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Monday, 29 October 2018

The Film Test

From Whispers 4
She was tall and blonde and shapely, and pretty as well, and with all this she probably had thought about films but not seriously, only in the sort of day-dreamy way that girls do. Six months before her mother had suggested she enter a beauty contest but Janice hadn’t been sure if she was serious and in any event she didn’t, too scared. Because apart from anything else what if you came last? Then out of the blue this man in the pub.
She was with Brian, her boyfriend, but he had just gone out to the gents. Then this man who maybe had been sort of eyeing her came quickly across and asked had she ever thought about films. Janice wasn’t sure what she said, probably something stupid she was so shocked and, well, tongue-tied. But anyway he put a card in her hand and said ‘Give me a ring’ and then went out.
She sat there staring at the card like an idiot. Then seeing Brian coming back she slipped it quickly into her purse. Her mind was in a spin but Janice knew she didn’t want to tell Brian about it. He sat down and began talking about something, football probably, but Janice wasn’t listening. She could still see that face, that neatly trimmed beard. And the card that was safely in her purse. Justin James Ltd: Film and Theatre Agents.
She called the number the next day, first thing, 9.30, from the office. Picking up the phone she felt a renewed flush of the excitement that had kept her awake half the night. To be in films! This office where she worked as a miserably paid typist would be just a bad dream. And Mr Atkins, who liked to manoeuver you into a corner and then slip his hand behind you and pinch your bum, he would be just a bad dream as well. She felt quite faint when she heard the voice, that same softly-speaking voice she had heard in the pub. ‘Justin James.’
‘I… It’s the girl in the pub,’ she said breathlessly, keeping her voice low so that no one else would hear. ‘Janice Hodgkins, in the Rose and Crown.’
‘Ah yes, the stunning blonde,’ he said. Janice blushed.
‘Yes I was really struck,’ he went on. ‘Quite extraordinary looks. Have you had a film test before?’
Janice said a breathless No.
‘Oh my; that is surprising. I would have thought someone would have noticed you. So it’s lucky me, eh?’
Janice didn’t know what to say, but she did say Yes when he said he’d like to take some shots of her. Yes, she said, tomorrow afternoon would be, fine, although she knew she would have to get permission to get off. An address in West London. She wrote it down with a trembling hand.
She would of course have to ask Mr Atkins for permission. That was not at all a nice thought, Mr Atkins would want his pound of flesh — or a few sharp pinches of it at least — before he would say yes. But for a film test… Janice could put up with a lot worse than that.
Mr Atkins was on form all right. Positively gloating once he realised she had come to ask a favour. ‘An afternoon off, Miss Hodgkins? Mmmm… well, well, well, I don’t know about that. We’ll have to discuss it, won’t we?’
He beckoned her over, near the window, in his office. Shuddering, Janice crossed the room — and let his arm draw her close. ‘Now then.’ She gritted her teeth. Right away the hand was at her bottom, groping through her thin skirt. ‘Mmmm… I really don’t know…’ Jiggle, jiggle at her left buttock… and then the right. ‘Mmmm… It’s for a worthwhile reason I hope, Janice?’
Finally he did say Yes — as he always would if you were prepared to stand there and meekly take it. Still feeling his creepy hand Janice walked out and over to her desk. Shortly afterwards Mr Atkins came out as well and crossed the general office in the direction of the men’s toilet, an abstracted look on his face. Dirty old bugger, thought Janice imagining what Mr Atkins was going to do. But she did have something to take her mind off Mr Atkins and his dirty ways. She could hardly wait: the rest of that day, the next morning… Of course she said nothing to Brian or her mother or anyone.
She found it without any trouble with her A-Z, a tube ride, and then a short walk. It was an ordinary-looking house in a suburban street, not an office, and for a moment Janice thought she had made a mistake, but then there he was, the man in the pub, Mr James presumably, appearing from round the side of the house.
He smiled. ‘You found it then?’ Janice said Yes and Mr James explained that it was a private house of a friend, not his office, because he wanted to get some location shots. Janice felt a flush of excitement.
She hadn’t known what to wear because he hadn’t specified anything, so she had just worn a pretty summer dress under a light coat. Under the dress Janice had on her best, rather sexy, underwear: brief black panties and bra and also a matching suspender belt fastening sheer dark seamed nylons. Also high-heeled courts. She didn’t know what sort of shots Mr James wanted to take. He might want some glamour… a bit of leg…
Mr James led her inside where there was another man, Mr Milton, who was a photographer. Mr James took Janice’s coat and said she looked really super. He made a cup of tea and then in the lounge said that first of all Mr Milton would like to take some general shots. First as she was, in her pretty dress, and then with the dress off. His associates would want to see her figure, that was normal procedure of course. As he spoke Mr Milton, an older man, was setting up lights.
Janice had more or less expected this of course but that didn’t make it any easier to do. It wasn’t as if she was exactly in the habit of taking her clothes off in front of two strange men and there was also the thought of her sexy underwear. It was no doubt a good choice but at the same time highly embarrassing to think of parading in just those scanty, sexy things. But — well, did she want to be in films or not? You had to expect to be asked to take your clothes off.
Mr Milton took some shots of her sitting on the settee and then standing. And then Janice’s dress had to come off, and her black slip as well. Mr James said she had a really super figure — while Mr Milton was snapping away. Then Mr James moved in close behind her and before Janice knew what was happening had unhitched her bra strap. He pulled the bra down, exposing her full firm tits. Janice gave a yelp.
‘Don’t be silly, take your hands away.’ As Mr James spoke, Mr Milton, face intent behind his camera, was going: Click, Click.
Janice had no sooner got over that shock and forced herself to take her hands away from her boobs than Mr James, behind her again, had his hands at the slinky knickers. ‘Keep still,’ he told her, and slid them down, to the tops of her thighs. Mr James’s hand briefly at the bare, ripe flesh of Janice’s bottom while in front her blonde pussy was on show for Mr Milton.
‘Don’t be shy… Stand up straight. Now put your hands on your head…’
It was really awful, standing there with her tits out, her pussy and bottom bare, in the full glare of the hot lights, while Mr Milton moved briskly around, clicking his camera from every possible angle.
‘Good,’ said Mr James. ‘Very good indeed. I think we’ve got some first-rate shots there.’
The dazzling lights had finally been shut off. Janice, feeling little prickles of perspiration all over her, was allowed to pull her panties back up and refasten her bra. Mr Milton was reloading his camera — so presumably there was more to come.
Yes. Mr James explained that they would need some action shots to complete the set of photos. A super face and figure went a long way of course but to land a part it was necessary to show some evidence of dramatic ability.
‘Don’t worry,’ he smiled, seeing Janice’s doubtful look. ‘You’ll handle it splendidly, I’m sure.’ What he had in mind was a scene from a film they were thinking of making, and if Janice did well she could even get the part. It was a thriller, a bank robbery. The part in question was the young wife of a bank assistant. The gang wanted the combination of the bank safe and thought her husband had it and she knew what it was or at least where he kept a note of it.
They had come round to her house to make her reveal it. In fact she didn’t know the combination and so she couldn’t tell them but they refused to believe this. They got a bit rough. That was the scene Mr James wanted to do.
‘Don’t put your dress on,’ he told Janice ‘I want you just as you are, in your undies. These villains rip your dress off, you see.’
He led her out the back door where there was a brick passageway. What they were supposed to do was tie Janice up, tie her hands to a rope suspended from the ceiling. She was made to put her hands together and raise them, as if she was tied. And then he was fumbling at her bra strap again. Mr Milton was busy clicking the shutter.
The bra came right off this time and then Mr James was at Janice’s knickers again, sliding them down. ‘Keep that pose. Remember you’re tied up.’
Janice hung on, her arms raised as high as she could and with everything now — tits, bum, pussy — all bare. Mr James disappeared but only for a moment and then was back. He had a long, thin cane in his hand now.
He was going to pretend to threaten her with it presumably, Janice told herself, looking up at the ceiling. Her arms were aching and she certainly didn’t like standing like this with virtually nothing on. She turned… Mr Milton was still busy with the camera… Then she gave an abrupt, frenzied howl.
The cane in Mr James’s hand had sliced viciously in across the full swell of Janice’s bare bottom. She automatically yelled again. The pain was horrendous. He wasn’t supposed to actually…
‘Keep the arms up,’ Mr James barked. ‘She gets a good caning, this young wife…’
No!’ Janice yelped. But the cane whipped in a second time, almost killing her. ‘No!’ she screamed again. ‘No — you can’t…’
‘Keep still,’ he rasped. ‘I want you to do the scene properly. You want to be in films, don’t you? Keep the arms up.’ The cane cracked in one more, raising a third humming red weal across Janice’s tender buttocks.
Through the horrendous pain she heard Mr James’s voice. ‘Keep in position. Keep the arms up. We want the nice real cane marks.’
He gave her six. Six bright red weals across Janice’s poor bottom. Then at last he stopped, and Mr Milton stopped clicking his camera. Janice was in tears, real hot salty tears, she couldn’t help it, the pain was so dreadful. Mr James said the crying was all right, it added a good touch of reality because the young wife would have been crying.
He had abandoned the cane and his hand was stroking Janice’s red-hot rear. ‘That was excellent. You did really well, my dear.’ Janice didn’t answer, she couldn’t. She could hardly think. That vicious assault on her body, it was almost like being suddenly grabbed and raped.
Somehow she got her clothes back on and cleaned up her tear-stained face. That was it, the test was over. She walked back out along the street, her bottom still stinging with every step she took. Afterwards Janice didn’t say anything to anyone. Naturally; what could she say? But she had done all right, Mr James had said that. Excellent, he had said. And she would be hearing from them.
She got a phone call a week later. It wasn’t Mr James, someone else. He asked her to come and see him and she arranged to go right after work. An office in North London. Sleazy-looking. And a man also rather sleazy-looking and fat, but still, you couldn’t go by appearances. He said, ‘Ah Miss Hodgkins, our beautiful blonde,’ then went to close the door behind her.
He took a large envelope from his desk, and opened it. Pictures of Janice in the passageway. Being caned. ‘Very nice,’ he wheezed. ‘I’d like a go at that.’
She felt a surge of panic. ‘Look…’ she whispered.
‘No, you look, girlie,’ he grinned. ‘Don’t want your mum to see these, do you?’
Our thanks to R.B. of Birmingham, whose photos prompted the story ‘Film Test’, but you’re supposed to let other people ‘Join the Dots,’ not actually hang the girl from the rafters; it spoils their fun and we have to crop the photos anyway. Perhaps you would bear this in mind for next time.