Chapter Thirty Two

Kira fidgeted outside Director Miller’s office. She felt silly standing there in her frilly dress and wig, plucking at the outfit where it drew taut across her hips and bust.

Was she gaining weight or perhaps retaining fluids from the stress of the upcoming performance?

The sporty junior had let out the costume twice before settling on binding ribbons up the sides and across her chest in lieu of repeatedly restitching seams. The production was already monopolizing her time (she’d skipped an intramural match two days ago to attend rehearsals) and her fingers were sore from sewing.

She couldn’t pinpoint exactly when this play became a major priority in her usually laid-back college experience but here she was, dolled up in ebony lace and ruffles that covered very little.

Unconsciously, Kira scooped a shimmering glob out of the nearly empty jar in her hand and pressed them between her inky lips. Shivering delightfully, she suctioned them clean, bumping into the door when her knees knocked together.

“Enter!” The Director’s voice rang with impatient command.

Fluttering long fake lashes, Kira steadied herself on tall sling-back heels and grasped the doorknob. That authoritative tone stabbed at her center, making her gasp and twitch.

She remembered the slap across her cheek and spasmed deliciously.

“I said enter, dammit. Come in or piss off!”

Director Miller never cussed. Alarmed, Kira hurriedly twisted the handle and stumbled in. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Ma’am–”

“Be silent.” The Head of Performing Arts sat at her desk, focused singularly on an antique typewriter. “You are interrupting my revisions to the script.”

The clacking of mechanical keys fired off in rapid succession, gears cranking, feeding a page through the rollers.

Revisions this late in the production? What could she mean?

Panic seized Kira. They were already slaving day and night in preparation for opening night, if she was still making changes…

She held her tongue, not daring to disobey or protest until granted permission. She both craved and feared that barbed tongue, the rough hand. Her pussy moistened in anticipation.

Director Miller took her sweet time, eventually addressing Kira with a raised eyebrow. “My, my. Look at you. Quite the fairy tramp in that fancy dress, ain’t ya? Not regretting swapping roles after the fact, I hope.”

“No-no, Miss… sorry, Director. I wanted to ask for more, um, body glitter?” Kira presented the depleted jar as evidence. “Is you can spare some.”

Mouth watering, her gaze fell on the large tub of sparkly ointment on a corner of the desk.

“My body glitter? I don’t know.” The older woman tapped her jaw in contemplation. Sparkles glinted on manicured fingertips. “Twirl for me, girl. Let’s take a proper gander at you.”

Spinning obediently in place, Kira blushed when her gauzy skirts lifted with the motion giving the Director an eyeful.

“Packed on a few pounds, have we?” She commented dryly. “Not so lean and full of yourself now, I imagine. Still, the costume hits the right notes. Shows off plenty of tit and ass. Flash some skin, and the audience will clamor for more. Come over here.”

Burning with shame, Kira wobbled forward. She was wobbling a lot lately. Wobbling top and bottom on her unsteady heels. She reached the edge of the desk when the Director stood, dipping fingers into the tub.

The mature thespian wasn’t dressed like a common fae slut. A strict graphite pantsuit accentuated her ripe curves and a tight bun gave her the aura of a stern disciplinarian. The lack of any top or bra beneath the buttoned jacket only reinforced the image.

Had she shed some weight? Her mane of chocolate hair was distinctly fuller and richer.

“Bend over, girl. Hands flat on the table.”

Kira complied again, breath quickening when the Director circled behind her.

“You missed a spot here.”

*Slap!*

The back of her thigh stung, just below her ample butt. Firm fingers spread the slick goo perilously close to Kira’s dewy mound. Small sparks of static danced in their wake. She swallowed a whorish moan.

The Director leaned over her to scoop up more ointment. Their bodies pressed together for a red-hot instant.

“And here.”

*Smack!*

Her other thigh smarted. The fingers brushed the band of her black mesh panties, where they dug into the plump sphere of her left ass cheek—smoothing that tingling warmth over the fleshy contour in a circular motion.

Kira trembled with restrained need.

She was so close! A single touch, the slightest stroke, would push her over the razor edge she balanced on. It was divine agony to be held there–heavenly **** to relinquish control of her pleasure to a more dominant figure.

Perspiration dripped from her nose, dark strands from the wig clung to her face…

The tub of aloe sparkled on the desk, less than a foot from her salivating lips.

*Splat!*

She stifled a cry when a slime-slathered palm impacted her jiggling rear. Wondrous pain grounded like lightning in her churning core.

“I know what you want, girl. You’re just a little piggie snuffling for a treat. Very well.” The Director leaned over her again, and Kira couldn’t resist wriggling her exposed rump into the other woman’s hips as she filled the empty jar from the tub.

That earned her a cuff on the ear, which elicited a piteous squall.

“Take it and be thankful for my generosity. Your shift in attitude is promising, but I expect the best from my cast. Shape up or ship out, and do something about that god-awful hairpiece. You look like a bad extra in a Tim Burton movie.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Thank you, Ma’am.”

Kira didn’t mind being hustled out the door. By the time it slammed shut, she was already lifting the gloopy jar to her puffy lips, slurping hungrily.

If you enjoy my silly smut and want early access to my latest works, why not buy me a mug of morning mud? I require a steady flow of pure caffeine to keep me tapping at the keyboard.