The script reading room was buzzing with quiet excitement. The director, writers, and a few key crew members sat around the large oval table. 

“Ready to get slutty together, Stiles?” he whispered, voice low and teasing. “I can’t wait to hear you moan my character’s name.”

Before she could reply, the director called out, “Alright, let’s start from page 12 — the first big seduction scene in the garden. Stiles, give us that famous sultry voice of yours. Derek, you start tough and resistant, then let her break you.”

Stiles’s heart hammered. She nodded, trying to keep her expression professional.

They began reading.

Derek (as the Gardener): “Ma’am, I’m here to work. Not to play games with the boss’s wife. Keep your hands to yourself.”

His voice was deep, rough, and commanding at first — exactly like the tough young gardener who didn’t want trouble.

Stiles leaned forward slightly, letting her big tits rest on the edge of the table. She dropped her voice into that signature slutty tone she was famous for — breathy, needy, dripping with sex.

Stiles (as the Wife): “But I get so lonely when my husband is away… Look at you, all sweaty and strong from working in the garden. Don’t you want to touch me? My pussy has been aching for a real man…”

The moment those words left her pink lips in that husky, whore-like voice, Derek’s cock twitched hard in his pants. He shifted in his seat, already thickening. Fuck, her voice was pure sin. The way she said “pussy” made him want to bend her over the table right there.

He continued, trying to stay in character, but his own voice was getting rougher.

Derek: “You’re the boss’s wife. This is dangerous. I could lose my job.”

Stiles: “Then lose it… I’ll make it worth your while. Feel how wet I am just thinking about your big cock stretching me open. I need you to fuck me like a dirty little slut behind my husband’s back…”

Her slutty delivery was perfect — every word moaned softly, lips parted, eyes half-lidded like she was already imagining getting railed. Derek’s dick was now fully hard, pressing painfully against his jeans. He could smell her arousal in the air.

As Stiles continued reading the next seductive line, she suddenly felt a warm, large hand land high on her bare thigh under the table.

She stiffened instantly, eyes widening.

The fingers slowly slid upward, rough and confident. She knew it was Derek. No one else was close enough.

She tried to discreetly push his hand away with her own, but he immediately pinched the soft flesh of her inner thigh — hard enough to make her gasp loudly.

Everyone at the table glanced at her.

“Perfect reaction, Stiles!” the director praised. “That little gasp was so natural.”

Stiles’s face burned. She was flushed pink, nipples rock-hard against the thin red fabric. She forced herself to continue reading, voice slightly shakier.

Stiles: “Mmm… please… I’ll be such a good little whore for you. Just slip your hand under my dress and feel how soaked my fat pussy is for you…”

While she spoke those filthy lines, Derek’s fingers kept moving higher. He smirked when he felt how drenched her thighs were — slick juices had already leaked down her skin. His fingertips finally reached her bare, puffy pussy lips.

“Fuck…” he breathed so quietly only she could hear. “You’ve got the fattest, softest pussy lips I’ve ever felt. So plump and pink… dripping like a desperate slut.”

Stiles bit her lip hard, trying not to moan for real. His fingers started caressing her swollen outer lips slowly, spreading her wetness around. He traced the puffy folds, feeling how thick and juicy they were. Then he found her clit — already swollen and peeking out — and began circling it with two fingers, slow and teasing.

Her mind screamed: Stop him. You’re married. Move his hand.

But her pussy was betraying her completely. It throbbed under his touch, leaking more slick onto his fingers. It felt so fucking good.

The script grew hotter.

Derek (reading, voice now filthy and rough): “You really are a needy little cockslut, aren’t you? Married pussy this wet for the gardener? Fine… spread those legs wider. I’m gonna ruin you for your rich husband.”

Stiles (moaning the lines, voice getting sluttier and breathier): “Yes… ruin me… Finger my married pussy while my husband is away. Make me cum like he never could… Oh fuck, your fingers feel so good on my clit…”

As she read that, Derek pressed firmer circles on her puffy clit, rubbing it perfectly. Stiles’s thighs trembled. She was fighting so hard to keep control, but soft, real whimpers were slipping into her delivery.

Everyone around the table was impressed.

“God, her voice is incredible today,” one writer whispered. “She’s really feeling the character.”

Derek leaned closer, pretending to look at the script together, and whispered right against her ear while his fingers kept playing with her dripping pussy lips and clit:

“That’s it, baby… moan like the slut you are on screen. But we both know this isn’t acting anymore. Your fat pink pussy is creaming all over my hand. So fucking wet and puffy… I could slide right in if I wanted.”

Stiles’s breathing was getting heavier. She continued reading, voice now shamelessly slutty:

Stiles: “Ahh… yes… rub my clit harder… I’m such a dirty married whore… I want your cock so bad… Fuck me in the garden while my husband pays you to trim the bushes… Breed me… Fill my married cunt…”

Derek’s fingers moved faster, stroking her swollen clit in tight, relentless circles. He pinched the puffy lips gently, then went back to her clit, rubbing it side to side. The wet sounds were faint but audible to him under the table — slick, obscene little noises as he played with her soaked pussy.

Stiles’s real moans were mixing with the scripted ones now. “Mmm… oh god… yes… right there…”

The script reached the climax of the scene.

Derek (rough and filthy): “You’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you, you little cheating slut? Cum on my fingers while you think about my cock knocking you up. Say it.”

Stiles (voice breaking into a desperate whine): “I’m cumming… I’m cumming on your fingers… Please… make me cum… ahhh—!”

Right on cue with the script’s orgasm line, Derek pinched her swollen clit roughly between his fingers — hard and perfect.

Stiles’s eyes rolled back for a split second. Her whole body tensed. A powerful orgasm crashed through her right there at the table. Her fat pink pussy spasmed and gushed fresh slick onto his hand. Her thighs shook violently. A long, throaty, real moan escaped her lips — loud and sluttier than anything she’d ever done on camera.

“Fuuuuck… yes… cumming…!”

The entire room erupted into applause.

“Brilliant!” the director shouted. “That was the best orgasm delivery I’ve ever heard in a reading. Stiles, you’re a fucking genius. The way you built it up and then let go — Oscar-worthy slut energy!”

Derek slowly pulled his hand back, fingers glistening with her cum. He casually wiped them on his thigh under the table, then smirked at her while clapping along with everyone else.

Stiles sat there flushed deep red, chest heaving, her pussy still twitching from the aftershocks. Her juices had leaked onto the chair. She felt so guilty, so ashamed… and yet her body was still humming with pleasure.

She shot Derek a glare — eyes narrowed, trying to look angry — but she was too flushed, too breathless, and her glare came out weak and guilty instead.

Derek just leaned in one last time, voice barely a whisper:

“Good girl. You came so hard for me while everyone thought you were just acting. Can’t wait to do the real scenes, baby. Next time I won’t stop at your clit… I’m gonna bury my fingers deep in that married pink pussy and make you squirt while you beg for my cock.”

Stiles squeezed her thighs together, another small aftershock rippling through her.

The director was still praising her “incredible performance.”

She forced a small smile, but inside her mind was spinning.

This was only the script reading.

Filming hadn’t even started yet.

And she was already in trouble.