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The warehouse space, well it could have been used for anything, stock, parties, exhibitions, was well maintained and laid out. Erica passed two offices and restrooms for men and women before she arrived at the large open area at the heart of the building.
Only it wasn't that open.
A sound stage had been created; fake walls erected to replicate... something. From where she stood, all Erica could see were the outer supporting beams holding the huge slabs of wood upright. There was an occasional statical burst of hammering but it seemed that the construction was pretty much done.
She cast about, looking for someone who might be in charge. Her confusion must have been obvious as a moment later a young black woman, barely out of her teens came up to her.
"Erica?"
"Uh-huh," Erica responded.
"Good, right-on time. Follow me."
Erica trailed behind her to what looked like another small windowless office. They stepped inside and the young woman closed the door behind them. The office space was empty save for a chair, a desk and an empty waste bin.
"Oshun not here?" Erica kept her tone, flat and uninterested but inside she was anxious to know why the woman who had approached her hadn't made an appearance yet.
"She never comes. She finds people to...act, act in these. She doesn't actually come to the set though," the young black woman replied, her back turned to Eric. She rummaged through a box before turning to place some items on the desk.
On top lay a letter sized sheet about half filled with typed lines. Beneath it was some clothing, a cropped baby tee and a white low waisted mini skirt. There was also a pair of white sneakers and a distressed cropped denim jacket.
"Everything should fit, Oshun never makes a mistake when it comes to guessing sizes," the woman explained.
Erica crossed to the desk but even a cursory glance confirmed that indeed everything was in her size, sneakers included.
"My costume I guess," Erica said.
"And script," the woman glanced at her watch, "Get dressed and read over it. It's more an outline than a script, the director encourages ad-libbing with the actors. You have about twenty minutes then I will take you on set, introduce you."
The woman turned to go and Erica tried to keep to the role she had given herself and the mission besides.
"When do I get paid, and who is the director? What's his name, he the boss here?"
"You get paid after the job, same as if you were working cleaning tables. As for the director, you'll probably meet him, see him at least, but you don't need to know his name." With that she left the room and Erica picked up her 'script' between thumb and finger, already feeling soiled just touching it.
Twenty minutes later there was a knock on her 'dressing room' door. Erica felt like the last couple of days she had been at everyone's beck and call. Still, all she needed to do was lay eyes on the director, confirm it was The Hockey Fan's old boss and Trent would do the rest.
She stepped out of the office wearing the clothes selected for her, her own baseball cap still on her head.
"This is Mr. Umm-Smith, he is the man commissioning the film. That's not part of the wardrobe," The young woman who had shown her inside was stood beside a short balding white male in his early fifties. He had combed his thinning hair across his head in an act of vanity that only served to accent his follicle deficiency rather than disguise it. He would have been better off wearing Erica's baseball cap, the one that was currently annoying the woman accompanying him.
"Nonsense, I like how it looks. Youthful, very youthful," the man said brushing aside the woman's protests. He regarded Erica with a covetous look and a wet mouth. His lips gleamed and his tongue sluiced across them in a swishing motion a few times. He looked on the brink of openly drooling as he regarded Erica from top to toe.
"Nice to meet you Mr. Uh-Smith," Erica said sarcastically, playing her role of street coarsened woman perfectly.
"Just Smith, just Smith," he said good naturedly before nodding once more in apparent satisfaction. He moved off leaving Erica alone with the woman.
"He's like, the money, yeah? Erica asked.
"I guess Oshun didn't explain. This isn't a movie for distribution. What we film is for one customer alone. Script, cast, everything is to their specification. So don't worry, this won't make you a star, nobody but he is probably ever going to see it."
Erica had already known this, at least she had known that this was Lawrence Jacksons way of doing things. All it did was strengthen her conviction that the director and Jackson were one and the same.
A black man, also about fifty in appearance approached the women. He was clean and wearing fresh clothing but there was something off about him. Without knowing how, Erica felt convinced this man had spent most of his life on the streets as well. That most likely made him another 'actor' like herself.
"This is, well get used to calling him Mr. Williams. That's what the script says," Erica's guide said. "You are actually unnamed in the script so we will stick with Erica. Mr. Williams has worked for us before, you'll be in good hands with him, he is nothing but, uh, professional."
The professional Mr. Williams looked like he had invested some of the money earned previously on improving his appearance. When he reached out to shake Erica's hand, he smiled to show gleaming white, perfectly straight teeth. The kind of teeth that could only be man-made, false dentures to replace the teeth lost no doubt to hard living and a poor diet on the streets. Aside from that he was fairly ordinary looking. Above average height and perhaps a little underweight from the way his clothes hung on him, slightly stooped shoulders not making him appear as tall as he might be. He wasn't unhandsome but the passage of time and the harshness of his life had left him with a weather-beaten and rough countenance.
Mr. Williams moved off and Erica was taken to see the set itself.
"We'll be starting soon," she was told as they walked into the set. "There are still members of the cast to arrive but with you and err Mr. Williams, we can get started at least."
The set that had been created within the warehouse was an apartment. Living room slash kitchen, a hall leading into it and one bedroom as well. The other 'doors' on the set being fake. She wandered through it, amazed at the money spent. It spoke to Smith's urges, vanity and wealth that he would spend so much on this. Around the set there was a number of men moving equipment, cameras, boom microphones, lighting. Still no sigh of the director however.
"Five minutes," a voice boomed out across the warehouse, echoing slightly in the emptier sections. Erica twisted around trying to locate the source.
There.
Twenty feet up, a platform had been raised against one wall, atop it two chairs. One chair was occupied by Mr. Smith, Erica could tell it was him when his head dropped for a moment from shadows, light reflecting off his baldness. The man sitting beside him, a man apparently directing, wasn't so easily identified.
He was taller than Smith, his head deep in shadow although she could see from his hands, he was African American. That wasn't enough to identify him though, not a hundred percent. Erica needed to be sure. She had gone through too much these last week's just to screw it up at the end.
For the time being it seemed she would need to earn her money, distasteful as it was.
Chapter Four: "I hate, I love. It torments me. - Anonymous Roman Poet"
"Are you kidding me?" Erica spluttered as the cold water from the hose sprayed across her, a jet of it catching her in the face.
"The script says you arrive at the apartment after being caught in the rain" the young black woman directed the hose to catch Erica on the back as she turned to avoid the spray. As bored sounding as she spoke, Erica still picked up the sense that the woman was enjoying putting Erica through this.
"Caught in the rain, not fucking swimming across a lake in my clothes," Erica continued to protest. The hose switched off and she stood there shivering and bedraggled, wet through from her baseball cap all the way down to the new sneakers on her feet.
Miserable she was directed to stand in front of the door to the faux apartment.
"Action!" came the booming command from the director on his perch above the set.
"Scene one, rolling," a disembodied voice called out from somewhere within the mocked up apartment.
Erica shivered, her hands trembling with cold.
"Knock," she heard someone hiss nearby her, "knock on the door."
Remembering the scene outline, Erica raised her hand and rapped three times on the fake apartment door.
Tap-tap-tap
Mr. Williams opened the door. Erica stood before him dripping wet, an actual puddle forming at her feet from the drenching she had received.
"Uh, hello Mr. Williams, could I come in?" Erica stuck to the script, nebulous as it was.
"Why sure little Erica, whatever happened to you?" The middle-aged man stepped aside so that the shivering Erica could enter the 'apartment'.
"I missed my bus back from community college, I got caught in a freak torrential rain storm," Erica embellished on the script, sore about the unnecessary soaking. "Anyway, I got back to my mom's apartment and it's locked up. You know her, she could be anywhere for God knows how long." Again, per script, Erica raised an imaginary glass to her lips, mimicking her faux mother's drinking problem.
"Well here, let me get you a towel" Mr. Williams offered, walking into the living room section of the apartment, Erica trailing behind, dripping water as she followed. The soaking had left the crop top she wore sticking to her upper body so that her breasts beneath it were clearly outlined. The skirt stuck to the tops of her thighs despite her pulling it free more than once, the jacket, shoes and her precious hat, all were soggy. Erica shrugged the jacket off as she reached Mr. Williams, letting it fall with a splat sound on the floor.
A towel was produced and Erica dabbed at herself dutifully, awaiting the next cue from the script.
"That's not gonna get the job done, is it? Here, I think there is something my wife's niece left behind in the bedroom behind you. At least it will be dry."
Erica moved towards the indicated door and from above her she heard the Director call out, "Cut! Print... next scene." She kept walking, right off set and towards the small office she had already used to change in as she knew that the next scene involved her in a new outfit, after which the script got fairly sketchy, mostly prompts to 'follow Mr. William's lead'.
Sure enough, on the lone desk there was a fresh change of clothes. Erica stripped nude, daubing herself with the towel. By the time her body was fairly dry, her hair remained wet and the towel was waterlogged and useless.
"Action," came the cry. Erica took a glimpse back up towards where the director still sat, his face however was still in shadow so she had no choice but to continue. She emerged from the bedroom portion of the set, trying not to look directly at any of the cameramen at work about her, instead walking to where the Mr. Williams character now stood in the kitchen area of the 'apartment'. The new outfit was even more revealing than the one before, now she walked barefoot across the living room space, a grey crop top with 'Spoiled' written in red across it, a pair of light pink cotton panties the entirety of the remaining clothing. Erica had however kept her cap on, she needed it close at hand to signal Trent.
Maybe she missed a cue but Mt Williams took note of her wet baseball cap immediately. He was stood in front of the cooker, stirring something in a pot, mimicking the actions of cooking. He let go of the wooden spoon he was using so that he could snatch the hat off of Erica's head before she could protest, whipping it across the set so that it landed beyond the sofa in the living room.
"No point keeping that thing on, you'll only end up getting sick. Here, I'm warming up some soup for you," he said, turning back to his cooker.
"Thank you, Mr. Williams," Erica said, peering over his shoulder to confirm the pot was empty.
"No problem young lady. What with your mom being the way she is and your father abandoning the two of you like he did, only right and neighborly to keep my eye on you. Hop up on that table, get your bare feet off the cold floor."
Erica pushed herself up onto the edge of the table, her legs dangling and swinging as she sat that way. From across from her she saw someone hold up a white board with the words 'FLIRT WITH HIM' written in caps.
"Umm, thanks for the clothes as well, they fit just fine," she said, filling in the silence till she could think of something better to say.
"That's my pleasure, I got an eye for gauging a woman's attributes" Mr. Williams said still stirring the pot, literally and figuratively.
"You been running an eye over me then?" Erica said in a breathless manner. The much older black man slowly turned, spoon in hand.
"And if I have?"
"Nothing, I like knowing it, that's all. Nice to be kept an eye on. You know... watched and stuff. Wanted too." Erica kept idly swinging her legs but as she did so she allowed them to drift further apart.
Mr. Williams casually tossed the spoon aside so that it landed with an empty clank into the pot. He rubbed at his chin; Erica could see the grey bristles of a two-day growth of beard thick on his face.
"You need to watch what you say, college girl like you should remember poor Red Riding Hood, she made the wrong moves and ended up eaten by the big black wolf."
"Don't you mean big bad wolf Mr. Williams?" Erica half wished her drama teacher from high school could see her now, see the performance she was putting on. 'Wooden and unconvincing my ass' Erica thought to herself. Then again, she was certain this wasn't a play she'd want her parents seeing.
"See now there you go again, letting that pretty mouth get you in trouble," he said, lust thick in his voice.
Erica didn't have to pretend to tremble as Mr. Williams moved closer to her. Tiredness, a touch of hunger, fear, adrenaline, being wet and cold... it all combined to put a shiver through her limbs. That's what she told herself anyway, that it was all of the above that made her limbs shiver, her heart begin to race, all those things but not the feel of his touch as he ran a finger over her soft thigh.
"You're still cold. Let me get a fire goin' inside you," Mr. Williams said.
He rested a palm on each of Erica's knees, pressing slowly against them so that her legs began to open up further still. Knees apart, Erica looked down as he lowered his face to her panties. He pressed his nose against her crotch, nuzzling so that it rubbed across the top of her labia, skimming over her clit.
"Lie back," he said. Erica allowed herself to slump back slowly onto the table top. She had an awareness of the number of people watching right now, two different camera men were almost close enough to touch, a third was engaged in taking wider shots. There were men working on lights, on sound, men hired to fetch, carry and assemble. Above her was the director and Mr. Smith, the man who had financed everything. A dozen pairs of eyes, maybe a score. All watching her. Yet all Erica was really concerned with was the man who was face first between her legs right now.
His lips began to rub off of her pussy through the thin fabric of the panties. Erica felt herself already responding, a switch inside her flipping on as the prospect of sex became imminent. She had responded strongly to giving the blow job the other day, the lack of privacy on the streets and in the shelters had left her unable to bring herself off and she was only now realizing that she'd been passing the last few days in a state of unfulfilled arousal. Her crotch grew moist with expectation and as his lips pushed the pink panties against her labia, the same moistness transferred itself to the cotton material. Then he began tonguing her through the panties.
Short little flicks of his tongue that pressed cotton against her pliant sensitive labia and clit. The panties moved from moist to plain wet as his saliva and her excretions combined to make the thin material at her crotch almost translucent.
"Oh, oh, oh yes, ooooh Mr. Williams," Erica purred as the homeless man who was portraying the role of seedy neighbor really began to lap at her through the panties now. If Erica's underwear had been made of cotton candy, the man with his face buried into her crotch couldn't have shown any more enthusiasm as he attacked them with his mouth.
Mr. Williams used his left hand to draw Erica's panties to one side, letting the tip of his tongue bounce and slither over her clit. Her freshly shaved and exposed pussy was aching to feel an unrestricted touch against it and when his tongue burrowed between the outer lips before slathering against her pussy proper, Erica's entire body jerked like a current of electricity had just passed through it. His free right hand stretched over his head, patting left, right, up, down, springing aimlessly on her torso as if in search of something. Erica impulsively took a grip of his flailing hand, holding it steady as she craned forward, her mouth engulfing on of his stubby fingers and drawing it into her mouth where her tongue played over it in time to the tongue lapping at her pussy.
The man pulled his head away and Erica felt a soft bump on her leg. She opened her eyes in time to see Mr. Williams make a space for a cameraman to get a close up of her pussy, her cunt salivating swinishly as it craved fulfilment. Erica chose to ignore the camera's pushing them and the men who held them to the other edges of her consciousness. Instead, she focused on the man pleasuring her, him and the man calling the shots, sat wrapped in gloom twenty feet above the action. Erica closed her eyes, going back to sucking on Mr. Williams finger as she waited for him to return to her pussy.
She heard the faint metal growl of a zipper slowly opening. Erica kept her eyes closed, not sure she wanted to see what manner of cock was about to impale her. She refused to fret, refused to dwell on what shape it might be in given the man had lived rough for an unknown length of time. Erica focused on the finger in her mouth and just spread her legs a small bit further apart.
The first touch of a spongy cock head against her pussy was as familiar to her as the sensation of wind in her hair. It didn't matter the size, shape or color, there was just a sense of affinity when the bare unprotected flesh of her sex met the unsheathed bald flesh of a man's. Mr. Williams' particular weapon seemed to want to go anywhere but straight, Erica feeling the warm flesh cannoning off both her thighs as it sought to right itself. Feeling that her intervention would speed things along, Erica deigned to open her eyes, releasing the finger she had been nursing on and looking down to see what the problem was.
The problem it seemed was the Mr. Williams was not a big black wolf regardless of how keen he was to eat her up. Nor was he a man in the guise of a wolf. No, if Erica was to put the problem in context, it was that Mr. Williams appeared to resemble a horse for the waist down. The cock that had emerged from behind the zipper of his pants had more in common with a Kentucky Derby winner than it had with a homeless black man. Basically, his cock was fucking huge!
"Oh. My. God!" Erica breathed in awe.
Mr. Williams had seemed average at first glance, not tall but not short, thin from living rough but with a lean gait rather than a skeletal appearance. Not ugly but certainly not handsome.
