She’s wearing a sticker on her chest—similar to the other girls. Her sticker says #26.
And she couldn't look more bored if her life depended on it.
“Numbers 3, 4, 6, 9, 12, 24, 34, 38, 43, 45, 49, 50, thank you,” Joel says looking at his clipboard. “You can go now.”
So that’s it. After dragging themselves all the way down to our Times Square studios, they sit around on couches for a while, and then they’re told they can go. Which is a polite way of saying fuck off.
Normally, this would be my fucking cue as the girls with the numbers mentioned get up and proceed to the door. I’d be up and following them out, looking to fuck one of these sluts and take her home with me for the night.
But right now, I’m fucking entranced just look at #26 sitting there, even though she’s completely bored out of her fucking mind.
I look down at my casting sheet and try to find a name that matches #26. There it is. Brittney Roman.
“Alright, ladies, let’s get up and bend over,” Joel says. “Show me that ass.”
Jesus, is he for real? This is what he fucking does for work?
As if on cue, each of the girls gets up. They turn around and bend over. Some look back at Joel. Several look toward me. They may not know who I am, but they can tell the tone of fucking deference that Joel used when he addressed me.
The girls are either bending over and slowly shaking their ass, or running their hands over their ass cheeks as they look back. A few are just bent over with their hands against the couch. One woman has fiery red hair and five-inch stilettos. She's wearing nothing else. She saunters over, running the palms of her hands up and down her naked thighs. She's holding her gaze on us—she has her eyes on the prize—and she slowly bends her knees, squatting down to the floor.
As she does this, she intentionally spreads her knees open, giving us an unobstructed view of her pussy. She's puckering her mouth—with those full, glossy lips—and parts them just enough to let the tip of her tongue come out and seductively drag across her upper lip.
Joel is fucking loving this. He's entranced.
She realizes that she's got Joel hooked, so she walks over and rakes her red fingernails through his hair. In her other hand, she's holding a silicon dildo, which she hands to Joel. "Wanna play?" she purrs.
She sits back and spreads her legs open, exposing her pussy.
The whole scene seems almost too contrived for my taste. I fucking swear, if whoever #26 is wasn’t here, this would be the strangest fucking thing I would have ever seen.
I understand what Joel’s trying to do. But it just seems kind of fucking wrong.
But not wrong enough that I don’t take a moment to scan all those delectable asses in front of me before really settling on the one I want to feast on—the blonde haired girl with the #26 tag.
She throws her head back and looks up, and both Joel and I are a bit started, and I can see him shift his attention from the redhead to #26. He's shifting in his seat too.
With a slow and graceful movement, she looks backwards.
And that’s when her eyes catch mine.
I swear to God, there is a reason this girl looks fucking bored. Because if she showed even an ounce of fucking interest, this entire session would be over. We would be all over her.
She gives the barest of effort and passes her smoldering eyes over me. Her hands travel up her legs and gently brush her ass.
My cock was already twitching. Now that 12 inches sitting in my trousers has a fucking heart beat.
“28 and up, thank you for coming today,” Joes says looking at his clipboard. “23 and below, you can leave as well.”
He just excused more than half the fucking remaining girls. There’s only three at this point and they maintain their poses. I swear to God this is the hottest casting session I’ve ever been to. Ever.
“25, 26, 27, please have a seat,” Joel instructs and each of the girls sits down.
“Okay, then,” Joel says shifting himself in his seat. “This is where we get to have some fun.”
He glances at me, but I don't fucking care about him at all. Not when I can keep staring at this blonde beauty sitting as one of three finalists now for Illicit Escape. If she gets selected, then most likely I’m never going to fuck her.
It’s not that I’m judgmental, babe.
It’s because…well, this is a casting session. For a pornographic content company. Whoever gets the spot is going to be someone I don’t really want to fuck. That’s why I always went after the losers.
What? You don’t get what I’m talking about?
“Well, ladies,” Joel says and unbuttons his jeans. “This is where you get to show us how much hands on experience you have, and how much you’re able to put it to use,” he’s got a shit-eating smile on his fucking face and for some reason I want to punch the guy. But we don’t pay our directors that much—namely we give them a lot of fringe benefits…like being able to fuck the girls who try out.