A Fresh Taste



Madison Ava Jones





American Taboo Press
New York ― Los Angeles

Smashwords Edition
Second International Edition, October 2012
Copyright © 2012 by American Taboo Press
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.  Published in the United States by American Taboo Press, Los Angeles.



Stories

Sudden September Rain
Roadside Gas Station at 3am
Poor Little Middle Class Working Girl
The Audition





Sudden September Rain


The deluge came hard and fast. Georgina had stepped out to pick up a handful of groceries at the corner store when the torrents of rain began to pummel down onto the bare street. She eyed the slanted waves through the window of the store as she paid the cashier. The rain was expected but she figured she could slip out without an umbrella as the skies had been threatening all day and not a single drop had fallen.
She stood at the open doorway of the store, beneath the vinyl overhang, waiting for the rain to let up. She glanced over at the Chinese cashier.
“Umbrella. 10 dollar,” he chimed, pointing to the white plastic bucket of cheap black umbrellas.
She smiled politely at him just as she felt someone brush against her.
“Excuse me,” he said.
Georgina looked up. It was him. Her heart pulsated. They exchanged quick, awkward glances like they always did when they passed each other. She never had the nerve to say anything and he typically seemed to be in a rush.
“It’s okay,” she told him casually, trying to come off as friendly but not openly flirtatious.
He smiled intently at her and continued on into the store.
Georgina looked back out to the street, watching strangers flee for cover as the rain hammered down on the black pavement and sputtered up into a heavy wet mist. Maybe she should just make a run for it, she thought. It’s only rain.
She glanced furtively at the mysterious man who was now at the cashier paying. She saw that he was buying a bottle of champagne and was suddenly intrigued. Who buys a bottle of champagne in the middle of the day during a rain storm? When she looked up from the green bottle to his face, he was glaring back at her. Georgina smiled again politely, suddenly feeling like she got caught checking him out and wanting to make it seem more innocent than that.
He was wearing a sleek tan raincoat and gray dress pants that were wet at the cuffs. His dark blue eyes matched the color of his collar poking through the open slit of his coat. His dark brown hair was moist from the rain. He picked up the bottle of champagne that had been wrapped in a brown paper bag and headed toward her. When he was a few feet away, she glanced up at him and their eyes met once again.
“No umbrella?” His voice was firm and inviting.
“No…I just ran out for a few things. Left it at home.”
He nodded up and down.
“Nice day, isn’t it? I like the heavy rain.”
They exchanged looks again. She was attracted to him in a strange, carnal way. It was just there immediately.
“Are you celebrating something?” she asked him, glancing down at the bottle.
He smiled mischievously.
“Not yet.”
She didn’t know what he meant.
“Not yet?”
“Well we just met. I don’t even know your name.”
He was confident in his ploys. She was completely turned on just by talking to him.
“Georgina.”
“Philip.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
“How far away do you live?” he asked her.
“Not far. A few blocks.”
He nodded up and down. They both looked out at the thick streams of rain coming down hard on the street. The sudden storm had picked up in intensity and the sound of it drummed through the air. They exchanged looks again. Each of them knew there was an undeniable attraction.
“Are you a drinker?” he suddenly asked her. He had a smirk on his face, insinuating everything. She didn’t know how to react.
“Well, I usually don’t drink in the middle of the day.”
“Me neither. But this would be a special occasion.”
“Oh, would it?”
“Yes.”
“How so?”
The intensity of their conversational playfulness began to rise. They exchanged looks again. She watched him thinking intently of what to say next.
“Well, if I escort you home, we’ll both be soaking wet. You’ll have to invite me in to dry off.”
She eyed him. Another customer passed by them and he moved toward her to let him enter. Their bodies touched for a split second. She wanted him to take hold of her right there.
“Will I? But I don’t invite strangers into my apartment.”
He hadn’t stopped looking at her. This was all so sudden, she thought.
“Yes, that’s what the champagne is for. A nice girl needs an excuse to do bad things with a strange man.”
She laughed at his provocation.
“Do you do this all this time? I mean, it’s kind of insulting.”
“Why’s that?”
“I mean, do you think I’m that cheap?”
He smiled again, lifting up the bottle to her. “It’s a good bottle. And I’m not a rich man.”
She glanced away, not wanting to overtly reveal the desire in her eyes. She didn’t know what to do. She wanted him to chase her but didn’t to wait for the chase herself. She suddenly felt him touch the tip of her fingers and looked down to see him tenderly grasping her bare hand with his own.
 “Let’s go,” he told her. His voice was calm and inviting. She felt the blood flush through her face. She could barely swallow. He fondled her fingers and she couldn’t resist his advances.
“What? You are serious?”
He grasped her hand and pulled her out into the rain. She gasped as she felt the raindrops began to patter down on her head. He turned back to look at her as he pulled her along, his face gleaming with a spontaneous excitement. It seemed like they were both in a movie.
They stopped at the corner to wait for the light to change and they awkwardly eyed each other. His head was soaked like he had just come out of the shower. She could feel the water permeating the layers of her own clothes. The pungent scent of her wet wool sweater filled her nostrils and she wished she could just take it off right there.
“You didn’t tell me why you really bought the bottle,” she shouted through the sound of the rain.
He wiped the water from his face.
“I just quit my job. I had been working there for five years.”
“What were you doing?” she asked him.
He smiled deliriously. “Who cares? It doesn’t matter. Nothing like that matters.”
She suddenly wondered if he was just cracking up in some way and had accosted the first woman he could. But she didn’t really care. There was something about his spontaneous rapture that made her just want to go with the moment.
As they waited for the crosswalk signal to change, he lifted the bottle and began to unscrew the little metal cage on the head of the cork.
“What are you doing?” she exclaimed in shock.
“What do you think? Opening the bottle.”
Georgina stammered for the words to tell him to wait, but before she could get anything out of her mouth, the cork popped out of the bottle and flew into the air. Champagne bubbled over the head of the bottle in a rush. Philip rapidly lifted the bottle to his mouth and sucked down the frothy burst of liquid before it fell to the street. He handed the bottle to her and she frantically looked around in all directions to see if there was anyone watching. There was nobody but the two of them having their own rainy adventure.
“Don’t be afraid. Take a drink,” he told her and then cackled deliriously.
She glared around again and took the bottle from his hand. She lifted it to her lips and tipped it up, letting a small trickle of champagne flow into her mouth. The bubbles tickled her throat and she almost coughed.
The light finally changed. He grabbed a hold of the bottle and pulled her out into the street with his other hand. They rushed across the slick road as he took another swig. The champagne bubbled out of his mouth and trickled down his face. He looked like a madman.
When they got to the other side of the street, he waited for her to show him which way to go. She nervously pointed down the street in the direction of her apartment. Her soaked hair was falling in her eyes and he reached over to push it back for her. They exchanged a hard, intense look and then she just grabbed him, pulling him to her. She lifted her head to kiss him and he took her in his arms and kissed her back. She could taste the champagne on his breath. The whole moment was intoxicating. They embraced on the corner, making out like a pair of teenagers, the rain drenching both of them from head to foot.
Suddenly, a police car passed and Philip shifted the bottle to the other hand to hide it. They held each other close and looked over at the car. The policeman just nodded his head to them from behind the rainy blur of his window and drove on.
“Let’s go,” he said. “Before we get arrested.”
He wrapped one side of his jacket around her and they hurried down the street toward her apartment, taking stealthy swigs of champagne along the way. When they got to her door, she slipped the key in and the two of them practically fell into the dry hallway next to the row of metal mailboxes. She wiped the water from her face but before she knew what was happening, he pressed her back against the wall and kissed her.
She wrapped her hands inside of his wet coat and pulled it back. He frantically tugged at each of the sleeves to get it off while she took the bottle to take another drink. He let his jacket fall to the floor. He took the bottle and set it on the top of the first step of the stairway, and then grabbed a hold of her sweater to pull it off of her.
“No, wait. Someone may come out,” she protested.
He ignored her pleas and took a hold of the soaked clothing in any uncontrollable fury. Her sweater, though, was suctioned to her shirt and when he pulled it up over her head, everything but her bra came off.
“Oh my God,” she gasped, covering herself with both hands. The white bra was drenched and her nipples were exposed as if she were wearing nothing.
Philip grabbed her and kissed her again. She kissed him back for a moment and then tugged him toward the stairs. He grabbed his jacket from the floor with one hand and the bottle of champagne with the other, and they charged up the stairs.
Her hand was shaking with nervous excitement as she slipped the key in the door and unlocked it. The drenched couple fell inside as he reached around to slam the door shut with his hand. He handed her the bottle so he could unbutton his shirt. Georgina watched him as he feverishly undid the last few buttons and pulled it off to reveal his bare chest.
He smiled at the delirium of the moment and they both laughed. He grabbed the bottle back and took a long chug. The bubbly liquid filled his mouth and ran down the side of his face, flowing in a stream down his chest. Georgina lunged at him, lapping her tongue at his bare body to ingest the excess champagne. He looked down at her as she slurped away at the bubbly rivulet flowing down his chest and stomach. He tipped the bottle to his mouth again and let it intentionally flow down his body. She slurped it down, holding him by his bare waist to brace herself, until she finally realized he was doing it on purpose.
She grabbed the bottle from him and took another drink, motioning him to bend down to her as she let it flow down her own body. He extended his tongue and lapped at her body like it was a melting ice cream cone. In a singular motion, he reached around, unhooked her bra and pulled it off her arms. His mouth went to one of her bare nipples. She tilted the bottle above her breast and let the champagne flow over her naked body as he struggled to drink it down while he sucked at her bare tits.
He looked up at her and their eyes locked once again. He reached up to take the bottle from her but she lifted it up out of his reach, smiling tauntingly at him. She took another drink, gulping down the champagne like it was water. As she tilted her head back, she felt his hands grasp her soaked black leggings and pull them down. By the time she had swallowed her last gulp, her pants were around her ankles and his mouth between her legs.
The alcohol buzzed through her and she felt a wave of dizziness jolt through her head. She fell back and tried to brace herself with her legs but her pants clung to her ankles. Philip lunged to hold her up but both of them tumbled to the hardwood floor. Somehow, Georgina managed to hold on to the upturned bottle. He took it from her hand as he hovered over her and took another drink. The bottle was nearly finished and he placed the head of it over her mouth, letting it flow through her outstretched lips. She tried to gulp it all down but it bubbled out of her.
Philip slurped it off her face and then kissed her again before she had even swallowed. The champagne swirled around their tongues before she finally was able to let it go down her throat. He kissed her deeply and then moved his mouth down her bare body. He pulled her boots off with two quick tugs and slipped off her soaked leggings. His looked up at her as he pushed her thighs apart and descended between her legs. His warm tongue glided through her wet slit and she moaned, arching her back on the hardwood floor.
This is too good to be true, she thought, as he lapped at her clit and she writhed in pleasure. He reached for the bottle but saw that there were only a few bubbly drops remaining. He took it in his hand and smiled at her before he started to remove the leftover metallic wrapping on the head of the green glass bottle.
Georgina watched him as he wiped the bottle clean on his shirt and then slipped it in his mouth to get it wet. It was then that she realized what he was going to do with it.
“No,” she said laughing. “You’re drunk!”
Philip gave a few more licks around the lip of the bottle and then placed it between her legs. She squeezed her thighs together for a moment, feeling the cold cylinder against her bare skin, and then opened them up once again. He ran the head of the champagne bottle up and down her wet cunt and then looked up at her as he pushed the tip of it into her. He grinned drunkenly at her. She braced her hands against the hardwood floor as he slid a few inches of the hard glass into her. He bent his head down to her and flicked his tongue at her clit. Pleasure shivered through her body.
“Oh yeah,” she moaned to him. She couldn’t believe he was fucking her with the champagne bottle. The cool, firm feel inside her seemed oddly kinky. He held it deep in her so the curve of the bottle stretched her open. He used his fingers to hold the top of her cunt taut and flicked her sensitive clit over and over with the strong tip of his tongue. Her body constricted around the bottle with each intense series of licks. He lifted his head up to kiss her, but she clasped it with her hand and pushed it back down between her legs.
“Oh, my God. Please don’t stop,” she begged him.
He laughed at her drunken pleasure as he teased her with his tongue, holding it just above her and only letting it touch her in small bursts. Each time she felt his tongue touch her and then lift away was pure agony. She begged him again to lick her as he kneeled above her and pushed the bottle in and out of her wet cunt. Finally, she grasped a hold of his brown hair in a fit of uncontrollable desire and pulled it curtly to her thighs.
“Lick it,” she ordered him.
His tongue devoured her in all directions and then he sucked the hardened skin into his mouth roughly. She writhed and moaned.
“Lick it,” she repeated.
He lapped at her again, shifting and angling his tongue until he felt her body tense with the rising pleasure. She held her breath as the acute sensation pierced through her body. He pushed the hard bottle in and out of her a few more times, never removing his mouth from her cunt.
“Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah.” Her body constricted and then jerked before she took a series of deep breathes to gain her composure. “Yes, right there,” she told him through her uncontrollable moans. He pulled the top of her cunt taut and tongued it with rapid force as her whole body tensed in anticipation.
“Oh, yeah. Yeah,” she cried, her voice breaking into a high pitched tone of orgasmic pleasure. Her body jerked repeatedly but he held his mouth firmly on her cunt and made her squirm through the unbearable sensation. When he licked her once again, the sensitive jolt overwhelmed her and she pushed at his head to keep him from continuing. He lifted off her and she closed her eyes for a moment before she took a deep breath. When she opened them again, his drunken blue eyes were hovering over her. He kissed her delicately and she wrapped her hands around the bare skin of his back.
“I’m going to go get another bottle,” he told her.
“Mmmmm…sounds good,” she purred. “I’m going to order something to eat.”
“Okay. Get me something too,” he said as he slipped his shirt back on.
She was probably just drunk but she felt like she was falling in love with him on the spot.
“Do you have any plans for the evening?” he asked her casually.
“No, except for whatever you plan to do to me,” she joked.
He laughed. They seemed to click in sync like two long lost friends and not like drunken strangers who met in a store. As good as the rain-soaked spontaneous fling felt, she hoped it was more than that.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he told her warmly.
“Ok, Philip.” It was all she could say as he turned and slipped out. She rolled over on the hardwood floor, wanting to just wait for him there until he returned. She wondered if it was the beginning or the end.





Roadside Gas Station at 3am

“How many times can I tell you? I was just talking to her!”
“Fuck you, Charles. I saw you touch her.”
“We worked together for eight years. We know each other.”
“You know each other? You had a relationship with her. How the fuck do you think I’m going to react?”
Charles just stared straight ahead and drove even faster down the highway. It was three in the morning and Valentina knew now she that she should never have gone to this party with her husband. Some things from the past should just be left in the past, especially when you’re married to a politician.
“Your jealousy is out of control, Valentina. I’m running for mayor. How am I supposed to interact with people? Wave to them from across the room?”
She scowled at him.
“Did you have to interact with her?”
“Yes. She represents a major constituency in my district. I need her votes.”
“You always say something like that to justify your actions,” she responded derisively.
“My actions? You know, you could help me win this election or help me lose it. Which is it?”
She turned her head away from him and looked out the window. She realized she was letting her jealousy get the better of herself but she wasn’t going to confess that to him. If she didn’t constantly remind him that she had her eye on him, she felt he would just naturally wander astray.
“You’re doing this on purpose and you know it,” he accused her.
She simply ignored him, continuing to look out the window at the dark landscape. He really had enough of her attention-getting temper tantrums but no matter what he said they never seemed to stop. As they approached the next exit, he changed lanes and began slowing down to get off.
“What are you doing?”
“I need some gas,” he told her casually.
Valentina glanced over at the console and saw that he still had a quarter of a tank remaining.
“It’s late. Can’t you go in the morning?” she protested.
“No. I have an early meeting out at the county courthouse and it’s a long drive.”
He watched her purse her lips in an angry pout as he veered off the highway toward the gas station. When he pulled up to one of the pumps, she opened the door to get out.
“Where are you going?” he asked her in surprise.
“Relax. I’m going to the bathroom,” she told him in a snotty tone as she stormed off in her fur coat and white evening dress, forcefully clacking her heels all the way to the service window.
Charles got out and started pumping the gas. It was a lonely old station in the middle of nowhere. Its rusty metal gas pumps looked as if they had been there for 50 years. The harsh florescent lights shining down from the white overhanging were the only illumination for miles.
He watched Valentina as she took the bathroom key from the service attendant through the payment slit at the bottom of the window. She glanced over at him, giving him a haughty look of displeasure for deciding to stop for gas, before she turned at the edge of the station and disappeared toward the restroom.
Charles finished pumping the gas, tore off the receipt and got back into the car to wait for Valentina. After a few minutes, though, she still had not returned and he began to get worried. There were no other cars at the station and the attendant hadn’t left from his perch inside the lit convenience store. He waited a couple more minutes and then decided to go get her.
He marched briskly to the rear of the station. It was eerily quiet and there was no light at all. He squinted to find the door with the bathroom signage on it. He noticed it was slightly ajar but it was dark inside.
“Valentina?” he called out, but there was no answer.
He cautiously pushed open the door and reached inside to feel for the light switch. When he flipped it on, a lone bulb hanging from a wire lit up the empty room. The noisy sound of a ventilator built into the ceiling echoed out the door. Inside, there was just a white porcelain sink and a single toilet. The light blue paint on the walls was peeling off from years of neglect.
Charles looked back outside to see if his wife was there. It was pitch black out but there was nowhere else she could have gone. He squinted in the darkness at the empty back lot but all that was there was a large trash dumpster.
“Valentina?” he called out again. There was no reply.
He marched back to the front of the station to see if she might have returned around the other side, but she was not there and the passenger seat of his car remained empty. He approached the service window again to see if she had brought the key back. The attendant shook his head. He began to get frantic, wondering if something had happened to her. He yelled out her name again but there was no response. He rushed back to the rear of the station again and took another look in the lit restroom, but she was definitely not there. He took out his cell phone to try and call her as he ran back toward his car. He could hear the muffled ringing coming from inside the car before he even got to it. He looked through the window and saw her phone on the empty seat. He decided to have one more look in the rear of the station before he called the police.
He ran back to the empty back lot and called out her name again.
“Valentina!”
There was no response.
“Valentina!”
As he was about to turn around, he suddenly heard the sound of laughter coming from somewhere in the darkness. He looked in the direction where he heard it and suddenly saw his wife slip out from behind the trash dumpster. She glared at him, holding her stomach in a fit of hysterical laughter.
“You should have seen your face!” she gloated, as she casually strutted toward him.
He was absolutely furious.
“What the hell is wrong with you? What were you thinking?” he shouted at her. The sheer anger roiled through him.
“Relax,” she told him. “I just wanted to see what you would do if you really thought I was gone.”
She reached up to touch his face but he grabbed her by the arm through her fur coat.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” she pleaded, with a smirk still on her face.
He was so outraged at her stunt he could barely think straight.
“You want to find out what I’d do?” he yelled at her. “Well, I’ll show you.”
He suddenly wrapped his arm forcefully around her body and bent her over. She gasped, not knowing what he was doing. She stumbled forward and held onto him so she wouldn’t fall.
“What are you doing?” she exclaimed in a state of confusion.
She felt him grab a hold of her fur coat and throw it over her back. Before she even had a chance to react, he took a hold of her evening dress and tugged it up to her waist. The cold night air ran across her bare legs for a split second before she felt the palm of his hand start striking her ass. She couldn’t believe it. He was spanking her.
“Charles! What are you doing?” she shouted, struggling to free herself from the grip around her waist as he furiously spanked her bare ass over and over. The sounds of his hand slapping against her flesh echoed loudly through the empty lot. Her fur coat was practically falling over her head and all she could imagine was the attendant walking back there to hear what the noise was.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” she pleaded. “Just stop. Someone’s going to see.”
“Let them see,” he told her. “You’re the one who wanted to see my reaction.”
She squirmed in his arms, trying to get away. She never expected him to react like this. He was spanking her with all his strength and the stinging pain was really starting to hurt.
He suddenly heard the sound of someone walking around the side of the station. He pulled her up by arm forcefully and pushed her toward the open door of the restroom.
“Get inside, now,” he ordered her.
“Charles, please. I get it. You’re angry,” she protested. “But this is not the way to react.”
She watched as he came toward her in a moment of fury. His face was red with anger. She had never seen him like that and was sincerely scared. She lifted his hand and she thought he was going to strike her. She cowered away from him into the empty restroom.
“Turn around and bend over! Put your hands on the sink,” he ordered her.
He turned quickly, slammed the door shut and jammed the long metal lock through the slot. She just stood there, frozen in shock at his reaction. He turned back around toward her. The masculine rage on his face made her think he had a side to him that she had never seen.
“I said turn around and bend over!” he shouted again, grabbing her by the arm and pushing her toward the sink.
“Okay, okay,” she told him, her voice shaking in fear. She turned as he pushed her back down and she wrapped her hands around the edge of the cold dirty sink. She looked up in the mirror at him as took a hold of her once again, tossing her fur coat over her back and lifting her white dress to her waist. He gripped her firmly around her body with his arm and began to wail into her bare ass once again. She hung on tightly to the sink and tried to shift her legs away from the force of his palm landing over and over on her. He seemed he was striking her as fast and hard as he possibly could, as if some primal urge had taken over him to punish her.
Charles eyed his wife’s bare ass as he turned both cheeks bright red and listened to her plea for him to stop. She was still wearing her underwear, a thin white lace thong that looked obscenely delicate next to her bare, beaten butt.
“Do you say you wanted to see my reaction?” he yelled at her in scorn.
“I’m sorry,” she pleaded to him. She removed her hand from the sink and thrust it behind her to try to block his hand from spanking her. He grabbed her harshly by the wrist and forced her hand back onto the sink.
“Do you say you wanted to see my reaction?” he asked her again as he slapped her ass even harder. He was getting even more invigorated and turned on by the color of his wife’s bare butt. He looked up at her through the mirror for her response.
“Did you?”
“Yes, I did,” she confessed. “I asked for it,” she cried.
There was something about the way she said it that excited him immediately. The sight of her hunched over the sink with her fur coat and dress lifted over her waist was so graphic. He had never done anything like this. He suddenly took a hold of her lace panties and pulled them down. She looked back at him.
“What are you doing?” She tried to stand but he pushed her back down. She heard the sound of his belt buckle coming undone. “Charles,” she pleaded, “you can’t fuck me here.”
“Watch me,” he told her, glaring at her in uncontrollable excitement through the mirror. He quickly undid his belt and unzipped his pants. He pulled them down to his thighs and then took a hold of her. She struggled to shift her legs away from him and he wrapped his hand around her waist to pull him tightly against her. 
She felt him push into her immediately and she looked up his contorted face. He held her by her waist and forced his cock deeply into her with a sudden thrust of his hips. She let out a muffled grunt from the mixture of pleasure and pain. She couldn’t believe how unrestrained he had become. Never in her life did she imagine him fucking her in a dirty public restroom in the middle of the night. His thighs slapped against her bare ass and she gripped her fingers tightly around the edge of the sink.
Suddenly, the sound of someone pounding on the door filled the room. They heard the voice of the attendant, yelling that they needed to come out. He pounded repeatedly on the metal door and it radiated through the room like the sound of violent machinery. Charles held her firmly and thrust himself into her with greater force. His thighs slapped harshly against her bare flesh. The intensity of it was intoxicating. The cacophony of sounds made it feel so raw and kinky. The pounding against the door was like a violent accentuation of her husband’s wild thrusting into her. She began to moan over and over, overwhelmed in the unrestrained pleasure of the moment. The jumble of noises, with its strange rhythm of banging and slapping and moaning, made her feel like she was hallucinating.
She glared at Charles’ contorted face as he took out all his pent up anger on her naked body. Even in the cool night, he was perspiring from the intensity of his motions. The cadence of his thrusting into her suddenly quickened and she knew he was able to come. He pushed it deep into her one last time, and then his body tightened up behind her. She felt his body tense up briefly and then relax in satisfaction. He grabbed her and pulled her close to him. His breathe was still heaving in and out of his body. She turned to him.
“I’m sorry, Charles,” she told him. “I didn’t mean to get you so upset.”
He caught his breath and their eyes locked.
“It’s alright. Just don’t let it happen again,” he told her hesitantly.
The man was still banging on the door. She reached down and lifted her panties back to her waist, and then let her dress and coat fall back down over her body. She reached up and kissed him.
“I love you,” she told him. There was such a strange vigor in the way she said it, as if she had found some new deep attraction to him.
He didn’t know what to say. He could barely think straight.
“Let’s go,” he said.





Poor Little Middle Class Working Girl
from American Taboo

I often think of each hotel I stay at as just another bedroom in my own vast collection of private residences spread around the world. What woman doesn’t believe that her life isn’t always on its way to a scenario of extravagance made of sugar and spice, and all that’s nice? Of course, the reality is that I work in the marketing department for a dull multinational corporation and the travel manager books me at the cheapest hotel she can find. She tries to put me at three and four star hotels but often a two and a halfer is the best she can do with “the state of the economy the way it is,” as she puts it.
This year, I hit my own personal record, logging over 100,000 miles in 30 cities, but have managed to still get my pay cut by 10 percent. “We’re all making painful cuts,” the CEO tells us. Not that I absolutely need the money, at least not to survive from day to day. It’s more a matter that I have no choice but to keep marching forward to pay for all the choices I have already made. There is the mortgage payment, the car payment, the insurance payments, the credit cards and a hundred other bills that just seem to go up and up and up. What kind of life would it be if I had to work a dull job with long hours and be the bargain shopper with a used car and a cheap apartment in the suburbs? Working a dreary corporate job should at least come with a little bit of wealth, no?
Anyway, life on the road brings its own routines. Return to hotel in rental car. Shower with complimentary fancy soap. Order room service. Eat in front of TV. Do a few more hours of work on laptop. Fall asleep in still freshly made bed. Repeat. I really did believe that there would be something more, some kind of wild series of adventures that would happen on the side but never did. I knew deep down that I had been pushed to the brink from the endless repetition of struggling to just make it through each day of a mediocre existence. But I never seemed to do anything about that.
I’ve never liked eating alone at the hotel restaurant or sitting by myself at the bar nursing my lonely drink. If I have to choose between sitting in bed watching news from some war on the other side of the world and perched at a bar talking to a chatty bartender, I’ll chose the war.
“I know it’s natural to feel trapped,” I told my shrink on the phone. I had not only resorted to seeing a psychiatrist to sort out my issues of feeling stuck in a lifeless routine I seemed to like being stuck in, I had resorted to doing our sessions by phone from whatever city I happened to be working in. It somehow only managed to magnify the sense of isolation from the real human drama that, in my mind, I was missing on a daily basis.
I was sitting in my work suit on the edge of the hotel bed as she talked to me, watching the images on the muted TV move from one to the next. She was advising me to consider taking up a new hobby or personal pursuit to give my life a new sense of adventure. Her words made sense in theory but in reality I couldn’t imagine that taking up karate or starting a book club would really satisfy what I was seeking deep down. She kept talking as I stared at the new image being shown on the TV.
It was apparently a news story about a group of young Chinese women who had been discovered in a shipping container as they were trying to be smuggled into the country. The footage showed the women as each was escorted out of the container. While some had blankets wrapped around them, others were wearing nothing but evening dresses. I thought how incredibly odd that the women had somehow expected to simply climb out of the container and immediately be dressed and ready to begin working as escorts. I sat there and tried to imagine how I’d feel enclosed in a dark metal shipping container for a week or more while it crossed thousands of miles of ocean. How extraordinarily different each of our lives are, I wondered to myself.
“Anna? Anna, are you listening to me?”
“Yes, yes. I’m here. Sorry, I was just distracted for a second.”
“Distracted by what?” she asked me.
“Oh, nothing, nothing,” I told her absentmindedly. “Listen, Dr. Holstein, would you mind if we cut this session short?”
“Is everything alright, Anna?”
“Yes, it’s fine. I’m just feeling tired tonight and don’t feel like we’re going to get much more accomplished from this session.”
“Ok. Are you sure there’s nothing you want to talk about?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Let’s continue this next week.”
“Very well. Feel free to call me back if your mood changes.
“Yes, Dr. Holstein.”
I hit the “end call” button and held the phone for a second. Everything was not fine but I certainly didn’t want to talk about it anymore. I wanted to do something, to actually do something that was not talked about or planned in advance at all.
I don’t know what triggered the switch inside of me. Maybe it was something about all those women on TV who lived their lives on the very edge of survival and never had to even think about being stuck in a dull corporate world. Their existence was painful and real. I didn’t want to be in such a horrible place but I wanted that same sense of being in a place where I had to make such extreme choices. I didn’t know what exactly that meant but it definitely didn’t mean sitting in this hotel room in Chicago another night.
I shut my laptop and decided I’d head down to the hotel bar for a drink. But what was I going to wear? I had packed little else except for business attire and clothes to sleep in. It was only eight o’clock. There had to be a store nearby still open. I grabbed my hotel key card and flew down the hall to the elevator.
I stopped at the concierge to ask if there was a store nearby still open where I could buy evening attire. He asked me what kind of clothes or store did I have in mind exactly? I thought to myself. The image of one of the women on TV climbing out of the container came into my mind. She was wearing a short black evening dress. It looked very cheap and tawdry- something like I would never wear. The concierge suggested a few stores on Michigan Avenue that I knew.
“No, no. Nothing like that,” I told him. “I just need a cheap evening dress. Something really slutty.”
He looked at me in astonishment when I said that. It surprised me as well to hear those words come out of my mouth.
“Well, there’s a Forever 21 store down the way. They should have something,” he told me.
“Oh, that’s perfect,” I told him. They’ll definitely have something and what better place to buy that sort of dress than at a company constantly being accused of running sweat shops. I could probably find some cheap thing that was even made by a poor, desperate girl longing to sell her body to make it to a better life.
I jumped in a taxi and headed to the store. When I got there and started browsing through the racks, I couldn’t help but smile. It must have been years since I shopped for anything like this. Imagine what one of my friends would say if they discovered me in a place like this, shopping for slinky little dresses. None of the dresses, though, was just quite right. I headed back to the sale rack, hoping to find one of those really tacky pieces of clothing that was just way too over the top for most people to even consider buying. One of those dresses that you hold up to show your friends just for a good “can you imagine me in this” sort of laugh. And I found it.
The little black dress was made to be short and tight, with fake diamonds running down both sides of its low-cut v-neck. And it was on sale for $9.99. Perfect. I grabbed it off the rack and headed back to the dressing room. I couldn’t get my business suit off fast enough to try it on. I pulled it down over my body and looked at myself in the mirror. I must be out of my mind, I thought. I looked like a different woman, like I was playing dress up to be the slutty ghetto girl at Halloween. It looked ideal except that I wanted to wear it right away and the kind of bra and panties I had on just could not be worn with it. I pulled off the dress, took off my bra and panties, and then put it back on. I eyed myself in the mirror once again. Could I really go out like this? 
I ripped off the price tag, folded my suit under my arm and went to the cash register to pay. I stopped to quickly try on a couple pairs of shoes and settled on a trashy pair of platform high heels. The cashier tried to pretend it wasn’t strange to be wanting to wear a dress like that right out of the store. I just paid for the dress and headed out. At the exit to the store, I tossed my business suit and undergarments into the trash. Whatever had gotten into me, I knew I had snapped.
When I strutted back into the hotel, the concierge didn’t know how to react. He simply nodded in affirmation that I had found what I was looking for, afraid to inquire into what sort of woman I really was. I headed up to my room to primp my face properly. I still was astonished to see my image in the mirror for a second time. I accentuated my eyes with a thick coating of black mascara and eyeliner, and then rolled on a bright red layer of red lipstick. I was in such an intoxicated, frantic state of mind that I didn’t want to stop to look at myself too long for fear of changing my mind.
I headed down to the bar, clacking my way past a collection of businessmen spread around the place, and settled into a corner lounge seat. I had to lift up and pull the dress down so I could cross my legs without revealing half my ass and my lack of panties.
I looked around and took a deep breath. I wondered if maybe I should call my shrink back and tell her what I was doing. Maybe I had really lost it. Maybe my personality had suddenly split. I heard just read an article about personality disorders. But I remember reading that women with split personalities were really good in bed. So maybe what I was doing was fine? Maybe I should stop thinking and do whatever I wanted to do tonight, I argued with myself.
The server came over to me immediately after he saw how I looked when I came into the bar.
“Good evening miss. Something to drink?”
“Yes, a Manhattan.”
“Of course. Preference of whiskey?” 
I could tell he was trying to draw out the order.
“What do you recommend?” I asked him flirtatiously.
“Well there is an excellent new micro-distillery here in Illinois called North Shore that makes a fine rye whiskey. I highly recommend it.”
He was trying way too hard and was too young and eager to suit me tonight.
“That will be fine,” I told him. “And something from the appetizer menu. Oysters if you have them.”
“We do have them.”
“Then a half dozen of those.”
“Right away.”
I hadn’t eaten anything and I had to do something while I sat there all by myself, looking like a coquettish whore waiting for her date. The drink arrived quickly and the oysters not long after. I slurped down half the drink and sucked down a few oysters.
There were a number of men there and one couple but no one who particularly struck me as the type. A few minutes later, though, as I was happening to glance out the front entry of the bar, a man who was walking by with his luggage just happened to look over and make eye contact with me. It was just one of those brief moments when your eyes lock, you feint half a smile and then the moment is gone before anyone has time to react. I could see he was wearing a dark blue suit and his dark brown hair was slicked elegantly back over the top of his head.
Only a quarter of an hour passed before he returned to the bar. He entered and gave me a direct, restrained look, obviously trying to size up my situation. He took a seat at the bar and ordered a drink. Minutes passed as he casually looked in my direction a number of times out of the corner of his eye.
Sitting in solitude in a hotel bar was foreign enough to me. Trying to look like I wanted to be hit on for the most obvious reasons was like speaking another language. Rather than pretending to look away from a man and sense if he was looking at me, I would stare at him directly every time he happened to glance in my direction. It was like I was desperate for it. I shook my hair to make it a bit more disheveled. I uncrossed my legs and re-crossed them to the other side. I slid my tongue nonchalantly around the edge of my glass. I began to imagine who I now was. What was my name? Where was I from? Did I have an accent? What was I doing here?
I began to talk to myself behind the shield of my hand, listening to my own voice and trying on different foreign accents. I remembered my piano teacher I had as a child and the thick Slavic voice that she had. I tried to mimic it, asking myself questions and then responding to the questions. Did I sound real? Would any man really notice? Could I do this? I was so infatuated with my delusional role playing that I hadn’t even noticed the man approach me.
“Anyone sitting here?” he asked me simply.
I froze up for a moment and looked up at him. I cleared my throat and decided in a split second that I would try on the new persona.
“Here? With me? No,” I said in a thick accent that sounded like a drunken Russian.
“Would you mind?”
“No, please,” I said, offering a place with my hand.
He sat down. His sudden presence next to me was exhilarating. He had that slick banker look with dark Italian features and olive-toned skin.
“Where are you from?” he asked me.
“Latvia,” I said, sounding like a school girl practicing her foreign language skills.
“You are here at the hotel?”
“Yes. And you?”
“Yes.”
“Would do you do for a living?” I asked him.
“I’d rather not say, if you wouldn’t mind,” he told me.
“Why not?” I asked him in confusion.
“I think the answer is obvious,” he told me as he smiled.
I had no idea what game he was playing. “What do you mean?”
The smile evaporated from his face as he saw I was serious. “Aren’t you?”
“Aren’t I what?” I asked him.
A look of embarrassment spread across his face and he suddenly went to get up. “I am so sorry. I thought … I should just walk away,” he said as he rose from the table.
“Thought what? Please tell me,” I asked him naively.
He bent over to say it in a lower voice. “I’m sorry. I saw you sitting here dressed like that by yourself and I thought you were like a call girl or something.”
I felt the blood rush to my head in my own embarrassment. I took a quick sip of my drink while the chaos of thoughts bounced around my mind. Apparently I had played the part a little too well. I didn’t want him to just get up and leave like that, though.
“Please,” I told him, “sit down.”
He looked down at me, trying to read my meaning. I could tell he wasn’t sure if I was a call girl and wanted him to sit back down or I wasn’t and still wanted him to stay. At that precise second, I wasn’t sure either. He cautiously sat back down, trying to figure it out. The awkward moment gave me time to gather my composure.
“I just like to be careful, you know,” I told him, leaning over the table and placing my hand on top of his. “Didn’t know if you were a policeman. Have much fear over secret service still.”
“Oh … ok. No, of course I’m not one,” he said. He put himself at ease again, taking a sip from his own cocktail.
“A girl can never be too sure,” I told him in a serious tone.
“Of course.”
“So what should I call you?” I asked him.
“Call me Luciano.”
“Luciano? Like the gangster?”
“Yes,” he said with a smile, straightening his collar in mocking fashion. “And what’s your name?”
I had to think for a second. “Anya.”
He nodded slowly. “Very sexy name.”
“Thank you.” I eyed his lustrous blue suit and the white dress shirt the peeked out at his wrists. He wore shiny silver cufflinks.
“My friend told me to use a service while I was here, but I happened to see you on my way to my room and figured I’d go freestyle tonight.”
“Freestyle?”
“You know what I mean. I heard it’s all private services and Craiglist whores.”
I rose my eyebrows at him when he said that.
“I didn’t mean that,” he tried to explain. “I just wouldn’t go online for it. That’s all.”
“I see,” I told him.
“I prefer private services. You are with one I assume?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a number? I mean for the future.”
“Not on me … no.”
“No problem.”
The waiter stopped by and we ordered more drinks.
“Do you do this often?” I asked him.
“No. I can’t with a family … I mean, no … shit, I don’t know why I just said that,” he mumbled. “You just seem really easy to talk to, but no, I don’t do this often.”
I nodded slowly to him. I looked at him and realized that he probably had never done this at all. Beneath his slick exterior, he was a bit awkward and nervous. I suddenly felt like I had the control in the situation. I mean I was the one who was now selling sex and he was the one who was in need of it. The waiter set the new round of drinks on the table and then left. I uncrossed my legs slowly in front of him and re-crossed them. He watched me and saw that I had on no panties.
“So what are you looking for tonight, Luciano?”
He shifted forward, already excited by the flash I had given him. “Well how much do you charge?”
I had no idea what to say. I had momentarily forgotten about the money. How much could I really make from this? I wasn’t really doing it for the money, but the thought of the extra cash sounded tempting. I really had no idea what to charge, though. I grabbed my phone, pretending like I got a message. “One second. I need to respond to this.”
“Sure,” he said, sitting back in his seat.
I quickly Googled “escort rates Chicago” and pretended to be taking care of some other business. I put the phone back down on the table. “What were we talking about?” I asked him.
“Uhmmm … rates. I mean it’s not an issue for me.”
“Five hundred for two hours.”
He nodded slowly. “For anything?”
“What is anything?”
“I mean whatever I want you to do.”
I placed my hand on his lap. “What would you like me to do?”
 “You know … You’re the professional. Like just whatever comes to you.”
I nodded again, feeling like I was in a company meeting. He was really quite attractive and he had a certain elegance to him. His entire approach, though, seemed like a huge departure from his normal routine somehow. He wasn’t obnoxious the way I would expect a man who pays for sex to be. I wondered what he was actually going through that made him seek out a call girl. I didn’t know what other questions to ask him. I tried to put myself in Anya’s mind. 
“Would you like your cock sucked?” My accent seemed to grow thicker when I talked dirty.
“Maybe.”
“Do you like to kiss?”
“Sure.”
“Do you like me to be on top or bottom?”
“On top, definitely. Squatting position with your hands on my chest.”
“Squatting?”
“Yeah, you know. With your feet on the bed and using your ass to bounce up and down.”
I had never even tried that. I got nervous that I wasn’t going to be able to perform.
“Can you do that?”
“It is not my specialty but you are the client.”
“Yes, I’m the client … Oh, one more thing.”
“What is that?” I asked him.
He slid closer to me. “Uncross your legs and turn towards me.” I uncrossed my legs and shifted closer to him. He suddenly slipped his hand between my legs. I looked around quickly.
“No one’s looking. I already checked,” he said. “Spread them a bit.”
I spread my legs a little so he could touch me. I felt his fingers run up my bare cunt. I suddenly felt like the sex object there for a man’s enjoyment.
“I love it when a woman doesn’t wear any panties,” he whispered to me.
“I never wear any,” I told him in my thick accent.
“Really? ” He ran his fingers up to my clit and stroked it delicately. I leaned closer to him. I could smell the cologne on his skin. I was also getting very tipsy from the drinks.
“In my country, the women are not so uptight. We like to go without panties so we are ready to fuck.” I couldn’t believe I said that.
He motioned for the waiter to bring the check. He still had his hand up my dress. “Don’t move. I want him to know that you are my slut.” The waiter came to the table. He could obviously see his hand up my dress but pretended like he wasn’t seeing anything. “The check, please,” he told the waiter. The waiter nodded and went to get the check. 
“Why did you say that?”
“That I wanted to him to know you’re my slut?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know. Whenever I see a woman dressed like you are with a man, I always envy him. I want to have a woman like that, so other people look at us and know I take whatever I want.”
I began to see that he wasn’t just looking for a whore to fuck. He had a need to feel like he was better than other men, like he was some modern day business gangster.
“But I thought you are this man,” I told him sincerely. “Do you not take whatever you want?”
His eyes moved intently from side to side as he considered my words. “No, I don’t,” he confessed. “I have always been too polite with women. I want a woman who knows who I am and who throws herself at me.”
He still had his hand between my legs. “Did I not throw myself at you from across the room?”
His eyes turned down unexpectedly before he withdrew his fingers. “Yes, yes. You did.” His tone had become very pensive and his longing to touch me seemed to disappear. I wrapped my hands around the back of his neck and pulled myself closer to him.
“What is wrong? Is it something I said?”
“No, no. I just …”
“Just what?”
“I’m sorry. This is a bad idea,” he said gruffly. He moved away to get up from the table. “I’m sorry to take up your time. I’m going to go,” he told me flatly as he placed some money on the table for the drinks.
I couldn’t believe he was just going to walk away like this. “Please, sit down,” I begged him.
“Have a good evening Anya,” he politely told me before turning to leave.
I was in disbelief. He was half way across the bar by the time I collected myself and stood up to follow him. I suddenly felt so used. A total stranger had fondled my pussy and then just left. I marched across the room the best I could in my heels to get to him before he left the bar. The bartender and a few other patrons turned to look at me rushing through the room.
“Luciano, please.”
He turned halfway and gave me a cold stare. “What is it?”
His warm seductive tone had completely evaporated. I circled around him and wrapped my arms around his neck. “But I thought we had an agreement,” I told him in most seductive foreign voice. “I thought you wanted anything.”
He looked at me and then looked away. “I’m sorry. I have someone else to meet.” He pushed my arm way from me and walked pass me. I felt the eyes of the people in the bar watching. I couldn’t believe that I was being rejected by this man. I mean he was just there to pay me to fuck him. I wasn’t about to start my charade all over again with another man.
I chased after him out into the lobby of the hotel. “Please, wait!” I called to him. He walked a few more steps and then stopped so I could catch up to him. I moved in front of him and put my hands on his chest. “Just tell me what you want. Please tell me what’s wrong,” I begged him.
He looked down at me with a blank stare. “Louder,” he told me.
I was confused. “What?”
“Say it louder,” he said firmly.
Then I realized what he was doing. This was part of his fantasy and he wanted me to play the part. I suddenly felt sympathy for him but at the same time was turned on by his audacity.
“Luciano, please,” I begged him in a loud, emotional voice. The attendants at the front desk looked over at us. “Please take me. I’ll do anything,” I said.
He reached over and held me by the back of my head. He kissed me softly. “Good night.” He brushed past me to make his way to the elevator. I turned rapidly and moved in front of him again.
“Please, let me be with you,” I begged in a raised voice, my accent growing thick by the second. A couple of people who were waiting to check in looked over at us. It seemed like the whole room was watching. “Please, I will fuck you like you like it,” I pleaded to him. I could hear someone at the front desk clear their throat to try and make it understood that people could hear us. I suddenly realized how it might feel to be a woman begging a man to let her fuck him for money.
“You know I have another woman,” he said to me with an annoyed look.
I could feel people listening in to the drama. A man passed us and he ogled my skimpy attire.
“It doesn’t matter to me,” I said, moving my hand from his chest to his pants, running it across his thighs until I felt his cock. “Please, I beg you. Just fuck me one more time.” I could feel his arousal. I couldn’t believe how this was taking on a life all its own.
“Excuse me, sir,” he called out suddenly to a man at the front desk. “Can you call security to escort this woman out of here?
“Of course,” the front desk attendant replied. I heard him call for security and in a matter of seconds there was a security guard approaching them.
“Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” he told me.
I looked over past him to my “client”. I gave him a sad look and pressed my lips together in a pout. I tried to think about how I would really feel if I needed his money to survive, if I really was a prostitute who needed to make her nightly quota. My eyes welled up from the horrible imagery that went through me and a tear streamed down my face.
“Please, Luciano. You know I need you.”
He looked over the security guard’s shoulder and my tears even surprised him. It felt like we were both carrying out our private charades to find meaning in our unfulfilled lives but those sham fantasies, for just a moment, had become real.
“Ok, it’s fine,” he told the security guard, who looked at him bewildered. “Let’s go,” he told me. “But only tonight. You better make it worth my time.”
“Anything. Anything you want,” I professed to him as I wrapped my arms around him as we walked toward the elevator. Everyone in the lobby must have thought we were insane.
The elevator door closed and I looked to him with a grin. I was expecting him to acknowledge the game he had been playing but he did not. He hit the button for the 32nd floor.
“You better be a good fuck,” he told me tersely, making sure I understood that this was real to him still. I took his cue and ran my hands all over his body.
“Anya will fuck you like you want,” I said as lasciviously as an Eastern European whore possibly could. I reached down and unzipped his pants. I slipped my hand inside his fly until I felt the smooth skin of his cock. I looked up at him as I got down on my knees. The hard carpet on my bare knees made me feel horny in some weird, raw way. I pulled his erect cock out of his pants. He leaned back on the metal wall of the elevator. The sight of him standing there in his dark blue suit with only his cock out was so arousing. I almost wanted the elevator to stop at another floor so someone could see us.
I went down on him with a wide open mouth, taking his cock in until I felt the fabric of his pants touch my lips. He let out a heavy breath of pleasure immediately. I lifted my mouth back off of it, looked up at him this time, and then went all the way down on it again. Another heavy breath of pleasure came from him above me. The elevator suddenly dinged and the doors opened. I looked slyly to the side. It was on our floor already. He reached up and pushed down the button to keep the doors open. I followed his cue and went back down on him, sucking him in and out repeatedly. He began to moan as the elevator doors tried to close. I felt like someone was going to walk up any moment but I didn’t stop. The thought of getting caught like a cheap whore sucking a man’s cock was just too intoxicating.
He pulled me up suddenly and kissed me. His hand slid underneath my short dress and fondled my bare ass. His tongue went deep and forcefully into my mouth.
“Spread your legs.”
I moved my heels to each side and his hand slipped up the front of my dress. The feeling of his fingers on my naked cunt sent shivers through me. I was already wet and he easily rubbed his hand through the folds of my pussy. He touched my clit and I grabbed him by the back of the neck to let him know how good it felt. I lifted one of my legs and wrapped it around the back of his leg. He pushed his fingers inside me and I moaned deeply.
“Please let me fuck you. You are making Anya so horny.”
“Beg me,” he replied.
“Please. You know how much women want you. Just let Anya have your cock tonight.”
“Beg.”
“Please! I would do anything,” I pleaded to him. “I only live to be your slut.” His fingers moved in and out of me slowly and deeply. The elevator door continued to beep as it tried to close over and over.
He let me down and led me out.
“Take off your dress,” he told me.
“Here?” I asked in shock.
“Yes. And walk to my room on my arm naked.”
I couldn’t believe what he was asking me to do. I looked up and down the halls. I knew we had to have been on security cameras this whole time. What if they came and kicked us out? He saw that I was hesitating so he reached over and started to pull my dress up. I lifted my arms more out of this strange kinky inertia that had taken hold of me than from any definitive choice. The dress went over my head and I stood there naked. He took the dress in one hand and then lifted his arm to me. I wrapped my arm inside of it and we began to walk down the hall toward his room.
Each step I took seemed like it lasted an hour. I could not explain how exposed and kinky it felt to walk completely naked, except for my high heels, down the long hallway. About halfway down, my greatest fear became reality. A door opened and a man came out. He turned toward us to go to the elevator and then looked up. His eyes widened and he seemed not to know how to react except to keep walking past us. I looked over to Luciano and there was a look of supreme confidence on his face.
We arrived at his hotel door and he took out his key. He opened the door and then moved just inside the threshold. He turned with the door just barely ajar and blocked me from coming in.
“What are you doing?” I asked him.
“I think this is just make-believe for you. I don’t think you really want it.”
“No, I do,” I told him.
He closed the door in my face. I was in disbelief for a moment. I looked up and down the hall. Was he really locking me out? He had my dress. I just stood there holding my hand purse, my bare body pressed against the door. I wanted to feel the sensation of having nothing but my body to depend on but he had taken it further than I wanted to go. I stood there humiliated. I knocked lightly on the door but nothing came in response.
“Luciano?”
I didn’t know now if he was playing a game or was just really twisted and wanted to make me feel like a real whore who you could treat like a piece of meat.
“Please Luciano. Let me in,” I begged. I really didn’t have any choice but to play his game. “Please, you are making me so horny for you out here,” I whispered through the door. “Please I want to fuck so bad,” I told him louder.
I suddenly heard the ring of the elevator and it opened up. A couple walked out and turned to walk in my direction. It didn’t take them long to notice my naked body outside the door.
“Please, Luciano. There’s someone coming.”
“Beg for it,” he said sternly through the door. It was actually a relief to know he was still playing.
“Please. Please,” I begged. “My pussy is getting so soaked out here thinking about you.”
The couple was making there was toward me. I turned my body so my back was partially blocking them from seeing my face.
“Louder,” he said.
“Please! Please, let me fuck you,” I begged in a raised voice. I knew the couple about to pass me could hear. The situation suddenly become more real and it became strangely exhilarating being exposed like that. “Please. I want to ride you and fuck you so hard.” The couple passed by and they both looked back to me. I turned my body to the other side. “Please. My pussy needs it,” I begged him.
The door opened, ever so slightly. He was standing there without any clothes on and a smirk on his face. I rushed inside the room, relieved to be out of the hallway. I had never felt so exposed and vulnerable.
We quickly took hold of each other and kissed in total abandon. We both knew we were uncontrollably excited and the cunning games had built up to the point where we just wanted to tear into each other’s bodies. He pulled me further inside his room to the bed and then fell onto his back on the bed.
“Are you going to make me beg for it?” I asked, still speaking in my naughty Anya voice.
“No, just sit on my cock and fuck me.”
He reached over slyly and pulled a condom out of the pocket of his pants. He deftly slipped it right on.
I climbed on top of the bed and positioned myself over his naked body. Only the entry light was on but I could still see the contours of his olive-toned chest and arms and legs. I was really doing this, I told myself. But then I remembered what I was doing and who he thought I was.
“I think you are forgetting something,” I told him. He looked back at me.
“It’s on the dresser,” he said simply. I looked back at the five hundred dollar bills on the dresser. His foresight made me wonder if maybe he had done this quite often. Had I only imagined that he was awkward and pretending like he didn’t do this often? Maybe I was just his new slut in Chicago. I suddenly felt cheap.
“Don’t think that. I’ve never done this,” he said, reading the hesitation in my mind.
But did I want him to reassure me? This was as much my yearning to feel as it was his. Maybe I wanted to feel cheap and tawdry. Maybe I wanted to feel like a vulnerable whore who had been shipped overseas in a container. It suddenly became a strange mixture of kinky romance and raw exploitation.
“Did you hear me?” he asked.
“Yes, you’ve never done this.”
“I said get on my cock and fuck me.”
My thoughts just seemed to circle away as I looked down at his bare, vulnerable body. I suddenly only saw a man who needed to feel desired insatiably. I spread my legs and squatted down on him, feeling the muscles in my legs clench as I lowered myself to him. I placed my hands on his bare chest to leverage my body onto his. He held his cock erect and I shifted delicately until it pushed into my cunt. I took several deep breaths as I squatted all the way down and felt his full length slide up into me.
I had not really fucked in that position before so I struggled to do it well as much as I tried to fuck him like he wanted me to. My legs were spread wide and I moved up and down slowly on him. I felt animalistic the way I squatted on his cock and bounced up and down.
“Oh, that’s nice,” he moaned. “Squeeze that pussy tight.”
I clenched his cock tighter and pushed my body down on him. He let out a long breath of pleasure. He lifted his hand and touched the top of my pussy, rubbing the clit delicately back and forth. He saw my legs tense inward from the pleasure and flicked it more with his fingers. I rose on my feet to the tip of his cock and squatted down again. He moaned and kept touching me. The raw feeling of squatting up and down on his cock like an animal was making me so horny and his fingers on me made me bounce harder and faster.
“Oh,yeah. Fuck it, up and down.”
My legs were already starting to burn from the strain of squatting up and down on him but the pleasure was too much to stop.
“Talk to me,” he said.
“Oh, oh,” I moaned. “Please let me fuck you harder. Please,” I begged him.
He got more aroused with my words, pushing himself up as I descended on his cock. He rapidly fondled my clit and a shiver of pleasure went through my body. With his cock all the way in me, I paused for a moment while he flicked and fingered my clit, my body rapidly wanting to climax. He suddenly slapped his hand against the inside of my thigh.
“Fuck me.”
I pushed myself up again and started to bounce up and down on him. My legs began to burn from the movement but the pain only made me feel more aroused. He started to breath deeper and I could tell he was on his way to coming. I bounced on him harder, squeezing his cock inside of me and making sure he felt my ass strike against his body as I fucked him.
“Oh, yeah. Fuck me. Fuck me.”
I moaned and grunted with an uncontrollable kinky noise that I had never heard come out of me. “Uh, uh, uh, uh.” Each breath spurted out of me as the pleasure radiated through me. I held onto his chest and bounced hard and forcefully down on his cock.
“Oh, yeah, don’t stop. Don’t stop.” I felt his body clench up as he orgasmed and came inside of me. I kept bouncing and moaning uncontrollably, pushing through his climax to my own. My legs began to shake and I dropped for one final time onto him, feeling his cock still deep in me. The burning of my legs mixed with the pleasure between them. I fell to his chest.
We both lay there for a moment while we collected our bearings. The sex had come on so fast and hard that it seemed like it was over too soon. I wanted more still. I wanted to go back to the hotel bar and flirt again with him as my client. I could still smell the scents from his body mixed with the smell of his cologne. I didn’t want to get up and just take his money and leave. But more than anything, I didn’t want to confront the thought that was going through the back of my mind. I didn’t want to think how much I enjoyed it and how easy the money was this time. I knew that tomorrow I would be in Los Angeles and there would be another hotel room, and another bar.




The Audition
from Actress: Unauthorized Memoirs of a Hollywood Slave


The audition was at the legendary Wilkes-Meyer building in the heart of the Sunset Strip … in the heart of Hollywood … in the heart of the city where every girl comes to be famous and hopes she never has to go back to the dreary small town life she has left behind. I don’t want to say that I never expected to be there because that would be a total lie. I not only expected to be called in for an audition with The Agency and I not only expected to leave the casting call with a room full of applause that would be heard from the beaches of Malibu to the tip of Manhattan, but I truly expected to be cast in leading roles in major films from the very beginning. Despite the years of struggles when all this seemed so far away, I was there because I thought I deserved to be there. I might have been naïve, but I had immense hopes and sincere dreams. I was Madison Ava Jones, a young girl from Biloxi, Mississippi who thought she was born to be an actress.
I don’t want to say that I was arrogant. I heard learned that someone has to be famous and that someone is always willing to pay the price to get there. That is the way it has always been. People need celebrities to read about and ogle and love and hate. They need someone in which to see themselves and to have someone to talk about that everyone else knows. It binds people together. If it wasn’t going to be me, it was going to be someone else. But it wasn’t going to be someone else. No one else wanted it as badly as I did. No one else had worked as hard for it or was more willing to do whatever it took to become famous.
 What I didn’t ever expect was that it would take so long, that I would be so broke and that I would be spending the entire day before the audition methodically figuring out how to best use the final $78 on my student Visa card. I didn’t expect that three years after graduation, I would be spending my last pennies to purchase the little black dress and the discount-rack white panties I was now wearing.
What I thought that morning and what I had believed every day of my life is that happiness is about independence. Control your own destiny and don’t let it control you. I was determined to make it in my own way and wouldn’t let anyone tell me what to do. Ever since I was a little girl, I prided myself on being the leader and being put together at all times. I was the girl in high school that every other girl looked to for what to wear, how to act, who to be with, what to say and what not to say. It became my role, my image and my responsibility. Yet, in the end, it was what made me a prisoner and the condition from which I discovered I wanted to be free.
I had grown up in the Deep South, a place that, despite its progress, remained a culture where everyone knew his or her place. You didn’t try to be too different or too modern. My family was unusual, though, because they expected me to make it on my own, expected me do anything I set out to do, expected me to be somebody, expected me to succeed, expected me to control my life and expected me to be the actress that I had told everyone I was going to be since I was a little girl. It was a world of expectations that I had so deeply internalized, I didn’t even see that there was a difference between the very expectations and my own being.
The day I left for California to become a real actress, it seemed like it was just a matter of time before I was discovered. Hardly a week had passed since I had graduated with a bachelor’s degree in drama from one of the best schools in the country. But that was three years ago. It was now the middle of the worst recession since the Great Depression, I was broke, I had only got a handful of parts in student films and commercials and I was still telling all my friends and family that everything was going great. I had made them all think that I was always on the cusp of making it. I just needed to buy a little more time before I actually got the big break that I deserved. 
The official notice for the part that was published in the trade magazines read:
“Female, 18-25, speaking role, union. Untitled James Weinberg picture. The Agency.”
Not a single one of the hundreds of young women standing, pacing and reading the lines to themselves in the long, half-lit hallway that day needed to be told what those words meant. They knew a union speaking role meant union wages and they knew that being in a movie produced by The Agency meant real fame. Billboard fame. Paparazzi fame. Name recognition fame. It meant never again being just another actress telling her glossed-up lies about her new part to friends and family en route to waiting tables and getting another day older as a nobody pretending to be a somebody.
I had been to dozens of casting calls since I arrived in Los Angeles, but never one like this. The building was a granite Beaux-Art fortress built in the 1920’s in the heyday of Hollywood beginnings. It was rumored to have been owned by The Agency since the day it was built and had never changed hands. Unlike other casting callbacks, I didn’t receive a call. A few hours after I had submitted for the part, I received a text message on my phone: “Friday. 10am. Wilkes-Meyer Building. Arrive 30 minutes early for official check-in.”
Little did I know then that it was the beginning of the story, and little did I know how fast it would all happen.
When I pulled into the underground parking lot, the security guard immediately motioned me to pull to the side. I complied and waited while he circled my car with a long metal pole with a mirror attached to it, inspecting the undercarriage all around the car. He radioed to another man who arrived immediately with a German Shepherd and proceeded to circle the car for a second time.
“Please step out of the car, miss,” he instructed me.
“Excuse me?” I responded.
“Please step out of the car. We need to inspect you.”
I was more confused than astonished at his request. I looked back and forth at the two large men standing there waiting for me to comply.
“I am here for an audition. I am supposed to be here,” I curtly told them. One of the men lifted the clipboard he had in his hand and looked down at it.
“Madison Ava Jones?”
“Yes,” I replied with a tone of conviction that they had figured out who I was.
The man put the clipboard under his arm and took hold of his walkie-talkie. “Front desk, this is parking security,” he barked into the device. “We have a Madison Ava Jones here who is refusing inspection.” Not a single second had passed before a response came through.
“This is the front desk. Refusal noted by The Agency. Please request inspection again. If Miss Jones refuses again, please remove her from the premises.”
“Thank you, front desk.”
I half-expected the men to break out into laughter but they just glared at me stone-faced without saying another word. They simply waited for me to figure it out and make the choice. I tried to peek around the subterranean parking lot, but it seemed like I was the only one who had entered for some time. I was initially fearful that the two men were going to do something to me but what could they possibly do and get away with? There must be cameras, and whatever they were planning to do, it must be fine if it was authorized by the front desk. I glanced at them once more, and then prodded open my car door and stepped out onto the slick concrete lot.
I then noticed that one of the men had a long, black metal-detecting wand with which he was approaching me.
“Arms out, legs spread,” he commanded me.
I suddenly felt a bit relieved that it was all just precautionary security and that it was their job to be fairly strict with any visitors. I did as I was told, spreading my high-heeled feet wide apart and extending my arms straight-out. The security officer did not stop staring at me the whole time as he ran the length of the wand from the tip of my fingers toward my chest, down the length of my body to my toes and back up my inner thigh. He moved the device in a gliding motion so it was so close to my body that I could feel its exact position at every moment.
“Turn around,” he commanded dryly. I quickly complied. “Legs spread. Arms out. We need to pat you down.”
I turned my head back toward them indignantly.
“Excuse me?”
“Head forward, legs spread, arms out,” he barked back sternly. “Do what you are told young lady. We don’t have time for your snotty refusal and we could care less if you make this audition,” he added. 
My heart jumped again, more in fear at his lack of normal social etiquette with a stranger than the thought of not making it to the audition. Yet, I barely had time to consider what I could do to get out of the situation when he grabbed me forcefully by the waist with his bare hands and started patting me down like a criminal. He first moved his palms along the sides and front of my dress and then ran his hands up and down my bare legs, practically going up my dress to the edge of my panties. It all happened so quickly and the situation was so unexpected that it was all over before I could even think to react.
“You’re all clear to go. Park in space S104 and take the elevator to the second floor. I’ll let the front desk know.” The men were walking away before I had even brought my legs together and turned around.
It was five minutes until my scheduled audition time and I raced to the parking place where I was told to go. I quickly found the elevator while I was collecting my thoughts, trying to figure out if I should say something to someone about what just happened and who I would say what to if I did.
The elevator doors opened at the second floor to an empty foyer with a small sign posted with a black arrow pointing toward the long hallway to the left. Halfway down the hall was the ladies restroom where I stopped to collect myself. The bathroom was bright and immaculate with an enormous dancer’s mirror set on the ground against the wall, slanted slightly upward, like someone had just left it there without hanging it.
I am always a bit fearful of looking in the mirror at myself, and after being manhandled by the security guards, I was scared of what might have become disheveled from the hours of preparation I had done in the morning.
I hate to admit it but despite all the confidence I have developed as an actress, despite all the years of education in the best prep schools, despite my deep convictions that I can do anything, despite the fact that I know I can get what I want when I want it, despite the fact that in my mind I am the freest young woman on earth, I am a prisoner to my body. In fact, I am not only a prisoner to my body, but also to people’s judgment of it.
Standing there alone in the women’s bathroom before an enormous mirror, moments before the most important audition of my life, the sight of my body was explicit and undeniable – my blond hair curled in imperfect little waves, my shy brown eyes, my intentionally pouty pink lips, my snow white smile just so slightly askew, my breasts not quite as perky and large as I’d like them to be and my arms and legs always seeming just to hold on to just enough fat to keep me from being the skinny bitch I wanted to be. All of the flaws that I have lived with since adolescence were now staring me down with the only meaning that mattered.
I pulled the top of my dress down and beneath my black bra you could see the red marks on my body where the security guard had grabbed me and fondled me. At least it was only beneath my clothes where no one could see, I told myself.
I straightened my dress back onto my shoulders, refreshed my lips with a slick layer of dark red lipstick and I headed out. At the end of the hallway was a single unmarked door that I opened to find an empty waiting room. There was a secretary in the corner typing away on a computer that rested on a large desk made of brushed steel. She stood immediately when I entered and I closed the door behind me.
“Madison Ava Jones?”
“Yes.”
“I understand there was a problem with parking security. Do you have any issues following directions that you’d like to tell me about now?”
“Issues? Well, I guess I was just a bit surprised by their attitude toward me.”
“Their attitude?” she sternly replied. She came forward from behind the desk and walked up to where I was standing. She was in her early thirties and unusually attractive for a secretary. She had crisp black hair and a perfectly toned, olive-skinned figure. She was wearing a gray pencil skirt, nude-colored stockings, a tight white blouse and black heels that made her tower a few inches above me.
“Do you know where you are, Miss Jones?”
“Yes, I do. I just thought the men were inappropriate,” I told her.
The secretary looked at me up and down with an air of seething annoyance. She then walked past me and opened the door. “Have a good day, Miss Jones.”
Oh my God, I said to myself. What is happening? Were these people that crazy, or was I just overreacting? I was not simply speechless. I was afraid of saying what I really felt at the moment. I was suddenly terrified of speaking my mind and ruining my chance at even making it to the audition. I quickly realized that I just needed to suck it up and not protest against anything else.
“No, please, I think you misunderstood me,” I told her. “I think I’m just a bit nervous and not used to how things work here.”
She held the door open and glared back at me. The woman stared at my expression, trying to ascertain what I was feeling and how sincere I really was. She calmly shut the door and walked back to where she had previously stood. She held a distinct posture in front of me with her arms crossed and a stern glare on her face.
“Now I’m going to ask you once more. Do you have any issues with being inspected by security now, or ever?”
I nervously looked down, away from her firm stare.
“No,” I said.
She reached her hand to my chin and lifted up my face. “Look at me when you speak,” she said sternly.
She must have watched my eyes quickly widen.
“No,” I repeated.
“You need to understand and you need to understand right now. The Agency will not put itself at legal risk for a loud mouth little brat. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“The Agency gives you one chance for an audition and you need to understand that from the moment you arrive, you are on trial to determine if you are worth our time, if you are capable of following orders and if you know when to keep your mouth shut and when to open it. Do you understand?”
I tried to look away again to ingest the audacity of what she was telling me but she immediately grabbed my chin, and then quickly slapped my face. I gasped and looked up at her in disbelief. All I wanted to do at that moment was run away. I was sure she could see the total embarrassment and humiliation on my red face. When I hesitated to answer, she slapped it again. I was in a state of shock. Here I was at the biggest audition of my burgeoning career and I was getting slapped across the face by a secretary.
“Don’t think for a second I don’t know what you are thinking. If you have any issues with our protocol, you will not make it past this office. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I said out of instinctual fear and confusion.
She stared at me, making it obvious that she did not believe my response was genuine. She turned and walked back behind her desk and sat down. I stood there horrified at what had just happened and wanting nothing more but to just turn and leave, yet understanding at the same time the she knew that I could not. I felt like I was dreaming, or that this was some kind of weird test. More than anything, though, I was just so shocked I really didn’t know what to think.
“If you leave, it will be noted on your file and you will not get another audition with The Agency. You have no right to be here. This audition is a privilege. You are lucky to have even been invited and until you convince me you understand this, you will not be permitted to proceed past this office. Understand?”
To say I wasn’t prepared for all this would not be close to describing how I felt at this moment. I replied yes immediately because I knew that to do otherwise would not be tolerated by this woman.
She sat down gracefully in her chair, her body arched in a perfect and relaxed posture, as if this was a daily routine for her.
“Do you see that clock up there?” she asked, pointing to a large old-fashioned school clock on the wall with a long black arm mechanically circling around its circumference. “You have five minutes to think what you really want as an actress and to decide how you are going to sincerely convince me that the attitude of yours will never be an issue again. Understand?”
At that point, I almost welcomed the humiliation of standing there completely vulnerable to her strict stare as I needed a moment to collect my thoughts. I wanted to just leave and go home and cry but I knew what I would be throwing away. I knew I could never live with myself if she could seriously blacklist me from every getting another audition with The Agency. Was this really how things worked and I was simply unprepared for how insane these people were?
There must have been some mistake. I could understand if I was just any girl off the streets with no credentials and no talent, but that was obviously not the case. I was very grateful for the audition but this secretary must have been absolutely psychotic if she didn’t understand that it was my skills and hard work that got me here. Who was this woman anyway? Just some frustrated secretary taking out her anger on women younger and more capable than she was because she ended up being a stupid secretary and not the famous actress she wanted to be? It was obvious that she was on some power trip because she had no real clout in the entertainment industry. It was also obvious that she got off on abusing her low-level authority by debasing someone who was a threat to who she thought she was.
But all the rationalizing of the situation in my head was useless. The fact was that she did have power over me, and if I did not succumb to her demands, I would not get the audition I knew I truly deserved. Convincing her, though, that I was sincere was another thing. She seemed to have already made up her mind about my attitude.
Yet, I was sincere. Getting the audition and getting the part was everything to me. And, deep down, I really would do anything I had to do to make it.
Then it started to click. She understood those facts.
“So?” she asked calmly, standing up and walking to the front of her desk. She crossed her arms as she rested her body against the edge of the large metal desk. “Convince me of your desire and comprehension of proper behavior.”
I made sure to lock my eyes with hers before I took a deep breath, and then I began to speak.
“I apologize for my behavior in the parking lot. I have no issues with any necessary requests made by The Agency. I understand it is completely a privilege to be here and I would beg you to believe my sincerity in trusting me to know when to open my mouth and when to keep it shut.”
While I was practically beaming with pride over my eloquent delivery, she was still suspicious. She didn’t take her eyes off me as she approached me once again, bringing her body to within inches of mine and staring me up and down as she had before.
“So, Miss Jones has no issues with being told what to do and not protesting any demands now, or at a later date?”
“No, I do not,” I replied promptly without turning my eyes from hers. I was determined to maintain my composure, no matter what. 
A few seconds passed before she spoke again.
“The Agency,” she began sternly, “has a strict policy forbidding the wearing of any underwear at its auditions. Kindly remove your panties and hand them to me.”
“What?” I replied totally shocked, not sure if I had heard her correctly. She just glared at me and raised her eyebrows to make clear that she had said what I thought she had said. My heart jumped. This bitch is crazy, I thought. My mind reeled in outrage at what she had just said to me. She knew it, too, but I didn’t let my eyes drift away from her cold stare nor would I let her think that any hesitation on my part meant I was not for real. I knew she was power-tripping on me, but I still can’t believe I let myself get caught up in the moment and did what I did.
I proceeded to slide my hands under my dress and pull my underwear down the length of my legs, slipping them off each foot and handing them to her. She took them in her hand and went back to her desk. She laid them on the top of my headshot, and then sat down to write something on my file. She picked up the phone while I waited nervously.
“Yes, this is the front desk. I have a Madison Ava Jones here who I am sending up.” There were a series of pauses while she spoke. “Yes, she has been prepped. I noted some things on her file. Yes, she has.”
She hung up the phone, finished scribbling more notes, and then looked up. “There are three rules for the audition. Failure to follow all of them at any time will result in your dismissal. Rule one. No talking to any other actresses. Rule two. You will stand and wait until you are called. Rule three. You look down when speaking with anyone from The Agency. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Repeat back to me.”
I repeated back the rules to her verbatim, wanting more than anything to just escape from her office. She sat back down and took my panties from on top of her desk. I suddenly heard a harsh mechanical noise and saw that she had dropped them in the paper shredder. I couldn’t believe it. Her cruelty seemed to come completely natural to her.
“Take your headshot and proceed to the third floor,” she said without looking up. “They will give you further instructions there.” I hesitated for a second. She looked up and then motioned with her eyes at my headshot. “Goodbye.”
I cautiously reached over and slipped my headshot from her desk before I scurried out the door.
“Good luck,” she called to me warmly.
“Thank you.”
A wave of relief radiated through my body as I left her office and headed to the elevator. Never in my wildest imagination would I have ever thought I would have to be subjected to such bureaucratic humiliation simply to attend an audition. I just hoped that I would never have to see that woman again and that I could now focus my mind on my dramatic performance. I took several deep breaths. I reminded myself that I belonged here and wasn’t going to let anyone stand in my way, especially some unhappy slut of a secretary who was too stupid to understand the difference between an ordinary girl off the streets and a properly trained actress.
The elevator doors opened to the third floor and I exited to an eerie silence. Yet, as soon as I turned the corner, I was astonished to find the hallway absolutely jammed with bodies as far down the corridor as I could see. It was so deeply filled with other actresses that it would have been impossible simply to walk through to the other side without forcing bodies apart.
“Madison Ava Jones?” asked a man at the front of the mass of people. He was dressed impeccably in black dress pants and a white Oxford shirt.
“Yes.”
“Take a number and wait to be called,” he instructed me, pointing to a red ticket dispenser against the wall that looked like it had been taken from an old butcher’s shop. I looked back at him to show that I understood and an expression of fury spread across his face.
He spoke to me in a slow, scolding tone. “Do. Not. Look. At. Me. Again.”
I immediately looked down and heard the sound of snickering laughter in the hallway. I could feel the wall of stares from the other girls. I pulled a white-colored paper number from the dispenser. Number 269. I looked up at the electronic display on the wall to see that it showed number 12. I took a place against the wall and prepared for the long wait.
The other young women who were there were of every type imaginable, or at least every type imaginable for a casting call. Blond, brown and red-haired. Innocent blue-eyed white girls. Dark-skinned exotic and ethnic women. Sweet Midwestern girls. Primped home-grown California girls. East Coast-bred types. Southern debutantes. Girls dressed like trailer trash. Girls in perfect Vogue attire. Skinny anorexic bodies. Round buxom bodies. White girls, black girls, Asian girls, Latinas and ethnic mutts. They were all clamoring to stand upright and proper, and to look the part of the girl who has already gotten the part.
Despite the fact that there must have been a much larger room in the building to hold an audition, all the waiting actresses were packed into this slim hallway, body upon body, as if they were at a concert and each one was ready to fill the least bit of empty space that might open closer to the stage.
There was an air of anxiety and fear and expectation, not only for the audition, but because of the atmosphere that seemed to be intentionally created. Each girl appeared to be slightly fearful of looking at anyone else for too long, and each one seemed to see herself as set apart from the rest.
The thought that suddenly occurred to me was this. Was I the only one that just went through the strange screening process? Was every girl here sent to a secretary, chastised, had her panties removed and was now standing here in the same confused, bare-assed state which I was in? The rules I was given now made sense in some perverse way. But why the humiliating preparation? I looked around and every single female there seemed to have that look of being debased. It was like there was a collective understanding that every person there knew she had been stripped of her underwear and told not to talk, but still proceeded to wait for the chance to audition. At the same time, though, they seemed to be fine with it or even understood that this was what was necessary to make it. They might even have believed that they deserved to be treated like this in some way. I told myself I must just be imagining all this and I was letting the fears get the best of me.
I don’t think a single female there was as conflicted as I was. I knew that other girls were dumb enough to be harassed or exploited because they were afraid to say something or just didn’t want not to be liked. But I was not one of them. I spoke my mind and did what I wanted to do. I was raised to be purely independent. I was sent to the best schools and singled out as someone special that everyone just knew would grow up to be someone. I grew up watching TV every day with my friends and we all understood that what mattered in life, what every girl wants to be when they grew up, was someone everyone recognized on television and in movies. Every other job felt only half-real compared to being famous.
It was still early in the day but I didn’t know what I was going to do if I didn’t get out of there on time to get to my job waiting tables. My bank account was below zero and I was depending on my tips to make it through the week. Yet, as the morning passed and the other actresses slowly trickled into the next room, it seemed like there was very little possibility of going anywhere. At least a dozen of the other actresses had been removed for talking to each other already, or for trying to ask a question to one of the several men working for The Agency. At first, the whole thing seemed absolutely ridiculous but I started to notice that most of the girls being removed not only broke the rules, they didn’t really belong there at all. They were either not attractive enough, or you could tell they had only mediocre talent, or they simply were not willing to make the sacrifices you had to make.
It was 2:45 when my name was called out. I hadn’t eaten a thing since eight in the morning and had been standing there waiting for nearly five hours.
“Madison Ava Jones!”
“Yes,” I said, as I plied my way through the dense crowd of waiting actresses toward the man who had called my name at the end of the hallway. Several women had been dismissed for failing to look down when they stood in front of the man. Despite the fact that I was severely fatigued and hungry, I remembered to approach him with eyes cast downward, as insanely as it seemed to do, and take the script from which I was to read. I was ushered through a door into a waiting area cordoned on all sides by black curtains, with a chair and a single light in the center. There was another man there.
“You have three minutes to learn your lines and then the audition will begin.”
“Okay,” I said sitting down to study the lines. There were nearly two full pages of lines and I had no idea how I would remember anything at this point. I tried to memorize the first few lines but by the time I got to the fourth line, I hadn’t the slightest idea what I had just read. I made another attempt to get through the whole thing just so I could determine the context of the dialogue, but my head was a jumbled mess and my stomach was grinding in hunger.
“Madison Ava Jones!” a man bellowed on the other side of the black curtain.
I hurried through the slit in the curtain, which opened up to reveal an enormous high-ceilinged room with a large, flat wooden stage on one end and a long, rectangular metal table on the far end with a group of five people sitting there waiting. The table was so far away from the stage that I could barely tell what anyone sitting there looked like. Midway between the table and performance area of the stage were bright film lights set high on the top of metal tripods, pointed unanimously at the center of the stage. There was a camera positioned at the edge of the stage and behind the stage, a massive movie screen on which the image from the camera was projected.
I tried to shield the bright glare of the lights with my hand so I could get a better view of the individuals at the table, but I was only able to catch glimpses of their faces and bodies. I could see that there were four men and one woman and that they were all dressed in blue and black suits. I paced over to the center of the stage and watched the image of myself come into view twenty feet wide on the screen.
“Hello, Miss Jones.”
“Hello.”
“We understand you had some problems arriving here.”
“No, no problems,” I said confidently.
“Very well then. State your full name for the camera.”
“Madison Ava Jones.”
“Age, height and weight.”
“22, five foot six, 128 pounds.”
“Schooling and training?”
“Wellington Day Prep, Yale Drama, 6 years at Nina Karlvoksky’s acting school.”
“Very well, then. Begin.”
I looked down at the script to read the first line as I had already forgotten it. I looked back up and tried to deliver the line that was typed on the page.
“The dream … the dream is always the same,” I stuttered. It came out flat and there seemed to be not a single sound in the room except for the muttering of the line and my heavy, nervous breathing after I spoke. I turned to see myself shifting nervously on the giant screen. I could see that I looked as vulnerable and half-naked as I felt. 
“Again, Madison.”
I took a deep breath and repeated the line with more energy. “The dream is always the same.”
“Again, Madison.”
I repeated the line again.
“Again.”
I repeated the line as asked and then was just as quickly asked to repeat it over and over and over. Each time that I was about to proceed to the next line, I was immediately cut off and commanded to repeat the first line. I lost count of how many times I was asked to repeat it and was afraid to protest or inquire if they wanted me to say anything else. I tried once to say the line in a different way but was instantly scolded.
“If we wanted you to do it differently, we’d say so,” the woman said.
“Okay, I’m sorry.”
“Again.”
I continued to repeat the line each time they asked until they finally stopped.
“Thank you. We’ll be in touch if we’re interested. Please exit to your left. Have a good day.”
I stood there for a moment, not having any idea what that meant. I hesitated while I thought of something to say and then cautiously exited as I was told to do.
It was only when I was back in my car that I was able to go through what had just happened in my head and try to figure out if the audition had gone well. I was already late for work, though, and the whole morning seemed to be a blur anyway.
My boss simply rolled his eyes when I walked in an hour late. I went to the back to change clothes and suddenly remembered I had been stripped of my underwear. I didn’t have another pair to put on. I changed into the short skirt and black top I had in my car and eased myself back into the grind of waiting tables, grabbing bits of food from the kitchen when I could in order to feed my hunger.
Even after all the waiting and humiliation I had gone through, compared to the monotony of serving food to strangers, I was already missing being part of the world from which I had just come. I knew that people in the business could be demanding and extreme in their personalities, but it was something with which I had been prepared to deal. And after all the months and months of working as a grunt in the business, spending all my time serving hamburgers and fries to obnoxious tourists at the diner where I worked, I was really ready to do anything to make it.
I’m not sure exactly when the text came into my phone but I only noticed it just as I was leaving work.
“Call back for today’s audition. 10pm tonight. The Agency Building. Room 503.”
I couldn’t believe it. It was already nine o’clock and I went home immediately to change. After all the anxiety of thinking that I had failed in my one and only chance to be noticed by The Agency, I realized that it was all just catastrophic thinking. I’m not sure why I even doubted myself. Of course I was going to get a call back.
I went home and changed into a light blue summer dress with a matching ribbon that tied just below my breasts. I quickly slipped on a white g-string underneath the dress as I suddenly recalled the vivid sound of the secretary sending the panties I had been wearing through the shredder. I refreshed my makeup, added a touch of pink lipstick and straightened my hair as much as I could.
The Agency Building was in the center of Culver City, but at this time in the evening, only a handful of commuters were on the roads going in that direction. It never really occurred to me why the call back was in the evening, and why it was so immediate, but I really wasn’t in any position to question it. I parked in the underground lot and hurried to the fifth floor. The secretary had already left for the day and there didn’t seem to be anyone else working in the rows and rows of gray cubicles nor in the executive offices bordering the edge of the floor. 
I found room 503. The door was closed and there didn’t seem to be anyone else around. I knocked and a voice immediately told me to come in.
A man was sitting at his desk and talking on the phone. He motioned for me to take a seat in the Eames-style leather office chair opposite his desk. He continued to talk on the phone for a few minutes. He leaned back in his seat as he spoke and the light from the lone lamp beside his desk illuminated his figure. It occurred to me that he was one of the men at the long table at the audition. He was in his early thirties, with perfectly combed brown hair and brown eyes. He was dressed in a very sleek white dress shirt with a solid navy blue tie. I was examining the elegantly smooth skin of his face when I noticed he had a small thin scar on the edge of his cheek. It seemed to accentuate his otherwise dapper appearance with a kind of mysterious ruggedness.
He eventually finished the call and looked up at me. He stared straight at me with hardly a blink. His eyes were so intense that they seemed to disengage me from my own thoughts.
“Wyatt Fullman,” he said curtly, reaching over to shake my hand.
 “Pleased to meet you,” I said.
He simply nodded back coldly. “So Madison, how do you think the audition went today?”
“I think it went well.”
“Do you?” he responded guardedly. “Madison, tell me what you think makes a great actress,” he bluntly demanded.
“Well,” I said as I tried to clear my thoughts and to sound succinct, “I believe a great actress is many things. What I think is most important is that she inhabits the role she is playing, that she does the research and preparation to be ready for her role, that … well I was taught over many years all the nuances of performance and how to act for the camera and how in all great movies the viewer forgets he is watching an actress and ….”
“Madison,” he suddenly said, cutting me off in the middle of my speech.
“Yes?”
He stood up and walked around to the edge of his desk, resting himself against it so there were only a couple feet between the two of us. He never stopped with his intense stare with which he had locked onto me. Looking up at him now made me a little fearful, but at the same time gave me a strange sense of protection due to his absolute calm demeanor.
“The only thing that matters in this business is obedience. Obedience. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand. It’s important to follow the needs of the film and I think I’ve been trained over many years in school…”
“Madison,” he cut me off again. “You are not listening. I don’t care about your training or beliefs. I don’t care about your opinions. The only thing that matters is that you do as you are told and that you are obedient. Do you understand?” 
“Yes, I think.”
“First of all, you did not get the part today.”
I sank back in my chair upon hearing his blunt notice of my failure.
“You are nowhere close to the level of obedience and training The Agency demands,” he went on. “Most everything you have learned about movies in school and up to this point is fiction. The only thing that matters is that you know your lines, you speak when and how you are told, and that you move when and how you are told. Your creative performance,” he went on while motioning with his hand in the air, “is only one percent of what matters.”
“This is a business. It is about good looking bodies, special effects and telling people what they already believe is right. Acting is simply being obedient to the company that owns your image. Do you understand that?”
I was trying to ingest everything he was telling me and the truth was that it only partially made sense to me. At a gut level, I didn’t really believe in what he was saying. At that point in my life, I considered an actor’s performance as everything. I didn’t know what to say.
“Stand up,” he commanded.
I stood up and straightened my dress.
“How badly do you want to be a famous actress, Madison?”
“Very badly,” I said without the slightest hesitation.
He pushed himself off his desk and came near to me. He started looking at me from head to toe. He took his hand and ran it across my check then through my hair. A shiver went through my body as I began to understand what was happening here. I was not in disbelief at the fact that he was touching me, but that I was allowing myself to be touched. I was in disbelief that I was suddenly that girl, in a situation that she is made to understand she will be made to submit to a man if she wants to get ahead. That was never the girl I would ever be. That was always the other girl.
At that moment, though, it was not that simple. This man’s presence was incredibly arresting to my natural resistance. The absolute calmness and confidence he maintained as he went about talking and touching me was infectious. His thick auburn hair gave him an almost aristocratic look and his deep brown eyes seemed absolutely serene. I could not deny that I was attracted to him on a very basic physical level. He acted like he was empowered to do anything and there was nothing about it that I should question. He didn’t act the least bit hesitant when he got up and started touching me. He just did it and he didn’t seem to care at all what the consequences might be. I had walked into the room thinking of nothing but making a good impression and of making up for the bad audition, but he had completely disarmed me with his actions.
I didn’t know what was going to happen next but I was asking myself what I was going to do and if I would have the will to tell him “no” should it come to that point. Yet, it was obvious that I was breathing heavily and I could not hide the fact that I liked the immediate attention he was giving me. There was definitely a powerful intensity of suddenly being thrust into this situation. I was at a private meeting at The Agency. Whatever was going to happen, I needed to make it happen. I couldn’t possibly leave here with nothing to show for it.
He suddenly ran his hand down the length of my back and onto the line of my underwear that could be felt through the fabric of my dress.
“That was my personal secretary who you saw this morning. She screens actresses for me.”
“Screens them?” I asked in confusion.
“Yes, I don’t have time to speak with every hungry actress in this town to figure out who is ready.”
“What do you mean by ready?” I asked nervously.
He calmly ran his hand along the edge of my panties. It was the very first moment when something happened inside me that I had never let anyone see before. I’m not sure if it was simply the moment in my life, or that we were alone there with no one to judge me, or that I was just really attracted to him and wanted him to want me despite the insinuation that I was to let myself be exploited if I wanted to make it. Yet, whatever it was, the control that I normally had taken with every guy before was nowhere to be found.
“I thought The Agency made it clear that you were not to wear underwear at any audition.”
I looked up at him in shock. I couldn’t believe he had said that. I suddenly felt like I was being made to be some servile slut. Was he seriously telling me that it was the official protocol of this elite company to not let any potential actresses wear underwear? There was a rush of thoughts that went through my mind in a split second, but the thrilling tension of the moment seemed to be the only thing that was making me talk. It was like I was some nervous, insecure girl talking to this man and I was suddenly not myself anymore. The spontaneity of the moment seemed to have ripped away every ounce of my normal moral fortitude. I had walked into his office with the attitude that I was going to do whatever it took, but I had never expected that I would be made to physically succumb to a total stranger’s advances so quickly. I still cannot believe what I said next.
“Would you like me to remove them?” I asked him in a tone of subtle flirtation.
He casually nodded. I glanced around the room and then wondered if there was anyone else still working outside his office. I began to hesitate and the memory of the experience with his secretary came back to me. I told myself that I just needed to stop thinking and go with it. What was the worst that could happen? I was here. I needed to do what I had to do. The fact that I was being told what to do by this attractive man in some position of power only compounded the confusion. I felt a bead of sweat trickle down the curve of my back.
I looked up at him again as I reached underneath my dress. I took a hold of the thin strings of my underwear and pulled them down to my ankles. I slipped them through my shoes and placed them on the chair. My heart was beating so hard with the intensity of the moment. There was something so exhilarating about asking him permission to do something so sexual and feeling absolutely vulnerable to his power.
“You need to understand that you are here because I asked you to come here. The other agents assigned to this film thought you were not ready to be trained and I have gone against their opinion and asked to have you signed to The Agency.”
“Signed?” I responded in surprise.
“Signed. At least if after this meeting, I am confident you are willing to do anything, and I mean anything, to prepare yourself to be star quality.”
I tried to hide my absolute astonishment that he had just offered a contract with me to be represented by The Agency. “Of course, I would do anything,” I said affirmatively.
“You have to understand,” he went on while he moved his hand from my back down the side of my leg onto my bare skin. “Once you sign, that is it. It is a 10-year exclusive contract with us and forbids you from joining with any other agency if you choose to break the contract. Is that clear?”
His hand went underneath the hem of my dress and up onto the bare curve of my ass. A torrent of butterflies rushed through my belly. The touch of his palm on my flesh made me feel so vulnerable and I tried to push it out of my mind. I couldn’t believe how quickly he had offered me a contract and was in disbelief that he had really offered me one. There was hardly any discussion about my acting ability and he made it clear almost the moment I walked in that he wasn’t interested in wasting any time if I didn’t play by the rules.
“And if I say no?”
“It will go on your record and you will not get another invitation,” he replied.
“And what would be involved in fulfilling the contract?” I asked while he shifted behind me and continued to fondle my bare cheeks. His hands beneath my dress made me feel like I was being forced to expose myself to him.
“You would be completely trained and guided from day one, inside and out. You would essentially be owned by The Agency and you would fully trust us to properly guide you from where you are at today to a place of public celebrity down the road. You will never refuse any requests we make and you will never disclose to anyone what goes on here.”
“What goes on here?” I courageously asked.
“Madison, we are the best at what we do. You know our reputation. We control the majority of films in Hollywood and the ones we don’t control usually come across our desks at some point with requests for one of our actors. If we want to make a star, we make one.”
His hand had glided around the front of my body and he had slipped it underneath my dress. He inched it down the curve of my waist and onto my bare cunt. I couldn’t believe it. He was fondling me like I was his to exploit. I felt violated in some sense, but there was a strange exhilaration at being touched like that. I had a feeling like this was how power worked and that the exchange was also wrapped up in his own personal craving to take my body at will. There would be no going back now, I thought.
“An actress is simply an image we create on screen. The stories are minor details. Most come from bestselling books. What is most important is that we make an actress into a sex symbol. It is what sells.”
He had slid his finger through the folds of my cunt. There was no way I could hide the fact that it was absolutely wet and that he could easily run his fingers up and down my moist curves. He made sure that I knew he was turning me on and it seemed there was nothing I could do about it.
“And if we are going to invest an enormous amount of money in selling a product, we don’t want to take any risk that that product is not what we want it to be.”
His body was pressed against my back and his other hand wrapped tightly around my body so I couldn’t really move. He suddenly slid his middle finger into me and pushed it deep inside of me until he heard me breathe out in pleasure. I couldn’t believe I was being such a slut. I promised myself that no one would ever find out about this. No one would know that I instantly offered my body to this man in hopes of some entry into the prestigious world of The Agency. This was certainly not what anyone I knew would expect sweet little Madison from Biloxi to do in order to make it. There was a burgeoning awareness in my mind that this was going to become my dirty little secret. No one could ever find out about this.
“You will go through an intense regimen of training to prepare both your mind and your body while we figure out how to build you as an actress. Your personal life and your professional life will no longer be separate things. Understand?”
“Yes,” I muttered as best as I could. His middle finger was slowly moving in and out of me. His other finger was fondling my clit and sending shivers of pleasure through my body.
“You will be taught to obey and to serve in all senses of the words and any refusal to do so will result in immediate and permanent expulsion from The Agency.”
I could hardly comprehend his instructions at this point. He had slipped another finger inside me and had pulled me back toward him so he could fondle me at the angle that he desired. He started to push his fingers deeper, alternating between a slow, delicate motion and a sudden thrusting of his fingers forcefully into me without any delicacy at all.
“Have you ever been manhandled like this by a stranger?”
His blunt choice of words made me feel so dirty. I shook my head as he intensified the motion and engorged me with three of his thick fingers. My breath started heaving in and out, and my body contorted to the pleasure of being opened up like that. I was so wet that it was moistening the part of my dress that haphazardly fell between my legs. He noticed that as well and reached up to the light blue ribbon that was tied around me, just underneath my breasts. He untied it and pulled it out of the loops of my dress. He took each of my wrists and put them behind my back. I could feel him take the ribbon and wrap it around both of my wrists. It was all happening so quickly that the feeling of being completely out of control took over me.
He grabbed me by the hair and pulled it back in a pony tail and took the other end of the ribbon and wrapped it tightly around the cord of hair. When he pulled the ribbon taut and tied it, my head was pulled back slightly in an angled position.
“Get on your knees. I need to test your obedience.”
I couldn't believe where this was leading. I was being told to get on my knees. I was not the girl who got on her knees upon command for some man. I felt like my personality was being split in two. The sweet smiley Madison was being overpowered by this dark and deviant woman who was deeply aroused by exposing her desire to please in the most debased ways. I was still not even sure what he meant by his constant mention of obedience but I was completely turned on by him at this point. I knelt down, knee by knee, so my head was naturally pointed upward by the pull of the ribbon. He turned to stand in front of me when the phone suddenly rang. He smiled and looked at me.
“Open your mouth wide and wait for me.”
I did as was told and opened it up.
“Wide,” he said sternly and I opened it wider. “Keep it open until I’m ready.”
He picked up the phone and started talking to someone on the other end who sounded like his boss.
“Yes, I think she’ll work out well,” he told the person on the phone. “Yes, she will have some resistance but I don’t think it will be a problem.”
While he was talking, the reality of what I was doing had a moment to sink in. I could picture myself in his office kneeling in front of his desk with my hands tied behind my back and my mouth wide open. I wish I could say that I was totally ashamed to be doing what I was doing, but it was not that simple. I was thoroughly turned on by him making me do whatever he wanted me to do. I was intoxicated by the calm power he maintained in getting what he wanted and in telling me how things were, and how they were going to be.
He finished his phone conversation and without saying another word, causally walked back around the desk with a confident smile on his face. He stood in front of me and unzipped his black dress pants. He reached into his boxers and pulled out his bare cock. The sight seemed so vivid and raw. It was intimate but in a very cold way, like we were about to make some private pornographic video. It was like the normal course of business for him as he put his hands on his hips and slowly inserted the head of it into my mouth, pushing it deep into me until it touched the back of my throat.
“I can always tell how good an actress is going to be by the way she sucks.”
His words sounded so demeaning, but I had little time to react as he had already put his hand on the back of my head and motioned for me to start sucking. I was now completely self-conscious that my oral performance was on audition and I needed to show him what I could do. It was like my most insecure female thoughts took over me.
I tightened my lips firmly over my teeth and wrapped my mouth around the head of his cock, sucking the head of it up and down, over and over, and then licking my tongue around the circumference of his shaft. I bobbed my head up and down as well as I could considering the fact that my hair was tied to my hands. I had to push my hands further up my back when I needed to suck down.
“Show me how deep you can take it,” he ordered.
I took a breath, tightened my lips and slowly took his cock deeper into my mouth until it touched the back of my throat. I wasn’t able to take it all the way in, though, and I looked up at him to express that that was the deepest I could take it in. He proceeded to grab my head from behind, pull it out a bit and then push it in even deeper, making me gag. He watched me gag and smiled. Then, he pulled it out a bit and pushed it deep into my throat once again to make me gag once more. He pulled it all the way out and a string of saliva clung from my mouth to his cock then fell onto my dress.
“Again.”
He pushed his cock deep into my mouth once again, this time holding my head firmer and making me hold it deeply, even while I was gagging. It was all so raw and real. He pulled out again and more saliva fell from my mouth onto my dress. There was nothing I could do with my hands tied behind me. The next time he pushed his cock into my mouth, he took my head with both of his hands and began to repeatedly thrust into my mouth, jamming his prick so deep and so hard into my mouth that I gagged over and over. I was just trying to bear it, even though there was something obscenely arousing about how roughly he was thrusting himself into me. Tears began to well up from my eyes and slide down my cheeks, but he kept forcefully thrusting his cock deeply into my mouth. He took it out again to let me rest.
“I can tell you have a lot of desire and willingness to make it and to please. You simply require real training so your body can do what your mind wants it to.”
He made me suck him more as he seemed to be testing me to see how my ability to give him head mirrored my nature as an actress. It was as if he just took me straight to this dirty level of my sexuality that went right past any conscious level of what was acceptable. It all happened so fast that I didn’t even have time to interpret what was happening. I knew in the back of my mind that he was just making some crude use of my mouth that was completely demeaning to me on a rational level, but at the same time his total disregard for proper discourse with me made me intoxicated with how raw he was treating me. He wasn’t seducing me at all the way every man had tried to seduce me. He was simply using his power to use me and to use my body in the most explicit and nasty way imaginable. It was like he had suddenly opened a door to what a man really wanted and to a forbidden world of myself that my mind had never even let me imagine.
Yes, I was sucking his cock to get ahead but it was more than that. It was something personal. I was attracted to his power and the feeling that he acted like he could just take what he wanted.  I mean he didn’t even try and kiss me first. I was ordered to get on my knees and perform. And I did.
He suddenly took his cock, put it back into his pants and zipped them up. He reached around and untied the ribbon from my wrists and hair.
“You can sit back down now.”
As quickly as he had taken control of me sexually, he stopped and moved the control back to the discussion of the contract. I sat back down in the chair and he returned to the seat behind his desk.
“So have I made it clear that I am in charge here?”
I was still wiping the saliva from my face and trying to put myself together.
“I think so,” I said, smiling at how I had been taken in by the moment.
He took the contract that he had in front of him and turned it toward me, setting his fountain pen on top of it.
“Madison, you need to understand something right now. I have a very particular way of doing things. Yes, it is often the same way as The Agency does things but your contract is with me and what I want. Is that clear?”
I looked down at the contract and told myself I should probably wait to have a lawyer read through it. There was something so absolute about what he was saying, though, that it was like getting a taste of a new kind of power I never knew was possible and just wanting to throw myself into it.
“Yes, it is clear,” I responded, picking up the pen and smiling as I signed. The whole moment was so freshly intoxicating I was ready for whatever was to happen next.
He reached over and extended his hand.
“Welcome to The Agency.”


_______________


Other Titles from American Taboo Press:

American Taboo - Madison Ava Jones
Actress: Unauthorized Memoirs of a Hollywood Slave - Madison Ava Jones
Force Me - Madison Ava Jones