"Miss Watson has just arrived, sir," called a heavyset secretary, sticking her red curls inside the door frame. She had a winsome face, which bore the tiniest smirk among the masses of freckles that covered it.
"Send her in," replied a tall, thin, man in gray slacks and a white dress shirt. He was neat as a pin except for the tie that hung open around his neck. "Why she'd audition for a role like this after Little Women is beyond me, but I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth."
"She can't have read the script," a much plumper man chimed in. "There's no way Emma's going to agree to this. We'd make a billion easy if we could talk her into it, but I promise you, there's just no way!"
"Right this way, Miss," the secretary cut in, ushering a confident-looking Emma Watson across the rich, beige, carpet.
She was resplendent in a short, cream dress that hugged her 32B breasts quite well. Her legs were bare, while her feet bore cream-colored flats, and her light brown hair shone prettily in the room's soft light. The rotund gentleman simply motioned for her to have a seat, and as she sank into the couch across from the tall man's mahogany desk, they glanced on approvingly.
"My name is Adrian Peters," the tall man opened, walking over and offering his hand. "I'll be directing this film. I'm honored you've considered working with us. I'm a huge fan of your work."
"Thank you very much," Emma replied graciously. "That means a lot. You've been among my favorite directors for some time."
"We're just a little concerned that you might not have read the script thoroughly," the fat man interjected after introducing himself as "Mr. Peters' assistant, Brian."
"I have done that," Emma returned, very quietly. "I've considered everything carefully, and I need to play this role. "Susana James almost single-handedly raised thousands of dollars in the nineteenth century to establish and defend a little known, all female, community that supported some of that period's earliest feminists. My work and success has been because of her. More people need to know her story."
"We think so, too, Ms. Watson," said Mr. Peters a bit anxiously. "But she raised that money as a..."
"Prostitute," Emma supplied quickly. "I know, but..."
"A prostitute who was known for nastiness, Ms. Watson. Her, um, sexual exploits had very few limits. In order to honor her legacy, we'll have to highlight all of her work. Some of the scenes we're shooting are going to be very explicit. Essentially, if you take this role, you're agreeing to become a porn star. If you still want to do this, we're going to have to make sure you can perform as needed when the time comes."
"I've thought it all through," Emma repeated, though her throat sounded dry. "Let's...let's...let's get started."
"Okay, then, Emma, I'm going to need you to stand up for me, turn, squat, and twerk your ass. Make an effort to move the skirt with each motion so that we can see your panties."
Emma stood, stiffening as she did so, and turned around as ordered. Years of Pilates had given her a small, shapely, ass that crested her dress as she began to squat. Once she was in position, she made an obvious call on her will and began to twitch and gyrate her ass. Her cheeks blushed red with shame as her short dress rode up her back, giving the men a full view of the white, lace, panties that clung to her rear.
Emma tried to focus her mind on the good she was doing, but a swift sting on her left cheek brought her back to the moment. She turned her head just in time to see Brian smack her right ass cheek. He had not been too gentle about it and Emma felt the heat spread. Before she could protest, a song began blaring in her ears. To her utter horror, Emma realized it was "Bands Will Make Her Dance." Mr. Peters reached out to tuck the bottom of her dress into its neck, and falling to his knees, he roughly groped Emma's ass.
Soon, Brian began to shove his face in the actress' butt, grinding his nose into her panty-covered crack. Emma squirmed wildly as the sharp nose poked her asshole and the director's hand worked its way between her legs. She was absolutely mortified, but her nipples had stiffened long ago, and her clit was absolutely following suit. She couldn't believe how excited her body was getting as these professionals continued to treat a movie star like a low rent stripper. As the song came to a close, Emma found herself actively suppressing the hope that they'd yank off her panties. Instead, both men abruptly returned to their seats, once again, all business.
"You did very well, Ms. Watson. We're very impressed with your commitment. You passed your first test with flying colors. Please gather yourself together, rest, and ask my secretary for refreshments. We'd like to try the next audition in two hours."
"I cannot believe what just happened here," Peters gasped once he was alone with his assistant. "I just groped a Disney princess! I was not supposed to enjoy that, but..."
"I couldn't help it either," Brian assured him. "She's just too hot. God, I've never been so hard in my life, seeing her twerk like that, shaking her ass like a little-"
Brian's hand flew over his mouth at once, a ghastly pall covered his face like a veil. He began frantically sputtering out an explanation, but Peters simply patted him on the shoulder.
"It's alright, Brian. Our urges are going to get the better of us sometimes, but we have to work through it to get this movie made. Ms. Watson is right. More people need to know about Susana Jones, and we have a good chance to make that happen. I really gave Ms. Watson a break for us, so we weren't still worked up when the next session began."
"Does she know what we'll have to do to her?" Brian asked, thoroughly ashamed of the eagerness in his voice.
"Eliza's explaining everything," Peters returned, hooking his thumb to point at the door the secretary had come through. "We have to represent Susana's experiences exactly, and her memoirs were clear about how her male and female customers behaved."
The men fell silent, contemplating the task ahead, each struggling to deny to himself that he was looking forward to it. But when Peters shut his eyes, all his mind showed him was Emma Watson's perfect ass gyrating in lace panties. He felt his cock twinge in his pants when he remembered the feel of her pussy lips rubbing against his hand as she danced to the beat. The cloth that covered them had been wet and dripping.
The little minx loved it! he thought to himself. Then he struggled to bury the thought.
Brian wasn't doing much better. All his mind could hear was the smack of flesh against cloth covered flesh. His mind's eye saw Emma squirming under his spankings, and he wondered if there were hand prints on her ass to show for it. Surreptitiously, the assistant glanced up at a wall clock, and his foot began tapping lightly as he glanced at the door. By the time Emma's break was up, neither man could hide his feelings. They said nothing, but each knew Ms. Watson was going to have a hard time of it.
Ms. Watson herself sat nervously in an antechamber, sipping Eliza's famous rose hip tea. She would have died of embarrassment if anyone else had seen her performance, but the first thing she'd had to do was change her panties. She couldn't believe how wet she'd been, how wet she still was, after what had happened to her.
