She does

You caught the flicker of resignation in her eyes the moment she got it, and it told you everything: she had done this dance before, knew the steps by heart, and still hated the music. That mix of surrender and sharp-eyed clarity was your favorite; these were the ones you could push, stretch, and break open, because they had already cataloged every dirty trick in the book and would do it all again for even the slimmest whisper of a callback from a studio this size.

You leaned in once more, breath warm against her ear. “Come on, sweetheart, I don’t have all day. If you’ve got something to show me, now’s the moment. I’m sure those ‘previous jobs’ gave you plenty of ideas about what the company really wants.”

You pressed forward, letting the full weight of your cock nudge harder against the curve of her ass. Her eyes flared wide for a heartbeat. Most girls you’d had said the same thing: there weren’t many casting directors under forty walking around with something this thick. You’d never had complaints about the ride itself, which kept things smooth; they left satisfied even if the part never materialized, unlike the wheezing old-timers with beer guts and cocktail-shrimp dicks.

You ground a slow circle, and she turned, meeting your stare. “Well, Ricky, you’re right,” she said, voice steady. “I do know what’ll set me apart from every other girl you’ll see today. My willingness to learn, plus a few natural gifts none of them can match. Hope you don’t mind if I demonstrate right now.”

She sank to her knees without waiting for permission, fingers already working your zipper. The second the fabric parted, your ten inches sprang free and smacked her cheek hard enough to leave a faint pink mark. Even though she had felt you back there, the sight stole her breath for a second; she just stared, lips parted.

You arched a brow. “Well? You gonna do something with it, or is fishing it out the grand finale of your audition?”

She steeled herself, wrapped one hand around the base, and slid her mouth over the head. You tipped your head back, eyes half-lidded, letting the first lazy throb of pleasure roll through you. She had decent rhythm for an amateur. She bobbed steadily, taking you halfway, her tongue working the underside. In this town you’d had pros who could tie a cherry stem with their throats, so this wasn’t rewriting any record books, but you kept that to yourself. Telling her that tended to make them clam up, and you still needed her cooperative.

Instead, you let out a long, theatrical yawn.

Her pace faltered for a split second, then doubled. She hollowed her cheeks, pushed deeper, gagging just enough to let you know she was trying. When that still didn’t wipe the bored look off your face, she…