Sasha and the Director

Adjusting her vest as she fled down the hallway, Sasha prayed she wasn't as late as she thought she was. Damn Howie and his new cashout plan... Howie's stickler's antics had cost her a precious half-hour of audition time. She had never worked with this director (John Hardman) before, but she had heard he was big on punctuality—among other rumors.

She burst through the double doors at the back of the theatre, breathing heavily as she attempted to compose herself. The group of one hundred or so turned toward her, though the two auditioning onstage—to their credit—continued the scene unphased.

She hustled toward the director's table to hand in her audition sheet and apologize. She approached the dark table where only the director's hands and a pile of papers sat visible under the bright light of a clip-on lamp.

She whispered urgently, "I'm so very sorry to be late, Mr. Hardman, I've just—"

Sasha broke off as his hand gestured for silence. She bowed her head, holding back her words, and silently slid her audition sheet across the desk toward him. He rotated it toward himself momentarily. Sasha's heart pounded as she waited for him to speak. He slid the sheet to one side of the desk.

"Sit in the back."

"I-I'm sorry?"

"Sit in the back. I deal with latecomers last, if at all."

Sasha bit her lip nervously, if at all? She hoped he wouldn't turn her away. She needed a part in this production. She couldn't go on waitressing forever, and she had always been in love with the production, Is it Home?

She dragged her feet as she headed back toward the last row of the auditorium. She watched as pairs and trios performed scenes, single actors and actresses performed their prepared monologues, and the director called names and faces to the stage—any name, of course, but hers.

As the hours passed, Sasha became more uncomfortable and disheartened. She eyed the silhouette of the director's head, hoping he would at least look back at her. He never did, though she began to adjust to the lighting and could see him better. The man had a straight nose and high cheekbones. She couldn't see his eyes in the dark, but from his tanned complexion and dark hair, she started to put together an image of him, and she imagined they were brown.

After a while, Hardman began sending people home. A handful at a time sometimes. Other times, only one or two. Soon, there were only two left, cold performing the one scene of passion the play had to offer.

One man playing the lead male, Harris, one woman playing the lead female, Julia. Sasha had to admit the actors were quite good. The scene portrayed was a flashback in which Harris and Julia are newlyweds, declaring their passionate love for one another as they rip one another's clothes off, crawling across the bed before making love. Sasha remembered that when the play was first performed, directed by its author, it had been rather a scandal, as both actors wound up naked onstage.

The two onstage now only feigned the removal of clothes, but it was still passionate and well-performed. Sasha watched as they leaned in and stage-kissed. She pressed her legs together as she felt heat rising between them. Her nipples went hard and erect under her bra, so turned on was she by the performance.

Hardman thanked the two of them and sent them on their way. He rose and began shuffling papers together. Sasha watched him as he piled the papers together, turned off the lamp, and began walking away.

Sasha's heart began to pound. She leaped to her feet and ran after him, her heels clacking to raise the dead. She followed him up the stairs, darting behind the curtain as he headed backstage.

"Wait! Mr. Hardman!" She reached him and laid a hand on his arm to stop him, "Mr. Hardman, please, I—"

"May I ask why you think you are more important than any of the other actors who arrived here on time?" He eyed her up and down, and she noticed that he lingered on her chest longer than was comfortable or appropriate.

"I'm sorry, but I—"

"Being an actor takes dedication, miss," he pulled her audition sheet from the bottom of the stack, "Sasha Nikiski. A dedication to the art. A dedication of which you seem to have little. Have a nice day, Miss Nikiski, but you will have no part of my production."

Sasha felt as if she had been struck, full-on in the chest. The opportunity was slipping away—just another audition that would chalk up to nothing if she didn't do something. Her ears felt full of cotton, her eyes saw only a blur, but she noticed he was walking away. She had to say something, do something... the rumors she had heard about him popped into her head.

"Please, Mr. Hardman," she begged, "I'll do anything for a part."

He stopped. He turned. His brown eyes locked on her green ones, "Anything, Miss Nikiski?"

The odd thought that she was right about his eyes popped into her head, but she pushed it out again as quickly as it came. Sasha swallowed hard and nodded, "Yes, sir. I'll do anything you ask of me."

The director paused, eyeing her up and down again, though more slowly this time. Her cheeks went red as his eyes so plainly undressed her. She wanted to put a lead wall between them, but the part meant so much to her...

Instead of shrinking back, she pulled back her shoulders slightly, her blouse pulling tight under her vest as her breasts pulsed toward him, "I'll do anything."

She chewed on the inside of her cheek as he began to walk a slow circle around her. He set down the papers as he drew nearer, then folded his hands behind his back.

"Unbutton your blouse," he said. She could hear a huskiness in his voice that both aroused and terrified her. She reached up to unbutton the top two buttons. "Slowly," he said, "Slowly."

She took a deep breath and forced herself to slow down. It made the humiliation last longer, but she had to do what he said if she was to get what she wanted. Her fingers trembled as she undid each button, exposing her clavicle... her cleavage... her bra...

He stopped her there, leaning forward to hook a finger in the front of her shirt. He tugged at it, staring at her full breasts heaving in her nervousness, held back only by her bra. She blushed, wishing she hadn't put on a front-clasp bra and hoping he wouldn't notice.

"Take this off," he said, gesturing at her shirt and vest. She undid the buttons slowly again, tugging the bottom of the shirt out of her skirt's waistband to pull them off.

She was pulling the sleeves down when he told her, "Stop. Hold there..."

She held the position, her chest raised, her back arched, her arms splayed behind her like some erotic crucifix. He leaned in again, closer this time than before. She pressed her knees together again as his straight nose brushed her skin, she felt his hot breath on her flesh, small touches as he barely brushed his fingertips across her bared flesh. He cupped her breasts, and she tried not to gasp, not to move as she felt a spasm course through her. She couldn't believe how much he was turning her on, despite how she didn't really want to be doing this.

He reached for the center of her bra, a click and her breasts sprang free of their black lace prisons. He let out a chuckle, "Very nice. You get points for enthusiasm."

He ran his thumbs over her erect nipples; coming close, he ran his tongue around one, then the other. He pinched at the slick surface, sending electric jolts to her core.

He couldn't have known how sensitive she was to nipple play. Her boyfriends had always known by the time they got to sex, and so had catered to her desires. But John Hardman, director and stranger, seemed to know just how to heat her up.

He grinned, "you can move if you like..." He bowed his head over her chest, sucking her nipples into his mouth, pinching them, nipping them with his teeth, rolling them between his fingers... She could hardly stand, it was bringing her so close to climax with each roll of his tongue, each flick of his fingers. She gripped his head, running her fingers through his hair, and pulled him closer. Now she wanted to come almost as badly as she wanted the role.

She was edging closer to climax when he pulled away. She whimpered at the loss. He laid his hands on her waist and heaved her up against the fly rail, pushing her skirt up with his knee.

Sasha gasped, realizing he wanted her to go all the way with her. But her physical desire and wish to be in the piece were so strong that she looked into his eyes and nodded. She would do it. She wrapped her hands around the ropes on either side of her to support her weight as his hands pushed her skirt up to her waist. His fingers sliding along her thigh made her tremble. He chuckled as he saw her black lace thong, "You didn't happen to have planned this all along, did you?"

She shook her head. He pulled the thong down her legs before sliding a finger up inside her wet pussy. She let out a gasp. She hadn't realized how badly she wanted something inside her. He slid the finger back and forth, thumbing her clit at the same time. It was all she could do to keep her grip on the ropes to keep from falling. Her head rolled back as the waves of glorious tension rolled over her.

Just when she was so close, he stopped again. She whined again, "why do you keep stopping?"

He laughed, "I'm a director. You'll come when I tell you to."

She bit her lip as he unbuttoned his pants and unveiled his hard-on. The rumors hadn't said anything about this. She hadn't been expecting him to be so well-endowed, considering how effeminate most actors and directors seem to be. He positioned himself at her entrance, holding her legs around his waist. She wrapped her legs behind him, pulling him closer. He lowered her onto his long, thick shaft, and she gasped again.

She had never felt a man like him in all her life. In her experience, only toys could match him. He filled her like no one ever had, stretching her with his girth, reaching her deepest places. He began to pulse against her, slowly sliding every inch of himself into her, then every inch out until only the tip remained. Pushing in, slipping out, like a tide he rolled in and out, again and again, waves of pleasure coursing over her. It was excruciatingly exquisite, but that was before he put his mouth on her breasts again.

He sucked in her nipples as his hard cock pulsed into her; he pinched her out with his lips as he pulled out. He switched from one to the other as he slowly built her to a climax. She could feel he was getting as close as she was this time, and she was so achingly close she wanted him to get it over with.

He seemed to sense her need, and she let out a cry as he pinched her nipple with his teeth and started pounding her faster. He sped up, the tempo increasing her pleasure, her breasts beginning to bounce as he fucked her. She let out a whining cry, "Oh, gooood! I'm sooo... so... ah! Ah!"

"Come," he told her, "come for me, Sasha. Come for me you slut." He slapped her ass as he pounded her faster. Her hands clenched the ropes, white-knuckled as her head reared back as her body bucked against his in a wild orgasm. She felt him come at the same time, his face still strong and stoic, he grunted and panted as he climaxed.

She couldn't hold herself up any longer and sagged against him. She panted in the aftermath, coming down off the high.

He pulled out from her, helping her down. She had to grab the rail behind her to keep her knees from buckling underneath her. She noticed the director composing himself, already buttoning his pants and rearranging his shirt. She bit her lip as the nervousness came back.

She began dressing, "So, what about auditioning? Will you... erm, will you let me do my monologue, and..."

He was shaking his head, "I saw you a month ago in What May Come. Excellent performance as Rosalie, by the way. It may serve as your audition, as I had already been hoping you would come."

She looked at him, confused as she buttoned up the blouse again, "You... You already wanted me for a part?"

"Yes, but I needed to be sure you were dedicated enough for the role," he gave her a wicked grin.

Sasha blushed, her eyes downcast as she searched for her underwear, "W-well..." she wasn't sure how to respond, and her mind latched onto her primary objective, "What role did you want me for?"

"I like you for Julia. First rehearsal is Wednesday at nine."

Her eyes widened. The lead. He wanted her for the lead. She smiled, thankful for the role. But then she realized that that meant working with him nightly for nearly six months. But then, she wondered, would it be all that bad?

Slipping her panties on as he walked away, remembering the climax he had given her, she decided it wouldn't be that bad at all... especially if she was late again.