As I stand at the threshold, my heart pounding, the door swings open to reveal a middle-aged man with a rugged demeanor. He's dressed in jeans and a simple black T-shirt, exuding effortless cool. His eyes rake over me, pausing at the revealing red dress that I purposely picked out for this audition, the fabric clinging to my curves and accentuating my hourglass figure.

My legs start shaking as I consider the implications of what I'm about to do, especially with him staring at me like that. His gaze feels like a touch, and I've never felt more exposed.

The guy steps aside with a gesture that's both an invitation and a test, his lips curling into a slight smirk as he waits for me to enter. "Good, you finally made it. I'm the agent. Step inside," he says, his deep voice matching the frenzied beating of my heart.

I pause for a moment, trying to steady my racing heart before stepping into what appears to be just another office. But I'm well aware this isn't your average workplace, and I'm not here for a standard job interview.

The space is filled with bright, artificial light that illuminates every corner with pinpoint precision. There are no windows to provide respite from the intensity. Cameras, their lenses focused and unyielding, are strategically placed throughout the room—some aimed directly at the desk, others mounted high on the ceiling, all capturing the area around the couch. Am I ready for whatever this casting—and this man—will demand of me?

I trail behind him into his office, where expectation lingers like an unpleasant perfume as thick as the worn beige carpet beneath my feet, marred by stains. "Just don't trip," I mentally tell my feet, completely unprepared for the challenge posed by these merciless black high heels. The weight of the cameras on me feels heavier than gravity pulling me down, making me hyperaware of every step I take.

Drawing in a deep breath to calm my nerves, I unintentionally inhale the lingering aroma of aged sperm and stale nicotine that has permanently seeped into the walls of this room, a reminder of the many indulgences that have taken place here. And I will soon be adding my own memories to this tainted space.

"You can sit down on the couch," the casting agent says, gesturing to the well-worn leather couch against the wall. Across from it, a desk stands like a silent witness to the countless auditions that have preceded mine.

As I lower myself onto the sleek black leather couch, I feel the skirt of my dress traitorously inching up my thigh. Without thinking, I adjust it, and I instantly regret the reflexive gesture.

He catches my momentary discomfort but stays silent, choosing not to comment. Casually, he offers to take my purse, and I hand it over, observing as he hangs it by the door with precise care that somehow unsettles me. Then he turns and locks the door, the sharp click of the lock echoing off the walls, freezing me in place.

"So we won't have any interruptions," he remarks, his smile not quite reaching his eyes, a thin veil of friendliness masking something darker.

Gawd. This is real. I'm really here, about to do this. My heart erupts into a wild, frantic beat. Could I find another job? But then, my lack of a degree always lands me at the bottom of the pay scale. A loan, maybe? On a minimum wage—yeah, right. Damn. My thoughts are racing, hitting dead ends left and right. I've already turned every stone and followed every lead a million times. That's why I'm standing here. I have no other options left.

He turns to face me, and the room suddenly feels smaller, with the walls closing in with each passing second. "Shall we begin?" he inquires, his calm voice at odds with my heart's wild beat. I manage a nod, swallowing hard against the knot in my throat.

His stride to the desk is measured and purposeful. He picks up a camera that has been sitting there, which causes a ripple of unease in me. My gaze wanders, taking in the panopticon of lenses positioned at every possible angle and filming my every move. There will be no secrets in this room, and there will be no hiding from the camera's unblinking eye.

He relaxes in his chair, in stark contrast to the tightness in my gut. As he leans back and activates the handheld camera, its lens focuses on me, its gaze feeling intrusive. I instinctively press my knees together, aware of how my dress reveals my lace black thongs while sitting on this leather couch.

"Can you introduce yourself to our producers?" he asks, his tone professional but barely concealing the evaluative gaze that comes with the territory of an audition.

Swallowing hard, I gather what little confidence I can muster. "Yes, of course," I say, my trembling voice hinting at hesitation. Clearing my throat, I begin, aware that what follows may permanently alter my life in the most public of ways. "My name is..." The words that follow are rehearsed. "Emma. I turned 18 just last week, and right now, I'm working as a cashier at a local supermarket," I say, my voice steady despite the nerves. What I don't say hangs heavily in the air—the fact that I had to drop out of high school due to financial and family obligations.

"18? You look more like you're 16."

His comment stops me cold, fear coursing through my veins at the prospect of him doubting me and jeopardizing the job I desperately need. I instantly begin to rise, intent on grabbing my purse. "I can show you my ID," I offer.

But with a dismissive wave, he stops me. "We'll document your ID later for age verification. Let's focus on your audition for now."

"Uh, okay." I sink back into my seat, feeling a twist of unease settle in my gut.

"So, Emma, what made you want to make a career in porn?"

His question, typical for these interviews, still takes me by surprise, forcing me to confront my true motives for being here. I can’t exactly say I need the money to pay for my mom's MS treatment, which has confined her to a wheelchair, so I go with something simpler. “I enjoy sex, and I heard it pays well,” I reply, trying to sound confident.

He nods, his expression turning more serious. "Just so you're aware, payment depends on whether the producers are happy with today's footage, okay?"

That statement makes me nervous, but I know I have to take the risk for my mom's sake. I just hope it all works out. “Yes, I understand,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady as I acknowledge I'm about to have unprotected sex with a man twice my age and may not even get paid for it.

"Have you ever done anal?" His question cuts through the tension in the room.

"No," I admit, really hoping it isn't something he insists we do for the first time on camera.

I'm not sure if I'm imagining things, but he appears to smirk at my response, making me even more uneasy.

"But you followed the prep instructions I emailed you?"

I can feel my face heating up as I recall walking into the pharmacy to purchase the enema kit he requested. "Yes, I did everything you asked," I reply quietly.

"Good," he says, his expression not revealing whether he intends to take my anal virginity.

"Are you open to doing girl-on-girl action?"

"Yes." Even though I had no prior experience, I have always been curious about being with a woman.

"How about double penetration, BDSM, gangbangs?" he says, tossing the words out as casually as if he's suggesting sandwich fillings to me.

"I am not comfortable with either of those scenarios." There are certain boundaries that I am not willing to cross.

"Hmph," he mumbles, almost to himself, clearly disappointed. "Guess that's gonna limit your options here. But hey, who knows? Maybe you'll think differently later on."

I just give him a look, pretty sure I won't.

"Can you stand up and undress?"

My legs quiver as I rise from my seat, the thin straps of my dress grazing my bare shoulders. Each heartbeat is like a drum, loud in the silence of the room. My cheeks burn with nervous heat as my shaky and uncertain hands reach for the zipper on the side of my dress. There's a hesitant pause before I slowly lower it, feeling a rush of vulnerability with each inch of exposed skin.

His gaze is fixed on me as if he's trying to remember every detail while the camera rolls. Prior to this, only my ex-boyfriend had ever seen me naked. Now here I am, about to reveal everything to some stranger, and potentially anyone who sees this film.

Sweat starts beading on my forehead, my breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. Then, suddenly, it's like a punch to the gut—I can hardly breathe. Can I really go through with this? My mom's counting on me now. After she got sick, my dad just bailed, and the last I heard, he's got someone my age pregnant. She's got nobody else but me, and this is the fastest way I can think of to get the money she needs.

The silky fabric glides down my body, pooling at my feet, and I stand before him naked, except for my lacy black thong. With each passing second, I can feel my rose-tipped nipples betray me and harden under his intense stare. Heat pools in between my legs as his piercing brown eyes take in every inch of my bare skin, but the thrill is quickly replaced by a rush of shame and insecurity.

"Damn, those tits may be small, but they're perky as hell," he grunts. "But if you want to make it big in porn, you better invest in some implants."

My face heats up as I try to remain calm, fully conscious of the cameras capturing every second. The idea of losing this chance due to my natural body makes me feel insecure and inadequate.

"Now turn around and bend over," he orders, his gaze scrutinizing my body.

"Uh, okay," I stutter. I slowly turn around and awkwardly bend over, feeling exposed as I push my fleshy buttocks out.

"You've got a fine ass, but it could definitely use some more gains," he gruffly remarks.

My heart sinks as I realize that my natural body may not be enough to succeed in this industry.

"Now, slide those panties off nice and slow."

Hooking my fingers under the lace, I gradually lower the thongs down my legs, and I can almost feel his eyes boring holes in me. Being watched, objectified, and desired in this way creates a naughty tingle between my thighs, accompanied by a dampness that I can't ignore. Oh fuck, I can't believe I'm actually aroused by this. What kind of woman does this make me? A slut. "Shut up!" I scream silently to myself. I'm only here because I'm out of options.

The tiny scrap of fabric falls to the floor, exposing my smooth, shaved flesh to the camera lens. As I imagine the agent's lecherous gaze trailing over every fold and every crease, my walls clench in response. Stop it! I try to suppress the rising desire, but my body betrays me and my clit begins to throb. Oh, gawd! I hope it doesn't show on camera!

"Spread your cheeks," his voice, slightly strained, cuts through my swirling thoughts.

My fingers dig into my quivering flesh as I follow his commands, pulling myself apart, exposing my puckered hole and pulsing pussy for him to capture and exploit as he pleases. I am nothing but a mere piece of meat to be used for his pleasure.

His camera captures every intimate detail of my holes that are on full display like I am some cheap slut. Well, if the video gets released and I get paid for it—a whore. And everyone will know. My coworkers, neighbors, and family. The very thought turns my stomach, but I'm too desperate for money to bail now.

"That pussy of yours is pinker than a flamingo and is just begging for someone to take a closer look," he says. "And that little tight asshole. You're gonna make heads spin with that display, so spread them cheeks wider and show the producers what you got."

Oh, gawd. This has got to be the most humiliating moment of my life. Gritting my teeth, I spread my buttocks as wide as they'll go, my face burning crimson as I hold the position for what feels like an eternity.

"I've got the closeup shots of your beautiful holes," he says. "Now ditch those heels and take a seat on the couch."

I plaster on a forced smile as I turn around and comply, hoping this nightmare will be over soon. As I sit, my bare pussy presses against the cold leather of the couch, and I press my thighs together in a vain attempt to shield myself from the camera's invasive gaze.

The guy's satisfied smirk tells me that my discomfort is exactly what he's looking for, and I can't help but feel a sinking sense of dread at what might come next. Resisting the urge to cover my naked breasts with my arms, I lean back and try to project an air of confidence, knowing that showing weakness will only encourage him to push me further outside my comfort zone.

"Are you a fan of masturbation, Emma?"

My heart races as I manage a small, strained smile, my voice barely above a whisper as I respond, "Yes."

"I wanna see you do it," he grins, clearly amused with my unease.

I take a deep breath as I part my thighs slightly, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. With trembling fingers, I timidly touch my tender clit, trying to focus on the pleasure rather than the humiliation of being watched and filmed.

"Throw them feet up on the couch and widen those legs," he commands as he adjusts the camera angle.

My body tenses with nervous anticipation as I comply, and I can tell he is focusing the lens directly on my shaved mound. His Adam's apple bobs as I open my thighs wider, my glistening nether lips parting as I fully expose myself to the camera.

"Come on, we ain't got all day," he urges, his tone growing impatient. "Touch yourself."

My fingers glide over my swollen, throbbing pearl, the fire within me growing hotter with every caress. A drop of my arousal drips down my perineum, quickly joined by another as I surrender to the intoxicating thrill of being watched and filmed. My nectar trickles along the tender rim of my backdoor, forming a glistening pool on the sleek leather of the couch. I'm such a slut for enjoying this!

With the camera filming every rubbing motion, my heart races as his intense gaze devours every inch of my bare desire.

"Use your other hand." His voice trembles slightly, and he clears his throat before continuing, "Finger yourself."

As I obey, slowly sliding two fingers deep inside of me, I feel the slickness between my thighs, drenching my fingers in lust. My muscles tighten and pulse around them, and with every dip, the slickness increases, coating my fingers in a shimmering sheen of desire.

The raw, forbidden excitement of engaging in such a sinful act ignites every nerve ending in my body, sending shivers through me as I move my fingers in and out, rubbing my bud with increasing urgency.

Soft moans escape from my lips, drowning in the sploshing sounds of my wetness. The agent's piercing gaze is fixed on me, amplifying the dizzying euphoria that rushes through my veins as I abandon myself to this forbidden pleasure. My mind is clouded by lust, and my body is completely betraying me as I arch my back and offer myself shamelessly.

The camera catches every subtle movement, lustful gasp, and ecstatic convulsion that pulses through my body. This is so wrong! But it feels so damn good…

My fingers plunge into my soaking depths, quickening their pace as I vigorously stroke my aching bud, each moan escaping my lips louder than the last. My thighs quiver with anticipation as I edge closer to release, and his gaze intensifies as he watches me lose control.

"That's enough," he says abruptly, startling me out of my trance. I freeze, unsure of what will happen next.

His lips curl into a wicked smile. "Lick your fingers." His gaze locks onto mine as if daring me to disobey.

Knowing that the producers will be watching to see how far I am willing to go, I look directly into his camera as I slowly bring my fingers to my mouth, tasting the salty taste of my own arousal for the first time. I slide my fingers into my mouth and suck them clean, feeling like such a bad, bad girl.

His grin widens as he watches me. "You're killing it. Do you enjoy giving head?"

My cheeks flush a deep red, knowing that I've only tried it a few times before. With a shaky nod, I utter a quiet "yes."

"Nice!" he exclaims, rising to his feet. He strides over and halts directly in front of me, the camera gripped firmly in his hand. "Show me."

I silently pray he won't realize how inexperienced I am.

TO BE CONTINUED...

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