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Bollywood casting couch

Short story By: Megalanthropus
Erotica



A young woman who looks like the actress Priyanka Chopra trades sex for money.


Submitted:Feb 20, 2014    Reads: 715    Comments: 1    Likes: 1   


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She had no idea why she was there. She was well aware of the casting couch phenomenon. A director or some lackey who stood in the doorway to success, would want 'favors' to cast a starlet in the role. So, when Gupta called her back and asked her to meet him at the studio after hours, she knew it was a bad idea. Still she came along.

She had barely enough to survive, so she came. Gupta wasn't known to be a scumbag, but these people guarded their reputations closely enough that she wouldn't be surprised if he was a piece of work behind the scenes.

"Oho, Vandana Sarkar - you're here," he said, looking down at her from the second floor window. "Come on up yaar."

She felt a flutter in her stomach. She took the stairs. She wanted to get her heart pumping, so that her fight or flight response was more accessible.

He opened the door to the studio office, where they did all the auditions. She felt really nervous, and noticed him giving her a kind look.

"You look a lot like PC," he said.

"Who?" she said, wondering if she was better than a Mac or not.

"Priyanka Chopra, yaar," he said.

She nodded. Everyone said that.

"Same height too," he said.

She felt her skin crawling. He was scanning her from head to toe, walking a circle around her.

"Shapes bhi aisey hi hain," he said. ("Even your shape resembles hers.")

He turned abruptly and went around the light timber desk and sat down in the IKEA swivel chair, and faced her.

"You know what the role is?" he asked.

She nodded. She would be playing a vamp. It meant showing lots of skin, and prancing around in a wet saree with lots of Bollywood extras or junior artistes as they liked to be called.

"You're okay doing it?" he asked.

She nodded.

"You said no to nudity?" he asked.

She nodded.

He sighed.

"Arere, didn't my secretary tell you that it required a nude scene?" (Arere = expression of regret and or confusion)

She felt the flutter in her stomach becoming a knot.

"Parag didn't tell me," she said.

Parag Ahuja was the secretary.

He sighed again.

"It is a must, Vandana," he said. "The script demands the nudity - you understand."

She really didn't. He was a fucking B-movie director, and his movies were known to be aids to jacking off.

"Acha, ek compromise kar lenge," he said. ("Okay, let's compromise.")

"What compromise?" she said, dreading his next words.

"Nanga rang ke bra aur panty hamare paas hain," he said. ("We have skin colored bra and panties.")

She understood what he wanted. They would digitally morph it into a nude scene later. Would that be any better than being nude.

She shook her head.

"Nahin Chalegaa," she said. ("Doesn't work for me.")

This was when Gupta's inner bastard came out.

"Tho we can't do business, naa," he said, scowling at her, and eying her body again.

She knew the precise word she wanted to call him, but she kept her mouth shut. The word was chootiya. Translated it means "cunt". What it really means is someone who is a complete asshole.

She turned to go.

"Tho thu jaa rahi hain, Vandu?" he said. ("So you're going, Vandu?")

That was thoroughly unprofessional. Her name was Vandana. Vandu was a pet name that only people close to her used. He was someone she had spoken to twice. Once earlier when they set up this appointment, and the second time was just now.

She ignored him, and walked to the door.

"Achcha, wait, wait," he said.

She hesitated at his door. He had sensed her discomfort.

"Ek naya deal karenge," he said. ("Let's make a new deal.")

She turned to face him. He stood up and came around the desk to stand right in front of her.

"I'll convince the team to remove the nanga scene," he said. (nanga = nude)

"Magar tumhari rate aadhi hogi," he said, grinning. ("But you're going to be paid half rate.")

The bastard was grinning. She didn't know what to do. It would mean three days of work at least, and she would get half rate for it. That was better than nothing.

She nodded, cursing inside.

"I can change the rate, of course," he said. "Thera decision hai." ("It's your decision.")

"What decision?" she said.

She stuck to English now. If she switched to Hindi, it would be an admission of familiarity, at least the way this bastard saw it.

"Paise ke liye, bahut saare kaam karne padthe hain," he said. ("You need to do lots of things for the sake of money.")

She kept quiet. Half the rate barely covered her rent. She needed something to survive on. She hated him.

"Karegi kya?" he asked. ("Will you do it?")

"What am I doing?" she asked.

A furtive look came onto his face.

"Meri choosegi tho rate full ho jaayega," he whispered, as though the room were bugged and he didn't want anyone but her to hear his dirty words. ("If you suck mine, you'll get full rate.")

She grimaced openly, and turned away from him. She thought fast. She had plenty of one-night stands, and a string of boyfriends and girlfriends. Nowadays she exclusively picked up girls. But she wasn't morally inhibited. It was the fact that it was against her will. That, and the fact that this was prostitution of another kind.

Full rate meant she would not have to scrounge off her nasty roommate Maya, for whom this meant license to use her in any way she wanted. That meant running errands for her, and doing her laundry, and lots of sexual favors. In the balance this was much less. One blow job. Plus, private sexual favors were one thing. Going naked in front of the camera was something completely different and meant your professional value changed in the market.

She looked at him. He had been handsome once. Now, in his late forties, his fondness for beer showed. She looked with distaste at his pot belly. This guy had probably last seen his dick when Rajiv Gandhi was the prime minister.

She saw the adrenaline running through his system. He was expecting either violence or sex. His pupils were going crazy. She wondered if he would have a heart attack during ejaculation.

"Full rate," she said.

"Haan full rate," he said. (Haan = Yes)

She switched to Hindi. There was nothing to be gained by more friction.

"Thu zabaan de raha hai," she said. "Rakhegaa?" ("You're giving me your word. Will you keep it?")

"Arey baba, kaise nahin rakhoonga!" ("Of course I'll keep my word!")

She had to buy it. Adding another blow job to her already high number wasn't a huge hit to take. If she didn't do it, she would be doing lots of favors for that bitch Maya.

"Nikaal," she said, pointing to his pants. ("Take it out.")

She could see the bulge in there. He was getting more excited by the minute. She knew the type. His wife or whoever was in his life wasn't half as hot as she was. And he had a Priyanka Chopra fantasy. She looked almost identical to PC, so he was not just salivating, he was having heart palpitations.

He opened the fly of his khaki cotton pants, and pulled something out of his white VIP briefs, which had plenty of stains in them.

It wasn't the longest. Average danda - as she called it. Six or seven inches at most. Even when engorged. It was surprisingly thick though. And his caramel balls were so large that they made the cock look even smaller. (danda = stick)

It was uncircumcised, and the foreskin was halfway down the ugly purple head.

He asked her to fondle his balls.

"Kya?" she said, pretending to not hear. ("What?")

"Gendein khelne ke liye hoti hain!" he said, his tone nastier. ("Balls are meant to be played with!"; Gendein = Balls)

She rubbed his balls. They were like nasty ass tennis balls - and they were covered in curly, black bristles.

He pushed her on the shoulders. He was stronger than he looked, so she fell to her knees.

He didn't say anything. He simply moved forward and pushed his cock into her face. Not into her mouth, but right up against her face. She felt the head of his danda on her forehead, and his gendein at her mouth.

He rubbed his ball bristle against her mouth and her nose. She cursed him mentally.

"Mooh mein pakad!" he yelled. ("Hold it in your mouth!")

She pretended to not understand. He bent down and caught her ear, and repeated the word in a raspy, lusty voice.

"Lund choosna tere liye naya hai kya?" he said. "Tujhe dekhke aisa nahin lagta hai."
("Are you new at sucking cock? Looking at you, that doesn't seem to be the case.")

He stood back up, and she placed his balls in her mouth, and used her lip-clad teeth to nibble them.

"Mmmmm…" she said, with the balls in her mouth.

He increased his weight on her mouth, pressing his balls further down.

"Geindein pasand hain tujhe?" he asked her. ("You like my balls?")

"Mmmmm…" was her response.

"Bathaa randi!" he commanded. ("Tell me, whore!")

The bastard wanted her to talk with his balls in her mouth. So she talked into his balls.

"Aaaaaaaaaawoooooooooo…" she said, while she felt them pushing frantically against my cheeks.

His ball bristles were on her tongue, hairy, scratching it.

"Kya boli?" he said, bending, as she looked up, glaring.

Suddenly, without warning, he pinched her nostrils closed with his thumb and index finger. She was suffocating. She tried letting some air in from her mouth, opening wider, but he was ready, and he pushed his balls further in.

"Mere bulle ke baal achche hain kyaa, saali?" he said, his tone dripping with lasciviousness.
("Is my pubic hair to your liking, slut?")

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwooooooo…." she said, moving her lips and mouth around his hirsute balls the best she could, sucking in as much air as she could through her mouth. They were jam packed in there, so there was only so much movement.

He released her nostrils, and pulled his giant testicles out of her mouth. She gasped and doubled down, sucking in air greedily.

"Kya choosthi hain thoo, Priyanka" he said.

The bastard was calling her Priyanka. He probably was picturing Priyanka Chopra sucking his cock.

He straightened her up again, so she was facing his dark caramel cock. He entered her mouth now, and rammed it straight down her throat. She almost gagged, still short of breath.

His thick pubic nest was on her lips, and up my nostrils. She could breathe through it, but only through the damp, sweaty smell of his Indian pubes. She felt his pot belly slapping the top of her head.

His cock tasted like paan.

He thrust it deeper down her throat. His hairy tennis balls slapped against her lips, and his damp pubic hair kept entering her nostrils.

She looked up at him angrily. She enjoyed sucking cock, but the gagging was annoying.

He ignored her, and kept fucking her throat.

"Aah Priyanka," he said, "kya choosthi hai thu!" ("Aah Priyanka, you suck well!")

She gave him another angry look, while he rammed her throat another dozen times. The slick mixture of his pre-cum and her saliva, and sweat, glistened along the length of his shaft, and dribbled down his balls, getting caught in his ball hair.

"Choosna khatam kar," he said, "phir kuch bhi kar sakti hai."
("Finish sucking, and then you can do whatever you like.")

Promise, she thought to herself. Can I whip you a hundred times?

He was a pure bastard.

"Chooso, Priyanka," he said. ("Suck, Priyanka.")

He thrust his caramel phallus down her throat, so that his pubic bush was in her nose and on her lips again. His bristly caramel balls slapped her chin.

She tasted a complex mix of pre cum, sweat and something else. It tasted nasty and delicious in the same mouthful.

He slammed his average danda down her throat again and again, and she screamed out mmmmms with increasing frenzy. His thick pubic curls slammed her mouth again and again, with increasing vehemence and velocity. His monstrous gendein hit her chin with increasing force.

Cum, drool and sweat dripped off her lips and mouth. He fucked her face faster and faster, and she could feel the climax quivering within his danda. Each time his balls slapped her, she knew that they were turgid with anticipation. She could feel the volcano stirring within them.

"Mmmmmmmm, Mmmmmm, Mmmmmmmmm," she screamed into his cock, as it rammed her throat.

"Meri phategi!" he screamed. ("I am cumming!")

She kept biting down on his cock, refusing to release it each time it entered, and he kept removing it and reentering her mouth, as though her struggles meant nothing.

"Meri phat rahi hai, Priyanka" he screamed. "Lund choosne waali Priyanka!" ("I am cumming Priyanka. Cock sucking Priyanka!")

His balls exploded, and quaked against her chin. His danda started to erupt a thick, gooey wad of cum down her throat. He removed it from her throat as soon as it started. Pure bastard.

She wanted to drink up all the cum, so that it would be cleaner, but Gupta the average danda wanted it messy.

So his cock and balls exploded all over her. The nasty, thick white jizz flew out in a diverging trajectory and splattered her face. A thick dollop of cum smacked her eye, which she closed just in time, and the gooey jizz dripped off her eyelashes, ruining her mascara. Another messy spurt of jizz landed in her black hair, forming a thick string of pearls. Another few dollops landed on her forehead and her nose, while a large section of the initial ejaculate ran a main stream down into her open mouth and pooled in her mouth.

Secondary spurts hit her chin and breasts, as Gupta rotated his cock and balls around to inflict maximum damage. Cum dripped off her tee-shirt, and off her rock hard nipples that were poking through them.

Then his spurts died down. He moved forward and placed his danda back in her mouth.

"Poora choos le, Priyanka Chopra," he said. ("Suck it clean, Priyanka Chopra.")

She obeyed, giving his shriveling member last kisses. She caught the now unswollen purple knob that was the head of his cock with her tongue, preventing it from retreating into his foreskin, and licked it clean. She wanted no cause for complaint, so she would get full rate.

"Mera naam Vandana hai, benchod," she said, giving his shriveling danda some last licks. ("My name is Vandana, bastard.")

"Haan haan," he said. "Pata hai." ("Yes, yes, I remember.")

"Full rate, yaad rakh," she said. ("Remember, full rate.")

"Ho jaayegaa," he said, smiling. ("It's done.")

The bastard gave her only seventy five percent of full rate after the shoot. So she gave one of the executive producers the same favor, and got him fired. Plus she got herself twice the full rate with the help of her new boytoy.

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