"An audition? Does your mother know you're here?"
Marina Jackson glowered and tossed her head. The burly, sausage-fingered security man at the reception desk was terse and uncooperative, and he spoke with a thick foreign accent she immediately recognised as Russian. Marina was almost nineteen years old and the man was obviously being sarcastic. "Yes," Marina said in a deliberately sassy tone. "My mother does know I'm here. She is a model too."
Despite her outward confidence, it was an unnerving experience. She wondered again about the information from Alexandra Agletdinova, her friend at the Russian Orthodox Convent school in Oxford. It wasn't as if Alexandra was a close friend... more of an acquaintance, really, and almost year younger than Marina. They had never really mixed at the boarding school, so it was kind of the girl to give Marina a tip-off about the exclusive auditions at Hot-Girlz. Marina clutched the signed business card that Alexandra had given to her.
As it turned out, the address of the Hot-Girlz Model Agency was a relatively new, tall building in Soho, of the kind that seems to spring up overnight amidst the otherwise seedy, neon-lit streets.
The security guard stared candidly at her bared belly above her low-slung jeans, and smirked as he spoke. "So, your mother is a model and she wants the same for her daughter?" he said with an unpleasant laugh and his bull neck seemed to quiver as he moved round the desk to stand beside Marina. "Go home and thank her, but say we refused her offer."
Marina pouted prettily. She didn't even know where her mother was in the world at that moment... living high on the vine somewhere, no doubt. In truth, there was little that Marina had to thank her mother for, except, perhaps, for her stunning good looks. Female beauty ran in the family pedigree: tales of the ravishing beauty of Marina's great-grandmother were legendary in St Petersburg, and her grandmother, still alive in Moscow, was a strikingly handsome woman despite her age. There were flaws, too, though: it was accepted that, besides their good looks, the women of the line were generally... well, flighty and capricious. Marina had certainly inherited that wild gene too. Over the past year she had become known for absconding for extended periods of time from the very expensive but strict Russian Orthodox boarding school. Marina, it seemed, could not help but to seek to impress and excite men, flirting outrageously, casting pouting smiles across a room, 'accidentally' brushing of her body against them as she passed. However, it was apparent that her subtle feminine wiles weren't working on this suspicious Russian oaf of a doorman, and he seemed about to turn her away.
"Wait a minute..." Marina said, placing the business card on the reception desk. "A friend, Alexandra Agletdinova, sent me to this agency. She told me to give you the card as an introduction?"
The security guard glanced down at the card which bore Alexandra's bold signature. He didn't pick it up but his attitude seemed to change abruptly. "Alexandra... she's a very clever girl. Her father is a good friend of mine," he said, reaching for the telephone.
Relieved that the man was at last taking her seriously, Marina smiled triumphantly as he punched numbers on the telephone keypad. To divert herself from the man's candidly appraising gaze, she looked around the anonymous reception area: it could have been the entrance to any office block in any large city, and there was no indication of the activities there.
"There's a cunt down here asking for an audition," the thug-like man said into the phone, speaking in Russian and glancing at Marina's body as he spoke, as if stripping her with his eyes. Marina, startled, indignantly straightened and thrust out her full breasts, which were already well-revealed by the sexy Versace crop-top she'd chosen to wear for the occasion. "A prick-teaser... Young, slim, big tits, with a mouth made for sucking cocks."
The man obviously didn't realise that Marina spoke fluent Russian. Marina was shocked at his crude words, and she knew that she ought to turn and leave, immediately, without further ado. Instead though, she smiled sweetly and didn't let on that she had understood a single word. After a few seconds, the man replaced the handset. "Follow me," he said, abruptly turning and striding down the corridor behind his desk. Marina hurried to catch up, her high spiked heels clipping along on the new marble floor. The man stopped and pressed a button on the wall console, and then he tightly grasped Marina's upper arm. She glanced down in surprise at his fingers, which held her arm in a vice-like grip, but the elevator doors slid smoothly aside with a hiss and he guided her into the lift. He produced a plastic card from his pocket and held it against a sensor as he pressed a button for the 5th floor. He then released her arm and stepped smartly out into the corridor as the lift-doors closed. Left alone, Marina studied her appearance in the mirrors that lined the elevator. She rubbed her arm, still feeling the imprint of the man's strong grip. For some strange reason, though, Marina was somewhat aroused. The oafish security man's crude assessment of her had been unnervingly correct. Marina had never before thought of herself as a 'prick-teaser', but it accurately described her. She'd had many boyfriends, but she was anything but promiscuous, in the true sense. She flaunted her body before men but rarely bestowed its charms upon them. The lift shuddered to a halt. Straightening her shoulders and sucking in her belly, Marina waited, and when the doors slid aside she stifled a gasp...
The audition was obviously already in full swing. Rather than the expected corridor or office, the lift doors opened onto a large area that obviously represented the floor-space of the entire fifth storey of the building. It was lit by many bright floodlights, and untidily littered with equipment and sets. There were men with movie cameras on wheeled dollies, people milling about, and a cacophony of low noise punctuated with shouted commands. Nobody cast a second glance towards Marina as she stepped uncertainly from the lift. She looked about her in astonishment, a half-smile of excitement flickering on her lips. It was obviously a film shoot. Many of the men wore suave dinner jackets that were out of place in the heat generated by the lights, and a few of the women wore sumptuous evening gowns. Other women, perhaps a dozen of them, wore ankle-length white hooded diaphonous robes that were slit to the armpit on either side and they walked in a group to the rear of the room, disappearing behind some scenery.
A male voice yelled a command, and the actors hurried to their marks. The men and women in evening gowns took their places, sitting at elegant dining tables placed on either side of a raised catwalk. Another man, clad in a white dinner jacket and presumably one of the leads, stood at a small lectern at the entrance to the small stage. The director called for action and a sudden hush fell on the entire space as the camera's turned and the actors at the tables picked up wine glasses.
"And go!" the director yelled.
The man in the white dinner jacket rapped the lectern loudly, and spoke in deep, cultured tones: "May I have your attention, ladies and gentlemen, as we are about to commence proceedings. To remind you of our terms, all bids are taken in US dollars, and sales are for a 12 month exclusive contract unless otherwise stated, during which subsequent revenues are at your own discretion. We do, however, insist on a deposit of fifty per cent of the sales value, refundable on the satisfactory return of the property at the end of the contract. Is that clear?"
The people at the tables gave a general murmur of consent, as one of the white-robed woman stepped onto the catwalk.
"Our first lot is the lovely Larna, 21 years old, from Kiev."
The woman, framed in a harsh spotlight, lifted her hood away from her head, taking care not to spoil her hair. She paused, smiled prettily into the cameras, and then slowly sashayed along the entire length of the walkway, her hips swaying extravagantly, causing the gauze robe to part and to reveal glimpses of her bare breasts and flanks as she moved. At the end of the catwalk, she turned theatrically, the white gauze wafting about her, and returned to stand beside the lectern.
Marina stood watching, wide-eyed and fascinated as the man rapped the lectern again with his gavel to halt the low buzz of conversation that had erupted.
"There is no reserve on this very special lot, ladies and gentleman, and she comes with an absolute guarantee of satisfaction. As you will see, Larna has an exquisite body..."
As the auctioneer spoke, the woman unfastened the robe at the neck and shrugged it from her shoulders. The filmy material fell to her waist, revealing sweetly shaped breasts, and then it slithered over her hips to pool at her ankles, leaving her naked. She stood well, with her right hip turned and toe pointed, prominent sex lips well revealed by the shaven vulva.
"Do I hear an opening bid for Larna, ladies and gentlemen?" the auctioneer enquired, as the nude woman set off down the catwalk once more, turning this way and that, well-exhibiting her body for the cameras. "Fifteen thousand, thank you, sir. And sixteen over here... Eighteen thousand dollars on the telephone. Nineteen... thank you, madam. Twenty on the internet site, and twenty-two... My, my, Larna is in demand. "
The woman walked slowly down the catwalk, twirling and posing at intervals, her practised smile remaining fixed, as if painted upon her features.
"Twenty-two on the phones, thank you. Twenty-three from the client on the net... "
Marina was suddenly aware of a hand on her arm. She turned and saw a grey-haired man whose neck was heavily-swathed in expensive gold chain, and his mouth was so near to her ear that she could feel his breath.. "What the fuck are you doing, slut?" he whispered urgently in Russian.
Marina was about to answer but thought better of it. "I'm sorry?" she said in hushed tones, in her best English crystal-glass accent.
"British?"
"Yes."
