|
Fantasy Web series audition me chod dala
|
Hi every1
aaj kal bahot sare web series aa rahe hai. Un sab me actress ko kaisa audition hota hai isi cheez pe story likhne wala hu... I hope aap logo ko pasand aayegi 
12-09-2024, 09:31 PM
(This post was last modified: 18-09-2024, 12:17 PM by Chuland. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
THE STORY
In the bustling heart of Mumbai, a young woman named Deepika Padukone stood before a floor-to-ceiling mirror, her eyes scrutinizing every inch of her reflection. Her long, dark hair cascaded over her bare shoulders, and her skin glowed with the warmth of a thousand sunsets. A gentle breeze from the open window played with the sheer fabric of her sari, revealing the curves that had made her the talk of Bollywood. With a sigh, she adjusted the gold necklace that rested between her breasts, feeling the weight of the diamond that hung from it. It was a gift from her mother, a symbol of hope and protection as she ventured into the unknown. Deepika had dreamt of this day for years, the day she would leave the glitz and glamour of the Indian film industry behind and set her sights on the bright lights of Hollywood. Her agent had called with the news of an audition that could change her life, a role that could make her a star in the West. The script was still a mystery, but the director's name alone was enough to make her pulse race—Vikcy Kaushal, the brooding heartthrob who had taken the international film scene by storm with his raw talent and smoldering good looks. Her heart pounded as she stepped out of the taxi and onto the set, a sprawling mansion that looked like it had been plucked from the pages of a celebrity magazine. The air was thick with anticipation and the scent of freshly cut grass, hinting at the opulence that lay within the iron gates. As she walked up the grand staircase, her heels echoing in the empty hallway, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of doubt. Hollywood was a different beast, one that didn't always play by the same rules as Bollywood. But Deepika was a fighter, and she was determined to show them what she was made of. In the audition room, the air was cool and still, the only sound the ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner. Vikcy sat in a chair, his legs crossed, a half-smile playing on his lips as he studied her. He was even more handsome in person, with piercing eyes that seemed to see right through her. She took a deep breath and began to perform the monologue she had practiced a hundred times, her voice resonating through the room. But as the words left her mouth, she felt a strange shift in the atmosphere. The script on the table flipped open to a page she hadn't seen before, and the scene that unfolded was unlike anything she had ever read—or even dreamed of. It was raw, it was intense, and it was explicit. The room grew hot, and she could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks as she read the words that would seal her fate. "You're perfect," Vikcy said, his voice like velvet. "But this isn't just any role, Deepika. This is the role of a lifetime. And it requires... certain levels of intimacy." Her heart racing, Deepika nodded, her eyes locked on his. She knew what he meant. The whispers of Hollywood's darker side had reached her ears, but she had never truly believed them. Now, faced with the reality, she felt a mix of excitement and fear. This was the price of stardom, and she was willing to pay it. The first scene they shot was topless, her bare breasts bouncing as she ran through the mansion's halls, the cold marble beneath her bare feet. The camera lingered on her, capturing every curve and shiver. She had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. Yet, there was a thrill in it, a thrill that grew stronger with each passing moment. As the days went by, the scenes grew more and more intimate, the line between art and reality blurring until she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. And then came the day she had been both dreading and anticipating—the full sex scene. The room was filled with crew members, their eyes on her as she lay on the bed, naked except for a thin veil of strategically placed silk. Vikcy's hands were everywhere, exploring her body with a confidence that made her knees weak. The cameras rolled, capturing every gasp and moan as he pushed into her, her nails digging into his back. It was rough, it was passionate, and it was real. Deepika knew she was being used, that she was becoming the slut the director wanted her to be. But she couldn't deny the way her body responded to him, the way every touch sent waves of pleasure crashing through her. As the scene unfolded, she lost herself in the moment, in the heat of the passion that was being captured on film. The camera zoomed in on her face, her eyes wide with desire, as she took him in her mouth, her cheeks hollowing with each bob. The world outside the lens faded away, and all that remained was the feel of him, the taste of him, the sound of his grunts of pleasure. It was a performance that would make her infamous, a secret she would carry with her to the top of the Hollywood food chain. But as she swallowed and pulled away, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she couldn't help but wonder if she had just made the biggest mistake of her life. Vikcy leaned back, watching her with a smug smile as she tried to regain her composure. "You're a natural," he said, his voice filled with a dark amusement. "But we're just getting started." The days turned into weeks, and the film set became a prison of pleasure and pain. Each scene was more intense than the last, pushing Deepika to her limits. She had never felt so objectified, so used, but she also had never felt so alive. Her scenes with Vikcy grew more graphic, more depraved, and yet she craved the way he made her feel. The blowjobs turned into full-blown sexual marathons, with the director demanding take after take until he was satisfied with their chemistry. The other actors on set whispered about her, their eyes filled with a mix of envy and pity. But Deepika was beyond caring. She was consumed by the role, by the need to be everything they wanted her to be. One night, as the moon cast a silver glow over the mansion, they shot a particularly harrowing scene in the outdoor pool. The water was cool and inviting, a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies as they tangled together, limbs entwined. The scene was intense, with Deepika's gasps for breath punctuating the silence of the night. As they climaxed together, she felt a strange sense of power, a sense that she had truly become the seductress they had cast her as. But with each passing day, the reality of her situation began to set in. The glamour of Hollywood was a facade, a mask hiding the seedy underbelly of an industry that cared more about ratings than the souls of its stars. Yet, she couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of excitement every time she saw her name in the credits, every time she heard the gasps of the audience as she performed. She was a star, but at what cost? Deepika knew that she had to find a way to take control of her own narrative, to break free from the chains that bound her to this film. But as the final scenes approached, she realized that the role had changed her, had made her crave the very thing she had feared. The film was almost finished, and she was left with a choice—embrace the slut she had become, or fight to reclaim her dignity. Either way, she knew that her life would never be the same. The climax of the film was a blowjob scene that would go down in history. It was shot in a dimly lit room, the shadows dancing across their naked bodies as they writhed on a plush velvet sofa. The director had demanded perfection, pushing her to her limits with every take. Her jaw ached, her knees trembled, but she didn't stop, not even when her eyes watered and her throat felt raw. Vikcy's hands were in her hair, guiding her, controlling her every move. She could feel his pulse quicken, his breath grow ragged as he neared his climax. And then it happened. He erupted in her mouth, the salty taste of him filling her, the warmth of his cum spilling down her throat. She swallowed, her eyes never leaving his, and in that moment, she felt a strange sense of victory. She had given them what they wanted, but she had also taken something from them—a piece of their power. The scene was done, and as the director called "Cut!" she knew that she had conquered the beast that was Hollywood. The aftermath of the film's release was a whirlwind of controversy and accolades. The critics were divided, some praising her bravery, others vilifying her for her explicit scenes. But Deepika didn't care about the headlines. She knew that she had survived, that she had come out the other side a different woman. She had tasted the dark side of stardom and had lived to tell the tale. As the lights of the premiere faded and the cameras stopped flashing, she found herself alone in her hotel room, the echoes of her own screams of pleasure haunting her. The gold necklace her mother had given her felt cold and heavy around her neck. She knew that she had to find a way to balance the woman she had become with the girl who had once dreamed of a different kind of success. The story of Deepika Padukone, the Bollywood beauty turned Hollywood siren, was one of desire and degradation, of power and submission. It was a tale that would be whispered about in the industry for years to come, a cautionary tale of what happens when you sell your soul for fame. But Deepika was not one to be defined by her past. She had plans, big plans, and she was ready to write the next chapter of her life. And as she lay there, the taste of victory still lingering on her lips, she vowed that she would never again let anyone else dictate her future. The blowjob scene was like nothing she had ever experienced. The director's voice echoed through the vast space, shouting "Action!" as if he were directing a battle scene. She looked up at Vikcy, her eyes smoldering with a hunger that was both genuine and terrifying. This was her moment, and she was going to own it. Her mouth wrapped around him, her tongue dancing and teasing as he grew harder and harder. The cameras closed in, capturing every glimpse of her submission, every flicker of pleasure that played across her face. "Deeper," the director barked, and she obeyed, taking him into the back of her throat. She could feel the gag reflex rise, but she pushed it down, her eyes never leaving Vikcy's. His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer, his hips thrusting in time with her movements. She could hear the crew's shallow breathing, the sound of the cameras clicking away, but all that mattered was the connection between them—the raw, carnal need that pulsed through every frame. "Cut!" the director yelled, and she pulled away, panting. It wasn't enough. He wanted more. "Again," he demanded, and she obliged, her eyes never leaving Vikcy's. This time, she was the one in control. She seduced him with her mouth, her lips sliding up and down his shaft with a practiced ease that belied the turmoil inside her. The words of the script slipped away, replaced by the silent dialogue of their bodies. She whispered to him, her voice a siren's call, begging him to fuck her, to claim her in a way that would make the audience believe it was real. And so, as the cameras rolled and the director shouted instructions, she became the seductress she was born to be. Her eyes never left Vikcy's, and his never left hers. They were locked in a dance of power and desire, a dance that would define her career. Each thrust into her mouth was a declaration of her dominance, each moan a testament to her control. The scene was perverse, beautiful, and utterly mesmerizing. The crew watched in rapt attention, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. When it was over, when the director finally called "Cut!" and the cameras stopped rolling, Deepika knew she had given them what they wanted. But she had also given them a piece of herself that she could never get back. She stood, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and looked directly into the camera lens. The film was a masterpiece of depravity, a testament to the lengths people would go for fame. And she was its star, the girl who had swallowed her pride along with the bitter taste of Hollywood's darkest secret. The premiere was a blur of flashing lights and hushed whispers. She walked the red carpet with her head held high, the gold necklace glinting in the paparazzi's flashes. The film had been a hit, the reviews a mix of horror and fascination. She had become a household name, but at what cost? The after-party was a sea of faces she didn't know, of hands that grabbed and groped, of whispers that followed her wherever she went. But she was not the same girl who had stepped off the plane all those months ago. Deepika knew that she had to use her newfound power wisely. She had tasted the dark side of the industry, and she had survived. Now, it was time to rise above it. She searched the room for Vikcy, her eyes locking on his. He was the key to her next move, the one who had shown her the ropes, the one who had made her a star. She approached him, her hips swaying with the confidence of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice a seductive purr. "But now, it's my turn to show you what I've learned." The next part of her journey was about to begin, a journey that would take her far beyond the mansion's hallowed halls and into the heart of the Hollywood machine. She was ready to play the game, but this time, she would make the rules. And as she looked into the mirror that night, the woman staring back at her was not just a slut, not just a star. She was a force to be reckoned with, a woman who knew her worth. The phone call came as she lay in bed, the moon casting a soft glow over the hotel room. It was Vikcy, his voice deep and raspy with desire. "I've got your next role," he said, the promise of more fame and fortune in every syllable. "But this time, it's on my terms." Her heart skipped a beat. She had been waiting for this, dreaming of the day she would get to work with him again. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice steady. "You want the movie," he said, "you want the fame, the fortune? Then my cock should be in your mouth always during the shooting. And we start now." The car ride was a blur of leather and lust as she sank to her knees, her mouth watering at the thought of pleasing him. The engine roared to life, the vibrations traveling up her spine as she took him in her mouth. The taste of him was familiar now, a taste she craved, a taste that represented power and control. She could feel the car picking up speed, the world outside a blur as she focused on the task at hand. "Tell me how much you love it," he demanded, his hand on the back of her head, guiding her movements. "I love it," she murmured, her voice muffled by his thickness. "I love making you feel good." The car weaved through the streets of Los Angeles, the city of angels and demons, and she knew that she was playing with fire. But she didn't care. She was the one holding the match, and she was ready to burn it all down. Vikcy's grip tightened, his hips bucking as he grew closer to climax. She could feel his energy, his need, and she reveled in it. This was her power play, her declaration of independence. She was no longer the innocent girl from Bollywood. She was a woman who knew what she wanted, and she was willing to do whatever it took to get it. And so, with the wind in her hair and the city lights streaking by, she became his willing servant, her mouth a vessel for his pleasure. But in that moment, she knew that she was also his master, that he was at her mercy. The dynamic had shifted, and she was the one in control. As they pulled into the studio lot, the car coming to a stop, she swallowed the last of him, her eyes never leaving his in the rearview mirror. "Thank you," she said, her voice filled with a confidence that was new and thrilling. "Now, let's make some magic." The next movie was to be a blockbuster, a film that would set the world on fire. And she was going to be the one to light the match. She had proven herself, not just as an actress but as a woman who could play the game better than anyone. She had become the queen of the Hollywood jungle, and she was ready to claim her throne. "Action!" the director called, and she climbed onto the desk, her legs wrapping around Vikcy's waist. The office was a stage, the props of power and prestige scattered around them—leather chairs, a sleek mahogany desk, and the ever-present camera crew. She leaned back, her breasts exposed, her eyes locked on his as he entered her. "You're mine," he whispered, his teeth grazing her neck. "I've always been yours," she replied, her voice filled with a mix of sarcasm and lust. Their bodies moved together, a dance of dominance and submission that was as much a part of the script as the lines they spoke. The dialogue grew more heated, their breaths coming in ragged gasps as they pushed each other to the edge. The scene was a masterpiece of sexual tension, a tapestry of power and desire that would leave the audience begging for more. "Say it," he demanded, his eyes boring into hers. "Say you're my slut." "I'm your slut," she murmured, her nails digging into his back. "But remember, I'm also your queen." Their eyes met, and for a moment, the act dropped away, revealing the raw connection that had formed between them. It was a connection born of lust and ambition, a bond that transcended the screen. "You're so fucking good at this," he grunted, his hips driving into her with a ferocity that made her toes curl. "Better than you could ever imagine," she teased, her voice filled with a newfound confidence. The scene went on, their bodies tangling and twisting as the cameras rolled. They were a symphony of skin and passion, a performance that would go down in history. And as they reached their climax together, she knew that she had found her place in this twisted world. When it was over, when the director finally called "Cut!" and the crew applauded, she slid off the desk, her legs wobbly from the intensity of the scene. She looked at Vikcy, a smug smile playing on her lips. "Now, let's talk terms," she said, her voice a seductive whisper. He stared at her, his chest heaving with exertion. "What do you mean?" "For the next movie," she said, her eyes gleaming. "I want more than just a role. I want to be a producer." The shock was clear on his face, but she didn't flinch. This was her moment, her chance to seize control. "You want more than just a pretty face on screen," she continued. "You want a woman who can give you the performance of a lifetime. And I want the power to tell the stories that matter." Vikcy studied her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers. Then, with a slow nod, he leaned in and kissed her, his tongue slipping into her mouth, tasting of him, of their shared victory. "You've got it," he murmured. Their partnership grew stronger, their scenes more intense. They pushed each other, challenged each other, and together, they created art that was both beautiful and terrifying. But behind the scenes, the power dynamics shifted. Deepika was no longer just a starlet; she was a force to be reckoned with, a woman who knew her worth and was not afraid to demand it. And as the world watched their on-screen chemistry, they had no idea of the private battles that raged between them. Each encounter was a negotiation, a dance of power and passion that left them both breathless. But she was smart, playing the game better than anyone else. She knew that to survive in Hollywood, you had to be the one holding the reins. Their relationship was a storm of sex and ambition, a whirlwind of desire and determination. They were a match made in hell, a pair that could either burn the industry to the ground or ascend to the heavens. But Deepika was ready for the challenge. She had tasted the dark side of fame, and she liked it. And now, with the power to shape her own destiny, she was going to make sure that every single person in Hollywood knew her name. The vanity van was their sanctuary, a place where the lines between work and play blurred. She straddled him on the plush velvet sofa, her thighs tight around his waist as he fucked her with a fierce intensity that left her gasping for air. She could feel every inch of him, his cock stretching her to the limit, pushing her to take more, to be more. And she was eager to oblige. "Take it deeper," she urged, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Make me feel like I'm yours." He growled, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and arousal. He knew she was playing him, knew that she was the one in control, but he couldn't resist the siren's call. He thrust harder, his hips pistoning as he claimed her in the most primal way possible. She threw her head back, her moans filling the small space, the walls echoing with the sound of their passion. And when he came, she swallowed every drop, her eyes never leaving his. It was a declaration of her power, a silent message that she was not just a pretty face, not just a body to be used. She was a woman who could take whatever he had to give and come back for more. But she wasn't done yet. With a wicked smile, she slid off him, her mouth already watering at the thought of her next move. She turned around, her ass in the air, and leaned over the sofa. "Now, it's my turn," she purred. Vikcy's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and excitement. He had never seen this side of her before, never knew she had such a dominant streak. But he was eager to submit, eager to see where she would take him. He watched in the mirror as she licked her lips and leaned in, her tongue tracing a hot, wet path along his ass. The sensation was foreign, but it was also intoxicating. He felt his body respond, his cock growing hard again at the sight of her in control. The humiliation was exquisite, a thrill that shot through him like a bolt of lightning. She was the director now, the one calling the shots, and he was her eager participant. She licked and kissed, her tongue delving into his tight hole, a place that no one had ever dared to touch. And as he moaned and squirmed, she knew that she had him. Their scenes grew more interactive, more intense, as the filming continued. She took charge, pushing the boundaries of what was considered acceptable, making him beg for more. And he gave it to her, willingly, eagerly. She had become his muse, his obsession, and he was her eager pupil. But it was in the vanity van, in those stolen moments between takes, that the real magic happened. It was there that she taught him what it meant to truly submit, to give in to the desires that lurked in the shadows. And as she took him deeper, her mouth a warm, wet heaven, he knew that she was the one in charge. She was the queen, and he was her willing subject. And as she swallowed his cum, her eyes locked on his in the mirror, she whispered, "You see, Vicky. I'm not just a slut. I'm the one holding the camera." The humiliation was delicious, a thrill that made him hard every time she took control. She had flipped the script, turning their dynamic on its head. And he loved it. He was hers, body and soul, and he knew that together, they could conquer the world. But Deepika had one final card to play. As she climbed off the sofa, her body glowing with the aftermath of their encounter, she turned to him with a mischievous smile. "Now, let's go break some more barriers," she said, her eyes gleaming. And with that, they stepped out of the vanity van, ready to face the world, ready to make history. They were no longer just actors in a film; they were the masters of their own destiny, a duo that would redefine the very essence of power in Hollywood. And as they walked back onto the set, hand in hand, they knew that they were unstoppable. The hotel was a five-star affair, the kind of place where the rich and famous went to indulge in their darkest desires. They were there for food, a break from the intensity of their scenes, but Deepika had other plans. She led him to a quiet corner of the dining room, her eyes never leaving his as she sank to her knees, the plush carpet beneath her a stark contrast to the cold marble of the mansion. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice a mix of shock and arousal. "I'm hungry," she replied, her eyes gleaming. "But not for food." With that, she unzipped his pants, her hand wrapping around his cock with a confidence that made his knees weak. She looked up at him, her lips curving into a smile that was all teeth. "I want your juice," she murmured, her voice a siren's call that could not be denied. The other diners gasped as she took him in her mouth, her head bobbing in a rhythm that was both sensual and demanding. The room fell away, leaving only the two of them, lost in a world of passion and power. He could feel the eyes on them, the whispers of scandal, but it only made him harder. This was their secret, their private rebellion against the industry that had tried to use them. Deepika's eyes never left his as she worked him, her mouth a warm, wet heaven that promised more than just pleasure. It was a declaration of war, a promise that she would not be held back by anyone or anything. She was a force of nature, a storm that would not be contained. And as he came, his hips jerking, his eyes rolling back in his head, she swallowed every drop, her mouth a testament to her victory. They had started as predator and prey, but now, they were equals, two souls bound by a shared hunger for more. They returned to the set, their secret shared, their bond stronger than ever. The filming continued, their scenes growing more and more intense, the lines between love and hate blurring until they were indistinguishable. They were a whirlwind of passion and ambition, a pair that could either set the world on fire or burn out in a blaze of glory. But Deepika was ready for whatever came next. The final scene was upon them, the one that would cement their place in Hollywood history. It was a love scene, but it was so much more than that. It was a battle of wills, a dance of desire that would leave the audience breathless. They stood on the balcony of the mansion, the city sprawling out before them like a glittering ocean of possibility. "You're mine," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "And you're mine," she replied, her voice a challenge. Their bodies collided, a symphony of skin and need that was both beautiful and terrifying. The cameras rolled, capturing every moment of their tumultuous love affair. But it was in that moment, as they reached the pinnacle of their passion, that Deepika knew she had truly conquered Hollywood. The film wrapped, the credits rolling, their names forever etched in the annals of cinematic history. But the story didn't end there. No, it was just the beginning. With each new role, each new challenge, Deepika pushed the boundaries, shaping her career with the same fierce determination that had brought her to her knees in that hotel dining room. And as the applause grew louder, as the offers rolled in, she knew that she had done more than just survive the Hollywood jungle. She had become its queen, a woman who knew her worth and was not afraid to demand it. The necklace her mother had given her gleamed in the spotlight, a symbol of her strength, her courage, and her refusal to be defined by anyone but herself. And as the lights dimmed and the curtains closed, she looked into the mirror, the woman staring back at her not just a slut, not just a star, but a legend in the making. The taste of victory still lingered on her lips, a taste she knew she would never forget. She had conquered the beast, and now, she was ready to take on the world. |
|
« Next Oldest | Next Newest »
|
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)