anonymous
10-26-2007, 06:31 PM
How to get ahead in acting
By Flagg
(twelve_hard_thick_inches@yahoo.co.uk)
Amy Nuttall (MF, reluc, oral)
Whatever your opinion is of Amy Nuttall, surely nobody thinks this story is the least bit true. If you are one of those people, you should probably seek professional help. And if you are under the legal age for viewing this kind of thing, you should definitely be checking out more socially acceptable websites. Otherwise, come in and enjoy yourself
Smith was enjoying this but then he always did. Amy was one of the best cocksuckers on his books and even when she wasn’t giving 100% he couldn’t think of many other throats he’d prefer his dick buried in. He watched contentedly as several inches of his firm cock disappeared between her skilled crimson lips at slow, deliberate intervals. She wasn’t giving 100% now, she rarely did without encouragement, and that would never do; some of them thought they were worth something without him and needed putting in their place a little more than others. Amy was one of the cheap slags with delusions of class that it was always more fun to break.
“Come on slut!” he growled, “I know you can do better than that!” Amy’s big brown eyes opened and glanced up as far as they could, not giving anything away. They closed again and her pace quickened slightly. She removed her right hand, which had been placed on the tops of Smith’s thigh and wrapped it softly around the base of his veiny shaft. She tightened her moist cherry lips around his stiff length and pulled out so only the bulbous head of his prick remained inside her warm mouth. “Aahh!” he gasped as she squeezed her hand slightly sending a wave of pleasure straight through Smith. He gripped the armrests on his moderately priced office chair and flung his head back. Sensing his enjoyment, Amy began punching up and down on his thick root while simultaneously twisting her wrist around his throbbing pole. While her hand occupied the base, her expert lips continued to suck around the final inch or so of his meaty dong; her head twisting and her mouth beginning to slobber like a rabid St. Bernard. She was hoping to get him off as quickly as possible.
“Mmmmmm.” She moaned, quietly and unconvincingly. Despite her feeble acting, Smith smiled wryly, there was a time when it might have taken a slap or two to get such a positive reaction so quickly but he still felt she needed a bit more taming.
“Did I tell you you could use your fucking hands?” he snarled. His intention was to grab her wrist and get her hand off his cock but he was enjoying the succulent moistness of her mouth so much he wasn’t sure he could. It didn’t matter anyway because he’d trained the whore as well as one of Pavlov’s bitches and she promptly placed her soft hand back on the top of Smith’s thigh. She gripped them for better leverage and sitting up slightly from her kneeling position, continued to pump her slavering mouth up and down half of Smith’s chunky shaft. Her eyes were shut tight in what was either concentration or disgust; probably both Smith theorized. “That’s it bitch, suck my fucking fat dick!” he snapped, Amy’s bobbing head didn’t give away whether she even heard him. “Oh yeah slut! Do you know how good you look with my big cock down your throat?” Smith asked rhetorically. Again Amy didn’t miss a beat and kept up the wet suction on his shaft. “Fucking cock-sucking slag. You’ve had plenty of practise at this haven’t you? Lost count of much dick you’ve blown?”
Straight sex, anal, oral, hand-jobs, whatever; they both knew that when the insults stopped being so measured and turned into simply a stream of vitriol that Mr. John Smith, agent to the stars, was about to shoot his creamy load. He forcefully gripped the back of her head, strands of her long, auburn hair falling between his fingers. “Yeah bitch, faster!” Smith demanded, firmly but slowly trying to push her head further down his rock-hard prick.
Deep-throating was generally a movie-inspired myth, very few girls could actually do it without gagging and Amy was no exception. But Smith loved watching the shock on young wanabee’s faces when they thought he was going to slam their pretty faces down and embed his eager penis entirely down their throat. Like clockwork, Amy’s eyes opened wide with horror and Smith tugged on her dark red hair with one hand pulling the panting redhead’s skilled ruby lips off his throbbing cock. He gripped his swollen member with the other hand and aimed at Amy.
If ever there was Kodak moment, this was it for John Smith. He always imagined if someone going to make a movie about his life it was these moments that’d have that funky, Matrix camera work where the shot pans around a single point in freeze-frame. The single point in this case would be Amy Nutall, until quitting recently, a minor character in a minor soap opera but a favourite with the ‘lad’s mags’, who had come to London to make it as a ‘serious actress’. The same ‘streets are paved with gold’ story Smith had heard (and taken advantage of) countless times before. She was knelt down wearing only a silky, black two-piece underwear set and it didn’t look like there was an ounce of cellulite on her. Her big, ripe tits not needing any help from the Wonderbra to form a perfect cleavage that could put a couple of grand on any photo shoot fee. Her long, straight dark-red hair, which until around 15 minutes ago had looked like she just stepped out of the salon, was now slightly messier. Her milky white flesh was showing was glistening slightly with an almost invisible film of sweat but her makeup remained perfect. Smith guessed she used that stuff they advertise on TV; some famous make-up artist extolling the virtues of the waterproof mascara used on the latest Hollywood epic. Not a smudge on her face and not a smudge on the engorged stalk of Smith’s eager cock despite the fiery blow-job she’d just given. Her eyes were wide and expectant, her exhausted mouth was gaping open, her ample chest heaving as she gasped for air with a long, single strand of drool hanging from one corner of her tender young lips.
She was knelt on a cheap, purely functional blue carpet just behind a cheap, purely functional wooden desk in a cheap, purely functional 3rd floor office. The room contained what you would expect for the office of a London acting agency; video tapes filled a bookcase covering one wall apart from a little corner sink with a mirrored cabinet above it, photographs of Smith with his (predominantly female) clients covered the walls, computer, telephone, intercom to the secretary, paperwork and the usual crap on the desk, a couple of filing cabinets, a few plants and lights and a fine but worn sofa. The ‘casting couch’ as Smith had christened it many moons ago; you could find fault with his lack of originality but not with his accurateness. Upon the sofa was Amy’s handbag and a pile of clothes recently thrown there, Amy’s short denim skirt and pink shirt were crumpled underneath Smith’s semi-expensive black suit trousers, belt, shoes and socks; there was a blue tie that hadn’t quite made it to it’s destination and was snaked across the floor in front of the settee. There were five objects between the currently locked door on one wall and the large window with the blinds shut on the other; the chair Smith’s clients and guests used, the desk and the half-naked actress. The other two items were an office chair with a black suit jacket hanging on the back and containing John Smith, a name so inconspicuous it almost always aroused suspicion.
This man had been one of many unknown agents until a little amateur photography, a little voyeurism and a whole lot of luck turned him into one of Britain’s most prominent agents a few years back. Industry insiders questioned the fact that Smith continued to operate alone out of his cheap, purely functional office but it worked for him; he’d accumulated quite an array of mostly young, mostly female talent and there was no doubting he’d made mostly a lot of money in recent years. For this instant however, he looked just like any other 20-something with his hand on his dick.
To go with his average name was a very average looking man; not ugly but not a head-turner, not skinny but not fat and not particularly muscular. He was in his late 20s with short, light-brown hair highly-styled in a spiky, messy fashion. He was wearing a completely unbuttoned white shirt and his face was red, partly from the fake anger he’s just expressed but mostly from his impending orgasm. One hand was wrapped tightly around his own stiff cock (another part of his appearance that was as average as his name) and his other hand was clutching a handful of Amy Nuttall’s dark ginger hair.
“Don’t you dare close your mouth bitch!” Ordered Smith as he glared into Amy’s eyes. “I know how much you loving swallowing this all down!” Amy knew what was going to happen and just stared stony-faced at Smith’s slick bellend awaiting the forthcoming explosion of cum. A couple of tugs on his bloated prick saw the first long strand of thick, creamy jizz fire towards Amy. It landed just below her left eye and immediately started to dribble slowly down her face. Amy tried to turn away through pure, disgusted reflex but Smith’s firm hand pulling on her hair insisted she stay where she was. “You’re gonna take every last drop slut!” he snarled. Another two smaller strings followed, coating Amy’s face with a couple more wads of Smith’s warm goo. At last he was spent and the final few drops of cum dripped onto the generous mound of Amy’s left breast. He released his grip on both his fading dick and Amy’s head and she instinctively raised a hand to wipe Smith’s sticky seed from her face.
“Not yet whore, you know the drill”, Smith batted away her hand and reached down by the side of his chair picking up a Polaroid camera. “Now open wide.” Smith chuckled, Amy raised a hand and gave Smith the finger; he batted her hand down again and the anger returned to his face. “You’d better open your mouth and give me those come-to-bed eyes like the slut you are or you will be very sorry Amy.” Reluctantly, Amy opened her mouth and small rivers of salty slime trickled into her mouth.
SNAP. Smith took a Polaroid of Amy’s cum covered face and carefully placed it on the floor beside him; the flash momentarily bringing spots into Amy’s vision. Taking his now sagging dick in his free hand he wiped it all over Amy’s spunk-coated face, smearing his goo into her skin.
SNAP. Another photo, this time of Amy Nuttall’s jizz-coated features with an oozing cock resting on her chin. He placed this picture delicately next to the other on the floor. Smith aimed his flaccid prick at Amy’s closed mouth which she at first refused to open. Then without a word from Smith she did, still disorientated from the camera flash. Smith quickly buried his prick in her mouth.
SNAP. Picture number three.
“Lick it clean slut.” Smith commanded, which Amy started to do wordlessly, perhaps thinking of the consequences if she disobeyed.
“SNAP. Picture four” Smith announced as he took the final picture. He stood up and placed the camera and the photographs on his desk, the first one was starting to develop clearly by this time and walked over the little sink in the corner to wash his dick and dry it.
“Fucking hell Amy, I never get tired of you.” Smith said in very matter-of-fact tone as he towelled himself down, without looking at his client. “You know how to suck cock don’t you you little slut? I bet those farm animals on set had a great time!”
“Fuck you.” Said Amy quietly but with an obvious anger in voice.
“Now that’s not very nice is it? You should be nice to me Amy, remember?” Smith still didn’t turn around.
“Fuck you.” She repeated. She contemplated grabbing the photographs of her humiliation but quickly changed her mind. He had plenty more where they came from, videos too. He had enough degrading material that made these photos just a drop in ocean. It wasn’t worth risking his anger to ensure the pictures of her nasty facial didn’t make the newspapers; it might mean the video of her with those farm animals Smith had mentioned seeing the light of day.
“Just clean yourself up and take a seat.” Smith wandered over to the sofa wearing only his shirt and threw Amy’s clothes and handbag at her before beginning to dress himself. She walked over to the sink Smith had just vacated and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked every bit the cheap slut Smith wanted her to be; her perfectly styled hair was now a shaggy mess with small threads of Smith’s slimy cum congealing amongst her auburn locks. Her faultless make-up now seemed strangely distorted beneath the splashes of gooey manfat. She instantly felt like crying but resisted the urge to give Smith the satisfaction. She filled the sink and washed her face and the sticky parts of her hair quickly and with purpose. She dabbed at the cum on her breast, some of which had dribbled down onto her silk bra and formed a small semi-transparent white stain. She re-applied her makeup and started to dress.
Smith sat on the sofa buttoning his shirt and admiring Amy’s pert arse encased in the sexy black panties as she slipped into the short, tight denim dress and suddenly realised he’d not butt-fucked her in any of their meetings yet. “Oh well,” he thought, “something to look forward to”. Amy put on her simple but elegant pink cotton shirt and buttoned it all but at the very top. She turned and headed towards the chair in front of Smith’s desk while Smith just smirked at with a mix of lust and satisfaction on his face. Amy didn’t even look in his direction, she simply sat down, crossed her legs and took a hairbrush out of her handbag and tried to work the cum out of hair, trying to make it look presentable for when she finally got out of his office. Smith continued ogling Amy while he finished dressing. She could feel him undressing her with his eyes but tried her best to ignore it. When he was done he walked over to his desk and stood over Amy who was staring forward, still concentrating intently on brushing her hair.
“Come on Amy,” Smith said playfully, gently stroking the soft flesh of her thigh, slowly moving his hand up and down underneath the bottom of her skirt. “You know all you’re good for is a cheap thrill; it certainly isn’t your fucking acting!” he chuckled. Amy flung her head around and glared at him spitefully. Smith stopped caressing Amy’s thigh, knelt down and started to unbutton the top of Amy’s shirt, a move she didn’t resist however much she just wanted to knock his teeth out. Smith carefully positioned her shirt to show the maximum amount of Amy’s healthy cleavage. “All you are good for is for guys to fuck you Amy,” Smith said, staring at her mounds, “you are cheap slut with big tits, great legs and a tight pussy so show off your assets and you’ll make us both plenty of money. Cover them up and you’re just another pretty face desperate to make it without willing to go the extra mile. There we go.” He said as he finished adjusting her top. He stood up, walked around his desk and sat down. Amy sat there pouting at him angrily but to the untrained eye she looked like a smouldering sex-bomb; her long red hair draped over either shoulder and wearing a bright pink shirt unbuttoned enough to flaunt the cleavage of an impressive pair of big, juicy tits.
Smith picked up the now developed Polaroids and grinned looking at the images of Amy with cum dripping off her flawless features and sucking on his prick. He opened a drawer on his desk and took out a packed manila folder marked with Amy’s name and slipped the photographs inside, adding them to the collection of other depraved photographs, signed testimony and newspaper clippings. He placed the folder on the desk, leant forward and spoke sympathetically to Amy.
“I’ve arranged a casting interview for you tomorrow.” Smith removed a piece of paper from his desk and handed it to Amy, “Here are the details, it’s for a big West End production, and you’re auditioning for the role of Eliza Doolittle in ‘My Fair Lady’. The part requires singing, which I know you can do no problem. The casting director is a friend of mine so you might have to give him one of your special favours.” Amy recoiled, she knew what that meant and had been hoping that when Smith called her in today he had something lined up that didn’t involve any special favours for any of his friends. “Now run along,” Smith continued, “Do whatever he asks and you’ll be fine and we can all enjoy the money rolling in. Bye bye now.”
“I fucking hate you.” Amy scowled as she stood and turned to leave.
“I know.” Smith replied cheerfully, “That makes it all the sweeter when you’ve got my cock deep inside you.” Amy stopped momentarily on her way towards the door before quickly finishing her journey out the door. “Jennifer?” Smith pressed the button on his intercom to talk to his secretary, “Would you make sure Ms. Nuttall arranges to see me again in a few days, before Friday if my schedule allows it.”
“Yes, Mr. Smith.” Came the reply.
“Any appointments this afternoon?”
“Yes sir. You’ve got Nikki Sanderson at two”.
“Thank you Jennifer.” Smith released the intercom buzzer. “Fuck. I love my job!”
By Flagg
(twelve_hard_thick_inches@yahoo.co.uk)
Amy Nuttall (MF, reluc, oral)
Whatever your opinion is of Amy Nuttall, surely nobody thinks this story is the least bit true. If you are one of those people, you should probably seek professional help. And if you are under the legal age for viewing this kind of thing, you should definitely be checking out more socially acceptable websites. Otherwise, come in and enjoy yourself
Smith was enjoying this but then he always did. Amy was one of the best cocksuckers on his books and even when she wasn’t giving 100% he couldn’t think of many other throats he’d prefer his dick buried in. He watched contentedly as several inches of his firm cock disappeared between her skilled crimson lips at slow, deliberate intervals. She wasn’t giving 100% now, she rarely did without encouragement, and that would never do; some of them thought they were worth something without him and needed putting in their place a little more than others. Amy was one of the cheap slags with delusions of class that it was always more fun to break.
“Come on slut!” he growled, “I know you can do better than that!” Amy’s big brown eyes opened and glanced up as far as they could, not giving anything away. They closed again and her pace quickened slightly. She removed her right hand, which had been placed on the tops of Smith’s thigh and wrapped it softly around the base of his veiny shaft. She tightened her moist cherry lips around his stiff length and pulled out so only the bulbous head of his prick remained inside her warm mouth. “Aahh!” he gasped as she squeezed her hand slightly sending a wave of pleasure straight through Smith. He gripped the armrests on his moderately priced office chair and flung his head back. Sensing his enjoyment, Amy began punching up and down on his thick root while simultaneously twisting her wrist around his throbbing pole. While her hand occupied the base, her expert lips continued to suck around the final inch or so of his meaty dong; her head twisting and her mouth beginning to slobber like a rabid St. Bernard. She was hoping to get him off as quickly as possible.
“Mmmmmm.” She moaned, quietly and unconvincingly. Despite her feeble acting, Smith smiled wryly, there was a time when it might have taken a slap or two to get such a positive reaction so quickly but he still felt she needed a bit more taming.
“Did I tell you you could use your fucking hands?” he snarled. His intention was to grab her wrist and get her hand off his cock but he was enjoying the succulent moistness of her mouth so much he wasn’t sure he could. It didn’t matter anyway because he’d trained the whore as well as one of Pavlov’s bitches and she promptly placed her soft hand back on the top of Smith’s thigh. She gripped them for better leverage and sitting up slightly from her kneeling position, continued to pump her slavering mouth up and down half of Smith’s chunky shaft. Her eyes were shut tight in what was either concentration or disgust; probably both Smith theorized. “That’s it bitch, suck my fucking fat dick!” he snapped, Amy’s bobbing head didn’t give away whether she even heard him. “Oh yeah slut! Do you know how good you look with my big cock down your throat?” Smith asked rhetorically. Again Amy didn’t miss a beat and kept up the wet suction on his shaft. “Fucking cock-sucking slag. You’ve had plenty of practise at this haven’t you? Lost count of much dick you’ve blown?”
Straight sex, anal, oral, hand-jobs, whatever; they both knew that when the insults stopped being so measured and turned into simply a stream of vitriol that Mr. John Smith, agent to the stars, was about to shoot his creamy load. He forcefully gripped the back of her head, strands of her long, auburn hair falling between his fingers. “Yeah bitch, faster!” Smith demanded, firmly but slowly trying to push her head further down his rock-hard prick.
Deep-throating was generally a movie-inspired myth, very few girls could actually do it without gagging and Amy was no exception. But Smith loved watching the shock on young wanabee’s faces when they thought he was going to slam their pretty faces down and embed his eager penis entirely down their throat. Like clockwork, Amy’s eyes opened wide with horror and Smith tugged on her dark red hair with one hand pulling the panting redhead’s skilled ruby lips off his throbbing cock. He gripped his swollen member with the other hand and aimed at Amy.
If ever there was Kodak moment, this was it for John Smith. He always imagined if someone going to make a movie about his life it was these moments that’d have that funky, Matrix camera work where the shot pans around a single point in freeze-frame. The single point in this case would be Amy Nutall, until quitting recently, a minor character in a minor soap opera but a favourite with the ‘lad’s mags’, who had come to London to make it as a ‘serious actress’. The same ‘streets are paved with gold’ story Smith had heard (and taken advantage of) countless times before. She was knelt down wearing only a silky, black two-piece underwear set and it didn’t look like there was an ounce of cellulite on her. Her big, ripe tits not needing any help from the Wonderbra to form a perfect cleavage that could put a couple of grand on any photo shoot fee. Her long, straight dark-red hair, which until around 15 minutes ago had looked like she just stepped out of the salon, was now slightly messier. Her milky white flesh was showing was glistening slightly with an almost invisible film of sweat but her makeup remained perfect. Smith guessed she used that stuff they advertise on TV; some famous make-up artist extolling the virtues of the waterproof mascara used on the latest Hollywood epic. Not a smudge on her face and not a smudge on the engorged stalk of Smith’s eager cock despite the fiery blow-job she’d just given. Her eyes were wide and expectant, her exhausted mouth was gaping open, her ample chest heaving as she gasped for air with a long, single strand of drool hanging from one corner of her tender young lips.
She was knelt on a cheap, purely functional blue carpet just behind a cheap, purely functional wooden desk in a cheap, purely functional 3rd floor office. The room contained what you would expect for the office of a London acting agency; video tapes filled a bookcase covering one wall apart from a little corner sink with a mirrored cabinet above it, photographs of Smith with his (predominantly female) clients covered the walls, computer, telephone, intercom to the secretary, paperwork and the usual crap on the desk, a couple of filing cabinets, a few plants and lights and a fine but worn sofa. The ‘casting couch’ as Smith had christened it many moons ago; you could find fault with his lack of originality but not with his accurateness. Upon the sofa was Amy’s handbag and a pile of clothes recently thrown there, Amy’s short denim skirt and pink shirt were crumpled underneath Smith’s semi-expensive black suit trousers, belt, shoes and socks; there was a blue tie that hadn’t quite made it to it’s destination and was snaked across the floor in front of the settee. There were five objects between the currently locked door on one wall and the large window with the blinds shut on the other; the chair Smith’s clients and guests used, the desk and the half-naked actress. The other two items were an office chair with a black suit jacket hanging on the back and containing John Smith, a name so inconspicuous it almost always aroused suspicion.
This man had been one of many unknown agents until a little amateur photography, a little voyeurism and a whole lot of luck turned him into one of Britain’s most prominent agents a few years back. Industry insiders questioned the fact that Smith continued to operate alone out of his cheap, purely functional office but it worked for him; he’d accumulated quite an array of mostly young, mostly female talent and there was no doubting he’d made mostly a lot of money in recent years. For this instant however, he looked just like any other 20-something with his hand on his dick.
To go with his average name was a very average looking man; not ugly but not a head-turner, not skinny but not fat and not particularly muscular. He was in his late 20s with short, light-brown hair highly-styled in a spiky, messy fashion. He was wearing a completely unbuttoned white shirt and his face was red, partly from the fake anger he’s just expressed but mostly from his impending orgasm. One hand was wrapped tightly around his own stiff cock (another part of his appearance that was as average as his name) and his other hand was clutching a handful of Amy Nuttall’s dark ginger hair.
“Don’t you dare close your mouth bitch!” Ordered Smith as he glared into Amy’s eyes. “I know how much you loving swallowing this all down!” Amy knew what was going to happen and just stared stony-faced at Smith’s slick bellend awaiting the forthcoming explosion of cum. A couple of tugs on his bloated prick saw the first long strand of thick, creamy jizz fire towards Amy. It landed just below her left eye and immediately started to dribble slowly down her face. Amy tried to turn away through pure, disgusted reflex but Smith’s firm hand pulling on her hair insisted she stay where she was. “You’re gonna take every last drop slut!” he snarled. Another two smaller strings followed, coating Amy’s face with a couple more wads of Smith’s warm goo. At last he was spent and the final few drops of cum dripped onto the generous mound of Amy’s left breast. He released his grip on both his fading dick and Amy’s head and she instinctively raised a hand to wipe Smith’s sticky seed from her face.
“Not yet whore, you know the drill”, Smith batted away her hand and reached down by the side of his chair picking up a Polaroid camera. “Now open wide.” Smith chuckled, Amy raised a hand and gave Smith the finger; he batted her hand down again and the anger returned to his face. “You’d better open your mouth and give me those come-to-bed eyes like the slut you are or you will be very sorry Amy.” Reluctantly, Amy opened her mouth and small rivers of salty slime trickled into her mouth.
SNAP. Smith took a Polaroid of Amy’s cum covered face and carefully placed it on the floor beside him; the flash momentarily bringing spots into Amy’s vision. Taking his now sagging dick in his free hand he wiped it all over Amy’s spunk-coated face, smearing his goo into her skin.
SNAP. Another photo, this time of Amy Nuttall’s jizz-coated features with an oozing cock resting on her chin. He placed this picture delicately next to the other on the floor. Smith aimed his flaccid prick at Amy’s closed mouth which she at first refused to open. Then without a word from Smith she did, still disorientated from the camera flash. Smith quickly buried his prick in her mouth.
SNAP. Picture number three.
“Lick it clean slut.” Smith commanded, which Amy started to do wordlessly, perhaps thinking of the consequences if she disobeyed.
“SNAP. Picture four” Smith announced as he took the final picture. He stood up and placed the camera and the photographs on his desk, the first one was starting to develop clearly by this time and walked over the little sink in the corner to wash his dick and dry it.
“Fucking hell Amy, I never get tired of you.” Smith said in very matter-of-fact tone as he towelled himself down, without looking at his client. “You know how to suck cock don’t you you little slut? I bet those farm animals on set had a great time!”
“Fuck you.” Said Amy quietly but with an obvious anger in voice.
“Now that’s not very nice is it? You should be nice to me Amy, remember?” Smith still didn’t turn around.
“Fuck you.” She repeated. She contemplated grabbing the photographs of her humiliation but quickly changed her mind. He had plenty more where they came from, videos too. He had enough degrading material that made these photos just a drop in ocean. It wasn’t worth risking his anger to ensure the pictures of her nasty facial didn’t make the newspapers; it might mean the video of her with those farm animals Smith had mentioned seeing the light of day.
“Just clean yourself up and take a seat.” Smith wandered over to the sofa wearing only his shirt and threw Amy’s clothes and handbag at her before beginning to dress himself. She walked over to the sink Smith had just vacated and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked every bit the cheap slut Smith wanted her to be; her perfectly styled hair was now a shaggy mess with small threads of Smith’s slimy cum congealing amongst her auburn locks. Her faultless make-up now seemed strangely distorted beneath the splashes of gooey manfat. She instantly felt like crying but resisted the urge to give Smith the satisfaction. She filled the sink and washed her face and the sticky parts of her hair quickly and with purpose. She dabbed at the cum on her breast, some of which had dribbled down onto her silk bra and formed a small semi-transparent white stain. She re-applied her makeup and started to dress.
Smith sat on the sofa buttoning his shirt and admiring Amy’s pert arse encased in the sexy black panties as she slipped into the short, tight denim dress and suddenly realised he’d not butt-fucked her in any of their meetings yet. “Oh well,” he thought, “something to look forward to”. Amy put on her simple but elegant pink cotton shirt and buttoned it all but at the very top. She turned and headed towards the chair in front of Smith’s desk while Smith just smirked at with a mix of lust and satisfaction on his face. Amy didn’t even look in his direction, she simply sat down, crossed her legs and took a hairbrush out of her handbag and tried to work the cum out of hair, trying to make it look presentable for when she finally got out of his office. Smith continued ogling Amy while he finished dressing. She could feel him undressing her with his eyes but tried her best to ignore it. When he was done he walked over to his desk and stood over Amy who was staring forward, still concentrating intently on brushing her hair.
“Come on Amy,” Smith said playfully, gently stroking the soft flesh of her thigh, slowly moving his hand up and down underneath the bottom of her skirt. “You know all you’re good for is a cheap thrill; it certainly isn’t your fucking acting!” he chuckled. Amy flung her head around and glared at him spitefully. Smith stopped caressing Amy’s thigh, knelt down and started to unbutton the top of Amy’s shirt, a move she didn’t resist however much she just wanted to knock his teeth out. Smith carefully positioned her shirt to show the maximum amount of Amy’s healthy cleavage. “All you are good for is for guys to fuck you Amy,” Smith said, staring at her mounds, “you are cheap slut with big tits, great legs and a tight pussy so show off your assets and you’ll make us both plenty of money. Cover them up and you’re just another pretty face desperate to make it without willing to go the extra mile. There we go.” He said as he finished adjusting her top. He stood up, walked around his desk and sat down. Amy sat there pouting at him angrily but to the untrained eye she looked like a smouldering sex-bomb; her long red hair draped over either shoulder and wearing a bright pink shirt unbuttoned enough to flaunt the cleavage of an impressive pair of big, juicy tits.
Smith picked up the now developed Polaroids and grinned looking at the images of Amy with cum dripping off her flawless features and sucking on his prick. He opened a drawer on his desk and took out a packed manila folder marked with Amy’s name and slipped the photographs inside, adding them to the collection of other depraved photographs, signed testimony and newspaper clippings. He placed the folder on the desk, leant forward and spoke sympathetically to Amy.
“I’ve arranged a casting interview for you tomorrow.” Smith removed a piece of paper from his desk and handed it to Amy, “Here are the details, it’s for a big West End production, and you’re auditioning for the role of Eliza Doolittle in ‘My Fair Lady’. The part requires singing, which I know you can do no problem. The casting director is a friend of mine so you might have to give him one of your special favours.” Amy recoiled, she knew what that meant and had been hoping that when Smith called her in today he had something lined up that didn’t involve any special favours for any of his friends. “Now run along,” Smith continued, “Do whatever he asks and you’ll be fine and we can all enjoy the money rolling in. Bye bye now.”
“I fucking hate you.” Amy scowled as she stood and turned to leave.
“I know.” Smith replied cheerfully, “That makes it all the sweeter when you’ve got my cock deep inside you.” Amy stopped momentarily on her way towards the door before quickly finishing her journey out the door. “Jennifer?” Smith pressed the button on his intercom to talk to his secretary, “Would you make sure Ms. Nuttall arranges to see me again in a few days, before Friday if my schedule allows it.”
“Yes, Mr. Smith.” Came the reply.
“Any appointments this afternoon?”
“Yes sir. You’ve got Nikki Sanderson at two”.
“Thank you Jennifer.” Smith released the intercom buzzer. “Fuck. I love my job!”