Ugly Whitezilla Boy at Casting Sex with Shy Tight Teen

Title: The Ugly Whitezilla and the Shy Tight Teen

The moment Maisey stepped into the seedy studio, she knew she’d made a mistake. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting an unsettling glow on the worn-out couches and stained carpet. A portly, middle-aged man with a sleazy smile greeted her – what Maisey could only assume was the “director”. “Welcome, welcome! So happy you could join us today.”

Maisey forced a smile, her stomach churning with nerves. At 18, fresh out of high school and desperate for extra cash, she’d spotted the ad seeking fresh-faced talent for an “independent film”. It promised easy money and a chance to get her start in the industry. Now, surrounded by garish posters of busty blondes and a lingering stench ofചముister that she was beginning to doubt her instincts.

The director, who introduced himself as Rick, led her to a small dressing room. “Why don’t you get comfortable, sweetheart? Aid one of the costumes on and we’ll start filming in a bit.” He winked, his beady eyes roaming over her petite frame before stepping out and leaving her alone.

Maisey stared at her reflection in the cracked mirror. Her honey-brown hair fell in soft waves, framing her heart-shaped face and almond eyes. She had an almost childlike quality to her that made her seem even younger than her 18 years. The kind of innocence that screamed to be corrupted. She took a deep breath and stripped down, pulling on a tiny white tank top that did little to hide her pert breasts.

That’s when she met him – Malcolm. Shambling out from another dressing room wearing only a pair of loose basketball shorts that hung low on his hips, drinking in the sight of her with undisguised hunger. Maisey couldn’t help but stare back. The boy – if you could even call him that – had to be at least 6’8 if he was an inch. Looming over her like an awkward, gangly creature. Pustule-covered skin, lank greasy hair, and an outfit that looked chosen to draw attention away from his pale, doughy form. His leering gaze made Maisey feel small and vulnerable.

“Well, hello there,” he drawled, stepping closer. Maisey felt the urge to back away but refused to let him unnerve her. “You new here?”

She nodded. “Just trying to get some experience under my belt.” The moment the words left her mouth, Maisey wanted to swallow them back down. The way Malcolm licked his lips in anticipation made it clear he took her statement as an invitation.

Rick poked his head in. “Okay kids, we’ll be shooting the intro in the big studio. Let’s get moving!”

Steeling herself, Maisey followed him out, Malcolm looming behind like a pallid shadow. The studio was dimly lit, a bed set up in the center with a cheesy red silk sheet tossed over it. A camera stood on a tripod, pointing directly at the bed. This was really happening.

“Okay, so I want you to sit on the bed, cross your legs and chat with Malcolm like you’re both nervous first-timers,” Rick directed, crouching behind the camera. “Then I want some bodice-ripping, heavy petting, that kind of thing. Got it?”

Maisey nodded, heart pounding, and took a seat on the edge of the bed. Malcolm sat heavily beside her, bouncing her body with his weight. “Hey babe, so, you ever do this before?” His voice was a slimy rasp.

“Um, yeah. A few times.” The lie felt sour on her tongue. God, why had she thought this was a good idea?

They began to talk, or at least Malcolm did. He rambled on about growing up in the suburbs, his tone dripped with resentment for the banal life he clearly felt himself too superior for. Maisey barely registered a word, too focused on keeping up her end of the conversation. “So tell me about yourself,” she prompted weakly.

Malcolm grinned, sharp and cruel. “Me? I’m an artist, baby. I play the guitar, write poetry, smoke pot. You know, all the stuff they warned us about in high school.”

Maisey actually snorted before she could stop herself. “Sounds like it,” she said dryly. “An artist. The world obviously wasn’t ready for this level of genius.”

The way Malcolm’s face contorted, she instantly knew she’d gone too far. His eyes narrowed and he shifted closer. “You’re a real bitch, you know that? Pretending to be all sweet and innocent. Anyone can tell you’re the type to put out.” His hand came down heavy on her thigh.

Maisey stiffened, willing herself not to react. She knew this sort of thing happened in pornos, that’s what they were going for, right? Extreme realism? She just had to play along.

But that didn’t stop her stomach from turning over with revulsion as his meaty hand crept up her thigh. Or the heat rising to her cheeks as he leaned in, his garlic-laced breath hot against her ear. “I bet you ride dick like a pony. Take big cocks everywhere you go.”

The camera was rolling, zoomed in on them now, catching every moment. Maisey just froze, torn between screaming and running and wondering how long this would last.

But a part of her knew there was no backing out now. No easy way to quit. She’d stepped into the lion’s den, and now she’d have to play along until the Master and This shit script decided to let her go.

But what a price to pay for easy money. Only later would she wonder if the pain of that was worth the price of cheap grainy print…