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A lead. An actual, leading role. William had only ever gotten bit parts, time as an extra, or the occasional student film. Now he was on his second call back, in a room full of producers, and he fucked up.

He flubbed his lines. His thumb dug into the script they gave him, creasing the white paper. 'It's okay', the reader said and she instructed him to go again. But these auditions are taped. Every time the producers would be reviewing who to cast, they'd be reminded of William's fuck-up. That weighed heavy on his brow, and no matter how much he told himself it was just a little screw up, he couldn't help but feel like it was over.

One of the biggest producers in Colliewood, Harley Boarstein, looked right down at Will when he exited. Her eyes fell on him with the same intensity of a parent scalding their child. Her tusks were long, chipped and a bit yellowed with age and cigar smoke. When Will passed, she exhaled an acrid cloud of dismissal to send him on his way. With her looking her snout down at him, he really did feel like a disappointing child.

He couldn't help but feel a bit of anger and revulsion seeing her corpulent body held tight in a black suit. Her thick legs poked out from her too-short pencil skirt and ended in a pair of poorly tended hooves. Already, Harley and the others had turned to the next man. Just as handsome as Will, probably a better actor, probably about to become a star.

And all because he stumbled a line.

Will was despondent, returning to his studio apartment with his head hung low. His roomies, cramped there with him like a trio of sardines, tried their best to cheer him up. No amount of beers and kind words could really shake that despair off Will. Maybe he was being too hard on himself, but the spiral just wasn't stopping.

Each time he remembered that look Mrs. Boarstein gave him, every time he thought about how the reader winced, he was reminded of his tiny studio apartment. His beat to hell, threadbare futon. The empty fridge and ramen noodles. Poverty. Insignificance.

When the alcohol finally lulled him to sleep, Will's rest was dreamless. He woke to the buzzing and ear-scraping ringtone of his mobile. Sheets and quilts folded and spread as he felt around in the gloom for the glow of his phone. Finally, in the nick of time, he answered and pressed it to his ear.

It was his agent, Moxie. The husky voice of the fox who managed his auditions snarled at him through the speaker. He could almost smell the overbearing perfume Moxie always wore as she spoke.

"She wants to see you."

William knew exactly who 'she' was. He rocketed from bed, pinning the phone to his ear with his shoulder. He tumbled his way into clothes, trying to extract whatever details Moxie had for him.

"Erstwhile Hotel on central, room 415, fifteen minutes ago."

William's teeth grinded together, "what? Huh?"

"I've been calling you for a half hour!"

He bumbled the phone into his palm, sliding his finger down and revealing the evidence to Moxie's acidic claims. Included with the six phone calls she'd made was a text, 'PICK UP YOUR PHONE NOW!!!'

"I'm not far from central, a block or two."

William could practically feel her give him an angry shrug from the other end of the phone. She'd done it before plenty of times, usually when he said something stupid.

The frustrated, almost sad huff of defeat crackled on Moxie's mic. "Just get there. And do what she says."

With a sharp click, William was left with silence. The glow of his phone played off his cheek, and reminded him how dark it was. His clock told him it was just past 1 in the morning.

He threw himself together, beautifying himself best as time allowed. The brisk pace he kept to get to Erstwhile tried to shift itself to a jog more than once. William pulled himself together though, he didn't want to be disheveled for meeting Mrs. Boarstein.

Reception let him by with a concerned and regretful look, but he didn't have time to consider just why the young human man behind the desk looked so downhearted. Late shifts were hard, Will had worked them before. As the elevator brought him up and up, that low hum of cables and electricity sounded like a chorus of angels. Lifting him up from the need to ever work a late shift. Raising him up from destitute obscurity to the limelight of the silver screen.

He rapped his knuckles to the door, the portion of scene from his audition repeating itself in his mind over and over. There would be no fuck-ups this time. There was no time for him to worry if he were too late, for the hotel room door swung open immediately.

The smell hit him first. William was a handsome man and thus not unversed in the delicate matters of the fairer sex. So, when the scent of pussy hit him like a smack across the face, he recoiled slightly. Harley stood before him in nothing but a loosely tied bathrobe and panties. Her pudgy belly had her sagging tits weighed across it. The black perking of nipples hinted their presence at the edges of the robe's trim, but her primary nipples were concealed. Aside from their large areola.

Panties discolored from use clung to her pussy, revealing a wet outline of thick labia. The cloth itself was soaked through, and the air was rife with that nose-tingling tang. She stood with her trunk-like thighs parted some, flagrantly displaying her nethers and the tuft of pubic fur that jetted from her waistband.

Entwined deeply with that smell of feminine musk was the nicotine of her cigar. The half-smoked stub rolled from the corner of her mouth to her tusk, the embers twinkling with each of her labored breaths.

William's neck craned the other way and he turned his eyes to focus on the lamp past her shoulder. "Gah! I am sorry, Mrs. Boarstein, I—"

Her hand scooped his shoulder and pushed him in. No surprise, standing over a foot above him, that she could move him like a ragdoll. "Don't worry about it, kid. You're late." She snorted a chuckle, a thin attempt at keeping William calm while reminding him of his place—at her beck and call.

"I am sorry, Mrs. Boarstein. My agent, she tried to ring me but, I was sleeping."

She turned on a hoof, waving her cigar at him dismissively. "I said don't worry." Her ass was chunky, a behemoth of a thing that widened out her frame considerably. Her broad back and shoulders lended her a certain strength that was in contest with the greying tips of fur and aged demeanor of the mature woman.

Harley sat herself in the hotel room chair, the wood creaking under her weight. The carefree and exposing pose she struck kept her legs spread and brought her robe open further. She didn't seem to mind. William did though. Discomfort came to him, not just from the visual stimulation of this displeasingly erotic body, but the scent too.

"So. I saw your audition today," she began, sucking in a mouthful of smoke. It rolled from her open snout, the wet pink oval that made her nose twitching.

William nodded, keeping his eyes above the neckline, daring not to venture his gaze south to the valley of her cleavage. "Right. I know I messed up. I had a slip of the tongue."

Harley merely put her hand up, her eyes closing to emphasize there was no need to continue. "You're a handsome young man, Will. You could be a star. Do you have what it takes?"

He didn't need to think, he nodded. "I'd do anything for a shot at your film, Mrs. Boarstein. Your production company is one of the pillars of Colliewood. Creativity, directors, actors, you've got it all."

The boar's smile perked up on one end, nodding slowly. She chewed on her cigar with the same slow savoring she did those earnest compliments. She'd seen how eager boys get, she knew he was telling the truth.

Harley didn’t flinch nor break her gaze on him as she leaned over and peeled her panties off, not standing to do so. They dropped down her legs to her ankles, stretched too far, before she finally kicked them aside. Only a single bleak shadow cast from the robe's corner obscured her honey pot.

"Then you don't mind doing me a little favor, right, Will?"

His brow furrowed, and he swallowed. He nodded, 'anything' rung in his mind.

"Why don't you kneel right here," she flicked her cigar in front of her, ashing between her hooves. "Go, you're already late. Don't make me wait any longer."

Ice replaced the blood in his fingertips and core. His muscles felt stiff, like they wouldn't answer his call, but with a creak felt and not heard he bowed to his knees between Harley's legs. The air was muggy there, clouded with a pheromonal scent that crinkled Will's nose and no acting chops could help him conceal it. She smelled of sweaty sea water and ripe, unwashed pussy.

Harley's grunt gave no hint that she was displeased with the sour puss he was making, and she shifted aside her robe to fully expose her genitals to the young man. Her cunt was a surprisingly tender pink, garishly loose looking and abused. Rough and sour with age and flanked by thick, broad, ochre-furred thighs. She parted her portly legs further, flashing him her pussy shamelessly.

As one hand returned the cigar betwixt her lips, her other hand descended between her nethers. "Just sit there a sec."

His stiff legs wouldn't allow him any other choice. He kept his head a bit down, trying to count the spots on her clavicle instead of subjecting himself to the snatch that faced him. The heat from her body radiated from her with a nearly blistering potency, but perhaps that was all imagined. His mind tingled with the etching of this event into his psyche, formulating a core and regretful memory he was sure.

Wet, sloppy sounds began as Harley fingered herself in earnest. Lascivious, passionless grunts came with the puffing of dark nicotine rings. It sounded like she was fisting a pot of snails, and the thought of that made Will nearly gag. This he concealed, he bit it back with everything he had. And watching that slight convulsion brought a broad smile to Harley's face.

Mrs. Boarstein knew full well she wasn't attractive, nor a spring chicken. She just wanted to make that Will's problem. She tugged on her turgid and swollen love bud now and then, mixing it in to the fingering and palming of her sloppy cunt. Drippings from her pussy joined the ashes between Will's knees. And when fate cast its unlucky eye upon him, sometimes a bit of splatter would get on his pants too.

Seeing the dark black stains of liquid on his nice grey pants, the boar began to finger with more ferocity and intention. She flicked her fingers out now and then, getting her cyprine fluid across his cheek, his shirt, and pants. It wasn't much now, but she'd hose him down soon enough. Smother that pretty face in her cunt-fluid, and show him who owned who.

"You want the role in that picture right?"

William nodded, looking up at Harley again. She chewed her cigar, naught but a stump now, and freed both her tits from the little that concealed them. The bathrobe parted to reveal a pair of sordidly large, pinkish nipples speckled with warty-dots and messy with tangled fur. Both of them perked up, and so did the other nipples on her belly. Obscenely, whorishly feminine but with such depraved appearance it cast doubt on calling her a member of the 'fairer' sex.

"Open up that slut mouth and say 'aah', then."

His cheeks fell flush with red before he truly comprehended what she meant. It was simply too strange. Memories fluttered across the wrinkles of his mind, playing back to him times he'd stood over some kneeling girl and jizzed across her tongue and face. He had a taste for canine girls, and sometimes the occasional feline. Nothing too strange for a handsome human male to pull. Something gripped him the notion physically clinging to him, being held by the scruff of his neck and forced to face the turning of the tables.

Will was a worker though. He opened up his mouth, held his tongue, and said, 'aaah'. He even spread his legs for her a little, hands on his thighs, committing to it. He could taste her smell on his tongue as she grunted, struggling with ragged breathing to climb over the peak and cum. He did what he could to put his tongue out, to keep eye-contact with her, to make his cheeks look appealing by sucking them in slightly.

By the way Harley's cigar hung from her lip and threatened to fall and scorch her tit, he expected he was going to get the role. He promised himself he'd keep eye contact with her the whole way through, but he couldn't. The first repugnant, thick, gooey squirt of her orgasm splattered across his tongue and nose and he flinched. And before he could muster the energy to look again, he felt his eyelids burdened with another juicy stroke of honey. And then again. She palmed herself to a struggling, panting orgasm. Her heart thudded like a drum, her unhealthy body worked up even at rest with just how horny she'd gotten.

A string of mumbled expletives marked the end of her jizzing. Will couldn't open his eyes, but he could hear the hiss of her cigar being extinguished in a tray. Something slapped against his face. Rough fabric, a towel.

"Clean yourself up, and get your pants off."

The tepid pussy juice that matted his hair and clung to his cheeks couldn't be swiped up fast enough. Even with his best efforts, a bit of white crust would surely need to be cleaned up in the long, long, hot shower he was already fantasizing about.

Will stood, his ears receiving a command, and his body following through with a dull and detached awareness. He looked over Harley as she watched him fiddle with his pants button.

"What's the matter, nervous? Don't tell me you're a virgin, I won't believe it."

"No, ma'am, I've done it before."

"Not with a girl like me you haven't."

"No. No ma'am."

"Call me Harley, kid. And the underwear too." Her smile widened when looking at his groin. "Actually, all of your clothes. Nude."

Will allowed himself a second where he pretended he didn't understand the meaning of nude, but then reminded himself of the stakes. The part. Think of the part. He kicked off his pants, and pulled his shirt over his head. He was a rosy rising star, so his body was naturally fit and beautiful. A stark contrast to the potently homely form before him.

His boxers had been tented since before Harley had creamed across his face. It was just natural, at least he told himself, the sights and scents were too pervasive for his animal brain to decline. His prick felt absurdly hard though, painfully stiff almost. Anthro musk was powerful, he knew that much, but perhaps it was fear or adrenaline that made him so rock hard. He ignored the part of him suggesting such factors would make his dick shrink away from the pit of pussy he was about to stir up.

Harley yanked his boxers down when he took too long, liberating his shaft from its pre-soaked prison. "Nice cock. Not the biggest I've seen, but that's longer than most human men I reckon. Believe me I've seen a lot of them," she broke into a hoarse smoker's laugh.

Her right leg lifted up and her hoof planted itself firmly on the corner of the bed beside them.

"The bed, miss?"

"No. You can start now." She tapped her thigh with a finger, signaling him to get to work.

His throat felt swollen, like her musk had inflamed his tonsils. They felt like a pair of stones just waiting to roll back and strangle him. Part of him wished they would do just that. Preferably before he penetrated the slavering honeypot before him. He moved with zombie-like intention as he slumped between her legs. Her superior size made his entire form seem small. His head aligned perfectly with her chest, and left him all of her plump belly to drape over.

She was warm, and the heat from her body felt appalling instead of affirming. The bristle of her rough fur made his skin crawl. The ill-favored, phlegmy rattle of her breathing was obvious at this distance. When his hips got between her thighs he felt as though he'd stepped into prison from which there was no exit.

It was with a sophomoric, callow probing that he poked at her pussy lips. Each slobbery kiss of her labia to his cock made him flinch back. The almost chambré fluids of her box made his dick tingle with something between pins and needles and the prickle of an allergic reaction. Buried under that though, was the filth-strewn realization of how good it felt. How he twitched at this feeling of humiliation, how his skin and muscles crawled with revulsion and he nearly wanted to throw himself into it. Half to get it over with, and half to see just how intense the pleasure might get.

Harley, done waiting, put her hand down between her legs to help guide him. She did so with a casual, miffed expression. This likely wasn't uncommon. Finally she sorted him out, guiding his sizable cock to her vaginal canal. She swallowed him up easily, even with his sizable shaft he felt like he wasn't hitting all of her at once. His cock sank into her with a half-pleasurable sort of envelopment. The feeling was unlike anything he'd experienced before.

"Let's go, pick up the pace," Harley said with a snap of her fingers.

William got a grip of her thighs and began to hammer away. Wet squelching marked his attempts to flail his cock into her enough to stimulate her. The physicality wasn't the good part though, not for either of them. It was messy and her tired cunt couldn't get a good grip on him unless Harley wanted it to. And for right now, she didn't. She wanted to watch him sweat, to see him plug away at her hole. To have him defile his pretty young body against her sweltering hog-hole.

Willaim felt his body come down with a fever. It ate away at his stamina both sexual and mental, coaxing forth from him an odd edge far, far sooner than it ever would with any other woman. Why now? Why with her? That thought only made it worse, spiraling down violently. He kept up a ragged, effort-filled pace, plapping away at the hog bitch while biting into his cheek and drawing blood. The degradation levied against his body and mind allied itself with the humiliation of nearly busting a few minutes into plundering this swirl-tail's loose cunt.

Harley was more observant than Will gave her credit for. He turned his eyes from her tusks, trying to seek help holding back his load from the quilt or lamp. But she could feel his prick twitch, she could feel his heart pound, his hands clam up and and elbows bow under the pressure. The pikestaff plain abuser had been in the biz long enough to see one or two boys cum on entry. A bit of stage fright in one case, and a boy having his cherry popped in another. She savored those memories, snatching away a man's first time and making it hers, making it mud. She grabbed onto Will's ass and forced him deeper in, threatening to leglock him.

Her eyes did the talking for her, burrowing into him past the sweaty curtain of his bangs. She wanted him to feel her aroused contempt for him, to project that superiority upon him and brand him with her scent and the corruption of these acts. She pretended it was his first time, just for a chuckle, feeling her pussy clench down at the thought. A fish hook tugged her lip's corner, yanking it up to a depraved smile at the notion of sullying the romance and sensuality of his first night with a woman. Making it a slop-fest of plundering her riled up procine puss.

That suckling clench of her sarlacc pit tried its best to milk Will of his last scraps of restraint. He dug his fingers into her thighs. She wasn't even close to cumming, as far as he could tell! She was no-selling every thrust. Her breathing only hinted at hitching despite his insistent pounding.

And then her phone buzzed. Ringing and ringing. Decades in the biz and it was like nails on chalkboard every time. Harley leaned over and snapped up her phone from the nightstand. If it was this phone that was ringing, she couldn't ignore it.

"Speak," she spat into the mic, keeping her eyes on Will as she held the smartphone to her ear with her shoulder.

The poor boy was sapped, his shoulders shrugging as he strained to keep himself stable and from blowing his load deep into the wet trough he was humping. But she mouthed something to him that forced him to hold on. 'Do not cum.' A nervous rattle made his sucking in of breath come in short fits. The order alone hit him like a battering ram, forcing an edge from his dick.

"No. That woman is a fucking idiot. What about McMich—"

Harley groaned, letting the phone fall to her hand and focusing on the call a moment. She let her human dildo continue to plug away at her, versed at keeping her voice steady when being banged by one of her boytoys. "So offer him more money."

The phone sputtered an unintelligible reply.

"Fuck contracts we break them all the time."

She rolled her eyes, teeth grinding. Willaim's teeth scraped together for a very different reason, his eyes aflutter with a serene feeling he'd not ever experienced. Riding an edge, riding it longer than he'd ever before.

"I don't care whose cock she sucked. She'll be DP on one of my films over my dead body. Ugh. Get Florence to watch her. And keep a close eye on her. No. No, I'm hanging up now. Talk to Flo— bye!"

With a click, she locked her phone and tossed it onto the bed. Will nearly felt sick with pleasure, spiritually separated from his body and held only by a cord of observation, feeling the radiant pleasure of slavish service to the ugly pig's wanton sexual needs.

Harley leaned forward and grabbed the back of his head hard. "Cum, you hussy." He had time only to open his mouth and moan like a slut before her wet and long tongue forced itself into his mouth. The swirl of her ophidian, saliva slick appendage was the cherry on top of it all. He was divinely aware of every pump of semen he shot into Harley's womb, the hissing and thick shots of jizz having churned in his balls for what felt like an eternity. Soreness reawakened each time they jostled and flexed, eager to finally empty themselves into a fertile female. He closed his eyes, and sank into her, every part of her.

And he got his part in that movie.

---

Will had gotten a good vibe from the golden at the table read. Her name was Ashley Lacewell, and she was a novice to big films. His character and hers were the stars of the film, a budding romance between a renegade and a shy but adventurous girl. The retriever was a lot less innocent than her character, by the way she gave Will looks. Shorter than him by a bit, funny as any stand-up act he'd seen, and with a beautiful body.

He'd done a half dozen films as the lead, and most of them had him paired against a girl just like her, but this one was special. Something about this girl struck a great cord. Standing beside her at rehearsal now, he felt alight with chemistry. Their eyes were more on each other than the scripts.

She whacked his chest with the rolled up paper. "Still can't believe I'm here with Will Chamberlen. God, I loved you in Midnight Massacre."

Will brushed it off with a sly smile. "Slasher flick, but thanks. Did great for my career. I'm happy to be doing a movie like this now."

"It's a little more dramatic, no? Lets you really flex those skills, explore your range."

Will nodded. "You did plenty of that in Fireside."

Ashley looked shocked. Her long, luscious tail stood up on end and wagged. The curtain of stunning golden fur hanging from it was mesmerizing. Will was already imagining how it would look sitting in his lap.

"You saw that?"

"I did. You were great in it."

"Oh shut up," she said with a snort. "I was in like four scenes."

"Still that's—"

A whistle cut through the soundstage. Everyone knew that whistle. Mrs. Boarstein. Will craned his neck in the distance. He prayed it wasn't for him.

The light from outside outlined her in a gleam, obfuscating her features and leaving only the black silhouette of her large body. "Will, come see me in my trailer. Break for lunch everyone else, back in thirty."

The golden patted his shoulder. "At least she didn't sound mad."

Will slipped from her touch without reply, walking to Harley like it was a march down death row. He wondered if he'd be giving her head or porking the pig. He wondered if his co-star would smell it on him. The smile he'd had on all day slacked to a frown...