by Abby Angel
Simon looks exasperated but undeterred. "I wouldn't come to that conclusion if I were you. I'll pay you—a sum that will make you—"
I cut him off. "I'm making enough money without this gig," I say. "Hire some developers, bring in the best augmented reality and virtual reality platforms that money can buy, and make it yourself—if you've got as much money as you say you do."
"I'm not interested in doing any of that, and there's more," Simon continues, indifferent to my recommendations. "I'll also give you a file."
"What kind of file?"
"There's a man by the name of Robert," he says. "Perhaps that name rings a bell? He could be told where to find you at any time… any place."
The name causes me to freeze. I wonder if it's the same Robert I'm thinking of… It has to be.
"Are you threatening me?"
"It's not a threat darling," he says. "It's the truth."
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" I nearly shout. Now he's taken this too far, threatening my livelihood. I have one hand in my purse, my fingers resting on a cold, hard can of mace. I carry it for emergencies and I consider taking it out and spraying it into those beady eyes of his.
He senses what I'm about to do and says, "I wouldn't do that if I were you. Be smart and do the right thing. Be the predator and not the prey. You can walk away from this with a lot of money. Believe me, it'll make your current wealth pale in comparison. Or… and I hate to think about this path darling… but if you don't make the right choice, you'll walk away the wounded gazelle with her throat in the lion's mouth."
Shit. How did I end up in this spot? Just when I thought my life was gaining the kind of positive momentum I've always wanted for myself, this asshole comes along. I told you that I'd tell you about my past hun, and I promise we'll get to that, but I will say right now that the name Robert sends a chill up my spine. It's taken a lot of work to move beyond my past—and I'm stronger for it, but when Simon sits here and tells me point blank that he can tell Robert where to find me… well, let's just say I'm in no mood to see that happen.
I consider what he's asking for a moment.
"Fine," I say. "I'll do it. But this will cost you."
Ethan
“Am I interrupting?” I ask walking into the casting studio.
“Not at all, sir,” Joel the casting director replies back to me.
It’s been three days since the announcement of the Illicit Escape in Times Square. And wouldn't you know it, within minutes of the fucking announcement our website traffic began to pick up.
But it wasn’t just guys looking to jerk off.
No, these were women.
They began to submit their profiles. Head shots. Body shots.
People started messaging our Facebook Page. They began to send us messages on Twitter and Instagram.
Hell, people even started sending resumes on LinkedIn and messages on KiK. All told, within 24 hours of the fucking announcement we had over 12,000 applicants.
The next 48 hours saw over 25,000 people apply.
Now, it’s important to realize that there are a lot of people who want to get into porn. You wouldn’t believe the slush pile our casting director has. And it’s not just guys. Girls apply probably more than guys. And Cheryl looks through all of them. She watches all the fucking videos and reads all their letters. That’s how dedicated she is.
But at the end of the day, we need a certain girl.
So after a frenzied level of activity that meant literally taking less than half a percent of those that applied, fifty girls were called in, specifically from the New York Tri-State area.
I know they were looking for people with prior experience. We had a couple stars come out of retirement to be a part of this project. But even with experience, we also want a fresh face. A face that doesn’t scream out slut. Because this shit is going to go mainstream. Someone should be able to put on an I.E.—Illicit Escape—in a crowded library and no one should be able to know that they’re watching porn.
I mean, you ever been on an airplane with your kid, and you’re sitting there and the dude next to you has his iPad out and he’s watching two chicks fucking blow a dude? With your son or daughter just sitting there and you’re like what the fuck, right?
Think about how disrespectful that fucker is. Now, if he had an I.E., then he can zap out and you wouldn't have to worry about your kid being exposed to shaved pussies until you know, later on in life when he knows how good fucking feels.
But enough about this shit. I actually came here today because sure, I’m a bit curious as to the quality of these girls that we’re casting.
“We were just going through some exercises to classify the girls, Ethan,” Joel tells me. I nod and sit down.
‘Going through exercises’ means that Joel is looking for ways to separate out the wheat from the chaff.
I sit down on a folding chair in the room across from five couches with fifty girls in various degrees of scantily clad attire. Some girls are sitting there in sweat pants and others are sitting in just a bra and panties. A few are topless, thinking it helps their chances.
Not likely.
“Alright, ladies,” Joel says going through his clipboard. “Let’s give us all sexy faces.”
It’s fucking hilarious how the mood seems to change as fifty girls go from various stages of being bored but trying to look excited, to trying to look smoldering hot. They scrunch their noses, wrinkle their eyes, leave their mouths open, bat their eyelashes, and start breathing heavily.
I scan the girls. Yeah, you heard me; I’m enjoying the fucking view.
I mean, who knows, I could end up fucking one of them.
Fuck, I wouldn’t mind taking my turn through all of them. In fact, a part of me wants to hire them all and bring them over for one night and fuck all of them.
But that would probably end the casting call in disaster. We’d fall behind in our product launch. All for what? Pussy?
It’s not worth it.
Or is it?
My eyes set upon a girl in the middle. She’s wearing a tight black dress that hugs her legs and ass like a second fucking skin.
Oh, fuck. Yes, I definitely would love to tap that fucking ass. She’s got a slender fucking body with curves in all the right places. Her blonde hair is shoulder length and her eyes are bright and intelligent.
She’s wearing a sticker on her chest—similar to the other girls. Her sticker says #26.
And she couldn't look more bored if her life depended on it.
“Numbers 3, 4, 6, 9, 12, 24, 34, 38, 43, 45, 49, 50, thank you,” Joel says looking at his clipboard. “You can go now.”
So that’s it. After dragging themselves all the way down to our Times Square studios, they sit around on couches for a while, and then they’re told they can go. Which is a polite way of saying fuck off.
Normally, this would be my fucking cue as the girls with the numbers mentioned get up and proceed to the door. I’d be up and following them out, looking to fuck one of these sluts and take her home with me for the night.
But right now, I’m fucking entranced just look at #26 sitting there, even though she’s completely bored out of her fucking mind.
I look down at my casting sheet and try to find a name that matches #26. There it is. Brittney Roman.
“Alright, ladies, let’s get up and bend over,” Joel says. “Show me that ass.”
Jesus, is he for real? This is what he fucking does for work?
As if on cue, each of the girls gets up. They turn around and bend over. Some look back at Joel. Several look toward me. They may not know who I am, but they can tell the tone of fucking deference that Joel used when he addressed me.
The girls are either bending over and slowly shaking their ass, or running their hands over their ass cheeks as they look back. A few are just bent over with their hands against the couch. One woman has fiery red hair and five-inch stilettos. She's wearing nothing else. She saunters over, running the palms of her h
ands up and down her naked thighs. She's holding her gaze on us—she has her eyes on the prize—and she slowly bends her knees, squatting down to the floor.
As she does this, she intentionally spreads her knees open, giving us an unobstructed view of her pussy. She's puckering her mouth—with those full, glossy lips—and parts them just enough to let the tip of her tongue come out and seductively drag across her upper lip.
Joel is fucking loving this. He's entranced.
She realizes that she's got Joel hooked, so she walks over and rakes her red fingernails through his hair. In her other hand, she's holding a silicon dildo, which she hands to Joel. "Wanna play?" she purrs.
She sits back and spreads her legs open, exposing her pussy.
The whole scene seems almost too contrived for my taste. I fucking swear, if whoever #26 is wasn’t here, this would be the strangest fucking thing I would have ever seen.
I understand what Joel’s trying to do. But it just seems kind of fucking wrong.
But not wrong enough that I don’t take a moment to scan all those delectable asses in front of me before really settling on the one I want to feast on—the blonde haired girl with the #26 tag.
She throws her head back and looks up, and both Joel and I are a bit started, and I can see him shift his attention from the redhead to #26. He's shifting in his seat too.
With a slow and graceful movement, she looks backwards.
And that’s when her eyes catch mine.
I swear to God, there is a reason this girl looks fucking bored. Because if she showed even an ounce of fucking interest, this entire session would be over. We would be all over her.
She gives the barest of effort and passes her smoldering eyes over me. Her hands travel up her legs and gently brush her ass.
My cock was already twitching. Now that 12 inches sitting in my trousers has a fucking heart beat.
“28 and up, thank you for coming today,” Joes says looking at his clipboard. “23 and below, you can leave as well.”
He just excused more than half the fucking remaining girls. There’s only three at this point and they maintain their poses. I swear to God this is the hottest casting session I’ve ever been to. Ever.
“25, 26, 27, please have a seat,” Joel instructs and each of the girls sits down.
“Okay, then,” Joel says shifting himself in his seat. “This is where we get to have some fun.”
He glances at me, but I don't fucking care about him at all. Not when I can keep staring at this blonde beauty sitting as one of three finalists now for Illicit Escape. If she gets selected, then most likely I’m never going to fuck her.
It’s not that I’m judgmental, babe.
It’s because…well, this is a casting session. For a pornographic content company. Whoever gets the spot is going to be someone I don’t really want to fuck. That’s why I always went after the losers.
What? You don’t get what I’m talking about?
“Well, ladies,” Joel says and unbuttons his jeans. “This is where you get to show us how much hands on experience you have, and how much you’re able to put it to use,” he’s got a shit-eating smile on his fucking face and for some reason I want to punch the guy. But we don’t pay our directors that much—namely we give them a lot of fringe benefits…like being able to fuck the girls who try out.
“I’m waiting,” he says, and the girls get the message. Two of them, #25 and #27 look at each other and get off the couch, walking toward him, giggling.
They get down on their hands and knees when they’re a foot away and begin to crawl.
“Very good, girls,” Joel coos, excited as to what’s coming. “You too, #26, if you still want the job.”
I watch as #25 and #27 begin to unzip Joel’s jeans and pull out his cock. He’s tiny. Maybe about 6 inches, but he leans his head back and sighs contentedly as one girl wraps her lips around his head and the other uses her tongue to begin licking his shaft.
“#26, we’re waiting,” Joel says, but the girls are doing enough of a job that he doesn’t care. “Show me your most valuable … ability.”
Fuck. I could've left and not had to see this. How did I know she would fucking wow him and make it to the finals.
And that’s when I notice that #26 has gotten off the couch and is walking toward us.
Her eyes are full of passion and desire. Lust seems to be the only thing propelling her.
Joel closes his eyes and groans at the pleasurable feeling two mouths are bringing his cock.
And that’s when I fucking notice that she’s not going toward Joel.
She’s walking to me.
With a luscious smile on her face.
Fuck.
Brittney
This is going to be easier than I thought.
Instead of focusing on what really matters, all the other women went for the crude and easy approach. They don’t seem to realize that sex isn’t about ... sex. There’s more to it than that. It isn’t about showing off your naked body, or moaning as loudly as possible. Do you want to know what the real secret is? The one thing that turns a hot woman into a Goddess, and that drives men into madness? I’ll tell you for free: it’s seduction ... The art of seduction is the key, and I’m an artist.
“Brittney … #26,” the casting director reads my name from a sheet of a paper, and I go up to my feet, a subtle smile on my face. Unlike the others, I’m not wearing a raunchy outfit; instead of going for the stripper shorts and dancer bra, I’m wearing a black tight fitting dress. It hugs my curves perfectly, and as I get up from my seat and everyone looks at me, I know I’ve made the right choice.
Both Ethan and the casting director—I believe his name is Joel?—lean back in their seats, their eyes roaming over my body. Walking with a slow but sure step, I walk past Ethan. I do my best to ignore him and head straight for the director. I tuck one lock of hair behind my ear, and then lean into him, my lips brushing against his ear as I speak. He listens attentively, his eyes lost on my cleavage, and then nods.
“Thank you,” I whisper as he gets up from his seat and dims the lights. He says something to the intern on the corner, and after he taps the keyboard on his laptop twice, the speakers mounted on the walls start to fill the whole room with a steady beat. Lights, music, action—here I go.
I walk straight to the center of the room, my back turned to Ethan, and I place my hands on my hips. Swaying my hips to the mellow rhythm of the music, I slide my hands down my legs as I bend over. I can almost feel Ethan’s eyes going over the curve of my ass as my dress hikes slightly up my legs.
I turn on my heels, and as if I was walking along a thin rope, I go straight toward him. I don’t care about the casting director or anyone else; Ethan is the one who matters here, and I only have one shot to impress him. You can rest assured that I’m not going to waste my only shot. Oh, no, I play for keeps—always.
Ethan leans back against his chair, his eyes locked on mine. I have his attention, but I know it’s not enough; a man like him is used to having whoever he wants, and I’m more than sure that women throw themselves at his feet every waking hour of the day. If I am to succeed, I have to be better than that.
Running my tongue over my lips, I place my hands on his knees and I lean in. Our mouths are so close that I can almost feel the air crackling around us as electricity builds up. I pull back then, arching my back and running my hands up his legs; my fingers are dangerously close to his groin, but I don’t dare to go any further. Good seduction isn’t about what you do; it’s about what happens inside the other person’s head. The trick is controlling what happens there.
“Brittney, right?” he asks me, his smart eyes widening with hunger. This is a good start.
“Brittney,” I tell him, leaning into him again. I look down at his lips, and then up. “Don’t worry, I have a feeling you’ll remember my name well enough.”
“We’ll see about that.” His tone is a calm one, but I can feel all the anxiety coiled underneath it. He
can try and act aloof, but the grin on his face tells me all that I need to know. I’ve thrown my bait and he is already nibbling at it. Once he bites, all that’s left is for me to reel him onto shore.
My hands move over his crotch, and I hook my fingers on his belt. Biting on my bottom lip, I start to unbuckle it, swaying my hips at a slow tempo. Once the buckle is free, I pull the whole belt out from its loops; in one fluid movement, I place it behind his head, and grabbing both ends with my hands, I force him to lock eyes with me. Moving as if he were in a trance, he places his hands on my legs, his fingertips brushing against the hemline of my dress. As he motions to hike up my dress, I pull the belt from around his neck and snap it against his arm.
“No,” I say firmly, his eyes widening in surprise. He’s not used to having anyone take control, let alone a woman. Slowly, he takes his hands off of me, a grin of defiance on his face. Show me what you got, his eyes seem to dare me. Grinning back at him, I go around his chair, and once I’m behind him, I lean in and place both my hands on his chest. “You’ve never met a woman like me, Ethan,” I whisper into his ear, my fingertips tracing the contour of his hard pecs. Christ, what is he hiding under his shirt—marble and steel?
“What makes you think that?” he says, that defiant grin still on his face.
“Trust me,” I whisper into his ear again, my fingers sliding over to the collar of his shirt. One by one, I undo the buttons on his shirt, his chiseled chest coming into view. Yanking on the shirt, I bare his chest and let my fingers brush over his skin; his muscles seem like hard ropes of manliness, and something inside of me tells me to get a better view. “I’m not like the others.”
I walk around the chair again, and stopping right in front of him, I let my eyes wander over his naked torso. Not that I have a choice, as his hard pectorals and chiseled abs demand all of my attention. I mean, he has an 8-pack, for God’s sake. It seems that he’s part of that very special breed of men; money and pussy simply isn’t enough for them, and they want perfection in everything they are and do. I can’t wait to see if the rest of his body matches what I’m seeing right now…
