Warning: The following is a sexually explicit story intended for mature audiences. If you are offended by stories of such nature, do not read it. All characters are fictional and not intended to resemble any real people. Constructive comments welcomed.
I sensed her controlling presence as soon as I entered the room. It was like a force field around her, something that I could instinctively feel but from which nothing could be seen. First I tried to ignore it, thinking it came from my overactive imagination. Eventually, it started to overwhelm me. It intoxicated me like too many drinks at a party, making me do things I otherwise would never have dreamed of doing.
"Hello Duane," It started with the first two words out of her mouth and her reaction when I entered the room. She didn't bother to get up. She failed to offer her hand in friendship. In fact, she hardly even looked at me, but instead remained seated behind her desk reading a file. It was as though I didn't exist, like I was not important enough to acknowledge.
"Good Morning!" I tried to sound pleasant. I acted like I was taught to do at an audition, like I had done on so many auditions before. An audition was a lot like an interview. First impressions were important. Normally I would have stated my name, but she already spoke it, beating me to it.
In response to my pleasantries, she offered nothing. She simply continued to sit there, behind her desk, leaning back in her chair and reading my file. I noticed she didn't bother to offer her own name. She knew mine, and that was all she needed. From the very start, she imposed control. It was as though she wanted to make sure I knew who was in charge.
I also noticed there was no chair for me to sit down in, which was odd. She sat in the only chair in the room. I was forced to stand and wait for her to finish with whatever she was reading. I had the distinct impression that the lack of a chair was on purpose.
"I just wanted to say," I tried to strike up a conversation after about a minute of awkward silence, but she stopped me. Not with words, but with a simple raise of her hand. The palm of her right hand faced me like a traffic cop, instructing me with authority to stop.
Like a driver with too many citations already on his record, I obeyed. I stopped in mid-sentence, waiting for her palm to fall.
I waited for what seemed like a long while. She read a file. I assumed it was my file, my application for the part. It listed my education, my interests, and what little past experience I possessed: Leading man in a high school play, my brief part as an actor in a commercial. But for all I could tell, she could have been reading the financial records of the studio instead. She held the open file up at an angle so only she could see. Never once did she bother to look up from the file to acknowledge me.
She appeared pleasant enough. Surprisingly young, no more than 30, although I suspect some of her youthful appearance may have come as a result of makeup or plastic surgery. It was difficult to tell in Hollywood. So many women were fake, wearing everything from fake eyelashes to fake boobs. Whatever the case may have been with this one, her youth surprised me. All my previous auditions were in front of older, more experienced interviewers. It was only natural for them to be older, for only the older interviewers had the experience to select the best candidates. The fact she was female was a further surprise. Not many females rose up the ranks far enough to conduct interviews. Men conducted the vast majority of my previous interviews.
Not that I minded her being female. Even if she did behave a bit stern, she certainly looked quite striking. The woman who's name I still did not know had oriental features and a beautiful face. A hint of crimson covered her cheek, and a set of long lashes showed off her blue eyes. What intrigued me the most was a head of jet-black hair that barely made it down to her shoulders. It was cut short, short enough to make her almost pass as a man, but she most obviously was a woman. A low cut "V" in her blouse revealed a hint of cleavage. The swelling of her chest reinforced the point.
"Well, well!" She finally took the time to look up to me. "You are a fine specimen, aren't you?"
She took me by surprise. For the longest while I waited for her to speak, and then just when my attention was drawn to her cleavage did she start. She looked up and spoke to me as though it was the first time she saw me.
I was taken aback. I got the feeling she caught me; that is, caught me in the act of looking at her tits. I quickly looked away and then back into her eyes.
"I try to keep in shape," I answered after a long pause.
"I see you do," She stood up. "Just stay standing like that and let me get a better look."
She stood and took off her suit jacket. Beneath she wore a white blouse, and beneath that she wore a dark bra. If not a black bra, then perhaps a dark blue. Nonetheless, it was dark enough to clearly display its outline on the far side of the blouse. It also showed off her boobs. She had a fine pair of tits. Rather large, as I could see for myself. The bra seemed to hardly cover them. It was a sexy bra, like one of those bras from Victory Secrets. I could tell by the frilly lace material that I could make out through the blouse. It was easy to undress her with my eyes, to imagine what she looked like with only the lacy bra beneath.
While I admired her, she did the same to me. Her eyes ran up and down my body. She circled behind and then came back into view on my opposite side. It felt uncomfortable to be standing there while she looked. I felt like a sex object, like the only reason I existed was for her to admire.
At the same time, I wondered what she was thinking. I grew curious if she might be undressing me with her eyes. After all, I had already tried to undress her. There was no reason why she wouldn't do the same to me.
"Very nice," She continued to compliment as she looked. "Very nice indeed!"
I quickly became intimidated. The more she looked, the more I felt like I was on display, like nothing more than a piece of meat at a butcher shop. I could almost feel her eyes go through me, undressing me, imagining what I looked like underneath. Even when she disappeared behind, images of her bra-covered chest filled my mind. I couldn't get it off my mind.
When she came around the opposite side I noticed her trim figure too. She had narrow hips and a long pair of legs. She stood shorter than me, perhaps five-foot-three, and perhaps weighed little more than a hundred pounds. Despite her frail figure, however, her personality broadcasted a strong sense of self-confidence and assurance.
It didn't take long for her to touch me too. I flinched when she first put her hand on my bicep. It felt unsettling, but not at all unpleasant. Interviewers weren't supposed to touch; yet I didn't much mind her touch. Under different circumstances, like perhaps in a bar or on a dance floor late at night, a touch from such a beautiful young woman would have pleased me. I would have thought it an invitation, but in an office setting I wasn't sure.
One hand wrapped itself powerfully around my arm, like she was feeling my muscles, gauging my stamina. With the other hand she placed it on my chest. It more gently moved around. Never before did I have an interview quite like this.
"We may just have a part for you," She spoke at last.
I heard the words that I was dieing to hear. Only once before did I ever hear the same words, and that was for a two-bit rose in a 30 second commercial. Being an actor in Hollywood turned out to be a lot harder than I ever anticipated. Leading man in a High School play proved nothing when it came to Hollywood.
"There's just one thing," She dashed my hopes a few seconds later. "The same features that make you so desirable for the part may not be agreeable to you."
"I'm sure it won't be a problem," I answered without thinking. I had no idea what she was talking about, but automatically tried to dissipate her concerns. Whatever her concern, all I wanted was the part. Well, I wanted her too, but first I wanted the part. I didn't care about anything else.
"Don't answer so quickly," She warned with her fingers against my lips. Her opposite hand pushed more forcibly with its open palm on my chest. It started to feel erotic. I mean we were in an office setting, with the door closed, and this woman most obviously was hot for me. It occurred to me that I still didn't know her name.
"The movie takes place in a prison," She went on to explain. "There are shower scenes."
She didn't have to say it. I knew what she meant. "That won't be a problem," I answered stupidly, too desperate for the part, any part, than to say no. Lots of actors and actresses appeared in shower scenes. I might have to be half nude during filming, but the editors could work wonders and certainly wouldn't let anything show in the end.
"Good!" This pleased her greatly. "Because you would look good in a shower scene."
Her hands moved up to my shoulders. She massaged my muscles, seeming to gauge what they looked like in the bare and with a spray of water bouncing off.
"Yes, you would look very good in the shower," She repeated as she rotated around my body, behind me, grasping my shoulders, chest, and then running across my back. I stood about six inches taller than her. She had to reach up to take my shoulders. From behind, her hands ran down the length of both arms.
"Would this scene?" I started to say but was interrupted when she took me by the wrists and pulled my arms behind my back.
The eroticism continued. I got the strange sensation that she wanted to tie me, perhaps cuff my wrists from behind. With my hands behind me, I would be unable to cover myself in front.
"Yes?" She questioned simply, tempting me to go on while at the same time tempting me with her manipulations of my arms. She placed them like an "X" behind me. I offered no resistance to her suggestions.
"What I want to ask," I continued shyly. Normally I had an outgoing personality, some people thought too outgoing, but with her I turned shy. "What I mean is, you know, would this shower scene involve nudity?"
"Nudity?" She answered in the form of a question of her own. "Why yes, certainly!" A hint of pleasure sounded in her voice. "Full nudity!"
I knew her answer before she said it, yet her words still sent a shiver through my body. It was the way she answered me, not with a simple "yes," but with an answer that left no doubt about what she wanted. She obviously looked forward to the shower scene. She wanted to see me in the nude, possibly through multiple takes of the scene.
"Why do you ask?" She questioned. "Do you have a problem with nudity?"
"Well, no," I answered like a weak little boy afraid of being beaten up. Nudity didn't bother me too much, as long as it was done for the sake of art. I had never been nude in front of a camera before, but felt sure I could handle it.
"It will be full nudity," She reinforced as her hands took a firm hold around each of my wrists.
I shivered again, not sure what to do, my heart still racing and the erotic thoughts growing ever stronger in mind. Under any other circumstances I would have turned around and kissed her. I would have answered her fingers with my own, feeling up her tits, perhaps reaching into her open blouse. But this was an office! And she seemed as if she wanted to stay in charge.
"You will also be handcuffed," She shocked me even more. "It is a prison, after all, so the prisoners will naturally have to be cuffed."
"Naturally," I took a hard swallow before answering. She cross my arms and then squeezed two fingers around each wrist as though simulating handcuffs. Her mention of handcuffs made me confused. Was this still an interview, or might she be coming on to me? Might she even be trying to tell me that she wanted me? Maybe she was saying that she was into the rough stuff?
"Of course it's natural," She accepted. "The male prisoners have to be handcuffed to make sure they don't get away before the guards are finished with them."
Her hands left my body briefly. I quickly pulled my arms out from behind me as if trying to escape. I held them at my side, but then she suddenly touched me again, this time on the ass.
I gasped in surprise.
"You're shy," She heard it. "Are you sure you can play the part? This isn't a part for some shy Kansas farm boy."
"Yes!" I tried to answer with as much confidence as I could muster. It was difficult with the palm of her hands resting on my ass, one hand on each cheek. I was tempted to turn around and grab her in the same way. With my hands again free, it would have been easy. I could have felt up her firm ass and then turn her around and take a feel of her perfect tits too. But this wasn't the type of woman to show any aggressive desire, I could tell. She would probably give me a slap across the face if I tried, and certainly would have thrown me out of her office without the part.
"Are you sure you are still interested?" She finally asked to confirm.
I then wondered if she was searching for something more than just an actor for a part. No bed could be seen, but perhaps she had another room off to the side. Even if it was all a setup and there was no part, I was still interested.
"Certainly!" I spoke as confidently as I could.
"Good then," Her hands suddenly left me. She walked around, back behind her desk and took a seat. "Then strip!"
I was taken aback. I wasn't sure if I heard her correctly.
"I said strip!" She confirmed what I had heard. "What's the matter? You just said you had no problem with nudity. If you're unable to expose yourself in the privacy of this office, how do you possibly expect me to believe you would be willing to expose yourself in front of a camera?"
"But here?" I tried to argue. "In your office?"
She didn't respond. She just sat in her chair and looked at me.
It was a test, I could tell, a test to make sure I really meant what I said. Her eyes told me I had two choices: Either I could leave and not get the part, or I could strip and have a possibility. And then I wondered if she would really make me strip. Perhaps she only wanted me to strip part way? Maybe I just had to show intent, like to take off my shirt to demonstrate I really was willing to do it. Surely she wouldn't make me strip all the way, not in her office. She would tell me to stop before I was done.
Slowly, I began. I started first with my shirt, unbuttoning it. I unbuttoned it all the way down and then pulled the tails out of my slacks.
"Very nice," She spoke her first words since issuing her command. She complimented just as I opened my shirt and exposed my chest. How much I wanted her to open her shirt, her blouse instead. Clearly she had a lot to cover beneath it. The dark outline of the bra still peered through. It looked as though it covered only half her large tits.
First my shirt, and then I reached down to take off my shoes and socks. At any moment I expected her to tell me to stop and say enough. I had proven my point. I didn't have a problem with nudity. I was obviously willing, yet she never said it. She just let me keep going.
Only when I got to my belt did I realize it. I wasn't soft any more. Not completely hard either, but certainly not soft. It was no wonder, with the way she looked at me, the way she touched me, the words she spoke to me. No man could resist such temptations, especially a young man. I should have noticed it sooner. Normally I would have, but the weird circumstances diverted my attention.
"Why are you pausing?" She noticed my hesitance. "I said strip! And when I say strip, I mean all the way!"
"But what if?" I took a glance at the door but was more concerned about my shorts. She would notice it after I took off my slacks, I realized. She would see the bulge!
"Don't worry," She assured me. "We're all alone. And even if someone would walk in on us, so what? If you are willing to take it off in front of a camera, then what does it matter if someone walked in? Unless, of course, or were you just bullshitting me?"
The choice once again! Either leave or stay. She left it up to me. I could either walk out the room and not get the job, or else continue.
I chose to remove my belt. In order to draw it out and give my dick a little more time to go down, I purposely removed my belt as slow as possible. First I unbuckled it, and then I slipped it all the way out of every hoop.
But instead of going down, I felt it grow even harder. It was as though my dick had a mind of its own. Its eye was still on her chest, imagining what she looked like with just a bra. Better yet, I imagined her with nothing at all to get in the way.
"You're so shy," She smiled at me.
It was her first smile. She had a nice smile, very pleasant. It made her look even more beautiful, even more sexy. I easily pictured her modeling in her little bra, and then realized she probably wore a little panty too. Any woman who would wear such a small bra probably wore a G-string for a panty.
Then I remembered my dick and tried to push the picture of her out of my mind. My attention focused instead on the hook of my jeans and then to my zipper falling down.
"Even nicer!" She noticed it before I had my jeans half-way off my waist. My thumbs hooked around my waist, my hands pushed down my slacks. In the middle, between my open zipper, she could see it.
I could see it too, the way it pointed down and pushed out my shorts. It wasn't fully erect, but then it wasn't fully soft either. Her ministrations did it. Thoughts of her tits and panty fueled it.
"Keep going!" She waved her hand as though pushing my slacks down herself. "To the floor."
I hesitated for the first few seconds after she spoke, and then continued the rest of the way down. There was no reason to hide myself any more. Once she saw it, she saw it, so I dropped my slacks the rest of the way down and stepped out.
"Interesting!" She admired. "That looks to be quite a big piece you have in there!"
I couldn't believe it! This woman was unbelievable. Nothing seemed to faze her. Nothing embarrassed her. It was as if men came into her office and stripped every day.
"Show me!" A few seconds later she spoke the words I dreaded to hear. "Show me your piece."
She stayed in control, and she wanted me to know who was in control. Any hope I had left quickly left me. She didn't tease, but went for the jugular.
"Show me how you would perform in a shower scene," She reminded me of the acting part I was trying to get.
Taking another glance at the door, I realized it wasn't locked. It had a simple doorknob without a lock. Anyone could have entered, perhaps even the cute young receptionist I remember sitting at the front desk. But then so what if someone did come in? I told her I could do a shower scene, that nudity didn't bother me. If I was willing to be naked in front of a camera, then why wouldn't I be willing to show anyone who walked in?
Besides, in an erotic sort of way, I wanted to show her. She was gorgeous. She looked hot. If we were in a bar, I would have stepped up to her seat and tried to hit up on her. What better way to get a woman interested than to show her my size? She didn't know about my size, but she soon would. I put my thumbs beneath the elastic of my shorts and got ready to surprise her.
"Don't be shy," She smiled.
"I'm not," I slipped them down and stripped for her completely.
The reaction on her face told me everything I needed to know. Her eyes opened wide. Her mouth opened in a gasp. For a brief moment she broke down and showed me her true self.
"Impressive!" It took her a moment to recover. First she stared right at it, and then she looked up at the rest of me.