The Newbie Actress

The dressing room reeked of powder, hairspray, and something sweetly tangy — the scent of women's perfume, which he didn’t like but which inevitably surrounded him every evening before the performance. Brandon Marquez sat on a bench by the wall, lazily resting his hands on his knees, watching the hustle and bustle around him with irritation.

"That fucking bitch! No pretty little girl is going to talk to me like that!.." – his thoughts were filled with venom. That new one, Sofia, had the audacity to turn him down. Right to his face! She didn’t even consider WHO he was. A theater star, the lead actor, the one the director catered to. And she just stood up, smiled, and mockingly said, "Mr. Marquez, I think you have an issue with your self-esteem. Go find someone who likes boys with inflated egos."

Oh, he would show her. He’d already decided — if she wanted to play the high-moral prude, he would make sure she wouldn’t last here long. A couple of words to the director, some hints to the sponsors, and her career would collapse before it even started. But if she suddenly realized her mistake and... changed her attitude? Well, then, he could graciously give her a second chance.

He smirked, imagining her one day showing up at his door in tears, begging for forgiveness.

"Goddamn it... and what did she mumble afterward when I warned her about the consequences of her inappropriate behavior? Some bullshit about tasting her own power on her skin or some crap like that." Brandon chuckled, recalling Sofia’s strange muttering. Something about "may you taste the power you hold on your own skin," or something like that. He didn’t pay it any mind. The girl was just dramatizing, like all of them. "I need to go see the director right now, and then..."

— Brandi, why are you sitting like you’re on a throne? — Margot’s voice, a mid-level actress, cut through the space. It was sharp, mocking, but for some reason, unrecognizable.

Brandon jolted. What the hell is this "Brandi"? Why the fuck is that stupid Margot talking to me like this? He frowned, about to respond with something biting, but then he suddenly felt something tightly constricting around his ribs, making it hard to breathe. Instinctively, he reached for his stomach, but instead of the usual shirt and jacket, his fingers slid across a laced corset. A tight one, squeezing, with hard boning that dug into his body.

— What the... — Brandon lowered his gaze and saw the distinct line of a neckline — high, firm, accentuated by lace, pressing against his now smooth, hairless skin as though it wanted to suffocate him. But this wasn’t just a corset. Beneath it... something else was hiding. Something he could now feel on his chest more distinctly than ever.

His chest... was a chest. A real one. A woman’s. There was no denying it from this angle.

— What... the... hell? — he exhaled, but his own voice betrayed him. It was thin, feminine, with soft intonations.

Below, a pair of smooth, delicate hands looked down at him, sinking into long black gloves. Fingers — slender. Wrists — too fragile. Brandon flinched, feeling the cool air brushing against his smooth legs. Stockings. He was wearing stockings?! But it wasn’t just that — the high heels made him immediately collapse back onto the bench, letting out an unpleasant, feminine gasp, as if he were in some pornographic film. He quickly covered his mouth with his hand, leaving a red lipstick mark on the gloves.

— Are you drunk or something? — Margot's voice sounded with genuine irritation, and in her eyes, there was a mockery bordering on disdain.

Brandon, now Brandi, shut her mouth, staring stunned at her reflection in the mirror behind Margot. Her hair — thick, ash-white, styled into an incredible wig, falling in a heavy lace cloud over her shoulders. Her lips — painted in a provocative scarlet hue. Her eyes — lined so that they appeared huge and bright, with long, fake lashes, slightly fluttering with every blink.

But none of that compared to her body. The corset constricted, pressing her breasts so that they seemed even fuller than they were. And they were. Sensitive, heavy, foreign. She could feel her skin stretching beneath the tight laces, her breath shallow, as if her breasts refused to obey, unaccustomed to such limitations.

— I... — she exhaled, but again, that feminine voice froze her.

It wasn’t her voice. It was something... foreign. High, soft, almost coquettish.

— Stop pretending to be innocent, — Margot sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. — I warned you not to drink too much champagne before your debut.

She sat down next to Brandi and stared at her closely.

— Anyway, this won’t help you much, sweetheart. — She smirked and traced a finger along the edge of Brandi’s corset, making her flinch from the strange but incredibly vivid sensation of foreign touch against her skin. — You're new here. You still have to earn your place in this theater. So, you better figure out the rules fast.

— What rules...? — Brandi swallowed, still hoping this was some crazy dream.

Margot laughed.

— Oh, I already told you, or do you really think you can just make it here on talent alone? — She shook her head. — You’re way too naive, sweetheart. I’ll say it one last time: if you want to stay, you need to please the director. But most importantly — please the lead actor. Be more pliable, feminine, softer.

Brandi felt a cold sweat running down her back. She had just been that lead actor. Brandon Marquez, the one everyone catered to, the one who could get any girl in the theater... if she refused, he knew how to make her comply. Pressure, threats, whispers in the right places — and careers broke in an instant. He knew how it worked.

But now... Now she was sitting here, in her new body, in the place of the girl she would have crushed.

— Oh, but you didn’t get it, did you? You really are dumb, huh? But it’s fine, I’m in a good mood today. — Margot moved closer, her warm breath brushing against Brandi’s cheek. — Sweetheart, in order to stay here, you at least need to suck off the lead actor.

Brandi gasped. She stared at Margot, unable to believe her ears.

— What? — Her voice trembled, but more than anything, she was terrified of her own horror. The horror of realizing that this was really how things worked. She had done this to dozens of girls.

— Oh, don’t look at me like that, — Margot smirked. — You think I didn’t go through this? We all went through it. Talent doesn’t matter if you’re a newbie. An entrance blowjob is mandatory. Then, of course, you can try to show your talent, if you even have any. And everything will be okay with just the “entrance,” but... don’t take it personally, but I kinda doubt that everything will go with just one blowjob.

Margot shrugged, then suddenly stood up and threw over her shoulder:

— Think faster, you’ve got fifteen minutes until your entrance. Or do you want the director to replace you right now? Trust me, he has backups ready.

Brandi stayed seated, breathing heavily.

What the hell is going on?

She looked down and, with desperate horror, realized she no longer felt the usual weight between her legs. The fabric of the panties, lace, tight, pressed against her smooth, empty... feminine area.

It wasn’t just unreal. It was a disaster.