‘OK.’ And then after a little hesitation, ‘Nothing special.’
That was Stacey’s reply to Mark’s routine query how her day had been. He didn’t seem to notice the hesitation, or at least attach any significance to it. But Stacey’s day couldn’t be honestly described as nothing special. Not when a complete stranger has that morning in the town centre asked you if you would like a film test. And you have somehow said yes. And have got an appointment in two days’ time. To take some pictures.
So Stacey’s answer wasn’t exactly an honest one. In effect it was a lie. A little white lie? She should tell Mark of course — but what would that mean? He would probably be angry, tell her she was a fool to listen to such a story. Tell her probably… that the stranger was just trying to get into her knickers. Mark would say something coarse and basic like that. And of course he would forbid her to go, to keep the appointment.
It was almost like a dream anyway, as if she had imagined it. Things like that didn’t happen to ordinary young housewives in ordinary little towns like Silfield. Even to good-looking ones with nice figures. Stacey knew she was good-looking: a pretty blonde with shoulder-length corn-coloured hair and big deep-blue eyes. And a good-looking figure too: tallish at 5’ 7”, slim-waisted but curving out where a girl should be curvy. Men did look, sometimes they made jokey invitations (she assumed they were jokey), but naturally Stacey wouldn’t be interested even if they were serious. She and Mark had been married for three years and she loved her husband and was very happy in her ordinary life. All right, occasionally thinking that life could possibly offer something else, perhaps occasionally thinking of other girls of 24 who were not married and maybe had more glamorous lives; though probably in fact they didn’t. No, she was very happy and didn’t want an adventure.
But… if you had an unbelievable offer like this. A TV screen test. Could she believe it? Well it wasn’t completely impossible. And there was the card. Stacey had the card he had given her hidden in the side pocket of her handbag. Harry Brownley: CROESUS FILMS. They were an independent company looking for new talent, Mr Brownley said. The card had looked genuine enough —and so had Mr Brownley: fortyish, in jeans but smartly-cut ones with an expensive looking blue shirt with his sports jacket. It was what Stacey imagined a TV person might wear. The fact of course was that once Stacey had got over the shock, had realised what he was saying, she wanted to believe it. She was attractive, as good-looking as quite a few actresses you saw on TV. Blushing, she had blurted, ‘I can’t act.’ Mr Brownley had just laughed. ‘No problem. You start off with small parts that don’t need any acting. Just a pretty girl who looks good.’
No Mark didn’t ask anything. If he had said something, anything, Stacey would have told him. That was what she told herself. Even if he was going to laugh at her or get angry and forbid her to go. But Mark didn’t. Because his mind was on what it was usually on once they were in bed. His hand sliding down and pulling up her nightie. Then at the bush of her pussy. Pushing Stacey’s thighs apart so that he could get properly at it. His fingers sliding open the lips of her cunt. Lips that were already wet. Because tonight she was turned on. Stacey wasn’t always interested in it but tonight was different. And she knew the reason. Mr Brownley. That fantastic card in her bag. A screen test…
She gave a little squeal of excitement and reached her own hand down for Mark’s stiff cock. The thought of nonchalantly saying to him: Oh did I tell you, I’ve been offered a part in a TV film. Just a small part… She slid over on her back at the same time spreading her legs wide. Stacey didn’t normally feel like this. She had never felt like this. Really hot for Mark’s big cock. Needing it right up her… And… he was on top of her now. She moaned as she guided it in. Oh Christ…
There was another man with Mr Brownley when Stacey met him at the station, Paddington, as arranged. Was it then that she first felt the dart of apprehension? No, because there had already been fearful thoughts, before setting out and during the train ride, mixed with the pure excitement. The whole thing was scary. But this second man didn’t inspire any confidence. Short and bald-headed with glasses and a staring look. A look that seemed to undress her, took off the pretty summer frock Stacey had on to gaze greedily at what was underneath.
Mr Brownley was smilingly greeting her. The other man’s name was Norman Riggs. ‘Beauty and the Beast,’ Mr Brownley laughed. ‘I want some shots of Beauty and the Beast and Norman here’s a real Beast, aren’t you Norm?’
The other man grinned — or leered you could say. It was a joke no doubt. Stacey tried to laugh. But did he mean she was going to be photographed with this scary Mr Riggs? Stacey shivered. Perhaps she should have told Mark — and then she would have been forbidden to come. Or at least come up with a girlfriend. A chaperone, safety in numbers. But that would have looked silly, she wasn’t a schoolgirl she was 24, a married woman. A girlfriend would have been nice though as now, she had to get in the car, a BMW. That was reassuring, wasn’t it, an expensive car. But villains had expensive cars.
They drove through back streets into a run-down area. The car stopped in front of closed iron gates. Mr Riggs got out, unlocked them, the car rolled through and the gates were relocked. Stacey felt her heart up in her mouth. They were in a sort of workyard with a dingy building, a warehouse perhaps, facing them. Mr Brownley patted Stacey’s leg. ‘Here we are then. Our quiet little corner for atmospheric shots. Beauty and the Beast eh?’ He laughed. Stacey wasn’t laughing.
She followed them through a heavy door into the building. Into a bare and dusty room, empty apart from two wooden chairs along one side. Mr Brownley had a camera bag, brought in from the car. He was taking out a camera.
‘Beauty and the Beast, right? Beastly Norman here. The Beauty with her clothes off of course. Except for those sexy high-heels. Bare Beauty with a nasty leering Beast.’
Stacey had thought of having to take her clothes off. Hotly thought of it and then dismissed the thought. In that rosy picture of herself Stacey certainly didn’t have her clothes off. For one thing Mark would never allow that. She wasn’t going to take her clothes off. Perhaps it was a joke. Red-faced Stacey shook her head.
‘Don’t be silly,’ Mr Brownley rasped. ‘It’s the regular thing. Every girl takes her clothes off. You can’t do a test unless you take your clothes off. Get that pretty dress off and stop messing around. And your knickers and whatever.’
‘No!’ Stacey yelped. ‘I won’t. I… want to go.’ She was suddenly prepared to forget about being a big star. This wasn’t going to be nice; she should never have come.
‘Look…’ Mr Brownley’s voice was annoyed now. ‘We don’t want time wasters. You come here saying you want a test and now you just want to waste our time. I could get angry. Not only that, my boss could get angry, if I go back and say I’ve wasted my time. If he gets angry…’ Mr Brownley, close in now, slid his arm round Stacey’s slim waist. ‘You wouldn’t want to know about that, Honey. Believe me.’
The hand let go of Stacey’s waist and slapped her bottom. ‘OK? So be sensible. We just need to see those nice boobs. And that pretty bum. A nice bit of pussy hair. Nothing to get excited about. With Norman having a good leer at it all. You’ll look really great. My boss’ll love these shots.’
It was horrible what he was saying. Why hadn’t she been sensible? Stacey pleaded, feeling close to tears. But at the same time she was afraid of antagonising him. It couldn’t be true what he was saying: that she could be prosecuted for breach of contract; for time wasting. Could it? And also she had no idea where she was except that she was alone in this awful place with the two of them. What if they did turn nasty?
Eventually Mr Brownley said, as a major concession, she could have something on for the photos. He produced a pair of tiny black bikini knickers from somewhere, and a white tee-top. Stacey could have these two items on, plus her black high-heels. That was an extremely generous concession and Mr Brownley wasn’t at all sure his boss wouldn’t be very angry. Stacey looked unhappily at the two garments. After some long seconds she reached her hand out to take them.
They let her go into another room to change. Mr Brownley had stressed she was to wear nothing else, not keep her bra on under the top for instance. The little knickers seemed almost non-existent, covering virtually nothing of Stacey’s bottom and of course the whole lovely long length of her legs was quite bare. The tee-top covered her decently, except you could see her nipples sticking out under the tight thin cotton. She felt sick but with an effort controlled herself. He would take a couple of pictures and then it would be over. She would be back on the train for nice ordinary, unexciting Silfield. Her legs felt like rubber but somehow they were operating. She was walking back into the other room. Mr Brownley gave a whoop. Mr Riggs — the Beast — grinned leeringly. Mr Brownley posed her with her arms stretching up towards the ceiling. ‘Nice,’ he applauded. ‘Very nice…’ The camera clicking, and then… ‘Keep still.’ His voice sharp. ‘Just keep still. I’m only…’ He was sliding the tee-top up. Pushing it right up so that Stacey’s boobs were bare. ‘Keep still. Look, you want to get it over with, don’t you? Get finished. Well then…’
Eventually she let him. His hand sliding over her bare boobs, the pink nipples now fully erect. ‘Nice… That’s a good girl. A real Beauty eh?’ And a little bit later it was the bikini knickers. Mr Brownley wanted them down for just a couple of shots. Stacey wanted to get finished, didn’t she? The little knickers were being slid down. Stacey’s bottom was completely bare. As of course was her pussy in front. Mr Brownley had got what he had originally been insisting on. Stacey blinked away tears.
At the station Mr Brownley said, ‘We’ll be in touch then: Another appointment very soon.’ Stacey whimpered, ‘No… please…’ But there was no point saying no. Not now he’d taken those pictures. Mr Brownley laughed. ‘Don’t say no, Beauty. We don’t want to hear that. Come on, give me a nice kiss.’
He put his arms round her and kissed her, his tongue forcing itself deep in Stacey’s mouth. At last he let go of her. ‘And one for dear Norman…’ And Mr Riggs was doing the same. Holding her, kissing her, his tongue pushing into Stacey’s mouth. Mr Riggs who had been on most of the photos, grinning, leering, in some with his arms round her, kissing her in a couple as he was now. Mr Riggs, the Beast. The Beast and Beauty.
Stacey stumbled away. Trying to shut out Mr Brownley’s parting words. ‘I’ll call you next week. The boss: he’s going to want to meet you himself.’