They introduce you to a film producer who can help you make the money

"Like what?" you ask suspiciously.

"Well, you'd have to work a bit, but I doubt it'd be too much like work for a girl like you," he says with a wink.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Walk with us," Jason says with a grin, motioning you toward the door.

Conscious of him holding your ticket, and being able to cash it himself if he wanted, you warily exit the store, even allowing him to put his arm around your waist and pull you toward him as he walks.

"I know a guy who would love to have a gal like you. I mean, for his purposes it's no problem getting a dozen guys for every girl, but getting that girl is the hard part."

"And what do the girls have to do?"

"Have you ever wanted to be in films?"

You shrug, striving for nonchalance. "What girl hasn't?"

"Great! This guys makes films but he's a low-level guy. He doesn't get the kind of pussy the bigger agencies get. Usually he has to settle for small fry, used-up gals **** for the money. Never a fresh-faced eager little cutie like you," he winks.

"So he wants an actress? For what?"

Jason raises an eyebrow as if it should be obvious, then when you don't seem to clue in he points. You turn your head, looking at the door you've stopped in front of and then back to him. With a sigh he points again and you follow the path of his finger.

"Filthy Films," a sign reads. "Girls wanted"

Closing your eyes you groan a little as you hear him open the door. Maybe it just means mud wrestling. You could do that for ten thousand a month.

"Hey, Willy, where you at, you fat bastard?" he calls, and you reluctantly open your eyes, seeing a small office that's clearly seen better days. A layer of dust covers everything except the dead bug carcasses and spider webs.

"Coming!" a voice calls from the bathroom.

"Not literally, I hope. You'll want to meet the gal we have with us first," Bob jokes, reminding you of his presence.

The bathroom door swings open and an enormously fat man steps out, adjusting coke-rim glasses above bulbous eyes that immediately fixate on you.

"Ahhhh...." he says, in the same tone that many men have used when they were cumming in or on you in the past.

"I don't know about this," you murmer to Jason.

"Oh don't worry, he's not the talent. Mostly," he says, then turns away from you as you're about to question that 'mostly'.

"I hear you've got an overload of cock and need some pussy. This baby just happens to have an eager cunt," he says, eliciting a squawk of outrage from you.

"I don't! I mean, I just need money, that's all. Don't listen to him," you tell the fat man, who's mouth has opened in a yellow grin.

"Well I've got all sorts of cock just waiting for you."

"Look, maybe there's been some misunderstanding. See, I just need to make ten thousand dollars in a month."

"Just?" Willy manages to gasp.

"Um.... Is that too much?"

"Depends on what you're offering."

"Well you can see the product," Jason smirks, and while Bob yanks up your skirt he pulls up your top. Your hands move to counter-act theirs but settle for covering your nipples and pussy from view.

"A shy girl, huh?" Willy chuckles, and pulls out a folder. "I tell you what. I can make you upwards of a thousand dollars a week."

"A thousand..." you repeat, mouth and hands dropping.

"Sure. It depends on how much you're willing to do, but I could, like they said, use you."

"B-but, what would I have to do?"

Willy's caveman-like brow arched and he leered down at your body while reaching under his hefty stomach to stroke the tent at his mid-section. Or the area a foot away from it, as that was as close as he could get.

"Great," you mutter, grimacing. "You?"

"Nah, the talent. I'd be your agent. I'd find the jobs and send you over to the ones that suit you. They'd pay me, I'd pay you. Minus taxes and agency fees and stuff, of course."

Your mind whirls, struggling to come to grips with what you'd be subjecting yourself to while trying to figure out how much you might make a day.

"You have a boyfriend?" Willy asks, breaking through you confused thoughts. You nod. "Ah well, you'd have to talk about it with him, I suppose, get him to okay it."

The thought of talking with Jacob abut becoming a pornstar, about fucking guys on film behind his back makes your knees nearly buckle and you have to swallow a soft moan before it can escape your lips.