"As Cathy yanked John into the dimly lit filming room of Studio 69, the heavy thump of bass-heavy music pulsed through the air, vibrating the floor beneath their paws and filling his nostrils with a musky blend of sweat, latex, and arousal that made his white fur stand on end. She was a vision of playful seduction, her gray fur sleek and shimmering under the red stage lights, her voluptuous curves accentuated by a skimpy outfit that barely contained her renowned ass, swaying hypnotically as she spun to face him with a wicked grin. "You're the new recruit? Perfect timing," she purred, her voice dripping with passion as she pressed her soft, warm body against his, her breasts firm and inviting through the thin fabric. Her eyes widened in surprise as she felt the size of his cock straining for release. "Oh my god," she exclaimed, flustered and taken aback. "I had no idea... This is Beat Banger Studio, we make rhythm-based porn here. The music matches up with our sex scenes perfectly." Her hand boldly traced the growing bulge in his pants, feeling the heat and hardness of his cock straining for release. John's heart raced, a mix of confusion and desire flooding him as her fingers deftly unfastened his fly, exposing his throbbing shaft to the cool air. Her touch electric and insistent, drawing a low gasp from his lips as she stroked him slowly, her own wetness evident as she ground her hips against him, the scent of her arousal intoxicating."

Cathy's playful wiggle against his still-throbbing cock sent a fresh wave of tingles through John's body, her gray-furred ass cheeks squeezing and releasing around his semi-hard shaft like a living glove, milking every last drop of sensitivity from him as the bass-heavy beat continued to throb through the room. "Round two, huh? Let's make it count for the camera," she purred, glancing over her shoulder with a mischievous glint in her eyes, her tail flicking to the side to reveal the creamy mess he'd left inside her, now leaking out in slow, sticky rivulets that dripped down her thighs and soaked into the bed sheets. She reached for a nearby camera mounted on a tripod, adjusting it with one paw while her other hand stroked his cock back to full hardness, her fingers tracing the thick veins bulging along his length, feeling the pulse of his arousal syncing with the music's relentless rhythm. "We're shooting one of my test beats in the background—gonna make this blowjob scene pop. Every suck, every lick, right on the beat. Think you can handle that, big boy?" Her voice was a husky whisper, laced with raw lust, as she turned fully to face him, dropping to her knees once more, her breath hot against his tip, the scent of their previous encounter—sweat, cum, and her own musky wetness—hanging heavy in the air.

She wrapped her lips around the head of his cock with deliberate slowness, her tongue swirling around the swollen crown in perfect time with the song's opening synth hits, the vibrations from the bass making her ears twitch as she took him deeper, inch by inch. John's paws clenched at his sides, the wet heat of her mouth enveloping him like a velvet vice, her saliva coating his shaft in a glossy layer that glistened under the stage lights, strings of it stretching from her lips as she pulled back slightly, only to dive back in on the next beat. "Fuck" he growled, his voice rough and commanding, matching the aggressive drum roll that underscored her movements; each bob of her head was a precise thrust, her throat constricting around his girth, gagging just a little on the downbeat, the sound a lewd, wet choke that echoed through the room alongside the track's pulsing rhythm. Her paws worked the base of his cock with firm, twisting strokes, her claws lightly scraping the sensitive skin, while her other hand slipped between her legs, fingers plunging into her soaked cunt, spreading her lips wide and rubbing her swollen clit in circles that mirrored the song's tempo. The air was thick with the symphony of their bodies—the sloppy slurps of her mouth sliding up and down, the faint squelch of her fingers fucking herself, and her muffled moans vibrating against his flesh, driving him deeper into the haze of pleasure.

As the music built to a crescendo, Cathy's pace quickened, her head bobbing faster, taking him to the back of her throat with each synchronized thrust, her gray fur brushing against his thighs in soft, teasing waves that added to the sensory overload. "God, your cock tastes so fucking good, all salty and thick—gonna milk every drop out of it," she gasped between sucks, pulling back to let a string of precum and saliva drip from her lips onto her heaving tits, the nipples hard and erect beneath her skimpy top, begging for attention. John's hips bucked involuntarily, matching the beat's relentless drive, his balls drawing up tight as he felt the pressure building, her tongue flicking expertly over the sensitive underside of his shaft, tracing the ridge and swirling around the head like she was savoring a forbidden treat. The camera captured it all—the way her eyes watered from the stretch, the tears mixing with her mascara to streak down her furred cheeks, the raw hunger in her gaze as she looked up at him, her free hand now squeezing her massive breasts, pinching and twisting her nipples until she whimpered. Every sensation was amplified; the tight suction of her lips, the warmth of her breath, the faint taste of his own cum from their earlier session lingering on her tongue, all woven into the fabric of the music that dictated their every move.

The rhythm shifted to a faster, more frantic beat, and Cathy matched it flawlessly, her mouth working overtime, deepthroating him as far as she could before pulling back with a gasp, only to plunge down again, her throat muscles clenching and releasing around his cock like a rhythmic fist. "Come on, John, fuck my face harder—give it to me on the beat, you stud," she urged, her words crude and desperate, spittle flying from her lips as she slammed her head forward, the impact making her gag loudly, the sound blending with the electronic drops in the track. He obliged, grabbing her ears firmly and thrusting in time, each powerful push driving his dick past her tonsils, feeling the bulge in her throat as she took him, her nose pressing against his pelvis on the downbeat. Sweat beaded on his fur, trickling down his chest, while her own body glistened, her fingers now pounding her cunt with the same intensity, juices squirting out with every curl of her digits inside her tight, dripping hole. The room spun with the overload of stimuli—the pounding music, the wet slapping of flesh, her moans escalating to full-throated screams as she edged closer to another climax, her body trembling under the assault of pleasure.

Just as the song hit its peak, John felt the inevitable surge, his balls tightening painfully as he pulled out of her mouth with a pop, strings of saliva bridging the gap between her lips and his throbbing tip. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum—take it on your face, you dirty slut," he snarled, stroking his cock furiously in rhythm with the final beats, the head swelling even larger as he aimed it at her upturned face. Cathy knelt there, eyes wide and eager, her tongue lolling out as the first thick rope of cum shot out, splattering across her cheek and into her open mouth, the hot, sticky fluid coating her fur in pearly streaks that glowed under the lights. She moaned in delight, tilting her head to catch the next spurt on her tongue, then across her nose and forehead, each pulse syncing with the music's climax, her paws rubbing her clit faster as she came undone, her cunt clenching around nothing, juices flooding down her thighs in a messy torrent. "Oh god, yes—cover me in that hot fucking cum," she cried, her voice hoarse and satisfied, licking her lips to taste the salty essence as it dripped down her chin, her body shuddering with aftershocks.

Breathing heavily, Cathy wiped a finger through the cum on her face and sucked it clean, her eyes sparkling with genuine admiration as she looked up at him. "Holy shit, John, that was incredible—you nailed the rhythm perfectly, and that load... best facial I've ever taken. You're a natural for this studio." She stood on wobbly legs, giving her ass a playful smack that made it jiggle, before turning to the shadows of the room. "And speaking of the team, let me introduce our camera operator, Zoe. She's the one who caught all that magic on film." From the corner, a figure stepped into the light—a tall, voluptuous purple bird lady with feathers that shimmered like amethyst, her massive tits straining against a tight top that barely contained them, nipples poking through the fabric like ripe berries. Zoe's beak curved into a sultry smile, her yellow eyes gleaming as she adjusted the camera, her wings fluttering slightly. "Pleasure to meet you, John. You've got quite the performance there—maybe we can get you in front of my lens more often," she cooed, her voice smooth and teasing, the sway of her hips drawing his gaze to the generous curves below, leaving him wondering what other scenes might unfold.

John's mind raced with the possibilities, his body still humming from the afterglow of Cathy's enthusiastic performance, her taste lingering on his tongue like a forbidden secret as he watched Zoe saunter closer, her purple feathers ruffling with each deliberate step that made her enormous tits bounce enticingly under that tight top. The room's dim lights cast a warm glow over her curves, highlighting the way her nipples strained against the fabric, begging to be freed, and he couldn't help but imagine how those soft, plump breasts would feel wrapped around his still-aching cock. But before he could voice his thoughts, the door to the filming room swung open with a sharp creak, letting in a rush of cooler air that carried the faint scent of coffee and authority. Elaine Claire strode in, her brown-furred form a picture of poised dominance, her shortstack figure accentuated by a sleek business suit that hugged her small waist and pushed up her heavy tits into a tantalizing cleavage. Her red eyes locked onto Zoe with a mix of exasperation and command, her ears twitching as she crossed her arms, the motion making her ass cheeks shift under the fabric in a way that hinted at the tightness John had heard so much about. "Zoe, what the hell? You forgot to film your scene yesterday, didn't you? Don't think I didn't notice," Claire snapped, her voice soft but edged with bossy authority, a smirk playing at her lips as she glanced at John, sizing him up like a fresh toy. "And look, we've got the new hire right here, all primed and ready. So, get your ass over there and do that titjob scene with him—right now. Make it count for the rhythm, just like we do around here."

Zoe's feathers bristled at the rebuke, her yellow eyes narrowing into slits as she whipped her head toward Claire, her massive tits heaving with indignation, the fabric of her top stretching precariously over the swollen mounds. "Forgot? Oh, please, Claire, I had that shit handled—wait, no, dammit, fine," she huffed, her voice a mix of pissed-off edge and reluctant excitement, her beak curving into a grudging smile when she caught John's gaze, clearly relishing the praise implicit in his earlier performance. She stepped forward, her hips swaying with a deliberate, angry strut that made her ass jiggle just enough to draw his eyes downward, the faint sheen of sweat on her feathers adding a glossy allure. "Alright, newbie, if the boss says so, then let's make this fucking happen. But you better appreciate this—my tits are the biggest in the studio for a reason," she grumbled, though her tone softened as she peeled off her top in one swift motion, revealing those monumental breasts in all their glory, the purple feathers framing the soft, pale skin that capped them, nipples already hardening into thick, rosy peaks as if eager for the action. John's cock twitched at the sight, still slick from Cathy's mouth, the veins pulsing with renewed heat as he watched Zoe drop to her knees in front of him, her hands cupping those enormous tits and pressing them together to form a deep, inviting valley between them.

She grabbed his shaft with one feathered hand, her touch firm and a little rough, guiding his throbbing cock toward the cleft of her cleavage, the head peeking out just above the top of her bust like a crown on a throne of flesh. "Look at that, already trying to escape—naughty dick," Zoe teased, her voice laced with that hot-tempered sarcasm, but her eyes sparkled with building desire as she squeezed her tits tighter around him, the soft, warm flesh enveloping his length in a velvety trap that made him groan deep in his throat. The bass-heavy music from earlier still thrummed through the room, syncing with every heartbeat, and she started moving in rhythm, sliding her breasts up and down his shaft with slow, deliberate strokes that dragged the sensitive skin along the yielding curves, the friction building a delicious burn. John's hips bucked involuntarily, driving his cock further into that plush canyon, the tip emerging and disappearing with each upward thrust, pre-cum already beading at the slit and smearing across her feathers, leaving a glossy trail that caught the light. The scent of her arousal mingled with the room's musk, a heady mix of feathers and feminine heat that made his balls tighten, every inch of him pulsing with the need to fuck harder, deeper, as Zoe's tits squeezed and released in perfect time to the beat, her nipples rubbing against his thighs with teasing friction.

As the rhythm intensified, Zoe picked up the pace, her hands pressing her tits even firmer around his dick, the pressure creating a tight, suffocating grip that mimicked the best kind of pussy, stretching and massaging his length from base to tip with each upward glide. "Fuck, you're so thick—stretching my cleavage like it's trying to milk you dry," she panted, her voice cracking with a mix of anger and ecstasy, her feathers fluffing as sweat beaded on her skin, making the whole scene glisten under the stage lights. John's hands found their way to her shoulders, gripping tightly as he thrust harder, his cock plunging in and out of that fleshy prison, the head popping free with a wet slap against her chin on every upstroke, leaving strings of pre-cum dangling from her beak. The sensation was overwhelming—the plush warmth of her tits enveloping him, the way her skin slid against his veins, the faint scratch of her feathers adding a prickly edge to the pleasure—and he could feel every ridge of his shaft being worked over, the buildup of pressure in his balls growing unbearable. Zoe moaned loudly, the sound a raw, bird-like trill that echoed off the walls, her own fingers sneaking down to rub at her soaked cunt through her pants, the fabric darkening with her juices as she ground against her hand, her tits bouncing wildly with the force of his fucking.

The music hit a fever pitch, driving them both faster, and John's thrusts turned frantic, his cock sliding through her cleavage with slick, urgent strokes that left red marks on her feathers from the sheer force, the head flaring wider as it breached the top of her bust, smearing pre-cum across her neck and collarbone. "God, yes—fuck my tits harder, you bastard, pound them like you mean it," Zoe demanded, her voice hoarse and commanding, though her eyes softened with the praise she craved when he growled in response, "Your tits are fucking perfect, Zoe—so big and soft, taking my dick like a pro." She arched her back, pushing her breasts up to meet his hips, the rhythm syncing perfectly with the bass drops, each thrust accompanied by the lewd squelch of sweat and pre-cum mixing between them. His balls slapped against the underside of her tits with every downward motion, the heavy swing adding to the sensory assault, and he could feel the edge approaching, that inevitable surge building in his core. Zoe's fingers worked her clit faster now, her cunt dripping through her pants, the wet sounds of her self-pleasure harmonizing with the music and his grunts, her body trembling as she neared her own climax.

Just as the beat crested, John's control shattered, his cock throbbing violently as he pulled back slightly, the head emerging fully from her cleavage, glistening and enraged. "Shit, I'm gonna cum—take it all over that pretty face," he roared, stroking himself furiously with one hand while the other gripped her shoulder, aiming the pulsating tip at her upturned beak. Zoe's eyes widened in anticipation, her tongue flicking out to catch the first thick rope of cum that erupted from him, the hot, sticky fluid painting her feathers in long, pearly streaks that dripped down her cheeks and across her lips. She moaned in delight, her own orgasm crashing over her as her fingers plunged into her cunt, juices squirting out to soak the floor, while more cum splashed across her forehead and nose, each spurt syncing with the final beats, the warmth coating her skin in a messy, glorious mask. "Fuck yes, cover me—give me every drop, you stud," she gasped, licking the excess from her beak, her body shuddering with aftershocks as John's cock twitched one last time, dribbling the remnants onto her heaving tits. The room fell into a hazy silence, broken only by their heavy breaths, as the music faded, leaving them both spent and satisfied in the dim light.

As the haze of their shared climax began to lift, Zoe's feathers ruffled in the dim light, her chest heaving with uneven breaths as she wiped a string of John's cum from her beak, only to feel the sticky warmth trickling down her neck and, to her dismay, seeping onto the back of her pants where it had splashed during his final, erratic thrusts. Her yellow eyes widened in outrage, the mess matting her purple feathers and soaking through the fabric, a glaring reminder of the chaos he'd unleashed. "What the fuck, John? Look at this shit—your cum's all over my backside and pants! Do you have any idea how hard it is to get this stuff out of feathers?" she snapped, her voice sharp as a whip, though a fleeting spark of satisfaction flickered in her gaze at the way he'd praised her earlier, her body still buzzing from the intense pleasure that warred with her temper. She shot to her feet, hands balling into fists as she glared at him, her enormous tits bouncing with the movement, nipples still erect and glistening with remnants of his release, but the anger won out, her wings flaring as she stomped a feathered foot, the wet squelch of the fluid on the floor only fueling her frustration.

John's pulse quickened at her outburst, his cock still half-hard and throbbing with aftershocks, the taste of her arousal lingering on his tongue as he took in the sight of her—those massive breasts heaving, the curves of her ass outlined by the damp patches on her pants, a tantalizing mix of fury and unspent desire. Before he could stammer an apology, Zoe's eyes locked onto his, the heat in them shifting from rage to something more primal, her breath hitching as she stepped closer, the scent of their mingled sweat and cum thick in the air. "Fine, you big oaf, if you're going to make a mess, at least finish the job properly," she grumbled, grabbing his shaft with a rough, insistent grip that sent a jolt through him, guiding him toward her with a push of her hips. She turned, bending over the nearby prop bed in a fluid motion, her pants yanked down just enough to expose her slick, swollen pussy, the folds glistening with her own juices. John's instincts took over; he thrust into her without hesitation, the tight heat of her cunt enveloping him like a vice, stretching around his girth as he pounded in rhythm with the fading echoes of the music, each deep stroke hitting that perfect spot that made her moan despite herself. The creampie built quickly, his balls slapping against her with wet smacks, until he exploded inside her, filling her depths with hot, pulsing ropes of cum that leaked out around his shaft, her inner walls clenching in response as she came undone with a strangled cry, the anger in her voice melting into pleasured whimpers.

From the doorway, Elaine Claire watched the scene unfold, her red eyes narrowing with a mix of amusement and approval, her brown-furred form leaning against the frame with arms crossed over her heavy tits, the outline of her tight ass shifting enticingly under her suit. "Impressive work, John—you've got rhythm and stamina that could make this studio soar," she purred, her voice carrying that soft, bossy edge as she beckoned him with a curl of her finger, her gaze lingering on his spent cock before meeting his eyes. "Come with me to my office; we've got bigger things to discuss, and I think you're just the talent we need for our next big project." Zoe huffed in the background, still catching her breath as John's cum dripped down her thighs, but the promise in Claire's tone pulled him away, leaving him to wonder what other temptations awaited in the shadows of her domain.

As Claire's office door clicked shut behind them, shutting out the muffled echoes of the filming room, John found himself enveloped in a space that was both corporate and intoxicatingly sensual. The air was cooler here, scented with the faint aroma of leather and Claire's own musky perfume, a heady blend that made his still-sensitive cock twitch with residual hunger. Her red eyes bored into his, a predatory gleam softening the bossy edge of her expression, as she leaned against her massive oak desk, the wood scarred from years of late-night deals and, no doubt, illicit encounters. "Sit down, John," she purred, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper that commanded obedience, her brown fur glistening under the soft glow of a desk lamp that cast long shadows across her shortstack figure. She gestured to a chair, but her gaze never left his crotch, where his spent dick hung heavy in his pants, a reminder of the chaos he'd just unleashed. "You've impressed me so far, but I need to see what you're really made of. Stamina, ejaculation control, and pure fucking lust—those are my criteria. Think you can handle a personal evaluation from the CEO herself?"

John's heart hammered in his chest, a mix of shyness and burgeoning desire flooding his veins as Claire sauntered over to a sleek sound system in the corner, her heavy tits bouncing with each step, the fabric of her suit straining against their fullness. She punched a button, and the room filled with the throbbing beats of a slut-pop song, the kind that pulsed with dirty lyrics and bass lines designed to sync with raw, rhythmic fucking. "There we go," she said, her tone turning playful yet authoritative, as she began to sway her hips to the music, her ears twitching in time with the beat. "Strip for me, John, but first, I want you to slap that big dick of yours against my ass while I get out of this outfit. Show me how much you want this." Her words hung in the air like a challenge, and despite his initial hesitation, John's body responded instinctively. He fumbled with his pants, pulling out his thickening shaft, the veins already pulsing with fresh blood as he stepped closer. The music's rhythm guided him, and he pressed his cock against her plump, furred ass, the head slapping wetly against one cheek with a sharp smack that echoed the beat. Claire moaned softly, encouraging him, as she peeled off her jacket, revealing a lacy bra that barely contained her tits, her movements deliberate and teasing, making her ass jiggle with each impact. The sensation was electric—his dick throbbing against the soft, yielding flesh, the warmth of her fur brushing his sensitive skin, pre-cum already beading at his tip and smearing across her as he slapped harder, the crude sound mixing with the song's vulgar chants.

By the time Claire was down to just her lingerie, her breaths coming in short, excited gasps, John's cock was fully erect, straining and slick from the prelude. She turned to face him, her red eyes blazing with lust, and hopped up onto the desk, spreading her legs wide to reveal the thin strip of fabric covering her tight pussy. "Good boy," she murmured, her voice dripping with approval, as she slid her panties aside, exposing the pink, glistening folds that promised an exquisite squeeze. "Now, fuck me. But don't hold back—let's see how deep you can go." John stepped forward, his paws gripping her thighs, and positioned his throbbing dick at her entrance, the head pressing against her soaked cunt. He thrust slowly, feeling the incredible tightness envelop him, her small frame making it impossible to go all the way—only half his length slid inside, stretching her walls to their limit, the heat and grip so intense that he groaned, his balls already tightening in response. Claire's pussy clenched around him like a vice, wet and pulsing, her juices coating his shaft as he pumped in and out, each stroke deliberate and deep, the desk creaking under their weight. "Fuck, you're so tight," he growled, his shyness melting away in the face of her raw energy, her moans spurring him on as the music's beat dictated his rhythm—hard, steady thrusts that made her tits bounce wildly, her fur matted with sweat. The sensation was overwhelming: the way her inner walls massaged his cock, the slick slide of her wetness, the faint squelch of their fucking filling the room, her nails digging into his shoulders as she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him deeper despite the resistance.

John's mind reeled from Claire's unbridled lust, her body writhing beneath him with a ferocity that bordered on terrifying, her red eyes locked on his as if daring him to keep up. She broke away suddenly, flipping onto all fours on the desk, her ass presented high in the air, the tight pucker of her asshole winking above her dripping cunt. "Don't stop now—pound me from behind, just like you love," she commanded, her voice husky and demanding, knowing his preference for doggy style from the studio gossip. He obliged, grabbing her hips and plunging back in, his cock stretching her even further in this position, only managing to bury half his length with each forceful thrust. The angle was perfect, hitting deep inside her, his balls slapping against her clit with wet, rhythmic smacks that synced with the song's escalating tempo. Claire's ass cheeks jiggled with every impact, her fur slick with sweat and her own arousal, the raw energy she exuded almost scaring him—her moans turning to animalistic screams, her body bucking back against him, demanding more. "Yes, fuck me harder, you stud—feel how tight I am, stretching around that fat cock," she cried, her words crude and filthy, fueling his stamina as he hammered into her, the desk shaking violently, papers scattering to the floor. He could feel every inch of her pussy gripping him, the heat building, her juices flowing down his shaft and dripping onto the wood, the pounding rhythm making his own breaths come in ragged gasps, his shyness overshadowed by the pure, primal need to dominate and be dominated.

As the song reached its climax, Claire's lust hit a fever pitch, her body trembling with uncontrolled energy that left John awestruck, his own arousal spiking to match. She pushed back against him with such force that he had to grip her waist tighter, his fingers sinking into her soft fur, but she suddenly shifted, wrapping her legs around his torso in a surprising move that lifted her off the desk entirely. "Carry me, John—fuck me like this and fill me up," she demanded, her voice a breathless command as he held her aloft, her small frame making it feasible despite the intensity. He thrust upward, her tight pussy clenching around half his cock with each lift, the new angle sending shockwaves through them both—her tits pressed against his chest, nipples hard as diamonds rubbing against his fur, her moans escalating to ear-splitting cries. The raw power of her desire scared him a little, the way she ground her hips down onto him, her cunt sucking at his shaft like it was starving, but it only fueled his own lust, his balls drawing up tight as he felt the edge approaching. "God, your pussy's so fucking tight—gonna make me cum so hard," he grunted, his thrusts becoming erratic, the carry-fuck making her bounce on his dick, her juices squirting out with every downward motion, soaking his thighs. Finally, with a guttural roar, he exploded inside her, his biggest load of the day surging forth in thick, hot ropes that flooded her womb, stretching her even more as he pumped rope after rope deep into her core. Claire screamed in ecstasy, her body convulsing in orgasm, her pussy milking him for every drop, cum leaking out around his shaft and dripping onto the desk in a messy puddle, the scent of their coupling thick in the air as she clung to him, both of them panting and spent.

Breathless and slick with sweat, John lowered Claire gently to the desk, her body limp and shuddering with aftershocks, his softening cock slipping from her well-used pussy with a wet, sucking pop that echoed in the sudden quiet of the room, the slut-pop track having faded into a low, ambient hum. Cum continued to leak from her in thick, creamy rivulets that pooled on the polished wood, but Claire’s red eyes were already sharp with focus, the post-coital haze burning away into businesslike intensity. She slid off the desk, her legs wobbling only slightly, and padded on bare paws to a sleek filing cabinet, her fur matted and glistening. “That,” she purred, her voice still husky from screaming, “was an exemplary performance, John. Truly. Now, let’s make this official.” She withdrew a single sheet of heavy, cream-colored paper and a sleek digital camera, placing them side-by-side on the cum-smeared desk.

“Standard talent contract,” she explained, her finger tracing a clause about rhythmic synchronization and release schedules. “Sign at the bottom. But here at Beat Banger, we do things a little… differently for our star performers.” A wicked smile played on her lips as she uncapped a pen with a soft click. “I need a signature, yes. But I also need a publicity shot. Something that captures the essence of our studio.” She leaned back against the desk, spreading her legs just enough for him to see the mess he’d made of her, the scent of sex rising between them. “I’m going to hold your signed contract. And you,” she said, her gaze dropping to his cock, which was already stirring again, thick and heavy against his thigh, “are going to lay that magnificent dick across my face. We’ll take the photo just like that. Your signature, my face, your cock. It’s poetic, really. A perfect merger of business and pleasure.”

John’s shyness surged back for a moment, a hot flush rising under his white fur, but the raw, approving look in Claire’s eyes and the memory of her tight heat around him pushed it aside. He took the pen, his paw trembling slightly as he scrawled his name at the indicated line, the ink dark and permanent against the paper. Claire watched, her breath quickening, and the moment the signature was complete, she snatched the contract, holding it up with both hands just below her chin, the paper crackling softly. “Now,” she whispered, her red eyes gleaming. “Give it to me. Slowly. Let me feel the weight.”

Swallowing hard, John stepped closer, the musk of their coupling enveloping him. He took his semi-hard cock in hand, guiding the thick, veined shaft toward her face. The warm, soft fur of her cheek met the underside of his dick first, and Claire let out a soft, appreciative sigh, nuzzling against it. He laid it across her face, the heavy length spanning from her temple, over her closed eye, and across the bridge of her nose, the flushed, sensitive head coming to rest just beside her parted lips. Pre-cum beaded at the slit, smearing a glossy trail on her fur. She was utterly still, a statue of submission and power, the contract held steady below her chin, her eyes closed in reverence. The contrast was devastatingly erotic—the formal document, her executive authority, all dominated by the sheer, vulgar reality of his spent but imposing cock.

“Perfect,” she breathed, the word vibrating against his flesh. “Now, hold still.” With one hand still holding the contract, she used the other to grab the camera, lifting it with practiced ease. The lens focused with a soft whirr. The flash was a bright, shocking burst in the dim office, capturing the image forever: Claire Claire, CEO, her face adorned with John’s limp but impressive cock, his signature bold and clear on the paper she presented like a trophy. She took three more shots in rapid succession, the flashes popping, each one freezing a slightly different angle—the way his balls rested against her collarbone, the string of precum connecting his tip to her lower lip. The vulgarity of it was absolute, and it made John’s dick twitch and begin to fill again, the blood rushing back with a vengeance.

After the final flash, Claire lowered the camera, setting it carefully aside. But she didn’t move his cock away. Instead, she opened her mouth, her pink tongue sliding out to lap slowly at the underside of his shaft, tasting the salt of sweat and the bitter tang of his earlier release. “Mmm, you taste like success,” she murmured, the vibration making him shudder. She turned her head, taking the head into her mouth, sucking gently, her tongue swirling around the corona. The contract crumpled slightly in her other hand, forgotten for the moment as she serviced him with slow, deliberate sucks, her eyes locked on his, promising everything and nothing. John’s hips jerked forward instinctively, his cock hardening fully in the wet heat of her mouth, the earlier exhaustion burned away by this new, degrading intimacy. She was the boss, and she was worshiping his dick, the signed contract a mere prop in her relentless pursuit of sensation.

When he was fully hard again, throbbing against her tongue, she pulled off with a lewd pop, a strand of saliva connecting her lips to his glistening tip. She smoothed the contract out on the desk, right next to the damp spot their fucking had left. “Welcome to Beat Banger Studios, John,” she said, her voice official once more, though her lips were swollen and her face bore the red imprint of his shaft. “Your first official scene is tomorrow. You’ll be working with Zoe again. She’s requested a… *revenge* scene. Wants to ride you until you scream. I trust you’ll be ready.” She stood, her naked form a vision of confident ownership, and handed him the camera. “Now, get cleaned up. The bathroom is down the hall. And John?” She paused, her red eyes glinting. “Don’t get too used to my personal attention. From now on, you’ll have to earn it through the lens.” She turned, presenting him with the magnificent view of her tight, cum-leaking ass as she walked toward a private shower, leaving him alone in the office with the scent of sex, the weight of the camera in his paw, and the thrilling, terrifying certainty that his life had just been irrevocably changed.

Beat Banger studios