Grateful

The couch springs groaned in a slow, rhythmic complaint beneath them. Tiffany moved with a languid, rolling patience — hips rising and falling, her hands flat on Dan's soft chest, her head tilted back in the concentrated expression of a woman taking her craft seriously. The loving wife. Devoted. Warm. Completely his.

Her breasts moved with her. They were, as always, their own event — colossal and smooth and high on her chest even now, even mid-scene, even with gravity doing its utmost. They rolled and swayed with every rise of her hips, heavy and pale and so extravagantly enormous that Dan's hands couldn't come close to containing one each, his thick fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he gripped them from below. He was a tactile director.

She leaned down and kissed him. Slow. Thorough. Her lips soft and tasting faintly of the coffee she'd had on the way over. His hands moved from her breasts to her hips, holding the rhythm.

She pulled back and looked at him with the warm, liquid eyes of a woman deeply in love with her fictional husband.

"Can I tell you something?" she murmured.

"Mm," said Dan.

"I'm just so..." she paused, hips still moving, searching for the word, "...so grateful." She said it like it meant something vast. "For you. Like, genuinely." She sat up slightly, her hands on his chest, and her expression shifted from the wife's warmth to something more purely Tiffany — open, sincere, a little dazed by her own feelings. "Two weeks ago, Dan. Two weeks ago I was sitting in my flat with absolutely no idea what I was doing with my life. Like, none. And now—" she gestured loosely at everything, which included the room, him, herself, the situation, "—now I've had two proper auditions. Two! A TV drama and a film. In two weeks."

She shook her head slowly, marvelling.

"You changed everything," she said. "I just want you to know that."

Dan looked up at her — riding his cock, naked, magnificent, twenty years old and luminously, heartbreakingly sincere — and he was quiet for a moment.

She just thanked me, he thought, with the calm appreciation of a man watching a perfect equation resolve itself, for tricking her into fucking me. And for whoring her out to rooms full of men for several hundred pounds a session that she doesn't know about. She is grateful. Genuinely, warmly, whole-heartedly grateful.

He thought about the commission sitting in his account. He thought about the bookings he already had lined up for the next two weeks.

Life's little ironies, Dan thought. Beautiful things.

"You've worked hard," he said. "You deserve it."

She beamed at him and kissed him again, deeper this time, her hips rolling in a long, slow grind. He responded by gripping her waist and pulling her down firmly onto him. She whimpered softly into his mouth.

When she came up for air she rested her chin on his shoulder, her massive breasts warm and heavy against his chest, her hips finding their rhythm again. She was quiet for a comfortable moment.

"Mike tried to have sex with me last night," she said, in the tone of someone reporting a minor logistical inconvenience.

"Oh?"

"I had to stop him." She sighed — not sadly, just factually. "I was so sore. Like, everywhere. I've honestly not been able to, with him, for over a week now. Between the practice sessions with you and the auditions, it's just—" she shifted slightly on top of him and winced with a faint, philosophical expression, "—my body is just fully committed to the work right now."

"Occupational reality," Dan offered.

"Exactly." She nodded. "I tried to explain to him that I was just really tired from training, which is true. He was really sweet about it, he wasn't annoyed or anything, he just cuddled me." A fond smile. "He's so good." She paused. "The weird thing is, every morning I wake up and I feel completely fine? Like, not sore at all. Totally fresh. And then by the end of a session it builds up again."

"You're resilient," Dan said.

"I think I must just have a naturally resilient body," Tiffany agreed, which was technically accurate in ways she didn't fully understand.

She kissed him again then — soft and lingering, cupping his face in both hands, her thumbs tracing his jaw with a wifely tenderness that was so convincing that for a single moment it was hard to remember which layer of fiction they were inside. His hands slid up her sides and over the impossible warm mass of her breasts and she sighed contentedly into his mouth.

This went on for a while.

He came inside her eventually with a low grunt, both hands gripping her hips and holding her down, his cock pulsing in slow, deep throbs. She stayed exactly where she was, sitting still on top of him, waiting with patient, professional courtesy until he was entirely finished.

"Second take," she said brightly.

She lifted herself off him and slid down his body in one graceful movement, her breasts dragging warm and soft down his belly, and took his spent cock into her mouth with the focused care of a professional completing a task. She was good at this now in the way that daily practice produces — efficient, attentive, genuinely skilled. She worked him slowly, tongue moving in considered circles, her eyes soft.

Shlck. Mmm. Shlck.

He was hard again in four minutes.

She climbed back up, repositioned, sank down onto him, and resumed the wife. He gripped her hips. She leaned forward so her breasts pressed against his chest, her nose touching his, and began to move.

"Okay," Dan said, after a comfortable interval, the cigarette he'd lit resting between two fingers as his other hand gripped her enormous left breast. "This afternoon. I've been thinking."

"Tell me," Tiffany said, in the wife's warm, attentive tone.

"You've been training exclusively with men since we started," he said. "Which is good. Great. But range requires versatility." He squeezed her breast. "You need to practice a scene with a woman."

Tiffany blinked. "Oh! With another actress?"

"With another actress," he confirmed. "Now, here's the thing. The scene is going to be very physical — similar intensity to what you've been doing. And for it to work, for the dynamic to be authentic, she needs to have the same specific challenges you have." He glanced down pointedly at her chest.

Tiffany looked down at herself with an expression that landed somewhere between rueful and proud. "Oh. Right. The... yeah."

"Someone who understands that reality from the inside," Dan said sagely. "That shared physical experience is essential for the scene chemistry." He drew on his cigarette. "She also needs to be young. The role requires it. Younger than you, ideally. Someone with that freshness, that quality." He exhaled slowly. "The industry is very specific."

"Of course," Tiffany agreed, nodding seriously, still moving in his lap.

"So here's what I need you to do," Dan said. "During lunch today. Take a walk, have a look around. A high school would be a good place to start — that age group, that look. Natural, authentic." He checked his watch with the air of a man with a full schedule. "Find someone who fits, someone warm and open to new experiences. Someone impressionable." He met her eyes. "Have a conversation. Invite her back here. I need you both here by two o'clock."

Tiffany processed this with the grave, nodding focus of a graduate student given a research assignment.

"So she needs to be—" Tiffany counted on her fingers, which caused an architectural ripple across her chest, "—similar body to me, younger than me, and back here by two."

"That's it," Dan said.

"I can do that," Tiffany said confidently. "I'm actually really good at talking to people. People say I have this thing where strangers just open up to me straightaway."

"I don't doubt it," Dan said.

She kissed him again, deep and slow, her breasts pressing warmly against him, before sitting back up and resuming her diligent wifely rhythm.

"What should I tell her about the role?" Tiffany asked.

Dan thought about this for a moment, his hand moving in slow, appreciative circles over her extraordinary chest.

"Tell her you're an actress," he said. "Tell her you've just started out, that you've got a wonderful manager who gives you real opportunities, that two weeks ago you had no idea what you were doing with your life."

Tiffany's face opened into a wide, glowing smile.

"That's all true," she said warmly.

"Every word," said Dan.