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No Business Like Show Business

Part #1: The Audition

~A lewd story by Forseti Fox~

“Barry Vanafdekust is one of the biggest names in porn. The iguana is both producer and director of the prolific porn publication company, BitchFlix, and any twink or stud lucky enough to set paw in his studio would have a chance to eclipse Hollywood actors with their fame. Sure, the porn scene has a degree of seediness to it; it’s not really a secret, but Barry Vanafdekust is one of the driving forces in a movement to elevate the medium from mere masturbation fodder to actual cinema. It just happens to be cinema where the animals fuck 75% of the time. Also the sort of cinema that would be illegal to show in most movie theaters.

Barry Vanafdekust cut his teeth at an actual film school in New York, before traveling to Berlin, Amsterdam, Las Vegas, Bangcock, before taking all that he had learned and applying it to the Big Apple once more. The weather in New York gets to be a bit too nippy, however, especially for a cold-blooded reptile who insists on wearing Hawai’ian button-down shirts on every non-Sabbath day. The glitz and glamour of Los Angeles sang a siren song for the iguana, but the constant sun proved to be the more potent magnet. Barry Vanafdekust started on his first project, Une passion de demi-frères, and filmed it in luscious 4K on a set straight out of a Seurat. It went on to gross $4,000,000. With such a healthy nest egg, the auteur was able to expand his vision. BitchFlix was established in 2009, thriving despite the millennial recession. The production company would create four or five films a year, resisting the urge to crank out menial cranking material, and focusing on the art. The cinema. The actors of BitchFlix were minor Hollywood nobility. The set designers could put BitchFlix on their resumes and actually get their paws in the door in the industry. Barry Vanafdekust’s claws possessed a Midas Touch.

Barry Vanafdekust would never star in his films, however. He was moreso a writer. A producer. A visionary. Not much is known of the iguana’s private life. Though his studio’s repertoire runs the full gamut of sexuality, no one can even claim to know the reptile’s sexuality. He’s never been seen in public with a paramour. His Gatsby-esque parties at his Hollywood mansion are legendary, but when the night’s passions melt away with the sunrise, the iguana’s house is empty and quiet; according to intrepid paparazzi, that is. He devotes his time to his studio by day, then retires in his magnificent library by night, accompanied only by a lovely chianti, or perhaps a robust manhattan, educating himself on the machinations of the world through hours of reading. He doesn’t travel as much as he did in his youth. Some wonder if he’s even left Los Angeles County even once in the past decade. Now in his late-forties, the rumor mill begins to churn. Is the cinema Barry Vanafdekust’s one true devotion? Or will something else one day catch the auteur’s attention? Something or some-one? Many think that the time has come for love to enter into the legendary producer’s life, but perhaps that’s for the paparazzi to speculate over. At the end of the day, no one can question how much Barry Vanafdekust’s prolific career has contributed to the adult entertainment industry; to cinema itself. Maybe to speculate over matters of romance shouldn’t be the primary focus of Vanafdekust’s life. After all, it’s his work that revolutionized the field of film. We here at Hollywood raise a glass to thee, Mr. Vanafdekust.”

-An excerpt from an article in Fame Magazine, titled “Barry Vanafdekust; the Biggest Name in Adult Entertainment,” written by Katarina Applewood.

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Davey Fitzsimmons, the common raccoon, came to LA with dreams of being a porn actor, but the rent can get pretty expensive, and most intrepid dreamers need to pay their dues and start an OnlyFurs account. The twenty-two-year-old raccoon was probably one of the most popular gay porn stars in his hometown of Topeka, being able to handle pretty much every large-sized toy that the Naughty Gryphon dildo company put up on the market. But Dorothy wasn’t in Kansas anymore, and not every otter body-type (someone should change the name of that, “otter” sounds a bit speciesist) size queen could pay the bills in California, no matter how large the dildo was.

Where once, Davey could make a lovely supplementary income filming a few videos with friends, or dressing up in programmer socks and sliding a foot of silicon into his slot, that sort of content was a dime a dozen out west. He even had to make ends meet working as a waiter. When Davey looked up the top OnlyFurs accounts, or perused the aisles of an adult entertainment store, every raccoon that he saw was either as thin as deer’s dick, or muscular enough to actually do well in professional wrestling. The brown-and-black furred raccoon didn’t have the largest cock in the world either; not that he used it as often as his tailhole. It was four-point-five inches hard, and it wasn’t as though his dick wasn’t fun to the everyman, but this was Hollywood. Even the subbiest of subs were packing Pringles cans in the porn industry.

But he was gonna make it big, the doubters in Topeka be damned. His parents (currently under the impression that Davey was auditioning for less-than-XXX cinema; that would be a conversation for later) protested against such a costly move, and even his friends, who were impressed with the raccoon’s community theater presence, thought that perhaps he should go to college to study “real” acting instead. The poor procyon didn’t even know anyone in LA; he had to find his roommates on MuzzleBook. But it wasn’t just about the sex to Davey. It wasn’t about the alleged quick buck that one could make off of porn. And though he had a proclivity to cater to his submissive side, it wasn’t as though he was ready to be a prostitute either, just for the sex. Davey felt in his heart that there could be real art in the craft of adult entertainment. That society would benefit from adult videos with actual intent put into it. Where sexuality could be beautifully portrayed to those confused by it. Where kink could unabashedly portrayed for those to discover it. Where society could cast off its puritanical shackles and appreciate porn, passion, and sexuality for the art for that it truly was. To Davey, this often neglected form of theater was worth his time and attention, even if he didn’t have the body of a model. No one in Topeka understood.

But perhaps Barry Vanafdekunst would.

The time was 9:50 AM. Being early is being on-time. Davey opened the front doors to BitchFlix Studios with a heart beating faster than a jackhammer. The raccoon clutched a folder with headshots and resumes in his right paw, while slinging a backpack filled with his largest dildos and most stylish pup-play gear over his left shoulder. The nocturnal raccoon spent all night trimming his fur, stretching and preparing his hole, and even preparing a Shakespeare monologue, just in case. To compensate for his smaller package, Davey decided to try out the audition in chastity, though naturally, he’d bring the key to his transparent silicon cage in case the auditors asked to see his cock. The chastity cage hid underneath his orange jockstrap, which hid underneath his tightest pair of blue jeans. A light-orange polo was worn to complete the ensemble.

Davey had to sign up for the audition three-weeks ahead of time; the time slots got booked faster than ComicCon tickets. BitchFlix wasn’t like most porn publishers. The company held open auditions as though it were an actual theater, instead of simply asking for an application and headshots online. When Davey looked up the audition requirements for BitchFlix’s upcoming, yet-to-be-titled project, the amatuer found himself perplexed. It had been a while since the studio had produced something, but the audition listing left quite a bit of mystery:

“We just want you to bring yourself. To show us yourself. We are seeking artists, not mere performers. You’ll have thirty minutes.”

The description was far too vague to adequately prepare for. Critics sometimes claim that perhaps Barry Vanafdekust had spent far too much time in pretentious art houses. The raccoon had his faith in the process, however, and simply prepared as best as he could.

The lobby to BitchFlix studios could easily be mistaken for a building on some Silicon Valley tech company’s campus. Massive windows existed in the stead of mere walls, and the geometry of the floors, stairs, and decals flirted with far more acute-and-obtuse angles than the ninety-degrees found in more gouache architecture. Light-colored birch wood made up the carpentry of the front desk and benches, and it contradicted nicely with the rich crimson tones chosen for the walls. Light pink neon-lit tubes were curved stylishly to make up the cursive of the BitchFlix logo, and the sign glowed warmly behind the receptionist; a mourning dove with soft-tan feathers and a sleek, black suit jacket, who looked to be in her early fifties. The sign on the front desk read “Mrs. Politowicz.”

The bird wore circular, magenta glasses; the sort that Barbara Bel Geddes wore in Vertigo. She gracefully placed a bookmark in a massive, vintage-looking book, and looked up, only moving her eyes, not her head. No one else was in the lobby.

“Hello, sir, welcome to Mr. Vanafdekust’s studio. Do you have an appointment?”

The butterflies in Davey’s stomach could be heard stirring around his vocal cords as he answered in a shaky voice, “Um, y-yes, my name is Davis Fitzsimmons.”

The dove tapped away at her computer for a moment without responding. Then: “We have an appointment for a Dav-ey.”

“That’s, um, m-my stage name.”

“Typically people don’t just change two letters for their stage name.”

“I guess it’s more of a nickname- But, um, I think I sent my, uh, headshot, if there’s any question of identity-”

“Relax, sir. No one’s accusing you of fraud.” More tapping at the keyboard. “You’re checked in, just wait out here for the nine-thirty to finish up his audition, then Mr. Vanafdekust will see you.”

Davey’s ears burned bright red with anxiety, “Uh, I’ll be auditioning for Barry Vanafdekust himself?”

Mrs. Politowicz kept her eyes on her computer, answering in a monotone. “Mr. Vanafdekust sees all prospective artists personally. As it says on the website.”

“Oh, that’s not a problem!” the raccoon hastily defended, “It’s just- he’s such a big name, I guess I was expecting him to, uh, delegate.”

“Mmhmm.” The dove opened her book once more.

An awkward pause sat in the open lobby. “Would you, um, like a copy of my headshot and resume?”

“You sent them online, didn’t you?”

Davey chuckled nervously, “I guess I, uh, wanted to, uh, prepare.”

“Well, aren’t you just a Boy Scout?” chided the receptionist with a tinge of sarcasm. Davey missed the joke and wondered silently if he forgot to take his rank as an Eagle Scout off of his resume. Perhaps seeing a kernel of confusion on the raccoon’s muzzle, the dove added, “If you want my advice, just take a moment; breathe, drink some water. I’ve got sparkling or still up here if you’d like. Don’t think of this as a defining point of your life. Think of this as an audition. And this is just your job. And it’s just like every day for you. You’ll be fine.”

The raccoon sighed and dropped his anxiety-filled shoulders. “I brought a water bottle, but thanks- er, yeah, thanks a bunch, that helps.” He plopped his furry butt down on one of the chic benches, and waited patiently, making sure to keep his cell phone firmly in his pocket in case it gave off an unprofessional image.

The minutes passed like hours. The ticking of a clock took up all of the lobby’s auditory real estate. The dove continued reading her book.

And then, the 9:30 appointment was finished, emerging from the double-doors next to the front next the second that the clock showed 10:00.

The animal that emerged was a buff, six-foot-ten crocodile with glistening, dark amber scales. He confidently wore a white-button up, and, of course, he kept it completely unbuttoned. He also wore shades indoors. The crocodile didn’t even so much as cast a wayward glance at the raccoon on his way out. He simply uttered a brief, whispered “Thanks” to the receptionist, and boldly strode out into the California sun.

Barry Vanafdekust then appeared in the doorway, arms fully extended to push against both sides of the doorframe. The iguana’s scales were a cascade of iridescent blue-and-green, tending towards a greener hue further onto his chest and throat. He wore no wig, but a few dark-green frills ran down the back of the iguana’s head. The reptile wore a red Hawai’ian shirt; actually buttoned up, as opposed to the crocodile, and sleek khaki chino pants. It looked as though a particularly expensive gold-colored watch was worn on his right wrist, and a straw panama hat sat atop the producer's head. As soon as Davey saw Barry Vanafdekust, the raccoon’s spine straightened fast enough to impress a drill sergeant. The bright-red hue inside of his inner ears was as colorful as an apple.

“Davey Fitzsimmons; pleasure to meet you. Come on in, kid. Let’s do an interview.”

“Yes, sir!” responded the raccoon, before silently cursing himself for his over-formality. The iguana flashed a sleazy smile; the sort of look that made it impossible to gauge the producer’s inner thought process. Davey followed him into the room.

The audition room had one sliver of hardwood flooring on the far left side, where the director’s table and chair sat; the only piece of furniture in the room. The rest of the room was fitted with black Marley; the sort of flooring dancers use in their rehearsal rooms. The dark-red motif of the lobby continued to this room, though one of the walls was completely decked out with mirrors. A single door on the left side of the room led to somewhere further into the studios, the only other door to the room. A camcorder sat on top of a tripod on the table.

Initially, Davey expected a panel of judges to adjudicate the audition. The only other animals in the room were Barry Vanafdekust himself; and a silent, massive black-furred wolf wearing a white tank top and white, flowy silk pants. “Take your shoes off, if you don’t mind, kid. They’re bad for the Marley.” Davey was happy that his experience in community theater allowed him to recognize the word for the flooring.

The producer grabbed his chair by its back and tipped it over at least forty-five degrees before taking his place on it, fully straddling the chair. The amateur took his place in the middle of the room and awaited instruction.

“Alright, kid; before we start, I’m sure you know exactly what kind of movie company we run here. Just a quick disclaimer; since thing’s are sexual in nature here, if I ask you a question, or ask you to do something, and it’s outside of your comfort zone, just let me know, OK? I won’t hold it against you for the audition, understood?”

Davey nodded sharply, “Yes.”

“And second Q. I like to record every audition, is that also in your comfort zone?”

Another nod. “Yes.”

“Wunderbar! Next matter at paw; drop the polo. It’s giving me ‘country club,’ and I’ve read your resume, you wouldn’t debase yourself by portraying ‘country club,’ would you?”

The raccoon went out on a limb, and assumed that the iguana had wanted him to strip right away. Now was not the time to show hesitation. With an erotic, slow flourish, Davey pulled the orange shirt up over his head and dropped it on the floor. A blush, however, had once again crept upon the raccoon’s face and ears. He was completely lacking in the abs department, and despite psyching himself up in the mirror earlier, he felt a bit uncomfortable showing off his mild overweightness. Not that Davey would ever dream of judging any animal on their weight, but this was Hollywood, and the stigma was notorious. Thoughts of the bodybuilding crocodile from earlier flashed in the raccoon’s head. Nevertheless, Davey stood there with his arms at his side, trying to read Barry Vanafdekust’s reaction. The iguana’s poker face was impossible to gauge.

“It’s funny, actually,” continued the reptilian producer, “You’re probably the only guy to send me a resume and a cover letter. I was talking about it with Ash here, I was like ‘A cover letter? What kind of asshole sends in a cover letter? What is this, real estate?’ But then I took the time, read it, and I understood. You, Davis, you’re on the level. You understand what BitchFlix is about. It’s about the art. You can also drop the pants, kid.”

Davey unbuckled his dress belt, and then the buckle to his pants as well, before fully bending over and pulling the garment off. All that was left on the procyon’s brown-and-black furred body was an orange jockstrap. The chastity cage made it appear as though the raccoon had a bit of a bulge, but still, Barry Vanafdekust’s poker face wouldn’t budge. The raccoon’s thick ringtail hit the floor with a thud.

“I know; ‘BitchFlix’ is a bit- y’know, porny. I’d change the name, but my accountant tells me that it’s a brand now, or what have you. By the way, this here is Ash.” The iguana gestured over to the stoic wolf. “He’s my costume guy, but he’s also an expert anatomist- Is that a word? ‘Anatomist?’”

With a low growl, not indicating anger, but rather a sort of pettiness, the black-furred lupine answered, “Well I sure as hell ain’t a physician. Wouldn’t catch my ass going to school for eight years.”

“Isn’t that the truth, kid?” chimed the producer. “I don’t have a- well, a personal assistant yet, so I’ve got my costume guy doing a few odd jobs in the interim. He’s gonna get his paws on you, if you’d be so inclined?”

The raccoon nodded while also answering. “Yes, sir.”

“‘Sir,’ I like that. ‘Sir.’ That’s the kind of formality you don’t see in the industry anymore.”

Ash was in the process of pulling long, blue latex gloves over his right paw and arm. “I’m not going to start calling you ‘sir,’ Barry.”

“And I would never dream of asking you to, Ash. Always respect your crew, Davey.” The iguana turned to the raccoon once more. “So, let’s actually start this audition.” He brought his long, scaled digits together in a pyramid shape that indicated contemplation. “Tell me, in your own words, what does ‘Art’ mean to you?”

Davey felt a frog in his throat for a moment. He had prepared to showcase his prowess as a porn actor, not a philosopher. Not to be someone to spit out words, simply to fill the silence, the actor contemplated his answer for a moment. Meanwhile, the lupine anatomist was in the process of unlacing his shoes. Davey couldn’t help but cast a glance at the wolf, curious at what he was tasked to do. He caught a glimpse of a little bottle of lube, sitting in the corner.

“Well,” started the humble, midwestern raccoon, “To me, art, no matter if it’s a song, or a book, has always been about- well, it’s always been about two things to me. I think I wrote this in my cover letter briefly, but I can definitely explain better in person.” The wolf was now finished taking his shoes off, and had started to walk towards Davey, lube in paw. “Um, should I do something with Ash?”

“Don’t mind Big Bad Wolf here, kid,” replied the producer, “He’s just gonna get a feel for you. You can keep answering the question.”

“For sure,” responded Davey, though he couldn’t help but look at his side as the wolf began to squirt a puddle of lube on his gloved paw, about the size of a quarter. “Art has always been about two things; teaching folks something from your own wisdom, and giving them, y’know, something that makes them happy. I hesitate to use the word ‘spectacle,’ but-”

Just then, Ash knelt down and pulled the raccoon’s underwear down to his knees, exposing the mammal’s caged cock.

Before Davey could continue, the ridge above Barry Vanafdekust’s eyes raised. This intrigued him; the first reaction that Davey had gotten out of the producer.

“Ahh, you’re a little sub, ain’tcha? You’re adorable, kid. Someone claiming the keys to that cage, or are you just doing this for fun?”

The raccoon’s blush now showcased a deeper red hue than mere apples could produce. “I, uh- I’m keeping chaste myself, sir. I brought the keys here today, actually.”

The blue-and-green iguana chuckled to himself, “I’ll keep that in mind, kid. But go on. You were talking about ‘wisdom’ and ‘happiness,’ if I’m not mistaken?”

Just then, Ash ventured a wet, lubed digit into Davey’s exposed hole while he was distracted. Having met little resistance, he then immediately proceeded to stick a second one up there. The actor on display couldn’t help but let out a submissive moan in response, but undeterred, he continued with his answer.

“Y-yes, sir. Art to me is about showing off your wisdom, as well as showing off your, well, ability to please a crowd.” Ash was fully fingering Davey’s prostate, eliciting another errant moan. His cock began to twitch, though with such a small chastity cage, a mere twitch was all that the raccoon’s member could manage. “I don’t want to use the word ‘spectacle,’ that seems a bit P.T. Barnum to me, and art isn’t about tricking your audience into having a good time. But good art to me-” The wolf had just managed his third digit. “F-fuck- I mean, um, but good art, to me, should also- Oh my gosh- illicit a sort of joy- or, um, a great love in an artist’s work.”

Barry Vanafdekust snapped as he pointed finger guns towards the raccoon. “Exactly. To me, this is ‘passion.’ You described it beautifully, ‘a great love in an artist’s work.’”

Ash was now four digits deep into Davey, all while keeping a stoic expression as the country actor fought hard to give in and moan as loud as he could. The chaste member had begun to leak slightly, and had begun to strain semi-uncomfortably inside of its silicon prison. The raccoon’s constant panting accented his words. “Yes, sir. That’s exactly how I’d d-describe it. ‘Passion’ is the perfect word. However- oh my gosh- However, I believe that the p-passion is only as p-potent as the wisdom- er, the educational value behind it. An artist- oh gosh- an artist truly shines when they can teach and entertain in-in equal fold.” Davey started panting. Lewd shivers shook the raccoon’s body the more he was fingered.

Barry Vanafedkust nodded. He was interested in what the raccoon was saying. “Kid, that’s- that’s something profound, what you just said. Next question’s gonna be a bit trickier, though. How can porn be art?”

Davey knew how to answer this. He thought long and hard about porn (no pun intended), and even put his philosophy into his cover letter. Not that appealing to Barry Vanafdekust’s legendary reputation as an enlightened thinker was Davey’s modus operandi; he truly believed what he wrote down. But now that he was asked outright his thoughts on the artistic merits of porn, a surge of confidence flowed through the raccoon.

Meanwhile, Ash brought his arm up around the raccoon’s front waist, holding tightly while he wordlessly fingered him. The sensation felt incredible, and Davey couldn’t tell whether or not the exercise was meant to distract the raccoon, or to see how stretchy he was. Either way, the thought hadn’t crossed his mind that fisting would get involved. That is, until the wolf started pulling his fifth digit inwards slightly.

Davey mustered as much willpower as he could. Though he’d never been officially fisted before, he had stuck a good number of dildos into his ass at the large-sized level. Maybe he’d need to make the leap to XL first before trying a full paw, but this was the most important audition of his life. There was no time for caution.

The question must be answered first, however. Davey fought hard against clenching his teeth and hole. “Porn is art to me because of the passion in it; the passion in sex and, you know, sexuality- hnng-” Moans kept creeping in. “But, I think there’s something to porn that, well- Holy cow-” The wolf was thrusting the majority of his paw into the smaller mammal, keeping a tight grip on his waist. He hadn’t begun forcing the whole paw in just yet, but the increased intensity of the thrusting meant that fisting would be imminent. “Porn gets a bad rep’, but that’s a wider- hnng- a wider issue with sexuality as a whole being villainized in such a puritanical society. L-look at the LGBTQ-plus, um- community, and not to mention sex workers, which- gosh- You know, we don’t get the best reputation. The more porn is treated as art, the better society’s interaction with pornography becomes, and on a whole, the more that passion as a whole is welcomed with open arms, instead of shunned- oh fuck!”

“Damn, Davis, you understand my vision perfectly.”

Ash started grumbling as his grip tightened, “Just relax, kid, it’s going in now.” And a serendipitous calm washed over Davey’s body as he closed his eyes and focused on opening up his hole.

Just take a moment; breathe.

With a wet schlorp, accompanied by the wolf’s guttural growling, the paw slipped inside. Davey couldn’t help it anymore. He cried out with a full-bodied voice, his maw completely agape in a swirl of pain and pleasure. Of pain and of passion. His prostate practically burned with pleasure against the canine’s entire paw, and though Ash simply kept the paw in place, Davey couldn’t help but flex and throb on it. Though it was a drop in the bucket compared to the splitting apart in his tailhole, the raccoon’s caged cock throbbed in a dull, needy strain.

Barry Vanafdekust nodded in approval. “Ahh, thank you Ash. You took that paw pretty quickly, kid. I know everyone and their mother can take a fist out here in California, but I’m glad you country boys keep up on your stretches. Go ahead, Ash, get in there and fist him.”

“Oh my gosh,” cried the country boy in question as the wolf began to push his arm deeper into the poor mammal’s hole. Davey’s paws were clenched tightly, bracing against the strain. This was the widest that the procyon had ever been stretched, and it seemed as though Ash was going to take the record for depth as well.

“I like that answer, though, kid,” continued the iguana. “It makes my old artist’s soul feel validated- Jesus, Ash, you gonna turn this kid into a Muppet?”

“I’m just checking his depth.” And with that, the wolf pulled his arm out of the raccoon. He didn’t rip it out with the rapidity that one might pull a bandage off, but it wasn’t a slow, calculated process. Davey felt almost violated when the wolf’s paw left him; a yawning chasm had opened up, and without the proper filling, the poor raccoon felt unfathomably empty. The pullout caused pain, and a sizable gape was left where the once was a paw. This was the largest thing that Davey had ever managed to take anally. Involuntarily, the raccoon felt a stream of fluid shoot from his chaste member. He didn’t cum, but whether or not the liquid was pre-cum or piss, Davey couldn’t discern. It just so happened that sometimes, pulling out a large toy would cause the nocturnal mammal to lose bladder control. He didn’t imagine that a fist would be any different.

Davey couldn’t help himself as he fell to his knees, and then a single arm, the shock of the pullout causing an unfathomable ache. The loudest, whiniest groan echoed from the raccoon's muzzle, as guttural as it was soprano.

“I give him a B, maybe B-Plus.” spoke the wolf nonchalantly, “You good, kid?”

Barry Vanafdekust, however, smiled, “Damn, get a good stretch, pup? Mind if I call you ‘pup?’”

Ash offered his ungloved paw to help the raccoon up. Davey took him up on his offer, catching his breath as he ascended. “Yes, sir. That works for me!”

“Good pup, it has a nice, submissive ring to it.” declared Barry Vanafdekust, “That brings us to the next question; how can kink be considered art?”

The poor, stretched-out actor continued to catch his breath as he contemplated his answer. Meanwhile, the lupine anatomist pulled out a phone and knelt down once more. He wiped his wet, gloved paw on the raccoon’s lower shin unceremoniously, getting it a bit stuck in his brown fur. Without too much apology in his voice, Ash added, “Sorry, lube’s not good for the silk.” before taking out a small penlight and examining the raccoon’s gape, probing a cold, latex-coated digit to examine his hole further. Once more, embarrassment threatened to overtake the actor’s brain, and thoughts of the sex icon crocodile from earlier planted seeds of doubt.

But Davey had an audition to worry about. “Well, much like, um- like how sexuality is an important expression of joy and passion, kink kind of accomplishes that goal in a similar way- oooh.” The wolf started stretching his hole apart with two digits now. The raccoon first figured that the costume designer was making a further examination, but when he looked down, he saw that the wolf was actually taking pictures of the smaller mammal’s gape with his phone. “But it’s sad, though, because- well, sexuality gets a bad reputation in society, but BDSM and kink get it even worse. So it’s even more important to show those settings in an artistic light, to discourage, like, stigma, or misconceptions. I don’t know psychology or anything, but I do know that some kinks are just, well- gahh!” Ash spread the actor’s sore hole even further, taking a deeper picture. “Kink just feels nice, it’s important to show that sometimes.”

The wolf removed his digits as the iguana nodded in silent agreement. Ash then proceeded to grab the procyon’s entire caged package from behind the balls, stretching them further than the silicon ring held them. The sensation was wet and cold, and more lube smeared onto the fur on the raccoon’s balls. Ash took another few pictures.

“I like that answer,” chimed Barray Vanafdekust. “Hmm, I’m warming up to you quite nicely, pup. You got a paw on the BDSM pulse, so to speak. Well said.”

Davey couldn’t help but giggle, “Thank you, sir.”

“You got a favorite kink? First one that comes to mind?”

The raccoon took the reptile’s instruction and answered without hesitation. “Paws- and, er, feet and paws.”

The contemplative triangle claw position made a return to the iguana’s pose. “That’s adorable. Not my thing, but it’s cute how quick you answered. Now; next question- bit of a rhetorical, do you know what exactly you’re auditioning for now?”

The wolf hovered ominously behind the raccoon. The ring-tail’s ass continued to burn.“Um, no sir.”

Barra Vanafdekust smiled. “That’s because I’ve buried the lede, pup. I’m gonna spill the beans. Truth be told, I’ve got a different idea in mind for my next project, but for you… What I’ve been looking for in you is, well- a bit of a personal assistant. Before I continue, do you know what a ‘fluffer’ is?”

Davey cocked his head. Of course, the raccoon knew enough about the porn scene to know what a fluffer was. But this question struck him as odd. Was this what the audition was for? “Um, yes, sir?”

Barry Vanafdekust, seemingly reading the confusion on the raccoon’s face, added, “Don’t worry kid, that’s not what this was for. I just wanted to see something. Ash, you ready?”

The wolf burst out in laughter. He was far from hard. “You had half-a-dozen porn stars in here this morning. I’m all out of semen, Barry.”

Barry Vanafdekust shrugged, “I guess I’ll throw my hat in the ring then. You alright with that, kid?”

Davey blinked. “You want me… to…”

“Yeah, just suck me off while I monologue.”

While it wasn’t entirely out of the question, Davey never considered that the legendary producer, Barry Vanafdekust, could be gay. Or perhaps he was bisexual, or pansexual even; when one thinks about it hard enough, it’s easy to imagine that a director of pornography with such a focus on high art probably wouldn’t be the straightest of individuals, but still. Here he was, out in the open, asking the male raccoon to blow him.

“If you want, that is. I’m gonna talk for a while, you look horny. It’s not a part of the audition.”

Davey’s head was in a swirl. Barry Vanafdekust was, for all extents and purposes, the raccoon’s idol, and Davey would be lying if there he said that he never thought about such a figure erotically, even though he’d never seen the iguana naked. In a sort of unhinged line of thinking, nothing could be hotter. He would be paying homage… paying worship even, to the famous director. But Davey thought about it more, and sucking off your pornographer role model had the potential of being awkward, especially professionally. The intrusive thought that this was, after all, a part of the audition, flickered in Davey’s brain for a moment, but he took the iguana for his word and banished that thought.

And on top of everything, the raccoon was horny, if his leaky cock was any indicator. The sheer eroticism of getting fisted for the first time flooded Davey’s thoughts, and his chaste raccoonhood yearned for more sex, even if it wouldn’t feel any stimulation. And sure, his ass hurt enough to prevent normal sitting for a few days, but that wouldn’t inhibit his ability to perform oral.

And at the end of the day, even though this was perhaps the most important audition in Davey’s life, it was only an audition. This was his job. It wasn’t that big of a deal.

“I’d l-love to, sir.”

“Good boy,” cooed Barry Vanafdekust, sliding off his belt.

“You need me for anything else, Barry?” asked the wolf.

“Nah, Barry. You can take the rest of the day off.” The rest of the day? Thought Davey, Does that mean that the job…

Davey approached the table, practically drooling from his muzzle, completely nude, his dick throbbing very visibly. Barry Vanafdekust, who apparently wore no underwear, took off his pants with a flourish. The iguana boasted not one, but two sizable, semi-tapered, hot-pink hemipenes. Both rods were half-mast, emerging from the producer’s cloaca, yet both also dripped fragrant drops of pre-cum, as though the iguana were also slightly aroused. Ash rolled his eyes and removed his glove, simply dropping it to the black floor, adding a quick, “See you around,” as he left the room. Davey hardly paid attention, his eyes were on the reptile’s hemipenes. The raccoon approached the desk and went to his knees.

“Go ahead, pick one.” He ordered, wagging his two cocks. Davey licked his lips and got to work, starting off with the left side. The salty, quasi-bitter taste of precum flooded the raccoon’s palate, and he quickly got to work, bobbing his head up and down the iguana’s left shaft. The older man rested his reptile claw on the mammal’s head, sitting back and relishing in the treatment.

“You’ve caught my attention, Davey, I must admit. Throughout this whole, y’know, audition process, I’ve had all these LA-types coming in, and- you know how it is, they flex their muscles, they wag their porn star schlongs around, thinking it’ll impress, and perhaps least impressive of all, they don’t get the art. The best of them applaud me for ‘coming up with interesting set pieces or genres,’ and the worst of them haven’t even seen my movies; they just know my name. They might do well in a background role for my next project, but you, Davey, you get it. You don’t just see a flashy Berlin art-house set piece and ‘think it’s interesting,’ you get the meaning, the metaphor. I’ve got much bigger plans for you. Your letter piqued my interest, but then you come in, slap a chastity cage on your cock, and get into the real nitty-gritty of art with a paw in your ass- by the way, you didn’t need to get the whole paw inside of you, but I’m glad you managed it.”

Barry, now fully erect, started pushing the raccoon’s head further onto his cock. It was almost as if he were using the wet muzzle as a fleshlight, but Davey didn’t mind. Even as the iguana’s penis started poking at the back of his throat, extending to a surprising length, the raccoon began to move his head faster, savoring the taste of the reptile’s cock. And before too long, the submissive raccoon managed to fit the other hemipene inside of his muzzle, all without so much as glancing the member with his canines. “Ooh, good boy,” repeated the producer, “As I was saying, this might be an audition for my next movie for the most part, but for you, this is audition for- well, not so much my personal assistant, but more like, well- I know it’s a bit of an intense term, but in you, I’m looking for a slave.”

Davey kept on sucking excitedly, as though the word alone raised his arousal twofold. “You like that, you little bitch? You like the thought of being my slave? You’d fit in nicely at BitchFlix, it’s very on the nose. Lemme get to the point, though, kid. You’re gonna be my right-paw man, maybe help out as a fluffer, maybe grab coffee for the actors with a plug in your ass, maybe even offer your tailhole if some Hollywood asshole with the prop I want needs some persuading. And you’ll be all mine. You’d live at my home, keep my bed warm; all that jazz. I’ve been- well, a little needy lately, truth be told, but I can’t just advertise a need for a sub online, too much scandal. I can’t even advertise for a personal assistant role; too many sycophants, too many people who don’t get the art. It was a bit of a pipe dream, to see if anyone would fit the bill, but then you waltz in, and you're perfect. Keep your head still for a moment.”

Barry Vanafdekust then came inside of Davey’s muzzle, holding it tightly in place so that every single drop remained snugly inside. The iguana shot twice as much, considering the fact that he had basically two cocks, but the raccoon was able to gulp down every single drop of the musky, rich reptile cum. Not only did he drink it all, he drank it all greedily, each gulp accompanied by an enthusiastic moan. The scent of Davey’s pre-cum sat just as heavily in the air, having dripped in copious amounts to the floor. After a moment of swallowing, Barry pulled his cock’s out of the raccoon’s panting muzzle.

Davey took in each and every one of Barry Vanafdekust’s words like they were gospel. There was no question, no inhibition anymore. This reptile artist shared Davey’s vision, perhaps even pioneered the raccoon’s vision for him in the first place. At first, he fought the immediate urge to worship his role model, but now, with the taste of his cum on his tongue, and the offer to become his indentured servant, Davey couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face. Being in a Barry Vanafdekust movie would change his life. Being Barry Vanafdekust’s slave would be like a transcendant religious experience.

The raccoon looked up at the producer with visible enthusiasm, and in response, the iguana spat into the mammal’s open mouth. Davey swallowed it right away.

“Damn, kid, you’re really into this.”

“Yes, sir, you’re- I would be honored to be your servant.”

“Tch-tch-tch, that’s not the word I’m looking for.”

Davey’s blush returned, “I’d love to be your slave.”

The iguana spat into the raccoon’s mouth again, and he once again swallowed it with visible eagerness. The producer patted his new slave’s cheek with his scalie claw. “That’s what I like to hear. You booked the job, kid.”

Davey, going out on a submissive limb, bowed his head and kissed the reptile’s scaled feet. It seems as though he took his shoes off already, considering the Marley. But Barry Vanafdekust, remembering plot points from earlier, wouldn’t let the raccoon get away with a mere kiss. He flexed the digits on his green-scaled claws and spread them out over the mammal’s muzzle, encouraging worship. Despite the fact that no shoes were worn during the audition, the iguana’s feet had a certain potent musk to them, as though shoes had been recently worn. Socks too. Both for a few days straight.

He chuckled contently, “I keep underestimating how eager you are, pup. Here’s the deal; I have an actual movie planned, so I’m gonna keep my audition appointments, but you’ve definitely booked my little horny secret audition. What I need for you, pup, is when you leave- keep a straight face, let the next actor that comes in think that he has a shot in the movie. He might just book, after all, but worry not, you’re going to play a very, very major role. I’ll keep the theme hush-hush, but believe you me, it’ll be my kinkiest piece of cinema yet.” Barry picked up his claw and wriggled the toes on the raccoon’s race, “Go on, lick them.” If the raccoon was a foot guy, Barry might as well give him what he wanted. His cool scales were met with a greedy, wet tongue, eagerly working its way in between each and every one of the iguana’s digits. It tickled a little, but Barry stifled his urge to laugh. The camphoraceous taste on Davey’s tongue drove him mad.

“Here’s what I want for you, pup. I’m gonna give you a ‘callback;’ you have the job, don’t worry, but this is where you’ll get your contract. This isn’t just an Actor’s Equity thing, though. I want you to leave your chastity keys here. Get you nice and needy before you start work” Davey moaned into his claw-licking, taking a break to elicit a quick, “Yes sir,” before going into his tonguebath once more.

“That’s what I like to hear.” The producer then checked his watch. “Hmm, looks like you’ve got ten more minutes with me, pup, I keep a tight schedule, but we’ve got time. Keep doing what you’re doing, you’re about to give me a foot fetish too.”

Barry flexed his other clawed foot onto the raccoon’s face, switching the two claws out. Davey uttered a needy, “Thank you, sir,” before jubilantly coating each square inch of the iguana’s green-scaled foot with his saliva, lapping up the reptile’s foot-musk like it was the finest wine.

Barry Vanafdekust kept on smiling; this slave was everything that he could ask for, and more somehow. He kept clenching and unclenching his claw on his new submissive’s face. “I’ve got your phone number, I’ll send you a text sometime this evening; don’t go giving it out to the paparazzi, pup.” The iguana laughed a bit to himself. “You’re gonna stay in that chastity cage for a few weeks; you can toy a bit if you want, but no cumming. You’ll have the callback, we’ll write up a contract, get a few parameters in order, and after that, you’ll come back to my mansion with me, and live there. Might even chain you to my bed when I’m not using you, little subby bitches like you are far better than some heat lamp. You like that idea, pup?” Davey responded with a “Mmhmm;” too infatuated with the reptile’s feet to use full words. “Food and board will be covered; you don’t have to worry about getting paid or anything, you’re going to be relying on me- We’ll get to the fine print once contract time comes. Fuck, keep licking, pup, you’re fucking gorgeous.”

Perhaps in the back of his brain, Barry worried that he was getting a bit too into the dominant lifestyle that he so lusted after, but this was exactly what he wanted. He’d never force someone into this power dynamic, but finding a fellow artist willing to give his life up was the most euphoric sensation that the iguana had felt in a long time. The eager raccoon’s tongue working its way over the insides of his claws wouldn’t normally get his cocks hard, but the fact that this submissive little mammal was so eager to debase himself in this way within seconds of asking- In fact, he didn’t even ask. He just wordlessly started worshiping the iguana’s feet like a good little bitch. Either way, dopamine flooded the reptile’s synapses.

And damn, would you look at that, thought Barry Vanafdekust, I am getting hard again.

“Alright, pup. You’re too good at this, I’m all hard again. Lift up that ring-tail of yours, I’m gonna put a load into you.”

Davey fought the urge to catch his breath first before answering, “Yes, sir.” He was panting like he was in heat, and his cock twitched visibly inside of its transparent cage.

“Bend over on the desk- Wait.” The reptile picked up the tripod with the camcorder, and aimed it directly onto the submissive raccoon’s backside. “I’m gonna wanna get a look at this later, not that you wouldn’t show me your tail anytime I asked you to, right pup?”

“Exactly, sir!” Davey was wiggling his ass suggestively on the desk. Despite the aching in his hole, he was needy.

“Good pup, let me just-” Barry grabbed the raccoon’s big, fluffy tail and held it aloft, not letting it drop to the floor. He then aimed both of his hemipenes at the entrance of the submissive actor’s gaping hole, and found very little difficulty thrusting both inside, all the way up to the hilt. It’s hard to find resistance in a recently-fisted hole.

Despite not being nearly as girthy as a full paw, the director’s cocks were easily a foot long each, and both had odd, stimulating textured bits not found on most mammalian members. It didn’t help that the burning pain in the raccoon’s ass didn’t make any additional penetration comfortable, and against his will, Davey clenched hard, groaning a pained, panicked groan. His gaping hole wasn’t going to reject anything, however, so the clenching only served to squeeze on the iguana’s hemipenes without pushing them out.

Barry kept himself hilted for a few moments. “Damn, pup, you had a full paw in you and you still clench like a vice grip. Feel that? Feel your master’s cocks throbbing inside you?” It was a tricky task, keeping still instead of pounding the raccoon’s velvety hole, but the iguana wanted to get his slave acquainted with his entire length.

“Yes, master. I need this.”

“I’m gonna put my load deep in your ass, pup. Much as I’d like to have you walking around LA looking like a cumrag.”

Barry started thrusting. He pulled the mammal’s tail up hard with his left claw, while keeping a taut grip on the raccoon’s furry asscheeks with his right. To start, the reptile came out halfway with each of his thrusts, focusing more on a rapid fuck than an exploration of the iguana’s length. The new sub had a tricky time adjusting, due to his previous stretching, but the producer neglected to let up in his tempo. Davey accepted this; it was more important that his master have a good lay, than that his throbbing ass find any respite.

The iguana pulled harder on Davey’s tail, and started fucking faster, grunting all the while. The textured reptilian rods poked against the raccoon’s abused prostate. The mammal was leaning too far over the edge of the table to grab onto anything to brace himself with, he could only clench his fists and take the sex.

The quick, dull, thump, thump, thump, accompanied Davey’s submissive moans. His as throbbed, and only aroused the iguana’s members further the more that the raccoon struggled. Barry kept on panting, dropping the dirty talk to focus on breeding. Thump, thump, thump. Davey kept crying out, perhaps even approaching a paws-free orgasm himself. He had pulled it off a couple of times, but it was a very rare instance. Barry’s cocks felt magical, rubbing up against his overstimulated prostate. Thump, thump, thump. Where the producer had gone quiet, it was not the actor’s turn to moan, “God, please, master, please! Keep fucking me! Please!” There was no better sensation than that of Davey’s idol using him in such a way. The mammal was paying greater tribute than he could have ever dreamed.

And then, Barry Vanafedust let out a mighty roar. He had reached orgasm. The reptile lurched his body forward, smothering the raccoon’s tail in between the two male’s bodies. His hemipenes began to pulse, shooting their contents into the deep recesses of his slave’s stretched-out hole. The cocks were long enough to make sure that the seed would be safely secured, and the iguana was cumming while in full hilt. Davey began crying out even louder. He had little doubt that anyone waiting in the lobby could hear his absolute submission. He could feel the warmth of Barry’s cum pumping into him, and despite the fact that he had just gotten off recently, the amount of fluid was copious.

Perhaps the subby raccoon’s noises were too loud, however. Barry placed his clawed hand over his muzzle, holding it shut as he finished his orgasm. “Hmm, remember what I said, pup. Let the other actors think they have a chance.”

The reptile left his heaving, pulsing body resting on top of the mammal’s. Davey didn’t get off, but his cage was leakier with pre-cum than it had ever been. It was to be expected; the raccoon was ordered to avoid orgasm for at least a few weeks. The two men laid there on the desk, panting in the satisfied afterglow. Barry reached up and stopped the recording on the camcorder, then pulled out. Despite the depth of his load, Davey’s hole still leaked a bit, right onto the floor.

“Lick that up, pup.” ordered the iguana, and his sub obliged, flipping around and descending to the floor to clean up his mess right away.

Barry Vanafdekust looked down at his obedient little slave as he licked the floor without hesitation. His little search via audition worked out more than the producer could have ever dreamed of. He fancied himself a smart enough planner to find a submissive little assistant in due time, and even still, luck smiled on him. This raccoon was perfect. There were some in journalism that wondered if the legendary producer was lonely, and despite his attempts to keep a suave, satisfied public appearance, Barry had to admit that they weren’t entirely long. There was a certain dominance within the iguana that he knew couldn’t be remedied by a simple, normal relationship. This was exactly what he needed. He could never place why; it was just a kink. It didn’t exist for any reason, but it couldn’t be ignored.

And after all, wasn’t it the raccoon that said that kinks were just personal expressions of passion in his audition? They didn’t need a reason to be valid, they should be explored guilt free.

Barry Vanafdekust looked down at the raccoon again and smiled, before looking at his watch again.

“Move onto my paws next, pup. You still have four minutes.”

No hesitation. “Yes, sir.” Davey moved back onto the iguana’s scaly appendages and started making out with them passionately. Barry Vanafdekust smiled.

Humphrey Bogart’s voice spoke in the iguana’s mind, and he repeated the words out loud.

“Pup, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”