Carrie

by

Her friend said, “I heard on the radio that a major Hollywood studio is going to make a feature film near here.  Wouldn’t it be neat if they are hiring extras?”  Carrie thought about that, and then she went through the classified ads in the newspaper.  She spotted one: Want to act in the movies?  There was a local number to call, so she did.

“Yeah?” said a woman’s voice.

“I’m calling about the ad in the paper, about acting in the movies?”

“Ya wanna screen test?”

“Yes, please.”

“Lafayette Motel, room 34, any time this afternoon or tonight.  Bring proof of your age.”

Carrie didn’t have a car, so she rode her bike, three miles.  She arrived, her denim shorts and white T-shirt wet with sweat, and showed the woman her passport, which she had from her junior year abroad in high school.  The woman gave her a dozen forms to sign, explaining that they were an application for a screen test and a release of any photos made during it.  When Carrie finished, the woman made a phone call, and two men came into the motel room.

Carrie, I’m Sam, the producer/director.  So, you want to be in the movies?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe be the star?”

“Wow, I wish!”

“You’re kinda tall.  How tall are you?”

“A little under six feet.”  Being taller than most of the guys in high school had really cut down on dates.

“This is Joe, the head of photography.  Wadda ya think, Joe?”

“I like her coloring, the red hair and fair skin, and those strange eyes.  Nice bones, too.  I say, give her a try.  Carrie, strip down to your bra and panties.”

“I don’t understand!”

“Do it, girl,” said the woman.  “They have to see what you’d look like in costume for the part, see you don’t have any tatoos or anything.  An actress can’t be modest; all the big stars have stripped down for the camera: Halle Berry, Julia Roberts, Angelina Jolie.”

Carrie took off her T-shirt and shorts.  Her low-waist panties were damp and hardly concealed the contours of her vulva.  She tried hard not to show her embarrassment by holding her hands over her crotch.  “Those tits real?” asked Sam.  Without waiting for Carrie to answer, the woman reached from behind and pulled the bra up over Carrie’s breasts.  “Shit, the bra was padded.  They’re no bigger than cookies,” said Sam.

Carrie wanted to cry.  “Sam,” said the woman,”Let her read some lines.  Tits can be fixed.  She does have the face, and that ingenue look.”  Joe was setting up a tripod and video camera, taking pictures of Carrie as she stood there, practically naked and confused as to what was happening.  Sam nodded, and the woman said, “Carrie, take off all your clothes.  It’s all right.  I’m here.  You want the job, don’t you?”  Carrie looked confused, but she reached behind her back and unhooked the bra, then shrugged it off over her arms.  Sam and Joe looked on expectantly, as she slid her panties down and stepped out of them.  The woman pointed at her shoes.  Carrie sat on a sofa and untied her canvas shoes, took them and the wool athletic socks off.

Joe said, “Forget the reading.  Sign her to a contract.”  The woman handed Carrie a contract, which Carrie scanned, as she sat there naked, her knees pressed together.

“It says Splendid Productions, Inc.  Who’s that?”

“That’s us,” said the woman.  “The way the industry is now, the old studios are broken up.  One company produces, another distributes  — like that.”

“It says $25 an hour.  How can I live on that?  How many hours would I be working?  I mean, it’s not gonna be five days a week, fifty weeks a year is it?”

“No,” said Sam, “but if you work an eight hour day, we’ll feed you and give you a place to sleep.”

“I can get that at home.  I want $100 dollars an hour.”

Sam seemed to be thinking.  “OK, $50 an hour.”

“OK.  I sure could use a good job.”  The woman inked in the amount and Carrie signed the contract, then Sam, while the woman made another phone call.

Sam looked at his watch.  “You might as well start right now.  Now, this is your big scene.  You and your boy friend have been drugged, and...  Well, just go along with the flow.  Pretend you are unconscious.”  Two men came in and picked up Carrie.  They draped her across a low coffee table, on her belly, and tied her hands and knees to the legs of the table.  Her breasts didn’t show, as they were pressed against the table top.  Her knees were on the floor, spread wide apart.  Joe held the camera in his hand and moved around, taping Carrie from every angle, especially from behind, zooming in on her virginal-looking vulva.  One of the men pulled out a prop pistol and waved it in front of Carrie’s face, while the woman applied some surgical jelly to Carrie’s anus.

“Listen, cunt,” your goin’ to cooperate or your boy friend gets it, first the knees, then the balls.”

Carrie lay, inert on the table.  “Carrie,” said Sam, you can wake up now.  Put some expression into it.  Your boy friend is about to be castrated, if you don’t play along with these guys.”  Carrie opened her eyes.

“You cooperate, or your boy friend gets a bullet in the balls.  Now suck my cock.”

“No, you can’t make me do that!” said Carrie, quite convincingly, since she meant it.

“Yes, I can.”  He pried her jaws apart with the barrel of his revolver and unzipped his fly.  “You bite, and you’ll be sorry.”  While Sam and the woman coached her, Carrie sucked cock for the first time in her life.  It took a while before she got it right, and the guy shot semen over her face.  Joe stopped filming for a moment, while the woman added more, some artificial semen that smelled like hair conditioner.  Then there were close ups.

“I didn’t know acting would be like this.  I think I want to quit, now,” said Carrie.

“You can’t.  You signed a contract.”  The second actor was forcing his hard tool against Carrie’s virginal anus.  She protested with screams and groans, but the man buried his tool in her ass and pumped hard for Joe’s camera.  Then he pulled out and splashed across Carrie’s back.  Sam took a turn next, and stuffed his prod into her vagina.  At least he used a condom.  By the time Sam was done, there were three more guys waiting in line.  The woman had slipped out and recruited men from the motel bar.  After them, Carrie was beyond the screaming and groaning.  She just lay there and got fucked.  A particularly well hung gentleman took great pleasure in fucking Carrie, but he insisted on wearing a scarf across his face.  Carrie didn’t even look at his face, but he seemed anxious not to be recognized.  He had explained to the woman, when he first saw Carrie, that she had been his student in high school Civics a month ago.   Sam didn’t mind the mask, as Joe concentrated on close-ups of the huge prick sliding in and out.  For the first time, Carrie responded positively, oozing pussy juice and finally screaming as she came, for the first time.  When her teacher had left, a couple of bikers came in and fucked her ass.  One wanted her to lick him clean, afterward, but Carrie vomited at the prospect, and Sam told the guy he’d got his money’s worth.

Finally, for Joe’s close-ups, the woman played with Carrie’s clit until Carrie came again, and then the woman slid her hand into Carrie’s sodden twat.  She pumped in and out and finally got it all in, made a fist, and pushed Carrie over the edge of a very noisy orgasm.

“Any more customers?” asked Sam.  There seemed to be no one waiting.  “OK, cut!”  They untied Carrie and let her use the shower to wash off.  She had a real hang-dog look, as if she’d been rode hard and put away wet, which was pretty much true.  She came out of the bathroom and put on her T-shirt, shorts and shoes.  It seemed one or more of the men figured they could take her underwear.  They probably took motel towels, too.  Carrie looked at Sam with a look of scorn.  “Hey, Carrie, you did good,” he said.  “You’ll be in a hundred peep shows and all over the Internet.  Let’s see, an hour and twenty minutes.  Hell, here’s a hundred.”  He handed her five twenties.  It seemed a pittance for her loss of innocence.

Carrie stuffed the money in her pocket and finished tying her shoes.  “Call that number, if you’d like to act in another movie,” said Sam, as she let herself out and unlocked her bike.  She threw her leg over the saddle and reacted to the pressure of the bicycle seat on her well used labia.  As she rode home, missing her panties, the  rough denim pressing against her clitoris distracted her.  At last, she went behind a gas station and fingered herself until she came.  Well, let’s hope I can make it home, now.  If I don’t have to stop again, I’ll be home by supper time.