"It's not... I mean, I'm not backing out or anything," Donna said hesitantly, feeling the weight of four sets of eyes on her still-clothed body as they sealed off any possibility of changing her last sentence. "It's just, I... it's going to be tasteful, right? Only I do want to work in, um, in legiti--" She blushed fiercely, knowing that her ivory skin showed every detail of her embarrassment as surely as if it were a canvas. She really didn't mean to insult Dennis; she'd seen some of his short films, the ones he showed her back at his apartment that first night they spent together, and she knew he had every bit as much talent as Coppola or Peckinpah. That only made it all the more confusing to her that he would waste it all on something so tawdry. "In mainstream movies," she finished, the half-word continuing to hang over the conversation.

Thankfully, Dennis didn't look angry. He never looked angry about anything, really; Donna had never met a man with such a kind, sweet, mellow temperament. Maybe that was why he always seemed to be able to talk her into doing things she swore she would never do--he had such a warm and comforting manner that before she knew it, she was nodding along with everything he said. "Of course it's going to be tasteful, babe," he wheedled, resting his hand possessively on her shoulder. "This isn't pornography, or anything. 'The Breeding Season' is going to be a legitimate erotic film, with real production values and real actors. I wouldn't involve you otherwise. You're an artist, aren't you?"

Donna allowed the corner of her mouth to quirk into a rueful smile. "I'm an artist," she repeated back to him, the knot of tension in her stomach unwinding a little as Dennis's charm offensive began to wear her down. She could see the others beginning to relax as well--not that they couldn't rewrite the script to pare it down to just Cheryl on the receiving end of Frank and Raymond's... impressive charms... but they'd blocked the scene out for four. Everyone was relying on Donna to do her part. And his part. And his part. And maybe Cheryl's part as well, although she hadn't formally agreed to that just yet despite Dennis's persuasive talents.

"Trust me, babe," Dennis cooed, leading her over to the bed and sitting her down on the mattress with both hands resting gently but firmly on her upper arms. "Nobody will even know it's you unless you want them to. They'll remember the wig, they'll remember the body, but with a pair of tits like yours, honey? Nobody's going to be looking at your face." Donna blushed again, squirming ever so slightly at the memory of her 'audition'. They both knew it was nothing but an excuse to fuck each other, they'd been dating for almost a month by then, but... god. The filthy stuff coming out of her lover's mouth had made Donna so goddamn horny. She still couldn't quite believe she had such a kinky side buried under her Midwestern upbringing.

Dennis reached down and undid the first few buttons, exposing her ample cleavage. "Besides," he added, a playful smile on his face, "anyone who admits they recognize you is going to have to admit they saw the movie they recognize you from. And that means they can't exactly be prudish about what you did in it, right?" He chuckled and stepped behind the camera, barely even noticing the concerned expression on Donna's face. She wasn't so sure about his arguments--coming from a small town like she did, she knew full well how easy it was for rumor to travel without ever implicating any of its sources. But Nebraska was a hell of a long way away. And they didn't play X-rated movies in the Red Cloud Rialto. She had to drive all the way to Lincoln just to see 'Bonnie and Clyde' when it came out.

Dennis started the camera and gave the high sign to the cast. "'The Breeding Season', Scene Twelve," he called out, his voice filled with 'genuine moviemaker' pride. "And, action!" On cue, Donna looked down at her lap, needing almost no prompting at all to play the shy farmer's daughter on the verge of taking her first step into a very adult world.

She turned to look at Frank and Raymond, who were already stroking and caressing Cheryl's near-naked body through her bra and panties as they undressed her. "I... I want to join in," she murmured, her breath hitching anxiously in her throat in only a slight exaggeration of her earlier hesitation. "I want to know what it's like for them, out there in the field every day during breeding season. I want to feel that heat, that need. Can you... can you do that for me? Can you make me feel like I'm ready to be mounted?"

"That's good, Donna," Dennis encouraged from behind the camera, his voice soft and coaxing. She almost flinched, terrified that they'd have to retake the scene, but then she remembered they didn't have the budget for sync sound. The actors would just have to dub in their dialogue later. "But can you give me a little more passion? Maybe a little more excitement? Remember, your character's been out all day watching the cows get bred. She's got an ache in her pussy that needs to be satisfied. You're an artist, babe. Show me that art."

"I'm an artist," Donna murmured, grateful that her back was to the camera. She hadn't actually intended to say it out loud, but Dennis's words always reminded her of the long conversations they had during those first few heady weeks when all she wanted to do was gaze star-struck into the eyes of a real movie producer who had the same enthusiasm for film that she did. Sometimes they would cuddle all night, the excitement making Donna feel like she was floating on a puffy pink cloud while she listened to Dennis talk about his ideas for his next picture. He saw so much potential in her. And she could see it in herself when he talked to her like that.

She undid her buttons one by one, her eyes shining with excitement as she slowly lowered her blouse down to reveal her pendulous breasts to Frank and Raymond's appreciative gazes. "Show me those big bull cocks of yours," she purred, looking down at the bulges in their trousers and licking her lips. She tried not to think about doing the next take of this scene, with the camera shooting coverage of her face and her tits while the boys were tastefully and artistically concealed. That would only make her nervous, and Donna wanted to give her absolute all to the part.

The two young men stood up from the bed--not in unison, that always looked staged, but with a haste and an enthusiasm that was so genuine to Donna that it was almost uncomfortable--and shucked off their trousers and tight cotton briefs. Cheryl looked down and back at them with an expression of lusty anticipation on her face, her eyes hooded with lust and desire, and Donna found herself envying Dennis's seasoned performer. She knew the two of them had worked together on a few of Dennis's other films; so had Frank and Raymond, for that matter. All of them seemed so much more comfortable getting naked than she did. She wished she had their easy, carefree attitude toward sex.

"These boys aren't like the bulls in the field, you know," Cheryl growled, a touch of the whip in her voice as she playfully wrapped her fingers around the erect penises on either side of her. "They're not going to mount you just because you bend over. Why don't you come here and give Frank a little kiss, mm? To show your... appreciation for his nice big dick." She hefted them in the palm of her hand, and something about the way she performed the motion gave Donna a new appreciation for her acting skills. Because she sure made it look like they weighed ten pounds each.

The color drained from Donna's face, leaving her white as chalk. "I, uh, I thought... um, I thought we were keeping it tasteful," she heard herself say, her voice seeming to come from a million miles away as she stared helplessly at the throbbing cock in front of her. She'd expected a sex scene, sure, maybe even one with her on top and showing her tits off like in that one movie Dennis played for her, but... but filming her while she straight-up sucked a man's cock like he was her boyfriend, while her boyfriend was watching? It all felt like way too much for her all of a sudden. She didn't know what to do. She didn't even know what to think.

But Dennis knew just what to say. "We are, babe," he purred, keeping the camera rolling the whole time as if he was Jean-Luc Godard or something. "But you can be tasteful and be explicit, too. You're showing the depths of your pent-up passion, the white-hot lust that's carried you into this room despite everything society has told you. The character Donna wants to go as far as she can, to show all those uptight Nebraska prudes that she's her own woman and she doesn't care what they think. You can play that Donna, babe. You can be that Donna. You're an artist."

Donna's head bobbed slowly up and down, seemingly without any intention on her part. "I'm an artist," she whispered to herself, noticing for the first time that Cheryl mouthed the words right along with her. Even Frank and Raymond formed the phrase with their lips, although no sound came out. They all had distant, placid expressions on their faces, and a glassy look in their eyes that reminded Donna of all those nights when she relaxed into the warmth of Dennis's embrace and let herself daydream of Hollywood stardom while he spoke gently into her ear and rubbed her slick, needy cunt. Dennis knew what was best for her. Dennis knew what would really take her career in all the right directions. She could trust him implicitly.

She crouched down, crawling across the mattress until her lips were mere inches away from Frank's stiff, jutting cock. Behind her, Donna could feel Cheryl pulling down her skirt and panties, tugging them until they hung limply around her knees and her furry bush was exposed to the camera. It didn't seem to matter anymore. Nothing mattered but the tiny bead of glistening precum that hung pregnant at the tip of Frank's glans, wordlessly begging Donna to lick it away. She knew the camera was capturing every second of this erotic pause. She knew her lover would finger her pussy later while she watched it.

And then she was plunging forward, engulfing Frank's cock with her lips in a single swift motion that surprised her with its familiarity and comfort. She'd been practicing with Dennis, of course, deep-throating him every night for hours while his fingers teased her soaking cunt and they both pretended she was rehearsing. But she never thought that all that training in relaxing her muscles and suppressing her gag reflex would pay off quite so quickly and well. Within moments, her nose was nuzzling the ticklish thatch of his chestnut pubic hair as she went down on him with an astonishing, effortless ease. "Oh god," Frank moaned, tangling his fingers into her wig and holding her tightly to him. "Oh, oh fuck...." That wasn't in the script, but Donna didn't care anymore.

Raymond crawled onto the bed, giving Cheryl a steamy kiss while he went around behind Donna and plowed her soaking cunt. Dennis moved the camera around to capture every moment of the action, finding an angle that perfectly caught the way Donna's heavy tits dangled and swayed with every thrust. "That's it, babe," he cooed encouragingly, his soothing voice somehow numbing Donna's mind and preventing her from really thinking about what she was doing. "You're an artist. You're an artist for me." Donna couldn't respond, not vocally. Not with a cock shoved so deep down her throat that she was desperately glad she'd taken a deep breath before she swallowed Frank's shaft. But she glowed with pride at every word of praise coming from her boyfriend's lips.

"You're an artist." Donna sat on Frank's cock, bending over to allow Raymond to push into her virgin asshole. "You're an artist." Donna masturbated furiously as she watched Cheryl grunt and moan while the two men spit-roasted her the same way they'd fucked Donna from both ends earlier. "You're an artist." Donna lay under Cheryl in a sixty-nine, licking Raymond's shaft every time it slid out of the other woman's cunt slick with pussy juice. "You're an artist." Donna squeezed and groped Cheryl's smaller, but still ample tits while the brunette did the same to her. "You're an artist." Donna whimpered breathlessly as her co-stars splattered semen all over her face and her breasts. "You're an artist. You're an artist. You're an artist." She didn't even know what the words meant anymore, but she knew how they felt deep down in her aching clit.

They shot seventeen takes of Scene Twelve. But Donna would have been happy to do more.

THE END