills to take control of the larger prisoner, similar to the way Jean-Caude Van Damme would be put up against much larger opponents. It would be a sure-win for an Oscar.

Jon paused for the camera, his gloved fingers wrapping around his baton with familiarity. He brought the smooth metal up to his lips, gliding his tongue along its length. He knew the importance of showcasing his intimacy with his weapon; after all, it was his ultimate tool of justice. With a subtle moan, he let the baton slip into his mouth, savoring its taste and texture.

As he withdrew the baton, Jon made sure to give the camera a seductive look, his eyes gleaming with a playful and confident spark. Every woman watching would undoubtedly feel a shiver run down their spine as they saw the way he handled the baton, knowing that they were in the presence of a true hero.

With a final kiss to the wet tip, Jon returned the baton to his belt, ready to take on whatever challenges awaited him. Helga DeCock was a **** to be reckoned with, and his baton was the extension of his power.

He turned, then walked toward the naked man. A show of **** was needed. Decisively, he slapped the Biggie's naked behind to remind him that Jon was in charge.

"You've been a very bad boy," Jon said, barely hiding the giggle in his voice.

"Oh, so bad!" the man confirmed.

Excellent, thought Jon, he's falling into line.

As Jon's fingers roamed over the man's skin, he couldn't help but feel a rush of power. The man quivered under his touch, and Jon knew that he was in complete control. He traced the contours of the man's back, lingering at his hips and trailing down to his thighs. It was all part of the act, of course - Jon knew exactly where the man had hidden his drill, but he had to make it look good for the camera.

As he ran his hands down the man's legs, Jon felt a sense of satisfaction wash over him. He was in charge here, and this naked man was at his mercy. The man's shivers only fueled Jon's confidence. Yes, he was scared of Jon - and for good reason.

Needing to get closer for the next step of the search, Jon stepped forward, pressing his body against the man's. He reached his hands around the man's waist, feeling the large hair chest in his tiny hands. Slowly, so as to not raise an alarm with Mr. Johnson, Jon let his hands slide down toward the prisoner's groin, where, if Jon was right, he'd find the smuggled weapon, the drill Mr. Biggie had told him about.

Johnson's breath hitched as Jon's hands slipped down, his body tense with excitement. Jon couldn't help but feel a thrill at the prisoner's response. Did he know what Jon was really up to? But then Jon's fingers closed around the hot, veiny contraband, and he knew he had succeeded.

"Now I've got you," Jon whispered, his breath hot against Johnson's skin.

The big man shuttered and grunted.

Jon didn't want to give the man a chance to use the weapon on him, so he made sure that he pressed in close to the man. He then began to work the drill loose from where Johnson had it stuck. With one hand he ran it up and down the length of the drill's shaft, while the other gently held onto the small sac that seemed to hang below the drill, probably a bag of ****.

Over and over Jon worked the drill, but it wouldn't come loose. It did seem to be getting hotter, and, if it was possible, bigger.

"Come on, big boy," Jon breathed, "Give it to Helga. You know you want to."

Johnson's body spasmed. And then, like a volcanic eruption, the drill sprang a leak, spewing hot fluid all over the wall. Jon let go out of shock. Had he broken it? Some of the fluid had sprayed on his hand. He held his index finger up to his mouth and tasted it, as he'd seen many narcotics cops do on television when checking mysterious substances. It didn't taste too bad, which surprised him. He'd expected some sort of oil or coolant.

Focused on his mission, Jon pressed back in and wrapped his arms around Biggie Johnson. Without wasting any time, Jon made his way down to the man's groin, only to find the drill gone, replaced with a small and flexible protrusion. Jim thought it might be a skin tag and made a mental note to remind Johnson to see a doctor.

"Oh," Jon pouted for the camera that zoomed in, "Is that all there is?"

The director shouted, "CUT! PRINT! Excellent work, you two! I think we've got what we need!"

Jon grinned and adjusted his breasts, feeling elated that his dream of becoming a film star was finally coming true.