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[claychut]

Although she was a westerner and always scantily dressed during shoots, I was surprised to hear the first question from her mouth. Actresses are divas, everyone knows that, but not every actress does the kind of antics Katrina did in our movie. 

It was in Europe, very close to where she came from, and it almost made her feel more at ease I think. She didn't wear a bra in the set, all spot boys, light boys, water boys and other boys always orbiting around, getting peeks at the merchandise. Kat didn't seem to mind much, and in fact enjoyed the attention they gave her. She didn't mind directors and producers grazing their hands across her thighs and sometimes passing by and brushing their bare biceps against her nipples poking against the thin clothes they made her wear. 

It was our first song, and she seemed a bit anxious. I went to her and asked what was the problem. 

She leaned to me, "I don't know how to say this, sir. It seems a bit personal."

"No, tell me, it's alright. I have done hundreds of shoots, so whatever it is you have in mind, shoot," I grinned. 

"Well, the thing is: whenever we practiced in theatres, we wore only what the director gave us. Some plays, like the nude ones with body paint or glitter, we didn't have anything other the make-up on our bodies, if you can imagine."

Oh, I could, and so could my cock, who'd begun a slow rise to salute. Not now, I said to myself. This is professional enquiry, not personal erotic theatre.  "So, what's the problem?"

"I didn't see any underwear with the set costume, and I am scared of wearing nothing. I know how the censor boards are, and they'll find some fault and cut the song, and this is my first glamour song."

"I see."

"If you don't mind, can you check if anything more is showing?"

"Anything more meaning?"

"You know, sir. My..."

"My what?" I wanted her to say it. 

"If this--" Katrina grabs my hand, which had a cone of strawberry ice-cream in it, which I promptly shifted in a jiffy, and placed it on top of her blue mini-skirt. "Here," she took one finger and daintily guided it to her vaginal skin. "Does it show, when I do the shakes?" 

Her skin was slightly wet. Not dripping or cummy, just damp. Even so, I wished I could taste it and put some of my own with my tongue in there. I wondered if it could be more on the salty or salty-bitter side. But I had little to wonder what she smelled like. Girls like this, who perfume hard before every shoot, take special care of how their coochies smell. Ravishing, I bet. 

"Hmmm.... Why don't  you do the shakes and I'll see how it is." 

"Now sir?" 

"Right away, please. This is a professional enquiry, so go for it, nice and slow, so that you won't have to do this every time before every song."

So Kat started shifting her legs. I let my fingers follow their natural rhythms, slipping and sliding over her pussy. She began to get more wet as the moves sped up and now and again I squeezed a bit with my palm, and she moaned, "Sir, is it showing?" I shook my head. "Yes, yes," she said and danced even faster, and I pinched the clit softly with my thumb and forefinger, which was now wet, thoroughly wet, dampening the edges of the blue mini-skirt. 

In a moment, I stood up and gave her one nice tight squeeze. Kat moaned. "It's all fine," I said. "Let me know if you have any more professional enquiries." 

"Sure, sir. Any time, sir," she said falling to the chair, legs spread wide open, exhausted.