The script reading finally ended. Everyone stood up, clapping and chatting excitedly about how electric the chemistry between Stiles and Derek had been. Stiles’s legs felt weak. Her tiny red dress was slightly damp between her thighs from the orgasm she’d just had on Derek’s fingers. She could still feel her fat pink pussy lips swollen and sensitive, her clit throbbing with aftershocks.

Without saying a word to anyone, she grabbed her bag and hurried straight to the private washroom down the hall. She locked the door, breathing hard.

“Fuck… what the hell is wrong with me?” she whispered angrily to her reflection. Her cheeks were still flushed, nipples visibly hard against the thin fabric. She hiked up her tiny dress, spread her legs, and used tissues to clean the slick mess between her thighs. Her puffy pink pussy was glistening, lips puffy and slightly open from being played with. She wiped carefully, but every touch made her clit twitch. “How dare he… I’m married. I’m not some horny slut.”

She was furious at Derek… but even more furious at herself for cumming so hard in front of everyone while they thought she was just acting.

When she stepped out of the washroom, Derek was leaning against the wall right outside, arms crossed over his broad chest, that cocky smirk plastered on his handsome face.

Stiles glared at him, voice low and sharp. “What the fuck was that? You had no right to touch me like that.”

Derek pushed off the wall and stepped closer, towering over her. His eyes raked down her body shamelessly.

“It’s not my fault you came like a horny little slut all over my fingers, baby,” he said quietly, voice dripping with filthy amusement. “Your fat pink pussy was dripping before I even touched it. You were moaning those lines like you wanted me to make you cum. And when I pinched your swollen clit… fuck, you gushed so nice. Don’t act all innocent now.”

Stiles’s face burned crimson. She felt fresh wetness leak from her pussy at his crude words. She couldn’t even find a good comeback. Instead, she shoved past him, heels clicking angrily down the hallway.

“Stay away from me, Derek,” she hissed over her shoulder.

He just chuckled darkly. “See you on set, Mrs. Stiles.”

Back home, Stiles was a mess. She paced the luxurious living room, still wearing the tiny red dress. Her body was on fire. No matter how much she told herself she was angry, her pussy kept throbbing, leaking slick down her inner thighs. She changed into an even sluttier outfit for the evening — a sheer black babydoll that showed everything, her big tits bouncing freely, the hem barely covering her ass.

When Jackson came home later that evening, she tried to act normal.

“Jackson… maybe Derek isn’t the right choice for this movie,” she said carefully while serving him dinner, her voice soft. “He seems… too much.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking over her barely-covered body appreciatively.

“Too much? The whole cast and crew said the chemistry was insane today. They think he’s perfect for the role. His flirty energy matches the gardener character. This movie is going to break records, Stiles. Don’t overthink it.”

She nodded slowly, biting her lip. She couldn’t exactly tell her husband, “I came on my co-star’s fingers during the reading while everyone clapped thinking it was great acting.”

“Okay… if you say so,” she murmured.

A week later, shooting finally began.

Stiles threw herself into the role. Her character was an insatiable slutty wife, so she wore the tiniest outfits the costume department provided — micro crop tops that barely held her massive tits, skirts so short they flashed her ass and the bottom of her pink pussy every time she moved, sheer lingerie that left nothing to the imagination. She acted seductive as hell: arching her back, licking her lips, moaning breathily even in simple dialogue.

Derek was everywhere. During scenes, he kept his hard, muscled body pressed close to hers — his chest brushing her tits, his hips grazing her ass, his hands “accidentally” lingering on her waist or thighs. Off-camera, between takes, he was relentless with his filthy flirting.

In one break, while she was drinking water, he leaned in close behind her.

“Fuck, Stiles… watching you act like such a cock-hungry slut is making me so hard. That tiny skirt riding up, showing everyone how fat and pink your pussy is… I bet you’re soaked right now just from pretending to seduce me.”

Stiles’s nipples hardened instantly. She tried to ignore him, but her pussy clenched and leaked more.

Another time, during a garden scene setup, he whispered hotly in her ear while pretending to adjust her position:

“Tomorrow we start the intimate scenes, baby. I can’t wait to grind my hard cock against that married pussy while the cameras roll. Gonna make you feel every inch even if we’re ‘acting’.”

By the end of the first day, Stiles was a dripping, frustrated mess. The director gathered them both before everyone left.

“Great work today. Tomorrow we jump into the heavier intimate scenes — the first seduction, touching, grinding, the works. Make sure you’re both comfortable with the choreography.”

Derek smirked wide, eyes gleaming with excitement as he looked at Stiles. “I’m more than ready, director.”

Stiles tried to look annoyed, crossing her arms under her big tits, pushing them up. But inside, her pussy was leaking like a horny teenager, soaking the tiny thong she’d worn today. The thought of “intimate scenes” with him made her clit throb painfully.

After the crew packed up, the director took Stiles and Derek to a private rehearsal room.

“I want you two to watch this reference video I selected,” he said, turning on the large screen. It was a high-quality p*rn clip — a beautiful woman with a body similar to Stiles’s getting fucked hard by a muscular young man. The woman was moaning sluttily, tits bouncing, pussy taking deep thrusts, her face showing pure ecstasy. “Study their expressions, the way their bodies move when they’re really into it. We want this movie to feel raw and real, not fake. I’ll leave you two alone to concentrate and discuss. Take notes on the chemistry.”

The director left, closing the door.

The room filled with the loud, wet sounds of p*rn — skin slapping, filthy moans, dirty talk.

Stiles stood there, arms crossed, trying to focus on the screen, but the sexual tension was suffocating. Derek moved behind her, so close she could feel the heat from his muscled body.

“Look at her taking that cock so deep,” he murmured right against her ear, voice low and filthy. “That’s exactly how I’m gonna fuck you on set, Stiles. Not fake it. I’m talking real — my thick cock stretching your married pink pussy while you moan my name for real. No pretending.”

Stiles gasped, her pussy gushing fresh slick down her thighs. She spun around, furious and flushed.

“You’re crossing the line, Derek. This is a movie. We’re acting. I’m married. Stop talking about actually fucking me.”

He stepped even closer, backing her against the wall, his tall frame looming. That charming, dangerous smirk was back.

“Am I? Then why is your pussy probably soaked right now, baby? I can smell how wet you are. Remember the script reading? How you came so hard on my fingers while everyone clapped for your ‘amazing acting’? Your fat puffy lips were creaming for me. Your clit was throbbing. You loved it.”

Stiles’s breathing was ragged. She was furious… but her nipples were aching, her clit pulsing, and more wetness was dripping from her bare pussy.

“Shut up,” she hissed, voice shaky. “Stay away from me.”

She pushed past him and stormed out of the rehearsal room, heart pounding, pussy absolutely leaking.

That night at home, Stiles couldn’t take it anymore.

Jackson was away on a late meeting again. She stripped completely naked in their bedroom, her big tits heavy and sensitive, her fat ass jiggling as she climbed onto the bed. She lay back, legs spread wide, and slid two fingers down to her dripping pink pussy.

She was soaked — lips swollen, clit begging for attention.

As she started rubbing her puffy clit in fast circles, her mind filled with Derek’s filthy words, his muscled body, the way his fingers had played with her during the reading.

“Mmm… fuck…” she moaned softly at first.

Her fingers moved faster, dipping between her fat lips, spreading her wetness.

She imagined his thick cock instead of her fingers.

Her voice grew louder, breathier.

“Ahh… Derek… you bastard…”

She pinched her clit the way he had, remembering the rough pinch that made her cum at the table.

“Oh god… yes… right there…”

Her hips bucked. Her big tits bounced as she fingered herself harder.

“Derek… fuck… your fingers… your cock… make me cum…”

The orgasm hit her hard. She cried out, back arching, pussy gushing onto the sheets.

“Derek! Fuck… I’m cumming… Derek…!”

She came moaning his name like a whore, waves of guilty pleasure crashing through her body until she collapsed, panting, flushed, and ashamed.

But even after cumming, her pussy still ached for more.

Tomorrow they would start the real intimate scenes.

And deep down, she was terrified… and dripping at the thought.