Mike's Audition: Chapter 2
Hi, there! The second part of Mike's Audition is ready. Before reading get acquainted with the 1st part please.
[Mike's Audition: Chapter 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/BallbustingStories/comments/1kixxxv/mikes_audition_chapter_1/)
Mike's Audition
Copyright by DanWilsow. All rights reserved.
No reproduction, retransmission, re-posting on another Internet site is permitted without the expressed WRITTEN consent of the author ([[email protected]](mailto:[email protected])). The following story is for mature ADULTS only and is pure fiction. Any similarity to actual events is pure coincidence. The story is for ADULT entertainment. The plot of the story if it were true may be considered illegal or abusive. The author neither advocates nor condones such conduct but believes in the right of free creative expression. The author understands the difference between fantasy and reality. By reading this article, the reader hereby asserts that this material is appropriate for the area in which the reader resides and is of an appropriate age to access ADULT material. Comments are ALWAYS welcome. Reader feedback encourages my writing!
# Chapter 2
[Linda](https://imgur.com/avvOTGx)
[Emma](https://imgur.com/5pfnDp6)
Emma took a deep breath, steeling herself for the task at hand. She knew she had to be strong. With a fierce look of determination, she took a step closer to Mike, his eyes wide with determination and a hint of fear. She swung her hand back, aiming for the sensitive area between his legs and threw it with surprising strength, the slap connected with a sound that was undeniably more forceful than her previous attempts. Mike's body jerked, his eyes squeezing shut, and a sharp intake of breath was the only sound he could manage. The pain was intense, but he didn't scream. He knew he had to keep going, to give it his all.
"Again," Linda demanded, her voice cold and unyielding.
Emma's hand hovered for a brief moment before she swung again, her palm connecting with Mike's exposed balls with a resounding smack that echoed in the stark room. It wasn't quite as powerful as Linda's hits, but it was definitely stronger than her slaps before. Mike's eyes watered, and he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out. He didn't want to disappoint the director. He didn't want to fail.
The director nodded, a hint of satisfaction in her gaze. "Better," she said, her voice still firm. "But we need a little bit more. This isn't a rom-com, it's a dark drama. Your character's rage needs to be palpable."
Emma took a deep breath, her eyes meeting Mike's once more. He gave her an encouraging nod, the pain in his eyes a silent evidence to his willingness to go the extra mile for the role. She raised her hand again, her palm burning with the anticipation of the coming impact. This time, when she slapped him, it was really hard. Mike's body jerked, his teeth grinding together as the pain shot through him. He could feel his legs shaking, his body begging for mercy. But he didn't break.
Linda nodded approvingly. "Good, very good. That’s the strength you must hit with," she said, her eyes wandering all over Mike's body. "Now, do it again. Ten times, please. We need to make sure you've got it right, you will not spoil the scene."
Mike's heart sank. Ten more hits? For training purposes? He couldn't believe it. The first ones had taken everything he had not to scream out, and now he was being asked to endure ten more? He looked at Emma, hoping to find some solace in her gaze, but all he saw was determination and just a hint of pity.
Emma took a step closer to Mike, her hand shaking slightly. "Okay," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She took a deep breath, raising her hand again. Mike braced himself, his muscles tightening in anticipation of the pain that was about to come.
The next few hits were like a series of explosions going off in his groin, each one more intense than the last. He gritted his teeth, trying not to make a sound, but it was a losing battle. By the fifth hit, he couldn't hold it in anymore, and a grunt of agony escaped his lips. The director smiled with every smack telling Emma she's doing really well. It seemed she didn't care about Mike as if she enjoyed his suffering, as if it was some sort of twisted prize for her to claim.
Mike's eyes watered, and he couldn't help but start feeling a growing anger towards Linda. Why was she pushing him to endure this? It was one thing to act, to pretend, but this was something else entirely. It was real, tangible pain, and it was all for what? For being a punching bag for training his partner for a role as an extra in a film that might never see the light of day? The doubt crept in, whispering that maybe he wasn't cut out for this after all. Maybe he'd been fooling himself all along.
But as Emma's hand connected with his skin for the tenth time, something in him snapped. The pain was a pick of agony that seemed to drown out everything else. He couldn't hold back the groan anymore, it was ripped from his chest like a roar, raw and primal. The room went silent, the only sound was the harsh exhale of his breath.
Linda stepped closer, her eyes glinting with something that might have been amusement. "Mike," she said, her voice a silky caress, "you're going to have to work on those sounds. In the scene, I don't want to hear groaning. I want to hear grunts at the most, the kind that come from deep within you, that show the struggle without overshadowing the dialogue."
Mike nodded. He was in too much pain to speak, but somehow he agreed she was right. This was his chance to prove himself, to show that he could handle anything she threw at him. He took a deep breath, willing the pain to recede to a manageable level. "Grunts," he murmured, his voice tight with the effort of speaking through the pain. “Ok.”
Linda nodded, a smile playing on her lips. "That's a good boy," she said, patting him on the cheek. "Now, let's try the scene again. Remember, no groaning or screams."
Emma stepped ahead, looking at Mike. She took a deep breath and started again. "Do you love me?" she asked after kissing him, her voice a mix of love and passion.
Mike gritted his teeth, the pain between his legs a constant reminder of his vulnerability. "Yes," he forced out, "I love you, Carrie."
"Carrie?" Immersed in her role Emma didn't notice the wrong name, her voice was a whip crack in the silence of the room. "Who the fuck is Carrie?"
Emma's eyes flashed with rage, and she slapped him three times, really hard. Mike managed to grunt only, the sound low and animalistic. It was maximum he could do not to scream, the pain of a living thing inside him, writhing and demanding to be released.
"It has been good," the director said, her voice cutting through the tension. "But, Mike, you've used the wrong name.” Linda paused, looking at Mike. “You said ‘Carrie,’ my dear! But you had to say ‘Kate.’” She was looking at him directly. “We have to remake the scene. Go, Emma, start the scene again, please. Hope, yup are ready, Mike."
Mike felt a wave of frustration wash over him. It’s only him who is guilty in his suffering being repeated again. How could he?! The pain was already etched into his body, a constant reminder of his failure to perform to her expectations. He took a deep breath, trying to shake off the discomfort. The scene had to be perfect; his future depended on it. He closed his eyes and pictured his only line from the script in his mind, the words that had become so familiar over the last few weeks. "Okay," he murmured, "I'll do it."
The director's smile was cold as she nodded to Emma. "Begin," she instructed, stepping back to observe them.
Emma took a step closer to Mike, her hand trembling slightly. She kissed him again. Mike definitely liked this part. Her lips were unbelievably sweet. "Do you love me?" Emma asked, her voice thick with passion.
Mike's eyes snapped open, meeting hers with a fiery determination that surprised even himself. "Yes," he growled, "I love you, Kate."
"Kate?" Emma shouted. "Who the fuck is Kate?"
Emma's hand swung back, and before he could brace himself, she slapped him with all the strength she had. The hit was so powerful that Mike's entire body jerked uncontrollably, the metal contraption groaning under the force of his involuntary movements. The pain was unbearable, a white-hot fire that seemed to consume him from the inside out. He bit down hard on his lip, but he managed to hold back the scream that threatened to rip from his chest. Instead, a guttural grunt was torn from his throat, the sound echoing through the room.
Her hand came back for a second hit, and Mike's eyes widened in shock. He hadn't expected her to hit him so hard again. The slap connected, sending a fresh wave of pain through his body. His vision swam, and he felt his knees start to buckle, but the contraption held him in place, forcing him to endure the full brunt of the assault. He could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks.
The third hit was like a bolt of lightning, a searing pain that shot through his core and left him gasping for air. He couldn't understand why the director was so adamant about hitting him there, of all places. Wasn't the point to make it look believable first of all, not to actually cause him harm? But he didn't dare voice his thoughts, not with Linda's eyes on him, not with the camera rolling.
"Good, hits are ok," she said, smiling. "But, Emma, when you ask 'Who the fuck is Kate?' I need you to put more emotion into it. Make it sound like you're on the brink of tears, like you're about to shatter into a million pieces. That's the kind of raw, gritty performance I want from you. Go! Do it now! Say the phrase again. And I must believe you."
Emma nodded, her eyes searching Mike's. He could see the apology in her gaze, but also the determination to get it right. She took a deep breath and kissed Mike again. "Do you love me?" she whispered, her voice trembling with the effort of holding back the storm of emotions.
Mike started answering but was interrupted by Linda. Her voice sliced through the tension. "No, no, no," she said, waving a hand in the air. "You don't have to repeat all of it now, Emma. Just go to 'Who the fuck is Kate?' We're past the initial greeting, ok? If you wanna kiss him you’ll be able to do it AFTER our audition."
Blushing Emma nodded, her eyes flicking to Mike for a brief moment before returning to the director. "I understand," she said, her voice small.
"Good," Linda responded, her eyes at the young actress. "Now, let's get it right. Who the fuck is Kate? Ok?"
Emma took a deep breath. She said “I’ll do it right. I can.”
"Who the fuck is Kate?" Emma spat out, her voice a volatile cocktail of emotions. The words hung in the air, thick with the promise of the scene's climax.
She had done her job; she had delivered the line with the raw intensity that the director had demanded. She stepped back, her eyes searching the director's face for any sign of approval or disapproval.
Linda Castellanos, the woman whose nod could make or break their dreams, remained silent, her eyes piercing Emma as if willing her to act without any further prompting.
Finally, Linda broke the silence, her eyes never leaving Emma's. "What are you waiting for?" she demanded, her voice a whip crack that snapped through the tension in the room. "Hit him!"
Mike's eyes widened in shock. First he had thought that the director's words were a figure of speech, a way to push them to their limits, not a literal command to inflict pain. But as the director's eyes bored into him, he realized she was dead serious. "But you said the hits were okay," he managed to croak out, his voice strained with pain. "Isn't it logical? When you must train telling a phrase, you must train telling the phrase, not hitting me. Emma already knows how to hit, right?"
Linda's face was cold and unwavering. "Mike, you don't understand," she said, her voice like a knife cutting through his protests. "The phrase and the hits are emotionally connected. It's not about the physical pain only; it's about the emotional journey your characters are going through. It's about the guilt, the fear, the helplessness."
Mike felt a surge of anger again, but he pushed it down. "But Emma has just hit me ten times without any phrases," he managed to say, his voice tight with pain. "Isn't that enough for understanding the guilt, the fear, the helplessness?" Mike tried mocking Linda’s words.
Linda's expression grew colder, her eyes gleaming with something that Mike didn't quite recognize. "Do you want to repeat the session of ten hits? But this time with the phrases?" she asked, her voice like a challenge.
Mike's jaw clenched, the pain in his groin a constant throb. He took a deep breath and met her gaze. "No," he said firmly understanding the situation, "I don't."
The director's eyebrow arched. "Don't what?" she asked, her voice like velvet-covered steel.
"I don't want to repeat the session," Mike said, his voice firm despite the agony pulsing through him. "And I'm sorry for asking questions." Linda smiles and tells Emma to proceed.
Mike gritted his teeth,writhing and demanding to be acknowledged. But he knew he couldn't show weakness, not now. He had to keep going, had to prove to her that he could handle whatever she threw at him.
Emma looked at him, the doubt in her eyes clear. She didn't want to hit him again, not like that. But she knew that if she didn't, it would be her dreams on the line, not just his. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Mike nodded, looking at her directly. He knew she didn't want to do this, but he also knew that she had to. "It's okay," he whispered, "just do what you need to do. I’ll try to cope with it."
Emma took a deep breath, her hand shaking as she raised it. "Who the fuck is Kate?" she asked, her voice is full of emotions.
Mike felt his heart drop. He had no answer to give, no way to ease the pain he knew was coming. He braced himself for the blows, the anticipation almost worse than the pain itself.
Emma's hand swung through the air, a blur of motion. The first slap hit him hard, and he grunted, his body tensing against the contraption. The second slap followed quickly, and he felt his vision swim. The third, however, was rather weak and Mike said “thank you” to Emma in his mind.
"No, no, no," Linda's voice cut through the tension like a scalpel. "The emotions in your voice were perfect, Emma, but that last hit was rubbish. You have to make it count, make it real."
Emma looked at Linda, her eyes pleading. "Isn't the phrase more important than kicks right now, during this training?" she asked, her voice shaking. "I didn't want to hit him that hard again, especially without really doing the scene for the camera."
Linda's expression was unreadable. "The phrase is important, but the hits are an inseparable part of the scene," she said, her voice firm. "You can't have one without the other. It's all about the emotional connection."
She placed a hand on Emma's shoulder, her grip firm. "Remember, this isn't just about acting," she said, her voice a purr. "This is about becoming the character. You need to feel the rage, the betrayal, the pain."
Mike watched as Emma took a deep breath. He could see the conflict in her eyes.
Linda continued. "Emma, if you want to finish this scene as soon as possible and get the part, you'd better say your line properly and hit him hard this time," she said, her voice a sultry mix of encouragement and command. "Don't hold back. The harder you hit him, the more realistic it will be. You will not spoil the scene with hard hits, but it's very easy to do with weak ones. Understood?"
Emma nodded, her eyes still on Mike. She took a deep breath, her hand shaking with the weight of what she had to do. "Who the fuck is Kate?" she screamed, and brought her hand down with a force that made Mike's eyes roll back in his head.
The pain was like a red-hot iron, branding him, searing through his very soul. He bit down hard on his lip again, trying not to make a sound, trying to keep the tears at bay. But it was no use. A muffled cry escaped him, and he felt the wetness of his own tears against his cheeks.
Emma's eyes widened in surprise at his outcry, but she didn't stop. She had to keep going. She had to be strong. With a fierce determination, she raised her hand again. The second hit was like the first, a bolt of agony that shot through his groin and up his spine, making his vision swim with stars. He couldn't hold back the groan, the sound forced from his throat despite his best efforts.
The third hit was like nothing he had ever felt before. It was as if she had crushed his entire body with the force of her hand. Mike couldn't help the cry that tore from his chest, the sound a mix of pain and frustration.
"Good, Emma," Linda praised, her voice a soothing balm in the face of the agony. "Your emotions are perfect. The hits are good, really good."
Mike felt a strange mix of relief and embarrassment wash over him as the director's words sank in. The pain in his groin was still there, a throbbing reminder of the ordeal he'd just endured, but it was somehow dwarfed by the sudden realization that they had done something right, something that had earned her approval, and finally finished this “training.”
But then she spoke again, and the horror of her words hit him like a second wave of pain. "You're doing well, Emma," she praised her one more time, her voice a purr that seemed to stroke the air around them. "But Mike, you're still not getting it. That was a scream, not a grunt."
Mike felt his stomach drop. He had been so focused on the pain, on not breaking, that he hadn't realized he'd screamed. He'd failed her, and the knowledge of it was like a knife twisting in his gut. "I'm sorry," he managed to choke out.
Linda nodded, smiling. "Don't apologize," she said, her eyes gleaming. "Mistakes are a part of our job. Don’t worry. We’ll do it again. As many times as the scene will require. Emma, go ahead!"
Emma took a deep breath, her hand shaking. Mike could see the pity in her eyes, but she didn't stop. It was clear she had no desire to do this, but she had to. And he had to be strong for both of them. "Who the fuck is Kate?" she yelled, her voice thick with emotion.
Her hand swung back and forth, delivering three more slaps with the intensity that Linda had demanded. Each hit was like a hammer to his soul, but Mike focused on his will not to scream. He had to stay in character, had to give her what she needed to make this scene work.
The room was spinning now, the pain was a constant companion that threatened to overwhelm him. But he pushed through it, his mind racing with thoughts of the character, the story, the scene they were trying to create. He grunted with each hit, the sound forced from his chest, raw and primal.
"Very good," Linda said finally, her voice a cold applause. "Both of you have done well. Now, let's try it again, from the very beginning. For camera now."
Mike took a deep breath, trying to focus on the scene ahead, to push the pain into the background.
Emma stepped closer to him, leaned in and kissed him hard. He could feel her tremble, the power of the scene weighing on her as heavily as the contraption that held him captive.
Their lips met with a passion that seemed to suck the air from the room. Mike's mind swirled with the intensity of it all, the pain in his groin a distant memory in the face of the raw emotion that passed between them. He kissed her back. He knew that he had to give her what she needed.
Emma pulled away, her eyes blazing with love. "Do you love me?" she whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of the question.
Mike took a deep breath, the taste of her still on his lips. "Yes," he murmured, "I love you, Kate."
The room was thick with anticipation as Linda's eyes bore into them, her gaze a mix of hunger and calculation. Emma took a step back, her hand trembling as it hung close to Mike's bare skin. "Who the fuck is Kate?" she screamed, the pain in her voice a stark contrast to the fury in her eyes.
Mike felt the slap before he heard it, the force of her hand slamming into his flesh like a gunshot in the enclosed space. He grunted, his body jerking against the contraption.
Emma's eyes were wide with determination as she slapped him again, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the room. Mike's teeth ground together, his eyes watering with the effort of holding back the scream that bubbled in his throat. He managed a guttural sound, a mix of pain and defiance that seemed to satisfy the director's twisted demands.
The third hit was like a meteor impact, the pain radiating outwards from his core, a fiery explosion that threatened to consume him. He couldn't stop his body from jerking, the metal groaning under his weight. Yet, he remained silent, his only response the tightening of his abs, his body's instinctive attempt to protect itself from further harm.
Emma's hand hovered in the air, the force of the last slap still resonating through her arm, her eyes darting between Mike and Linda. The silence stretched out, taut and tense, the only sound the harsh panting of Mike's breath as he fought to stay in character.
Finally, Linda spoke. "Emma, why are you still here?" she asked, her voice sharp. "What are you waiting for? After hitting him, you must angrily storm out of the room. It seems you've just spoiled the perfect scene! It means we must do it again!"
Emma's hand fell to her side, the surprise in her eyes replaced by despair. "But Linda," she said, her voice cracking, "Don’t you think it's too much. I’ve already hit Mike so many times. And now again? Can't we just edit the two scenes together? I’ll storm out now."
Linda's answer was like a sharpened knife. "Impossible, darling," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "This is a one-shot scene. The raw, unfiltered emotion, the unbroken tension, it's all part of the art."
Emma's hand hung by her side, her fingers stinging from the repeated impact. She glanced at Mike, his face contorted in silent agony, and her heart wrenched. The director's eyes on her were like a vice, reminding her of the prize she was fighting for. An idea came to her mind. "But my hand," she protested weakly, her voice trembling. "It really hurts."
Linda's gaze softened, a rare flicker of sympathy crossing her features. "Ah, poor girl," she said, her voice gentler than it had been all afternoon. "I hadn't thought about that. It could be a problem. We must do something because we can't compromise on the authenticity of the scene. It's so crucial for the movie's success."
Emma nodded, looking at Mike. He could see the turmoil in her gaze, the conflict between her own humanity and the need to succeed. He was grateful to this girl trying to help him. Mike wanted to believe that the scene would finish now and he would be free having got the role.
[Mike's Audition: Chapter 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/BallbustingStories/comments/1kixxxv/mikes_audition_chapter_1/)
Mike's Audition
Copyright by DanWilsow. All rights reserved.
No reproduction, retransmission, re-posting on another Internet site is permitted without the expressed WRITTEN consent of the author ([[email protected]](mailto:[email protected])). The following story is for mature ADULTS only and is pure fiction. Any similarity to actual events is pure coincidence. The story is for ADULT entertainment. The plot of the story if it were true may be considered illegal or abusive. The author neither advocates nor condones such conduct but believes in the right of free creative expression. The author understands the difference between fantasy and reality. By reading this article, the reader hereby asserts that this material is appropriate for the area in which the reader resides and is of an appropriate age to access ADULT material. Comments are ALWAYS welcome. Reader feedback encourages my writing!
# Chapter 2
[Linda](https://imgur.com/avvOTGx)
[Emma](https://imgur.com/5pfnDp6)
Emma took a deep breath, steeling herself for the task at hand. She knew she had to be strong. With a fierce look of determination, she took a step closer to Mike, his eyes wide with determination and a hint of fear. She swung her hand back, aiming for the sensitive area between his legs and threw it with surprising strength, the slap connected with a sound that was undeniably more forceful than her previous attempts. Mike's body jerked, his eyes squeezing shut, and a sharp intake of breath was the only sound he could manage. The pain was intense, but he didn't scream. He knew he had to keep going, to give it his all.
"Again," Linda demanded, her voice cold and unyielding.
Emma's hand hovered for a brief moment before she swung again, her palm connecting with Mike's exposed balls with a resounding smack that echoed in the stark room. It wasn't quite as powerful as Linda's hits, but it was definitely stronger than her slaps before. Mike's eyes watered, and he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out. He didn't want to disappoint the director. He didn't want to fail.
The director nodded, a hint of satisfaction in her gaze. "Better," she said, her voice still firm. "But we need a little bit more. This isn't a rom-com, it's a dark drama. Your character's rage needs to be palpable."
Emma took a deep breath, her eyes meeting Mike's once more. He gave her an encouraging nod, the pain in his eyes a silent evidence to his willingness to go the extra mile for the role. She raised her hand again, her palm burning with the anticipation of the coming impact. This time, when she slapped him, it was really hard. Mike's body jerked, his teeth grinding together as the pain shot through him. He could feel his legs shaking, his body begging for mercy. But he didn't break.
Linda nodded approvingly. "Good, very good. That’s the strength you must hit with," she said, her eyes wandering all over Mike's body. "Now, do it again. Ten times, please. We need to make sure you've got it right, you will not spoil the scene."
Mike's heart sank. Ten more hits? For training purposes? He couldn't believe it. The first ones had taken everything he had not to scream out, and now he was being asked to endure ten more? He looked at Emma, hoping to find some solace in her gaze, but all he saw was determination and just a hint of pity.
Emma took a step closer to Mike, her hand shaking slightly. "Okay," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She took a deep breath, raising her hand again. Mike braced himself, his muscles tightening in anticipation of the pain that was about to come.
The next few hits were like a series of explosions going off in his groin, each one more intense than the last. He gritted his teeth, trying not to make a sound, but it was a losing battle. By the fifth hit, he couldn't hold it in anymore, and a grunt of agony escaped his lips. The director smiled with every smack telling Emma she's doing really well. It seemed she didn't care about Mike as if she enjoyed his suffering, as if it was some sort of twisted prize for her to claim.
Mike's eyes watered, and he couldn't help but start feeling a growing anger towards Linda. Why was she pushing him to endure this? It was one thing to act, to pretend, but this was something else entirely. It was real, tangible pain, and it was all for what? For being a punching bag for training his partner for a role as an extra in a film that might never see the light of day? The doubt crept in, whispering that maybe he wasn't cut out for this after all. Maybe he'd been fooling himself all along.
But as Emma's hand connected with his skin for the tenth time, something in him snapped. The pain was a pick of agony that seemed to drown out everything else. He couldn't hold back the groan anymore, it was ripped from his chest like a roar, raw and primal. The room went silent, the only sound was the harsh exhale of his breath.
Linda stepped closer, her eyes glinting with something that might have been amusement. "Mike," she said, her voice a silky caress, "you're going to have to work on those sounds. In the scene, I don't want to hear groaning. I want to hear grunts at the most, the kind that come from deep within you, that show the struggle without overshadowing the dialogue."
Mike nodded. He was in too much pain to speak, but somehow he agreed she was right. This was his chance to prove himself, to show that he could handle anything she threw at him. He took a deep breath, willing the pain to recede to a manageable level. "Grunts," he murmured, his voice tight with the effort of speaking through the pain. “Ok.”
Linda nodded, a smile playing on her lips. "That's a good boy," she said, patting him on the cheek. "Now, let's try the scene again. Remember, no groaning or screams."
Emma stepped ahead, looking at Mike. She took a deep breath and started again. "Do you love me?" she asked after kissing him, her voice a mix of love and passion.
Mike gritted his teeth, the pain between his legs a constant reminder of his vulnerability. "Yes," he forced out, "I love you, Carrie."
"Carrie?" Immersed in her role Emma didn't notice the wrong name, her voice was a whip crack in the silence of the room. "Who the fuck is Carrie?"
Emma's eyes flashed with rage, and she slapped him three times, really hard. Mike managed to grunt only, the sound low and animalistic. It was maximum he could do not to scream, the pain of a living thing inside him, writhing and demanding to be released.
"It has been good," the director said, her voice cutting through the tension. "But, Mike, you've used the wrong name.” Linda paused, looking at Mike. “You said ‘Carrie,’ my dear! But you had to say ‘Kate.’” She was looking at him directly. “We have to remake the scene. Go, Emma, start the scene again, please. Hope, yup are ready, Mike."
Mike felt a wave of frustration wash over him. It’s only him who is guilty in his suffering being repeated again. How could he?! The pain was already etched into his body, a constant reminder of his failure to perform to her expectations. He took a deep breath, trying to shake off the discomfort. The scene had to be perfect; his future depended on it. He closed his eyes and pictured his only line from the script in his mind, the words that had become so familiar over the last few weeks. "Okay," he murmured, "I'll do it."
The director's smile was cold as she nodded to Emma. "Begin," she instructed, stepping back to observe them.
Emma took a step closer to Mike, her hand trembling slightly. She kissed him again. Mike definitely liked this part. Her lips were unbelievably sweet. "Do you love me?" Emma asked, her voice thick with passion.
Mike's eyes snapped open, meeting hers with a fiery determination that surprised even himself. "Yes," he growled, "I love you, Kate."
"Kate?" Emma shouted. "Who the fuck is Kate?"
Emma's hand swung back, and before he could brace himself, she slapped him with all the strength she had. The hit was so powerful that Mike's entire body jerked uncontrollably, the metal contraption groaning under the force of his involuntary movements. The pain was unbearable, a white-hot fire that seemed to consume him from the inside out. He bit down hard on his lip, but he managed to hold back the scream that threatened to rip from his chest. Instead, a guttural grunt was torn from his throat, the sound echoing through the room.
Her hand came back for a second hit, and Mike's eyes widened in shock. He hadn't expected her to hit him so hard again. The slap connected, sending a fresh wave of pain through his body. His vision swam, and he felt his knees start to buckle, but the contraption held him in place, forcing him to endure the full brunt of the assault. He could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks.
The third hit was like a bolt of lightning, a searing pain that shot through his core and left him gasping for air. He couldn't understand why the director was so adamant about hitting him there, of all places. Wasn't the point to make it look believable first of all, not to actually cause him harm? But he didn't dare voice his thoughts, not with Linda's eyes on him, not with the camera rolling.
"Good, hits are ok," she said, smiling. "But, Emma, when you ask 'Who the fuck is Kate?' I need you to put more emotion into it. Make it sound like you're on the brink of tears, like you're about to shatter into a million pieces. That's the kind of raw, gritty performance I want from you. Go! Do it now! Say the phrase again. And I must believe you."
Emma nodded, her eyes searching Mike's. He could see the apology in her gaze, but also the determination to get it right. She took a deep breath and kissed Mike again. "Do you love me?" she whispered, her voice trembling with the effort of holding back the storm of emotions.
Mike started answering but was interrupted by Linda. Her voice sliced through the tension. "No, no, no," she said, waving a hand in the air. "You don't have to repeat all of it now, Emma. Just go to 'Who the fuck is Kate?' We're past the initial greeting, ok? If you wanna kiss him you’ll be able to do it AFTER our audition."
Blushing Emma nodded, her eyes flicking to Mike for a brief moment before returning to the director. "I understand," she said, her voice small.
"Good," Linda responded, her eyes at the young actress. "Now, let's get it right. Who the fuck is Kate? Ok?"
Emma took a deep breath. She said “I’ll do it right. I can.”
"Who the fuck is Kate?" Emma spat out, her voice a volatile cocktail of emotions. The words hung in the air, thick with the promise of the scene's climax.
She had done her job; she had delivered the line with the raw intensity that the director had demanded. She stepped back, her eyes searching the director's face for any sign of approval or disapproval.
Linda Castellanos, the woman whose nod could make or break their dreams, remained silent, her eyes piercing Emma as if willing her to act without any further prompting.
Finally, Linda broke the silence, her eyes never leaving Emma's. "What are you waiting for?" she demanded, her voice a whip crack that snapped through the tension in the room. "Hit him!"
Mike's eyes widened in shock. First he had thought that the director's words were a figure of speech, a way to push them to their limits, not a literal command to inflict pain. But as the director's eyes bored into him, he realized she was dead serious. "But you said the hits were okay," he managed to croak out, his voice strained with pain. "Isn't it logical? When you must train telling a phrase, you must train telling the phrase, not hitting me. Emma already knows how to hit, right?"
Linda's face was cold and unwavering. "Mike, you don't understand," she said, her voice like a knife cutting through his protests. "The phrase and the hits are emotionally connected. It's not about the physical pain only; it's about the emotional journey your characters are going through. It's about the guilt, the fear, the helplessness."
Mike felt a surge of anger again, but he pushed it down. "But Emma has just hit me ten times without any phrases," he managed to say, his voice tight with pain. "Isn't that enough for understanding the guilt, the fear, the helplessness?" Mike tried mocking Linda’s words.
Linda's expression grew colder, her eyes gleaming with something that Mike didn't quite recognize. "Do you want to repeat the session of ten hits? But this time with the phrases?" she asked, her voice like a challenge.
Mike's jaw clenched, the pain in his groin a constant throb. He took a deep breath and met her gaze. "No," he said firmly understanding the situation, "I don't."
The director's eyebrow arched. "Don't what?" she asked, her voice like velvet-covered steel.
"I don't want to repeat the session," Mike said, his voice firm despite the agony pulsing through him. "And I'm sorry for asking questions." Linda smiles and tells Emma to proceed.
Mike gritted his teeth,writhing and demanding to be acknowledged. But he knew he couldn't show weakness, not now. He had to keep going, had to prove to her that he could handle whatever she threw at him.
Emma looked at him, the doubt in her eyes clear. She didn't want to hit him again, not like that. But she knew that if she didn't, it would be her dreams on the line, not just his. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Mike nodded, looking at her directly. He knew she didn't want to do this, but he also knew that she had to. "It's okay," he whispered, "just do what you need to do. I’ll try to cope with it."
Emma took a deep breath, her hand shaking as she raised it. "Who the fuck is Kate?" she asked, her voice is full of emotions.
Mike felt his heart drop. He had no answer to give, no way to ease the pain he knew was coming. He braced himself for the blows, the anticipation almost worse than the pain itself.
Emma's hand swung through the air, a blur of motion. The first slap hit him hard, and he grunted, his body tensing against the contraption. The second slap followed quickly, and he felt his vision swim. The third, however, was rather weak and Mike said “thank you” to Emma in his mind.
"No, no, no," Linda's voice cut through the tension like a scalpel. "The emotions in your voice were perfect, Emma, but that last hit was rubbish. You have to make it count, make it real."
Emma looked at Linda, her eyes pleading. "Isn't the phrase more important than kicks right now, during this training?" she asked, her voice shaking. "I didn't want to hit him that hard again, especially without really doing the scene for the camera."
Linda's expression was unreadable. "The phrase is important, but the hits are an inseparable part of the scene," she said, her voice firm. "You can't have one without the other. It's all about the emotional connection."
She placed a hand on Emma's shoulder, her grip firm. "Remember, this isn't just about acting," she said, her voice a purr. "This is about becoming the character. You need to feel the rage, the betrayal, the pain."
Mike watched as Emma took a deep breath. He could see the conflict in her eyes.
Linda continued. "Emma, if you want to finish this scene as soon as possible and get the part, you'd better say your line properly and hit him hard this time," she said, her voice a sultry mix of encouragement and command. "Don't hold back. The harder you hit him, the more realistic it will be. You will not spoil the scene with hard hits, but it's very easy to do with weak ones. Understood?"
Emma nodded, her eyes still on Mike. She took a deep breath, her hand shaking with the weight of what she had to do. "Who the fuck is Kate?" she screamed, and brought her hand down with a force that made Mike's eyes roll back in his head.
The pain was like a red-hot iron, branding him, searing through his very soul. He bit down hard on his lip again, trying not to make a sound, trying to keep the tears at bay. But it was no use. A muffled cry escaped him, and he felt the wetness of his own tears against his cheeks.
Emma's eyes widened in surprise at his outcry, but she didn't stop. She had to keep going. She had to be strong. With a fierce determination, she raised her hand again. The second hit was like the first, a bolt of agony that shot through his groin and up his spine, making his vision swim with stars. He couldn't hold back the groan, the sound forced from his throat despite his best efforts.
The third hit was like nothing he had ever felt before. It was as if she had crushed his entire body with the force of her hand. Mike couldn't help the cry that tore from his chest, the sound a mix of pain and frustration.
"Good, Emma," Linda praised, her voice a soothing balm in the face of the agony. "Your emotions are perfect. The hits are good, really good."
Mike felt a strange mix of relief and embarrassment wash over him as the director's words sank in. The pain in his groin was still there, a throbbing reminder of the ordeal he'd just endured, but it was somehow dwarfed by the sudden realization that they had done something right, something that had earned her approval, and finally finished this “training.”
But then she spoke again, and the horror of her words hit him like a second wave of pain. "You're doing well, Emma," she praised her one more time, her voice a purr that seemed to stroke the air around them. "But Mike, you're still not getting it. That was a scream, not a grunt."
Mike felt his stomach drop. He had been so focused on the pain, on not breaking, that he hadn't realized he'd screamed. He'd failed her, and the knowledge of it was like a knife twisting in his gut. "I'm sorry," he managed to choke out.
Linda nodded, smiling. "Don't apologize," she said, her eyes gleaming. "Mistakes are a part of our job. Don’t worry. We’ll do it again. As many times as the scene will require. Emma, go ahead!"
Emma took a deep breath, her hand shaking. Mike could see the pity in her eyes, but she didn't stop. It was clear she had no desire to do this, but she had to. And he had to be strong for both of them. "Who the fuck is Kate?" she yelled, her voice thick with emotion.
Her hand swung back and forth, delivering three more slaps with the intensity that Linda had demanded. Each hit was like a hammer to his soul, but Mike focused on his will not to scream. He had to stay in character, had to give her what she needed to make this scene work.
The room was spinning now, the pain was a constant companion that threatened to overwhelm him. But he pushed through it, his mind racing with thoughts of the character, the story, the scene they were trying to create. He grunted with each hit, the sound forced from his chest, raw and primal.
"Very good," Linda said finally, her voice a cold applause. "Both of you have done well. Now, let's try it again, from the very beginning. For camera now."
Mike took a deep breath, trying to focus on the scene ahead, to push the pain into the background.
Emma stepped closer to him, leaned in and kissed him hard. He could feel her tremble, the power of the scene weighing on her as heavily as the contraption that held him captive.
Their lips met with a passion that seemed to suck the air from the room. Mike's mind swirled with the intensity of it all, the pain in his groin a distant memory in the face of the raw emotion that passed between them. He kissed her back. He knew that he had to give her what she needed.
Emma pulled away, her eyes blazing with love. "Do you love me?" she whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of the question.
Mike took a deep breath, the taste of her still on his lips. "Yes," he murmured, "I love you, Kate."
The room was thick with anticipation as Linda's eyes bore into them, her gaze a mix of hunger and calculation. Emma took a step back, her hand trembling as it hung close to Mike's bare skin. "Who the fuck is Kate?" she screamed, the pain in her voice a stark contrast to the fury in her eyes.
Mike felt the slap before he heard it, the force of her hand slamming into his flesh like a gunshot in the enclosed space. He grunted, his body jerking against the contraption.
Emma's eyes were wide with determination as she slapped him again, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the room. Mike's teeth ground together, his eyes watering with the effort of holding back the scream that bubbled in his throat. He managed a guttural sound, a mix of pain and defiance that seemed to satisfy the director's twisted demands.
The third hit was like a meteor impact, the pain radiating outwards from his core, a fiery explosion that threatened to consume him. He couldn't stop his body from jerking, the metal groaning under his weight. Yet, he remained silent, his only response the tightening of his abs, his body's instinctive attempt to protect itself from further harm.
Emma's hand hovered in the air, the force of the last slap still resonating through her arm, her eyes darting between Mike and Linda. The silence stretched out, taut and tense, the only sound the harsh panting of Mike's breath as he fought to stay in character.
Finally, Linda spoke. "Emma, why are you still here?" she asked, her voice sharp. "What are you waiting for? After hitting him, you must angrily storm out of the room. It seems you've just spoiled the perfect scene! It means we must do it again!"
Emma's hand fell to her side, the surprise in her eyes replaced by despair. "But Linda," she said, her voice cracking, "Don’t you think it's too much. I’ve already hit Mike so many times. And now again? Can't we just edit the two scenes together? I’ll storm out now."
Linda's answer was like a sharpened knife. "Impossible, darling," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "This is a one-shot scene. The raw, unfiltered emotion, the unbroken tension, it's all part of the art."
Emma's hand hung by her side, her fingers stinging from the repeated impact. She glanced at Mike, his face contorted in silent agony, and her heart wrenched. The director's eyes on her were like a vice, reminding her of the prize she was fighting for. An idea came to her mind. "But my hand," she protested weakly, her voice trembling. "It really hurts."
Linda's gaze softened, a rare flicker of sympathy crossing her features. "Ah, poor girl," she said, her voice gentler than it had been all afternoon. "I hadn't thought about that. It could be a problem. We must do something because we can't compromise on the authenticity of the scene. It's so crucial for the movie's success."
Emma nodded, looking at Mike. He could see the turmoil in her gaze, the conflict between her own humanity and the need to succeed. He was grateful to this girl trying to help him. Mike wanted to believe that the scene would finish now and he would be free having got the role.
