Deep throat wife

Nearly everyone falls victim to unethical professional and business practices at one time or another. Sometimes the results are disastrous for the individual concerned, but more often the damage is not too severe. And occasionally, the victim benefits from his experience usually in the form of a lesson learned.

For Karen Calder, becoming a game show contestant will solve many of her economic problems. As a naive newlywed, however, Karen is unprepared for the dishonesty and sexual exploitation in the world of game shows. The degradation which Karen must endure eventually results in startling self-insights.

DEEP THROAT WIFE -- a work of fiction for entertainment, but also a statement on the changing values of our modern society.


Her wet hair wrapped in a towel, her loose, light robe slithering over her naked skin, Karen Calder flopped down on the sofa and put her feet up on the coffee table. Idly, she watched the glittering play on the massive color television set the one nice thing in an otherwise drab living room. A gentle breeze came in through the open window, and stirred the hazy curtains. The beads of water dotting the side of Karen's neck began to dry. It was another perfect, lazy, boring California day.

As the deodorant commercial was replaced by a garish, slowly spinning wheel and the credits for the next show, Karen began kneading her wet, towel-covered hair with both hands. Raising her arms made her heavy boobs shift in her robe and she felt her tits harden from the delicate friction. As she began grumbling at her horniness, her naked thighs began squirming against each other, satin flesh against satin flesh.

Peter Sandier burst on stage, his dark eyes sparkling, careless curls of jet black hair trailing over his forehead, his white teeth flashing. Karen's pussy sweated hotly. Nervously, she licked her lips. She cursed herself as she wriggled erotically. It was stupid to get turned on over someone on the TV. But, in the close-up, the man's eyes looked straight at her! Karen squirmed uncomfortably as her arousal increased. Her chest ached, her tits were burning. It had been a long time since Mark, her husband, had kneaded and adored those heavy jugs, sucked them until they hurt, then plunged his hot cock into her steaming cunt.

Sandier introduced his assistant, Shanda, and Shanda in turn introduced the contestants and their celebrity partners. The male contestant was a complete non-entity. He was awed by his partner, a glamorous, out-of-work actress. The female contestant was a pretty young girl, probably not much over eighteen. She was all wriggles and giggles. She kept darting adoring glances at both her partner, an actor plugging his latest movie, and at Peter Sandier.

God, the girl wasn't wearing a bra under that tight, clinging sweater! Her tits were clearly visible sharp points. She looked like she was incredibly turned on by something. She giggled and chatted with Sandier.

Then Sandier's eyes were boring in to Karen again, and she forgot the contestant as the itch in her cunt increased. Pushing up the loose sleeves of her robe, Karen rubbed the goose bumps on her arms nervously. She had never been so turned on by this show as she was today! She knew that as the dollar winnings grew bigger and bigger, her cunt would drool more and more heavily, too.

Something about the amount of money being given away made her burn. That, combined with the dashing handsomeness of Sandier, would turn her into a shivering wreck by the end of the half-hour show.

As the commercial droned on, unheard, she found her fingers toying with the belt of her robe. She tried to stop herself. Her muscles knotted as they rebelled. It was crazy, she had never done anything like it before.

But it was a warm day, just right. No one could see into her living room. She was home, alone, with just the TV. Why shouldn't she be naked if she wanted to be? The knot came undone, she dragged the belt loose.

Just as she unwrapped the robe to let the gentle breeze brush her bare flesh, Peter Sandier came back on the screen. She felt her cunt flood. She arched her body, made her lush knockers rise and thrust up for the man's sparkling-eyed admiration. She squirmed one thigh against the other again, as she drew her arms out of her robe. She was naked, except for the towel turban on her hair.

Defensively, she crossed her arms. She felt the warm, lush weight of her titties, felt her boobs lift and press inward against each other. She was offering the handsome man her naked tits. Her fingers slipped up and touched her tits. Her rubbery nipples hardened still more. She stroked her fingers over her aching teats, felt the hard rock-like buds tugging and twisting.

She grabbed a pillow, and jammed it behind her butt and lower back so she could relax and still be semi-reclined. Her stomach muscles tensed with horniness. She began writhing in spite of herself. She let her palms rest on her sleek, warm, naked thighs. Her fingers crept upward and inward, toward the still-moist brown curls of her snatch.

She tickled the wiry patey shyly. Her ankles unlocked and her thighs eased apart, just the way they did when Mark touched her there. Her cunt-lips chilled as her sex juices dried. A curling string of brown hair, still wet, escaped from the turban and tickled the side of her neck.

The game continued, the stakes rising slowly. Every time the girl won, she bounced ecstatically in her seat, and her little titties jiggled excitedly. From the way her nipples stabbed anxiously at her sweater, she had to be as aroused as Karen was. What was that celebrity doing to the girl? Behind that podium they shared, it could be almost anything! God, right there on national TV, the girl could be getting felt up.

Karen drilled a finger into her own steaming cunt at the thought. Pumping her hand in and out of her twat, she shuddered as she watched the screen. The two teams were competing for the chance to spin the jackpot wheel.

Karen pistoned her finger in her fountaining hole. Slippery, sticky juices smeared her hand, her cunt-lips, the insides of her thighs. Every appearance of Peter Sandier brought a hot, thick flood of goo from her twat. Every time the figures on the scoreboard got bigger, her pussy clenched around her finger. Bringing her thumb into play, Karen stabbed it down on the aroused button of her clit. Her hips heaved with a mind of their own as she mangled the nerve-packed mini-prick.

She was going to come. Shamefully, under the ministrations of her own smeared fingers, she was going to come. The soft summer breeze dried her sex sweat, played over her naked body. She writhed and squirmed on the couch in front of the TV set, and worked her twat over desperately. Her legs were thrown wide, displaying the scarlet gash of her cunt to the glittering gaze of the man, his pretty blonde assistant and the contestants and celebrities.

Karen thought of them all actually seeing her as she was, and her lust raged higher. The thought of displaying herself so blatantly to total stranger made her excitement boil. She had hard time keeping her eye focused on the screen as she roared closer and closer to a screaming coming.

The young girl scored again in the game, bounced out of her seat, and jumped up. Her little boobies jiggled and joggled, her tits strained against the tight sweater. Lights flashed, bells rang, and the girl hugged her partner, the pretty assistant, and the master of ceremonies.

Karen began to come in long, slow, hot waves. Her body knotted for a long moment, shivered with strain, then relaxed. Then it knotted again, and again, tighter and longer and harder each time. The show shifted to a commercial but she was oblivious of it. All she felt was the searing pleasure of her coming. She was locked rigid. Her hips jammed upward, mashing her naked snatch against her shivering hand. Come streamed over her fingers, down the crack of her ass. Her titties shivered, her nipples jutted toward the ceiling as her back strained and arched. Her gaping crotch was hidden only by her wildly working hand. She struggled to keep her coming going.

A second commercial. Her body arched saber orgasm began to die, rose again, then faded a little more. On the television, a paper towel shredded. Karen's cunt spasmed and softened around her dripping hand. Her ass sank back at the couch, her heels skidded across the coffee table, tumbling magazines and newspapers to the floor.

The commercial faded and Peter Sandier with his flashing smile and sparkling eyes, returned, and Karen shuddered. Her coming rekindled for a moment, then faded to an ache that was a mingling of satisfaction and shame. She went limp. Her hands slid away from her snatch, smeared her thighs with goo. For a minute she just lay there, legs stretched and spread on the coffee table, her flooded crotch aimed straight at the smiling MC's face.

Then there was another clutch of commercials, and Karen dragged herself together, her muscles screaming in protest. Halfway through the show, she had brought herself to a fountaining orgasm. Defensively, she blamed her action on her absent husband. He had been too distracted and too tired to take her for a month, or more. It was sickening, saddening, and worrying, this lack of interest of his. It was leaving her horny and vulnerable to anything.

Unwilling to soil her wrapper, Karen got to her feet and walked naked to the bathroom to wipe herself clean. In a few minutes she was back. Her unbound hair trailed in tangled strings to her naked shoulders. Flopping down on the couch, she tried to lose herself in the game show and the problem of combing her shoulder-length hair.

The only trouble with losing herself in the game was that it reminded her of what she had just done. Just the sight of Peter Sandier got her all hot and bothered again. Her pussy was still drizzling stinging remnants of come. The master of ceremonies smiled into the camera, and her twat tightened hungrily. She was still horny! This wanton wickedness sickened her, but it wouldn't let her rest, either. She was horny. And the prizes were getting bigger and bigger. She was getting more and more excited, more and more aroused.

She was still naked. Her breasts rose and shifted as her arms moved, combing out her drying hair. The girl on the show might as well have been naked, the way her titties jiggled and thrust against her sweater. The girl looked like she was creaming her pants as the lead changed hands over and over, and the flashing numbers got bigger and bigger.

It was the last question, and Karen held her breath. She stopped combing her hair and absently let the shivering detangler rest in her lap. The butt of the machine pressed her pussy and her clit awakened to the shivering, shaking, buzzing. Hot waves of electricity flickered through Karen.

The girl jumped up and shouted the right answer. The flashing lights of the elaborate set erupted. The contestant began hugging everyone in sight. Karen ground the shivering handle of the electric comb into her burning crotch. The girl on the TV kept her hips demurely away from whoever she was hugging until she grabbed the show's host. Then, just before the camera cut away, she thrust her hips hard against his and wrapped her arms around his neck. She was wearing a short skirt, which was very rumpled. What had been going on behind the podium during the game?

There was a commercial. Karen shivered as she kept boring the thick, rounded handle of the electric comb into her aching snatch. She spread her thighs, and ground the blunt tool against ha cunt, wedged it between her pussy lips. She felt the vibrations drill through her body as she twisted the handle of the comb against her twat.

For the first time, she thought of Peter Sandier naked, and was rocked to the core. She thought of what kind of cock he had. He would have a huge one, a monster, blunt bludgeon. It would thrust out from a thick black patch of fur. His lean body would be tan and hard.

She had just managed to rip her thoughts away from her mental infidelity when the commercials were over. Then something about the light and the way the master of ceremonies was standing brought back her imaginings full force. She had the impression of a huge cock painfully restricted by tightly-tailored pants.

Peter, she was starting to think of him on first-name basis now, had his arm around the petite contestant. His hand was gripping her trim waist. The lighting had changed so that the aroused peaks of her tits were invisible. For a second Karen thought she could see the faint shading of the girl's nipples, then decided it was a figment of her over-heated imagination.

Peter snuggled the girl to his side and explained about the huge wheel. His assistant, Shanda, posed beside the huge disk, and rested one hand on one of the four big pegs. The pie wedges of color were lighted from behind. One light of a ring of bulbs around the outside was on.

Karen had a sudden vision of someone a naked woman, spreadeagled on the monster wheel, hands and feet tied to the four pegs. The bright stage lighting gleaming off her naked skin, the wheel was turning and turning and turning. The lights were flashing around the outside, and the wedges of color behind the naked woman flickered on and off as the wheel turned.

That wasn't the way the game was played, of course. The wheel spun, and the lights flickered and danced the ones on the outside went in one direction, the wedges in the other as the wheel went around and around. The position of the lights when the wheel came to rest determined the prize.

The vibrations from the electric comb were burrowing through Karen. She was still sprawled naked on the couch. She was positive Peter was hung like a hone, and that he had a hard-on. He kept snuggling the girl against his side. One of her firm little titties nudged his arm as he pulled her close. His grip when he turned her to face the wheel was very intimate. At least that was how it looked to Karen. She imagined letting the man fondle her, very subtly, of course, while the gleaming lenses of the television cameras watched.

With her glittering, well-rehearsed smile, Shanda tugged down on the peg she had been holding. The wheel began to turn and the lights began to flicker on and off.

"Uhh!" Karen grunted as her hips jumped and shivered. She drove the blunt, quivering handle of the comb into her pussy. She felt her cunt being stretched, as it admitted the huge bulk. She glanced down in surprise, and squirmed excitedly when she realized she had at least an inch of the monster cylinder crammed into her streaming cunt. She shook her head, looked back at the television, and rammed the monster imitation, electrified pecker farther into her aching, straining, throbbing snatch.

The wheel was slowing gradually, the music was fading, and the flashing of the lights matched the diminishing pace. The girl was pressed tight to the master of ceremonies' side. Her tight little butt was wriggling with excitement as the moment of truth approached. Peter had let his hand slip don until it almost, but not quite, touched the smooth, tense roundness of her ass.

The wheel slowed still more. The drumming from the detangler seemed to get louder and louder. Karen felt as if she had a shivering telephone pole jammed up her twat. She was afraid to look down to see how much of the quivering comb she had crammed up her cunt. Instead, she focused on the building tension on the screen. What would the little bitch do if she won? Karen realized with a jolt that she was jealous of the girl. Jealous, mot because she was on television, but jealous because she was getting fondled by Peter Sandier.

The wheel slowed, the lights flickered. The wheel turned one notch farther, and the girl went mad. The studio lights flashed. The girl leaped at Peter Sandier and it was hard to see, but it looked as if she had scissored her legs around him, right there on television! Karen pumped the shuddering comb in and out of her fountaining cunt and rolled her head as she neared a second orgasm. It was more coming than she had done in the past month, this crazy two-time masturbation. Quivering and jerking and heaving, she thrust the electric comb up her crotch until she felt like she was being ripped in two. Spiking herself on the shuddering machine, she quivered and jerked in the throes of a searing coming.

She didn't come down from her peak until the last of the credits were creeping off the top of the screen. Then came the announcement about where to write if you wanted to be a contestant. Slowly and shakily, Karen drew the slick handle from her battered, abused snatch. With shivering fingers, she switched the comb off and slumped down.

She was sick about what she had done. She had been mentally unfaithful to Mark. She tried to pass it off as innocent fantasy, but her puritanical upbringing wouldn't let her. To be unfaithful in her mind was as bad as to actually go to bed with the handsome MC. The whole thing the greed, the money, the flashing lights, the crazy music it all seemed like a sick dream now. But the ache in her cunt, the wet sticky handle of the comb, the trickle of juices from her abused twat, were all very real.

Blearily, Karen looked around the small living room. She was seeing it with new eyes. With the exception of the television set, it was shabby. The furniture was thread-bare and worn. The finish on the end tables was chipped and marred. The walls were clean at least, thanks to the coat of paint she and Mark had stepped on in exchange for a month's free rent. But the prints on the walls looked like what they were pictures cut from calendars.

Only the television looked expensive, probably because it was. It had been a wedding present from Mark's parents. Karen had the feeling that Mark would have rejected even that, if he could have. His stupid, stupid pride seemed destined to keep them broke.

With a disgusted groan, Karen let the comb drop to the floor. She heard it clatter on the thin, worn rug. She was all sweaty and sticky and needed another shower. Dismally, she trudged to the bathroom and turned on the hot water. The shower was huge, and ugly. She really preferred a tub, but this was what they had.

As she washed away the sticky traces of her self-abuse, Karen thought about the trap she was in. Mark wouldn't let her work to help out. He had to do it all himself. Well, she wasn't a liberated woman, so the fact that he was a male pig didn't bother her. But the grinding poverty did.

She stepped out of the shower, and toweled herself dry. Then she walked naked through the house to get her robe. She stared at the spots of cunt juices on it and male a face. It was the only robe she had, too. Wearily, she took it and dropped it by the washer.

She felt like the walls of the small house were pressing in on her. She had to escape, now. Outside the bright sun beckoned. Without thinking about it, she opened the door to the backyard and stepped out. Then she was suddenly, gloriously, aware of her nakedness. She strolled around the secluded patch of grass, feeling the air touch her intimately.

How could she help get them out of the awful trap they were in? The problem, of course, was money. There wasn't even enough for them to buy a cheap second car for her to use. If she wanted to go somewhere, she had to walk eight blocks to the bus stop.

God, what they could do with ten thousand dollars, she thought. That was the jackpot on the game show. More money than they would see in a year at the rate Mark was going.

But he'd never let her go on the show. Besides, the idea scared her. She knew she was drawn to Peter Sandier. She would make a fool of herself if she went on the show.

But her attraction to the man made her want to try out for the show, too. And, there was all the prize money, and gifts, too. Even if she didn't win any money, the "consolation prizes" were enough to make her mouth water, free dinners and books and food and gadgets and games.

But, she couldn't do it, she just couldn't. Mark would never allow it. Not if he thought it was for the money. But what if she just told him it was a game? A game wouldn't threaten him at all. "And, if I did win..." Karen whispered to herself as the sun burned her bare titties.

Decisively, she went back into the house. Without dressing, she sat down at the kitchen table and dashed off a letter to the address still echoing in her mind. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she sealed the envelope, stuck on one precious stamp, and started out to mail it. Then, remembering she was naked, she hurriedly yanked a dress over her bare flesh.


Karen smoothed her skirt for the fifteenth time and looked around the waiting room. The wood-paneled walls looked solid and affluent. Spaced neatly around them were framed photographs from the game show, contestants in the warm, friendly grasp of Peter Sandier. Mingled with the pictures were plaques awards the show had won?

The neat, trim receptionist ignored Karen. The girl was studiously reading something on the desk in front of her. She made a mark on it from time to time. Karen resisted the urge to get up and pace. Finally, she couldn't sit still any longer, and trying to disguise her restlessness, studied the pictures as she slowly circled the room.

Again and again, she was met by the firm, unwavering, confident eyes of Peter Sandier. His flashing smile seemed directed straight at her. She remembered his arm around the girl the other day, and saw, in the pictures, his arm around one contestant after another. Most of them were young, reasonably attractive women, Karen noticed.

She felt her crotch warming as she studied the pictures. She tried to control her emotions. She wouldn't even meet the man today. She would be interviewed by one of his associates, some flunky or other. Probably she would fail the tests and interviews, and that would be that. Beside, she was a happily married woman! She had do business thinking about Peter that way!

To save herself from that train of thought, she focused her attention on the scores made by the photographed contestants. The sight of all those numbers preceded by dollar signs made her guts ache with hunger. If she could make only half of what some of the top winners had, it would be enough to take care of all their overdue bills and maybe have a little left over.

She had to get on the show she just had to. She would do anything at all to get a chance at the big money.

"Mr. Calder!" the receptionist called for the third time, breaking in on Karen's dreaming at last.

"What? Yes?" Karen turned hurriedly. She had been at the opposite end of the room from the receptionist.

"Mr. Sandier will see you now," the receptionist said.

"Mr. Sandier?" It came out a squeak, Karen was so startled.

"Through that door," the receptionist said, pointing gracefully before returning to her reading.

Tensely, Karen smoothed her skirt again. Her hands were so sweaty she was afraid she was going to drop her purse. The shining brass doorknob felt cold and slippery as she twisted it. The door opened onto yet another waiting room, a small one, and another receptionist.

"Go right in, Mrs. Calder," the girl said, nodding toward one of the two doors. Karen had the feeling that she had been carefully sized up by the receptionist in the few seconds she had been in the room.

The sight of Peter Sandier getting up from behind his mammoth desk was like a hard blow to Karen's gut. He was every bit as handsome in person as he was on television. The physical magnetism of the man was incredible. Karen felt herself extending her hand toward him, even though she didn't usually shake hands. His palm against hers was warm and dry and strong. Karen felt a river of fire run up her arm, flow out through her body, relax her tension-knotted muscles. His dark eyes met hem, and she felt her crotch begin to drool. He guided her to a comfortable chair in front of the desk.

She was grateful for the time it took him to return to his chair. She needed it to get in control of herself. Then he was eyeing her across the polished wood, and she had to control herself all over again as his dark eyes threatened to drown her.

"Mrs. Calder." It was a statement, not a question.

"Y-yes," she stammered stupidly.

"You're very pretty," he commented in a deep, perfect television voice. Hot shivers ran up her spine.

"Oh, n-no, not really," she stuttered modestly. She began twisting the strap of her purse in her sweating fingers.

Sandier smiled, and drew a sheet of paper over in front of himself. She saw, upside down to her, her own handwriting on the form they had sent her to fill out. Red circles had been drawn around some of her answers. Her snapshot, one taken at the beach, was clipped to the corner. She had tried to find one more suitable, but the awkward, semi-seductive bathing-beauty pose was all she could locate.

"You're twenty-three..."

"Twenty-four in a month," she said quickly.

"I see you had a year and a half of college," Sandier noted.

"I-I dropped out, in the middle of my sophomore year," she said apologetically. "I'm not much of a scholar."

"Few among us are," he said kindly. "For the show, we prefer people from the mainstream of America. Housewives and blue collar workers are much more representative than lawyers and doctors. And, anyway, professional people generally fare rather poorly on the show. They get too tense. Now, tell me a little about yourself. You're married, I see."

Had she been thinking clearly, Karen would have marveled at the man's ability to get her to relax. As it was, she opened up, began almost babbling about herself, and Mark, their marriage, their desperate need for money. She tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice when she talked about their house and their constant penny-pinching.

When she fell silent, she met Peter Sandier's dark eyes for a moment, then looked away quickly. There was something unsettling deep in his eyes. She glanced around the room, noting the rich furnishings.

"Get up and walk around the room, please," the MC said. "I want to see how you move."

Leaving her purse in the chair, Karen got up nervously and paced the area behind her chair. The thick carpeting muffled her steps. She was conscious of his intense gaze on her, and suddenly felt naked. The abrupt stiffening of her tits inside her bra both startled and scared her.

"Could you take off your shoes, please? You're about my height, so on the show we would prefer you wore low shoes."

"Oh, uh, all right." Steadying herself with one hand on the back of her chair, she unbuckled her chunky stacked shoes, and let them drop to the floor. She wished she had been able to afford stockings. Her bare toes gripped the thick pile of the rug.

As she continued walking she saw the MC get up from behind his desk. Her eyes flicked nervously to his groin. There was a mammoth bulge there. Karen flushed and looked away. She was frightened as much by her own hot hunger as by his erection. She stood at the window and stared out, over the expanse of rooftops. A motion on the roof of the next building caught her eye. A man was leading a woman out onto the flat expanse of tar.

"You have very nice hair," Peter Sandier said, startling her. He was standing behind her. His fingers touched her long brown tresses gently.

"Thank you." On the rooftop below, the couple was embracing. The woman was writhing against the man. Karen wanted to leave, but her curiosity held her rooted to the spot. Peter Sandier's fingers touched the side of her neck gently. She shuddered.

The man on the rooftop was cupping her ass, kneading the cheeks of her butt. The woman's thighs spread slightly, clamped around one of the man's strong legs. She humped herself on his thigh. He was dragging her skirt up, and up, and up, baring her legs, then her tail. Her panties were pale pink, very tight and very thin.

Peter Sandier's lips touched Karen's throat. She squirmed, tried to tear herself away from him, and the lewd scene below. But her seething horniness reduced her resistance to just a feeble wriggling.

The man below slid his fingers into the woman's pants, eased them lower and lower, exposing the pale white cheeks of her butt. He shoved the filmy nylon down until he could knead her ass. He left the panties tangled around her thighs, at her crotch level.

"Noooo," Karen moaned as Peter Sandier took possession of her boobs through her blouse and pressed her back against his hard body. A hard lump was prodding her butt. She put her hands on his, intending to pull them off her titties, but instead, she pressed his palms don hard on here generous knockers. His lips, teeth, and tongue were exploring her neck.

Down below on the root the man was hauling the woman's dress upward, baring her, stripping her naked in the bright midday sun. Who were they? A man and his secretary on a lunch break? Did a man and wife ever act that way? Karen tried to think of Mark, but her mind shied away from him. Her blouse was being unbuttoned by the man pressed against her back. Or, rather, by the man she was pressing back against.

She dragged the blouse out of the waistband of her skirt, then let Sandier drag the garment back off her shoulders and down her arms. Then, ridiculously, she leaned forward to the windowsill, pressed her forehead against the cool glass, and watched the rooftop lovemaking. Sandier unfastened her bra. Her jugs swung free the heavy, warm, soft globes were drawn down by gravity as her bra straps slid down her anus.

The TV star's hands formed living cups for her heavy tits. He lifted and weighed them. Her nipples burned against his hard palms. His cock butted her tail through their clothes as he fondled her generous knockers. She could feel her panties getting wetter and wetter.

She was mad, she told herself. She was a happily married woman, and she was letting herself be seduced, while she watched a seduction. It was insane. She told herself she should reject Peter Sandier's advances. But, if she did, what would be her chances of getting on his show? And she and Mark needed the money so desperately!

The woman on the rooftop let her dress be dragged up over her head. She was naked now except for her high heels and her panties, which were ludicrously tangled around her thighs. She stripped the filmy nylon down and off, but kept her shoes on. Her tits were surprisingly big for someone with such a slender build. They were a very pale white under the glaring sun. Her head hair was blonde. Karen couldn't tell the shade of the woman's muff.

While the woman let her breasts be fondled, she was stripping the man. She uncovered his dick, a towering white column of meat, just as Peter Sandier loosened Karen's skirt and let it drop around her feet. His hand pressed Karen's mound through her sopping panties.

Karen spread her legs and let him get his hand between her thighs. He pressed her clit against the hard arch of her pubic bone, and rivers of fire ran down her legs. With her own hands, she shoved the panties down, exposing her cunt to him.

On the roof below, the woman had her hand wrapped around her partner's pecker, and he had one hand hooked in her twat, and was fondling one of her tits with the other. Karen wondered if the pair would lie down on the blistering tar roof, or not.

As Peter Sandier hooked two fingers into Karen's flowing cunt, she reached back to trace, through his trousers, the mammoth lump of his dick. She found his belt, loosened it, undid the single button, then unzipped his fly. His pants dropped down around his legs. Gingerly, Karen reached behind her back and touched his strained underpants. She freed his dick and gripped it, while he pumped his hand in her naked pussy. On the roof below the other couple continued their foreplay.

The woman was tall, the man short. The woman spread her graceful legs and the man stepped in between them, and bent his knees. They were going to do it standing up, right there, in broad daylight, on the roof! The woman aimed his dick upward, he straightened his legs and the woman arched abruptly. Her head dropped back, as if she had been stabbed. And, in a way, she had. His cock had rammed straight up into her cunt from below. Her eyes closed against the glare of the hot sun, the woman took his cock in her twat. Her breasts were pale moons in the harsh light, her tits dark points. His hands clutched her tight butt as he bent his knees and straightened them again. She recoiled each time he slammed up into her.

Karen bent Peter Sandier's pecker down. He drove forward and rammed it into her cunt from behind, jammed her ravenous hole full. His fingers were on her pubic arch, mangling her clit. One hand was milking her lush jugs. His cock was drilling into her twat from behind.

On the roof below, the woman was steadying herself, putting her hands on the man's shoulders. She was still leaning back, arching her spine. Her titties jutted skyward. Her face was shining with sweat. Her mouth was a ragged circle of lust. Her head turned from side to side.

Peter Sandier drew his dick out and slammed it back in. Karen thought she was going to die. It had been so long, so incredibly long, since she had had a cock filling her cunt. She blocked from her mind the knowledge that the man ramming into her pussy was not her husband. His cock felt titanic, monstrous, delicious, as it pistoned in her velvet tunnel. Harsh pubic hair scratched her butt every time the cock jammed into her twat.

Karen imagined she could hear the cries of the woman below. Karen could see the woman's chest rising, see her throat straining as she orgasmed. The woman was lifted off her feet each time the man entered her. Her breasts jiggled erotically with each impact.

Karen's own titties were swaying as her body was rocked by Peter Sandier's drives. Her head was jammed against the cold pane of glass as he jolted against her. His balls swung up, slapping her pussy folds. He clutched her waist as he rammed into her. She was coming. It was a long, slow rushing coming. She reached down to pinch her clit, and felt the slippery pole of Peter's pecker where it entered her hole. Her fingers pressed the speeding length of his dick.

Peter rammed at her, added a twisting thrust to his hips, and she felt his cock fountaining in her gut. She felt as if she were rotating around the jerking, sizzling length of his dick as her coming raged on and on. She was being cremated by ecstasy.

Down below, on the roof, glittering gobbets of creamy come dribbled down between the spread thighs of the woman as the man filled her hole. She was suspended in mid-air, doweled to him, as he pumped her full of jism.

Karen's hand was flooded with the MC's come, and her own, as she writhed in the grip of her coming. She tried desperately to keep the pleasure going, tried to use it to shield herself from her agonizing guilt.

She shuddered-shuddered again, and then fell into an undertow of suicidal regret. The dick in her aunt gave its last lurch. Then the prick was shrinking and she was dying as she felt her innards slashing with thick sex-juices. Tears trickled down her cheeks. She fought her racking sobs. The cock left her cunt, and hot, wet, stickiness spattered her butt.

Frantic to escape, Karen staggered toward the bathroom door that had swung open on one wall of the posh office. Inside, she hung her head and heaved her lunch into the toilet. She sobbed and retched for a long time. Finally, she washed her face, and her pussy. When she was done her muff was fluffy and soft.

Her clothes were still out in the man's office. She thought of asking for them, started to, then slumped down in defeat. She knew he was waiting for her. She knew where he was waiting for her, and how. The knowledge made her twat again drool with blind lust.

She told herself that it was because she and Mark needed the money. But that only made her feel worse. Because that made her a whore. It was all Mark's fault. It was what he deserved, and that was that.

With a shiver, her tits hardening, Karen opened the door. For the first time she got a look at the cock that had pumped her so full. Even limp and drained, it was big. She was right. Peter Sandier was hung like a horse. He was sitting in his chair, feet up on the windowsill, gazing down at the roof below. Feeling crazy, and sexy, Karen slowly crossed the office to him. She was aware of the heavy swaying of her unfettered titties, the silky feel of naked thigh against naked thigh, the touch of cool air against her pussy.

Below, the couple had moved to the small patch of shade cast by the stairwell tower. They were both naked. Their clothes were baking in the sun. The man was leaning back against the wall. The woman was on her knees in front of him. She was sucking his cock! Her fingers cupped his balls. Her lips circled his dick. Her head was moving slowly back and forth. Her eyes were closed, and she looked as if she was enjoying what she was doing.

Standing submissively beside the TV host, Karen stared down at the scene. Lust simmered in her guts as she watched. She hardly stirred when Sandier reached up and slid a finger into her come-sodden twat. As she stood by his shoulder, he pistoned his finger in and out of her flooded cunt.

The woman on the roof was taking half, more than half, of the man's towering hard-on into her mouth. As she fondled the man's nuts, she drove her head forward. Then she pulled backward, then drove forward again. His dick was slick, and shining wet with spit, and cunt juices and semen.

"Suck my cock," Peter Sandier said softly, confidently.

Karen bit her lip, wondered why she was doing what she was doing, and leaned over the arm of his chair toward his dick. She lifted its semi-hard mass, smelled the mingled juices -- his and hers -- on his hot meat.

The blonde hair of the woman on the roof was thrashing with the violence of her cock-sucking. She had to be ramming that hard dick against the back of her throat. Her titties rose and fell as she sucked in air between drives on the cock. The scene made Karen's mouth and cunt both water.

Karen slurped in the dusky purple head of Peter Sandier's pecker. Her mouth was flooded with the taste of his come and her cunt drippings. She swirled her tongue around his swelling cock, felt the blood rush in to fill its chamber. His finger was still stirring in her pussy as she sucked his prick to life.

By straining both her eyes and her neck, Karen could watch out the window while she sucked on the hot sausage in her mouth. She stroked the dick with her tongue, felt hot seepings sting her throat. The man on the roof was gripping the rail now, dragging her toward him as he thrust his hips at her.

Karen took more of the TV star's monster cock into her mouth, and gagged. Tears streaking her cheeks, she drew up, sucked in a breath of air and tried to steady her shuddering guts. The woman on the roof didn't have any trouble taking more than half a cock. Why should she?

Karen returned to the dick, slid it back along her tongue. She was beginning to like the taste of it. She liked the feel of Peter's finger in her pussy, too. His hips were beginning to shift and squirm in the chair. She wondered why her cunt was flowing so thickly and heavily from a cock in her mouth. She was a cock-sucker, she realized, and the vile word made her excitement all the greater.

The man on the roof was jerking his prick into the woman's mouth. Her head snapped back with each deep thrust, every time his cock slammed against the back of her throat. The woman's expression was mingled lust and pain. She absorbed the brutal treatment, seemed to welcome it.

Karen forced down her gag reflex, and corked her throat with Peter's cock. She tried to swallow his cock, and felt the knobby, rubbery head ease into her gullet. To breathe, she backed off a little and inhaled through her nose. Then she swallowed the head of his dick again, and worked her lips, dragged another fraction of it into her mouth.

"Fantastic," Sandier grunted. Karen thought he was talking about the couple on the roof. Then his hand came down on the back of her head, and she knew he was referring to how much of his pecker she had taken. Her ego boosted, she swallowed still more of his dick. Her glottis spasmed around the monster tower. Her throat had began aching. She wished she could somehow get his cock all the way down to her stomach.

"Wait," the television host hissed. "Look, he's coming!"

Karen looked. The man was coming. His cock had slipped out of the woman's mouth and was spattering her face with glittering drops of his jizz. Frantically, her eyes shut against the spray, the woman sought his fountaining hard-on with her mouth, found it, and sucked the jerking, pumping tool, slurping up his creamy come.

Karen's gut heaved at the thought of swallowing semen, and her clit clenched. The woman's throat worked and worked as she swallowed and swallowed. She writhed as if she were wallowing in thick gooey liquid. She didn't stop swallowing until the man's dick was all shriveled and shrunken and drained.

Then Karen nailed her head with Peter Sandier's cock and buried her nose in his thick, black, wiry pubic patch. She twisted her head, felt his cock rotate in her mouth and throat. She drew up fort breath, drove down again, mashing her nose against the MG's hard gut as his cock drove down her throat. It hurt like hell to try to swallow the monster bulk, but the pain added to her pleasure. She we going to get his load in her gullet. She wanted it in her mouth, too. If it went straight down her throat, she wouldn't get to taste it. It was something she really, really wanted to do. She wanted to taste his thick cream.

She pumped her head in time with the surging and heaving of his hips, let him fuck her face. His finger was gone from her twat, but she didn't care. All she cared about was the great cock sliding back and forth along her tongue.

"Suck it, suck it," Peter hissed.

She sucked even harder.

"Touch my balls," he moaned. "Roll them on your fingers. Feel them."

She did. She curled her fingers under the heavy warm egg-like masses. She squirmed them back and forth on her fingers. She felt them suck up toward the base of his dick. She drew her head up just as Sandier tried to jam his prick deeper into her mouth.

The first wad of come ripped the length of his dick and spattered against the back of her throat. She pressed her tongue against the slit of his cock tip, made the next one work to get out. It flowed over her tongue a cohesive, gooey, thick, flavorful mass. It was joined by more, and Karen, in order not to drown, had to swallow the flood of saliva and jizz that suddenly filled her mouth. Her tongue stroked the jetting dick, and more thick, creamy come erupted from it.

How much come did a man have, she wondered. She had read somewhere it was only a teaspoonful, or so. But it felt like gallons of ft were jetting into her sucking, swallowing mouth. Spit and jizz drifted her chin. Her stomach was filled with the creamy load.

The feel of the cock beginning to lose its hardness was pleasant and saddening, all at the same time. It was a pleasant feeling, the way the rigid tower was beginning to soften and shrink. It was pleasant to know she had done it, done it all with her mouth. But it was also saddening, because it meant there was no more come to taste, no more thick jizz to swallow. It also meant that she would fall from her crazy erotic high and have to face herself, and what she had done.

She licked and sucked and drew on the shriveling tool until it was a withered, flabby little worm. Finally, she knew she had no choice. She had to let it go and lift her head. She sucked in a shuddering breath and her gut spasmed with regret and disgust. She felt come and spit on her chin, felt cool droplets on her bare tits as she sat on the floor by the naked man.

This time she took her clothes with her when she retreated to the bathroom. But no amount of washing could remove the stain of what she had done. She dressed and tried to compose herself. She combed the tangles and crusty patches out of her long hair, and then sucked in a deep breath. Her tits ached, rose against her bra and blouse. Her panties were clammy and sticky. And, she was still horny.

She went back out to the office. Peter was dressed and was sitting behind his desk again. God! Why did just the sight of him make her want to take all her clothes off again? She managed to sit down.

"You'll do," Peter told her.

"I'll do?" she blurted out, forgetting momentarily what she had come for.

"For the show," he added patiently.

"Oh, of course. Thank you," she stammered.

"Here's where and when you report," he told her, handing her a card.

"What should I wear?" she asked.

"What you're wearing now will be fine. You'll spend an hour and a half in make-up. The taping will start at 10:30. We break for lunch at 12:30, and finish up by 3:00, usually."

"Do you interview all the contestants?" Karen asked suddenly.

"Only the promising women," he answered with frank smile. "Shanda interviews the men."

Understanding dawned. "That was Shanda on the roof today."

"Right. Don't be late for the taping," he cautioned. "Oh, and by the way you're a winner."

Karen wanted to ask what he meant by that, but didn't. She was too battered and numbed by what she had done. She managed to find the door and escape. She felt fouled and rumpled and horrified and sated, all at the same time. Neither of the receptionists even glanced at her as she left.


"Good morning, Mrs. Calder."

Karen studied the man behind the desk. She had been invited in to see Mr. Bernstein, the producer of the show, just the day before the taping. The invitation had brought a jolt of fear that, perhaps, she was going to be disqualified for some reason. Reassured by the MC's calling her a "winner" at the interview, she had made a number of purchases on credit, and spent the next two weeks' grocery money. If she didn't get on the show, and win, Mark would be furious.

"Good morning," she replied, softly and carefully.

"Miss Carlson, no calls," the stocky man ordered into the intercom. "And, we are not to be disturbed."

Karen felt a little queasy when she heard this.

"I understand you are to be on Peter's show tomorrow," the steel-haired man noted.

Karen eyed him warily. He was a stocky, powerfully built man. He was very well dressed. "Yes," she answered.

"Peter gave a glowing report on you."

Karen shuddered when she thought of what the MC might have said about her.

"Peter said that your knowledge of French was aah, extensive," the man went on.

Karen frowned, puzzled. "But, I don't speak French at all."

Bernstein chuckled. It wasn't a pleasant sound. "I enjoy a girl with a sense of humor. I really do."

Karen's bewilderment increased.

The man sensed her confusion, and it seemed to increase his amusement. His chuckle, swelled to a hacking laugh. The creases on his face deepened as his grin broadened.

"My dear Mrs. Calder, you are indeed a treat," he wheezed at last. "You are an expert on French culture, and you don't even know it, do you?"

Karen was frightened, and totally at sea now. She thought the categories of the questions she would be asked were what the man meant. Peter Sandier might, of course, have misled the producer. Was her chance to be on the show on the line? How could she pretend to know something she didn't?

"Why don't you take off your clothes, Mr. Calder," the producer suggested.

"I beg your pardon!" Karen squeaked.

The man's grin was gone. His face was like stone now. "Mrs. Calder, your place on the show can be filled in art instant. Peter gave me a detailed report on your oral abilities. Now, I suggest you show me just how you impressed him. Before my patience is exhausted."

Karen was horrified. She suddenly realized that when the man had said "French" he had not meant the language or the country at all. Her naive mind had failed to make the obvious connection.

"I suggest you make it very good, too," the producer went on relentlessly. "I've seen it all before, many, many times. It takes a great deal to impress me. And, I'm sure you realize, your chance to be on the show depends a great deal on me."

Karen felt sick. She was as angry with herself as she was with the situation. Just the thought of sucking cock made her mouth and pussy drool. The sadistic pleasure of the producer was attractive to her, too.

Desperately, she examined her options. She could get up and walk out of the richly furnished office, back to the dismal hovel she called home. She could try, somehow, to explain to Mark how she had gotten herself into a stupid money jam and didn't have food money for the next week or the week after. She could try to explain how their credit card balances had suddenly doubled.

If she did that, she knew she could kiss her marriage good-bye right then. Mark scared her. But she also loved him too much to even contemplate life without him.

So, she would stay and do what Bernstein was asking her to do. She knew there was no hope of bluffing him, or arguing him out of it.

She looked at him. Her eyes met his steady, cold gray ones. He was, in his sturdy, rugged cruel way, rather attractive. And, she told herself bitterly, she wouldn't be doing anything she hadn't already done with another man not her husband. Besides, maybe she would be lucky and get fucked, too. Christ, she was so damn horny.

She answered his unspoken question by setting her purse down beside herself in the chair, and standing up. It was easy for her to stick out her cheat, to pose for him. She had never done anything like it before in her life, but it came to her naturally, so naturally she began to wonder about her true nature.

Boldly facing the man, she unbuttoned the cuffs of her long-sleeved blouse. Her chest still thrust out slightly, she began undoing her blouse. She moved carefully, not quickly, not slowly. She made no deliberate attempt to be seductive. Her body would speak for itself.

After tugging the blouse free, she let it slide down her arms, then carefully draped it over the back of the chair. She was conscious of the shift and play of her heavy boobs as she moved.

Her skirt went next. It dropped around her feet. She picked it up and folded it carefully. This time, she was wearing stockings, and a garter belt. The garter belt was white, and lacy, and matched her bra and panties.

Reaching behind her back, she unhooked the bra. She felt her tits settle lower as their support was taken away. Her titties hardened and pointed eagerly as the cool air-conditioned air of the office touched them. After dropping her bra, Karen indulged in the sensuous luxury of massaging her boobs. She was enjoying the freedom from the bra. She remembered the young, bra-less girl on the show, and reflected wryly that with her jugs, she wouldn't dare go on TV bra-less.

The stocky producer's interest in her display was obvious, even though his groin was hidden behind the desk. A film of sweat made his forehead glisten. He licked his lips tensely. His dark eyes darted over her nearly-naked body.

Hooking her thumbs in the elastic of her panties, she ran them down her legs and off. She could feel the, brown curls of her muff expanding. It was a crazy, tickling sensation. Leaving her stockings and garter belt on, Karen eased around the side of the desk, and sat on the corner. She made no attempt to shield her pussy from view, but made no deliberate display of it, either. She leaned back on her hands, and looked at him.

"Well?" she asked.

"Good enough," he allowed, his voice husky. "So far."

"You haven't shown me anything yet," she pointed out.

"You have to come and get it yourself," he answered. Obviously, if she wanted to be on the show, or if she wanted him, she was going to have to humiliate and degrade herself before him.

Karen knew she wanted both, which made her furious with herself. Angrily, she got up from the desk and walked across the room, away from him. She felt his eyes on her naked ass. Lust was a hot, gnawing worm in her gut.

She turned to face him. She ran nervous fingers down over her body toward her twat. Her fingers slid into her snatch. She toyed with her pussy, played with herself as the man watched. Her finger pressed her clit and her hips rolled as pleasure burned through her. She licked her lips and writhed uninhibitedly as her lust boiled higher. With both hands, she fondled and petted her steaming twat, spread her cunt-lips to show the wet, pink inner folds. Her upper arms, pressed inward and upward against her hefty knockers, deepened the valley between them.

She let her feet spread, let her hips roll. She plunged a finger into her dripping cunt. She finger-fucked herself, and humped her hips eagerly as her finger pumped in and out of her dripping cunt.

Bernstein swivelled his chair towards her. She could see his lap. There was a monster lump there. It looked as if his hard-on was short and stubby, just the way his body was like a barrel.

Karen drew her fingers out of her cunt, and licked the juices off the tips. She moved toward the producer. She was conscious of the sway of her, hips, the jiggle of her titties. She knelt in front of him and reached for his fly. Running the zipper down, she dug into the opening. His cock rammed up, out through the fly of his boxer shorts.

She had been right. Bernstein's cock was only half the length of Peter Sandier's magnificent ten inches. But it was twice the diameter! It squatted on the man's dense, black pubic patch like an obscene toad. The pink cap was shining with pre-come. The skin of the shaft was wrinkled. There was a circumcision scar beneath the groove.

With the fingers of both hands, Karen tested the hardness of the core of Bernstein's prick, the soft looseness of the skin. Then she placed her palms on either side of the squat pecker and rolled it forward and back, made the skin twist around the rigid center.

She knew she was going to suck it. She knew she was going to take a great, creamy load in her mouth. What was worse, she knew she was going to enjoy it.

She tried to imagine the heavy prick jammed into her twat, and felt her cunt contract with excitement. He could split her wide open, he was so bulky. But God, would it feel good!

Dipping her head, she licked the end of his cock as if it was a scoop of strawberry ice cream perched in a auger cone. But the taste was pure man-juice thick and salty and delicious. A stringy strand of clear viscous goo trailed down and stung her chin. She looked up at him, and saw the excitement in his eyes as he watched her naked humiliation.

Bending her head, she circled his pecker with her lips. It was a strain to get his hard-on between her teeth without scraping it, but she managed. Taking the full length of his dick was easy. It barely reached her throat, quite a contrast to Peter's long dick. She felt the skin sliding over the hard core as she lifted and dropped her head slowly. She stroked the knobby head with her tongue.

Wiry hair tickled her nose, made it wrinkle defensively, brought on the desire to sneeze. She fought the urge down, knowing if she failed and did sneeze, she would, unavoidably, bite down hard on the dick between her jaws. She circled the base of his hard-on with her hands, pressed his hair down flat. The urge to sneeze passed.

She was a cock-sucker supreme, and she knew it. Her cunt was dripping hungrily down the insides of her thighs as she sucked. Her gut knotted, not with revulsion, but with lust, as she drew on the thick prick. Her mouth was flooding with spit not from nausea, but from hunger for more of his delicious juices.

She wriggled the tip of her tongue into the slit at the end of his dick. She swept the head of his prick clean with a circular swirl of her tongue, and was rewarded with a renewed flow of goo. She pressed her face against his body. His entire cock was in her mouth. Gentle pressure on the underside brought yet another wave of delectable juices.

She sucked, and felt the living sausage swell and squirm against the suction. More juice oozed into her mouth from the slit. She squirmed and her breasts rubbed the rough cloth of the producer's trousers. Her cunt was a swamp of unholy lust as she sucked his cock.

Maintaining her suction, she bobbed her head over his lap, up and down, up and down. Her jaws began to ache. Once in a while her teeth nicked his sensitive flesh and he hissed in protest.

His hands touched her head, began to guide her. His hips began to squirm with arousal. His blunt fingers tangled in her hair. He began to lift and push her head. His hips jammed upward in a fucking motion. Only the shortness of his dick kept her from being run through by his pecker. As it was, her throat began to feel battered and bruised by his forceful thrusts. She began to pray for his coming as it grew harder and harder for her to breathe. The pain in her jaws was beginning to be more than she could bear.

Her face was being hammered down into his lap. The chair was squeaking in protest as he slammed his cock up into her maw. It felt as if her hair was being ripped out by the rook he had such a ruthless grip on it.

"Going to come," the man grunted.

Karen prayed he would.

"Going to come," he snorted harshly. "And you're going to swallow it."

Karen didn't care if she swallowed it or not. All she wanted was an end to the brutal bobbing, pounding, stretching.

"Coming," the producer snorted.

Karen felt it, and sucked harder as her nose was ground down against her hand.


The first spout of fluid was so monstrous Karen thought she was going to drown in it. Frantically, she gulped the mammoth creamy wad. She felt it sting her throat all the way down. The following spurts were less copious and spaced further apart, but so powerful she felt them spatter against her throat. Gulping and gulping, she felt the hot pulses of goo stream down to her belly and form a hot pool there. The last dribbles were thin and watery, less flavorful. She licked his click clean as it began to shrivel. She lifted her face from his prick when his grip on her hair relaxed.

Weakly, she sat back on her heels and wiped her chin with the back of one hand, then the other. Her jaw felt as if it had been dislocated. Her hair hurt from the cruel pulling. Her titties burned from being rubbed against his pants.

Wheezing with exhaustion, the producer sat back in his chair. His limp prick stuck out ludicrously from his open fly. Sweat gleamed on his face, stained his collar. He fought to catch his breath.

"Bathroom?" Karen croaked.

"Through that door," he told her, pointing.

Karen's whole body ached as she struggled to her feet. In the bathroom, she rinsed out her mouth and drank a full glass of water. It helped cut the thick taste of come in her throat. It was a relief to sit on the toilet, spread her thighs and loose a flood of pee into the bowl. She hadn't realized how badly she had needed to go. Then she forced herself to return to the man.

Still wearing only her stockings, garter belt and shoes, she went back into the plush office.

"Don't dress yet," he ordered, heading into the bathroom. Casually leaving the door open, he pissed into the toilet while she watched. Then, to her surprise, he began to undress.

He was as hairy as an ape, and just as powerfully built. There was little fat on his stocky frame. The muscles under his pale, thickly-pelted back flexed powerfully as he stripped. He turned to face her, and Karen shuddered as her lust boiled upward. The cock she had just sucked dry was already rising slowly, getting ready for a second shot at her.

"On my desk," he ordered. "Sit facing my chair."

"Why should I?"

"Because you're a slut, like all the rest of 'em," he answered. "And because you want to win. That's why."

Karen tried to deny both statements, but couldn't. Meekly, she walked around his desk and eased her fanny onto the blotter.

The producer sat down heavily in his chair and leaned back casually. "Now play with yourself. Spread those gorgeous gains of yours and play with your twat."

Karen felt a hot flush of shame and excitement, and spread her legs wide. After all, she had already played with her cunt while he watched. Her fingers found her clit and cunt. She spread her pussy lips, letting the heart of her dripping snatch flower in his face. She diddled two fingers on the gate to her hole, and flicked her clit with another finger. The man's hard mouth smiled slowly and viciously as he watched her humiliate herself. His cock was expanding quickly.

"You like that, don't you?" he asked softly.

Karen bit her lower lip and concentrated on the foul pleasure she was feeling.

"You like that, don't you?" he repeated, more loudly, more demandingly.

"Yes," she moaned. "Oh, yes, I like it. God help me, I like it."

"You like me watching, don't you?"

"I like you watching," she groaned. She was, she realized, really enjoying having an audience. She remembered driving herself to an orgasm in front of the television set under the hot, unseeing stare of Peter Sandier. Now, it was real! She was really doing it to herself while a man watched from just a few feet away. She was showing him the hot pink heart of her cunt while she shamelessly probed the dripping tunnel and diddled her burning clit.

"Don't stop," the man ordered. "No matter what, don't stop."

Karen couldn't imagine what he was going to do, but she was not about to stop. She wan rising slowly toward that exquisite peak. She wriggled three fingers into her cunt and mangled her cunt harder. He reached for his desk set, reached pest her, picked up a long, slender pen.

Casually, he used the end of the instrument to explore the rippled petals of her pussy. She felt the probe trace a chill path around the hole she had her fingers in. Then, a shot of pain that was almost pleasant, as he jabbed at her pinhole. He twisted the cold black plastic spear at the tiny opening, and she felt it penetrate slightly. She held herself motionless, terrified a slip would injure her.

Stopping that exploration, he eased the rounded point up her gash. She resumed stirring her fingers in a cunt that was wetter than ever. She felt the cold sharp pressure slither up her cunt, from her pisser to her clit. He flicked the nerve berry and her whole body convulsed violently. She was leaning back on one hand, frying to keep up the action on her cunt with the other. The flicking touch of the peal against her clit was like a high-voltage shock. Her thighs jumped crazily, her leg kicked. Desperately, she braced her feet on the arms of his chair.

Another flick of the pen brought a bellow of lust from her. Then he abandoned that target.

"Keep playing with yourself," he ordered softly, sounding slightly distracted.

Looking down, Karen watched as the producer swung the pen-tapping a lazy circle in front of her snatch. She wondered where that nasty implement might strike next. She wondered where it had been before it was poked into her quim. What kind of infection might she get from the plastic probe?

More important, what pleasure might she get from it next?

She realized suddenly that she didn't care where the implement had been before. All she cared about, really, was that it give her pleasure again. She was becoming a total wanton! She wanted that pen somewhere, anywhere it would give her pleasure.

She watched the circling stop, watched the pen slowly approach her. Her hand stopped pumping in her quim. The pen was under the fingers she had jammed in her cunt. She lost sight of the tip of the tool. She waited, her gut sucked in.

"Unnhh!" The touch brought a soft grunt. Her asshole twinged as it was delicately probed. The point scratched her bung, and she felt a pleasure she had never even imagined. Round and round and round the pucker of her brownie went the pen. Her crotch muscles knotted with ecstasy. She began diddling her clit again. Closer and closer, and closer to the pit of her pucker, and then she felt the pen settle right at the entrance of her crapper.

While she sat on the man's desk, legs raised and spread, crotch gaping at him, hand busy in her twat, she felt him slowly drill the sharp end of the pen up into her shitter. Shamelessly, she moaned her pleasure and rocked her ass to give him the best possible shot at her bung. It was such a little thing. And it felt so good! She saw his eyes glitter as he watched the pen slowly disappear up into her tail-hole.

Grunting mindlessly, stupidly, she mangled her pussy folds, jammed a fourth finger into her streaming cunt. She pulverized her cunt with her finger. She felt the pen twisting and turning in her crap-cave. Her hips squirmed and heaved. She knew that if the sharp point penetrated her asshole wall she would be hospitalized, but she didn't care. The fear was just another wonderful facet of her disgusting pleasure.

She came, suddenly and violently, almost unexpectedly. The organ raged through her like a brash fire. Her legs shivered and shuddered and it took a powerful effort of will to keep still enough to avoid being perforated by the pen. She could actually feel it scratching far up inside her dirt road, scratching her muscular, tender walls. Her cunt flooded with sex juices, drowning her hand. She felt something dripping down over her asshole, her violated, penetrated, exploited asshole she wailed as her hand slipped and she dropped to her back on the desk. She felt papers, cold and crackly, under her bare back. She felt her garder belt stretching and straining as her legs spread wider and wider.

And still that damn pen was stirring her shit. Suddenly the producer was towering over her. He was still holding the pen in her brown bung. She felt him wrench her hand away from her cunt, felt his stubby dick jam at her pussy hole, and then burrow into her slime-soaked depths.

Throwing her arms wide, she sent a calendar flying in one direction, a stack of papers in the other. She abandoned herself to being spiked by a blunt cock and a sharp pen. Her clit was mangled between their pubic bones. Her cunt was stretched wide by his thick, determined prick.

He began to fuck her. He slammed his cock into her as she lay there on his desk. Her ass squirmed with each impact. The maddening pen kept scraping and scratching her bung as his cock ravaged her cunt. His hairy belly rubbed her belly raw as he slammed his dick into her snatch. She writhed and squirmed under the assault.

He started to come. It was another slow, powerful eruption, just like the one she had taken in her mouth. She felt the heavy pulses of jizz burn her cunt walls, pool in her gut as his balls wrung dry. He stayed on top of her until his prick was down to nothing. Then he eased back off her.

She didn't dare move as he sat back in his chair. She heard a humidor open, and close, then the flick of a lighter. A stinking blue cloud of cigar smoke drifted over her. She lay on her back. Her head was hanging off the edge of his desk, her legs still thrown wide.

Because the pen was still in her asshole, she held herself rigidly still. She was terrified to do anything that might force the sharp tip through her thin rectal wall.

Then her crapping reflex took over, and she shat out the slender probe. With a whimper of relief, she sat up. The producer was sitting smugly in his chair, a cigar in one hand, the pen in the other. Delicately, he sniffed first the cigar, then the end of the pen that had been rammed up her butt.

Karen's gut heaved. She barely made it to the john in time. When she was done retching, she looked at herself bleakly in the mirror. Her lush body heavy warm tits thick brown snatch looked unchanged. But inside, she felt changed. She wondered what she would try next. If the man had asked her to lick the pen off, she knew she would have done it. She had sunk that low.

She returned to the office and sat down in the chair he indicated, without even thinking of dressing. He was still naked, too. He flipped a stack of papers across the desk to her. "These are the questions you'll get tomorrow."

Karen gaped at him, and made no move to pick them up. "But, that's cheating!!"

"Look, you got to answer the questions to get anything. And your opponent isn't an idiot. Take 'em."

"What did he have to do to get on the show?" she asked bitterly.

"Shit, you enjoyed it, and you know it," the man snorted. "Got any problems with any of the questions?"

Karen ran her eye down the list. The questions were simple. She wondered if what she had just been through was worth it. Then she admitted sourly that she had enjoyed it, and was enjoying herself now, sitting here naked while Bernstein stared at her lush tits and moist brown snatch.

"Why are you doing this? Isn't it illegal?"

"Yeah, but they all do it," he answered.


"Because, the audience likes winners, and losers, if the right people are the winners and the losers. You're a nice, wholesome housewife, young and pretty, but not too pretty. The audience'll automatically be on your side, and when you win, that'll make 'em feel good."

"And my opponent?" she asked.

"He's a nice young guy who we want to do well. But we don't want him to win," the producer answered. "He's not quite as simpatico as you are. So, he gives you a good run for your money, and goes home with a little less than you do."

"But, what if I screw up?"

"That's your problem. We'll give you all the help we can, but there are limits. And be sure to wear a bra. We can't have you flapping all over the stage." He relighted his cigar. "You can get dressed now."

Wearily, Karen dressed. She left the questions sitting on the desk.

"Hey, don't you want these?" he asked as he knotted his tie.

"No," she answered. "No, I don't want them. I'll do it on my own, or not at all."


Karen started to lean back in the barber chair. The make-up man stopped her. "Wait a minute, honey. Better take off your blouse. Don't want to get powder or something on it."

Karen started to protest. Then she reconsidered. From the way the man talked, walked, and dressed, she had nothing to worry about. She reminded herself bitterly of all she had already done. Why be shy about taking her shirt off?

He deftly unbuttoned the blouse and helped her out of it. When she leaned back, the leather of the chair was cold on her bare skin. She felt goose bumps rising on her arms as the man tipped the chair back and adjusted it.

"You look a little chilly," the man observed. "I'll turn the heat up a little. Damn energy crisis has us all shivering around here."

Karen tried to relax, tried not to think about the fact that the show was about to be taped. The make-up artist bustled around the room, then seated himself on a stool beside her. There was a round table of cosmetics by his elbow.

"Hmmm, let's see now," he mused. "Light brown hair. Very pretty, I might add. Uhmn, blue eyes, and a lovely, lovely complexion. Unfortunately, the lights would make you wash out so you'd look like a faded sheet. So, we do a little lightening here, a little heightening there, a touch of lip rouge. Want your friends to re-organize you."

The chair and the room were both warming up, but Karen still felt goose-pimply. The effeminate manner of the man disturbed her. His complete lack of reaction to the generous mounds of her jugs irritated her. Even though he was clearly more interested in his own sex than in hers, she couldn't understand how he could not even look at her boobs. Here she was, lying back, half-naked, and he was treating her like a museum specimen. She shifted in the chair.

"I don't see why I need all of this," she observed, making conversation in an effort to make him treat her as a person. "I put on make-up this morning."

"And a very good job you did, too," he said. "Though I might criticize your choice of lipstick. But, honey, this is TV. Matter of fact, this is color TV. What we have to do is accent the colors so you look like you." He smiled mechanically.

"What color lipstick would you recommend?" she asked as he sponged off all the make-up she had put on so painstakingly.

"Well, first let's talk about your eyes," he answered. "You have lovely, lovely eyes." His fingers softly brushed her eyebrows, smoothing them. "An eyeshadow that accents the beautiful blue is what I would recommend. Like this one." He held up a container.

"I see," she murmured, pleased at having gotten his attention, and the compliments. She felt her tits hardening in her bra, and shivered delicately with lust. She licked her lips nervously.

"For a rouge, this," he went on, holding up another tube. Karen ignored it, and focused her eyes on his. He had lovely, deep brown, soft eyes. Mis face was baby smooth. Rather gaunt with high cheekbones. His rich brown hair was modishly long, yet neat. In the open vee of his shirt Karen could see curly brown hair. She had the urge to run her fingers through it.

"And, for those lovely, lovely lips, a slightly richer tint," he continued.

"What would you recommend for my body?" Karen asked huskily, wondering whether she could seduce the man or not.

"Well now, since you ask, first you'd need a very light foundation to hide those blemishes say, did you know I do body make-up?"

"You do?" Karen asked, intrigued.

"Oh, yes. I'm called in on a great many X-rated films. I cover up appendectomy scars and stray moles, even stretch marks. It's a whole new field, body make-up."

Karen reached behind her back and unfastened her bra. "What about my nipples? Should I accent them with something?" She teased her titties to full hardness by tugging on them. She saw the make-up man lick his lips as he studied her jugs. Finally!

"Lovely," he sighed. "Just a touch of this, perhaps."

His fingers brushed her nipples. Karen shivered as warmth flowed down from the points. As he pinched and rolled her teats she wondered how queer he really was. Maybe it was a put-on. Maybe he wasn't queer at all.

"But I wouldn't want too much attention on my bust," she purred. "I mean, after all, there is more to a woman than her jugs."

"Oh, of course, of course," the man agreed eagerly. "But I..."

"Why don't you lock the door," Karen suggested tightly, wondering what had come over her. "You can show me how you hide an appendectomy scar, even though I don't have one."

"Well, I..."

"And my-my pussy," Karen murmured. "How can I make my pussy more attractive?" As the man went over to lock, the door, she reached for the fastenings of her skirt. After easing it down, she lowered her panties as well. As the make-up man came back, his eyes focused on the full, lush thrust of her pussy.

"Pussy," the man purred, "pretty, pretty pussy." Then he seemed to recover himself. "Well now. If you had an appendectomy scar how I hid it would, of course, depend on exactly where it was. These days they locate them much lower they call it a 'bikini cut'."

"Where would that be?" Karen asked tightly. She was naked with a man again.

"Right here," he answered. Karen shuddered as his finger traced a light line low on her gut.

"And my pussy?" she moaned, spreading her sleek legs.

"Pretty, pretty pussy," the man sighed. Karen thought momentarily tat he was jealous of her equipment.

"To be truly attractive, your hair should be neatened up a little."

"Why don't you neaten it up? It's very hard for me to see what I'm doing there," Karen pointed out.

"Just trim away a few of these stray wisps," the man said softly, picking up a pair of barber scissors. Karen kit her cunt hair being tugged gently, felt her cunt moistening as hot breath stirred her brown curls. He was leaning down and closer to her snatch. A hand was resting high on the inside of her thigh.

"And then it should be combed out, so it's nice and fluffy," he went on.

A comb tugged through her muff, and Karen licked her cunt drool eagerly. She drew her legs farther and farther apart. Her knees were flung out wide, and her feet were on the seat of the chair, instead of the footrest.

"Got to get this damn thing out of my way," the make-up artist muttered. Karen heard the footrest drop with a thud. The chair began to rise slowly. He was raising it so he had easier access to her snatch. He was also tipping her back so her hips were higher than her head.

"There, that's better. My back was getting sore."

"What about way down, between my thighs?" Karen asked. "Don't they show crotches in X-rated movies?"

"My dear, they get positively gynecological in them now," he answered. "Gynecological. Other openings, too, in fact."

"My pussy," Karen moaned, parting her cunt lips with her fingers, presenting the gleaming hot heart of her cunt. "Do they do anything with the insides of it?"

"N-No," he stuttered. "Oh, my! Oh, you look good enough to eat! Oh, I've just got to do it got to!"

His hands on the insides of her thighs, the man lowered his head toward her twat. Karen shuddered, and forced her legs still wider, until the tendons were stretched and strained. She felt air touch her far up in her pussy. She felt hot breath burn her cunt meat.

Then his mouth pressed into her slippery gash, and her hips heaved up madly. His tongue struck deep into her cunt. She felt it squirming into her tunnel. Her twat flooded with juices, and she felt his tongue scoop them out with long, sweeping strokes.

"Mmmmm, yum," the man purred, lifting his head for a moment. His nose and chin were shining wet.

"More," Karen whispered. "Do it some more, please."

Willingly, the make-up artist dipped his head to her crotch again. His mouth fastened on the juicy petals of her snapper and he sucked. She felt the rippled tatters of her inner lips get dragged in between his lips. She felt her clit being dragged out to the end of its stalk. His lips fastened on that berry, and Karen's hips jammed up into his face.

Clinging to the arms of the chair, her boobs heaving and shuddering as her breathing degenerated to gasps and sighs, Karen thrashed with excitement as he ate her. She felt his tongue strike deep inside her again, felt her body respond with a flood. She heard him sucking and slurping as he ate her juices.

"My cunt," she managed to grunt. "Eat my tilt all up! Eat it all up!"

The man mouth-nibbled his way upward, from her cunt-hole, past her pisser, and fastened on the alert bud. He sucked, and it felt like it was going to pull out by the roots. Grabbing it between his deft, skilled lips, he proceeded to batter the little berry with his tongue.

Karen had the vague feeling she was being beaten to death. Fire lashed through her with every stroke of his tongue on her clit. Her head flopped from side to side. She was coming, coming all over his grinding chin. Her gut heaved and tossed.

And he just kept eating her clit. She clutched his head with both hands, tried to jam him into her cunt. His mouth ripped away from her clit and she guided his mouth to her cunt-hole again. His tongue raped deep into her flooding twat, stirring the slippery, velvety, slimy walls of her shaft. It wan stimulation no cock could match.

His nose was grinding against her clit as he probed her cunt. Karen's hips rolled and heaved and ground against him. The coming went on and on until she was reduced to a shivering, aching knot. Finally she had to get him away from her ravaged crotch. "Enough," she croaked. "Oh, God. Enough, enough, enough."

"I'm sorry," he apologized breathlessly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

Karen refrained from punning that she had come all over him. "It's all right," she panted. "I asked for it, I really asked for it. It was wonderful, just wonderful."

"I haven't done anything like that in years," the make-up man confessed.

"Not your usual style, is it?" Karen observed.

"No," he admitted. "It's just that..."

"Women can do the same things to men that men can," Karen pointed out.

"You mean..."

"Like cock-sucking," Karen went on, becoming the pawn of her wanton lust. "I'm a great cock-sucker. I'll bet this chair can be adjusted perfectly for that, too."

"It can, oh, it can," the man agreed. "That is, if you don't mind being upside down."

"Just try me and see," Karen suggested in a throaty tone. Her mouth was watering at the thought of having a prick between her lips again.

"I'm very clean," the make-up man assured her as he tilted the chair, lowering the headrest until Karen was almost upside down. She still had her legs drawn up and knees spread wide. It was a crazy, upside-down pose that left her twat gaping wide open. A mirror on the wall showed her just how ludicrous the pose was.

Then the make-up man was standing over her face. She saw his hands on his belt, saw his trousers drop toward her. He was wearing a pair of tight bikini underpants that molded intimately to his impressive dong. He skinned them down, and his dick leaped at her face like a snake. It was as long as Peter Sandier's prick, but skinnier. It was uncircumcised. She watched as the foreskin drew back to reveal the purple head.

Karen licked her lips and swallowed, which was hard to do with her head tilted so far back. If it hadn't been for the headrest supporting her neck, she never could have done it.

"Come to me," she croaked. "Come to me." She pursed her lips and reached for his swinging pecker as it neared her face. She drew the tip to her lips, urged him closer, then let her lips encircle the cylinder of his pecker. After capturing the pole with her mouth, she reached back farther, clutched his hips, and drew him toward her. She let his prick slide into her mouth, and right down her throat. She swallowed his cockhead. It was easy, once you knew how, to take dick all the way. Then his harsh hush was scratching her face.

"Sonofabitch!" the man screeched as he gazed down at her.

Karen's throat spasmed around his whang. She eased him back until she could clear her windpipe and get some air. She eased him back farther and swirled her tongue around the tip of his prick. She savored his juicy pre-come as she scrubbed his dick with her tongue. Then, spitting his pecker out completely, she laved it with the tip of her tongue, played with it as he watched.

Spread on the make-up chair like some kind of sacrifice, Karen happily licked the tip of the make-up man's hard-on. She still held his trim hips. A reach of her head, and a tug of her hands, and she again had the knob of his cock between her lips. She sucked on the rounded end, stroked it with her velvet tongue, and was rewarded with another hot flow of juices.

Another tug on his hips, and he screwed his dick into her mouth. She urged him forward and swallowed his cock again. She felt it slide down her throat, like a monster sausage. Taking one hand from his hips, she reached down and began to, finger-fuck her gaping twat. Her heavy jugs jiggled and joggled as she shifted and squirmed with total abandon. Her stomach rolled and heaved as she devoured the man's meat.

Changing her grip as she sucked in a huge breath, she curled her fingers around his balls. It gave her a feeling of power to know that, just by clenching her hand, she could reduce him to a whimpering puddle of agony. She didn't do it, of course. She used her hot grasp on his nuts to make him fuck her face. Tugging on his balls brought him toward her, drove his cock down her throat. Pushing away sent his cock sliding out through the sucking circle of her lips.

She began to coordinate his moves and her breathing, so he was always moving in or out of her sucking, slurping, swallowing mouth. At the same time she drove herself mad with her fingers in her seething, sopping snatch. Keeping her own lust up made the cock-swallowing much easier.

The make-up man got the idea and the timing. He gripped the sides of her face with his hands, and his hips began to move in an easy fucking motion. She caught on that he was watching her chest, timing his strokes to her breathing so she wouldn't suffocate. That left her free to concentrate on her pussy.

"Know what else I like?" He asked tensely.

Karen wondered how she could answer with his cock fucking her face.

"I like my asshole played with," he hissed. "I love to have things poked up my asshole pens, or pencils, or fingers, even cocks. Why don't you put your finger up my asshole? Do it, put your finger up my bung. I dare you. I dare you."

Karen didn't need to be dared. The thought of exploring the man's crapper with her finger made her innards writhe excitedly. It was a simple matter to reach behind his balls and find his shitter. With a gentle twist, she worked just the tip of her finger into his tail hole.

"Ooooo yes, that's it," he whispered. His hip-swinging kept the same pace, but became more forceful. He was smashing his hips at her, ramming his hard cock down the working tunnel of her throat. Her lips felt swollen from the friction. "Deeper," he urged. "Deeper, and I'll kiss your gorgeous ass."

Karen augered her finger farther into his brownie. She recalled the exquisite feeling of having the ballpoint pen drilled up her butt just the day before. The memory made her ram her finger deep into his shitty depths.

"NNNNHHHHYEAH!" the man wailed. His had tipped back and rolled. His hips slammed his cock down ha throat. His balls were swinging and slapping her nose with every driving thrust.

Karen's other hand was frantically fucking her pussy, making a gooey, sticky, slapping sound. She was pistoning two fingers in and out of her cunt, while the palm of her hand slapped her cunt with a loud, popping sound.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah," the man chanted in time with his drives. "Coming. Gonna come, gonna come, gonna come come come!"

Karen didn't need to be told. She was familiar with the symptoms now and managed to grab a deep breath before his cock began to pulse and pump. She felt hot jizz burn her gullet. She was mad she wasn't getting to taste the creamy wads. They were shooting right down her throat to her stomach. An inch or more of his lean pecker had jammed past the gate of her swallower. She could fed his dick leaping and jerking and pulsing. She could feel the hot wads erupting from the tip. She could feel the thick globs streaming to her stomach. But she couldn't taste any of it. She could smell his shit as she wiggled and flicked his bung with her finger. His asshole was only an inch from her nose.

She loved it! And she loved it more when he drew out so she could breathe, and she was able to capture the last spurtin with her tongue. She tasted and smelled his jizz before her spit sluiced the last of the delectable fluid away!

Even though his dick was withering and he was trying to pull free of her, she held him close with the finger hooked in his crapper. Gently, she rubbed the lump of his prostate through his shitter wall, and cupped his balls in her hand. She didn't let go until she felt his bowels trying to shit her finger out. Then she relaxed, let her arms hang down to the floor as she caught her breath.

"Oh, you sweet, sweet bitch you," the man sighed. "My God, I'll never be satisfied with Jamie again."

Karen tried to lift her head, but it was too much of a strain. He adjusted the headrest for her. "Why don't you teach him what to do?" she asked.

"Oh, he's kind of a priss about some things. I love assholes. Would you like me to kiss your MC?"

Karen shivered. She felt totally sated, completely drained of lust. But the thought of the man playing with her butt was intriguing. She remembered Bernstein shoving the pen up her ass, and felt her cunt contract.

"If you'd like to. I'd like to watch, though. Could you turn the chair toward the mirror?"

"Sure," he agreed. "I'll do better than that. Here's a hand mirror for you to hold. If you sort of scootch your bottom so you curl up a little, you should be able to see everything."

Karen complied as the chair was swung around so her gaping crotch was aimed toward the big mirror. She clutched the hand mirror in sweaty fingers, and surveyed her sodden snatch. Below it, she could see the dusky rosebud of her bung.

The make-up man dropped to his knees. He stroked the valley of her ass with gentle, skilled fingers. The touch of a fingertip on her winkie made it spasm deliciously, visibly. He blew on her bung. It felt like an ice cube had touched her brownie.

His lips nibbled the white moons of her tail. She felt a hot, velvety tongue stroke her pale flesh. Closer, and closer, and closer to her asshole, and then his tongue brushed her bung! Karen writhed from the incredibly exquisite sensation. Her lust roared upward.

The man stroked her ass crack with his tongue. Karen hunched her butt to give him a better shot at her. His tongue swept her tail valley from end to end, rasped past the rounded, hairy lips of her twat.

She was watching it all in the mirror she was holding. The gross sight of the man lapping at her bottom made her guts knot with lust.

"In," she hissed, "put your tongue in me!"

"Yes," the man agreed, "oh yes, indeed."

As she watched, he dragged her asscheeks apart until the valley was stretched. He lowered his face to her tail. His tongue slid out, touched her brownie. Her asshole winked at the contact. Then, as she watched, he wiggled his tongue, and pressed, and she felt her winkie slowly yield to the intruder. She saw his tongue-tip slowly drill into her shitter, slowly pry that tiny gate open and start up into her crap tunnel.

The sensation of that live, hot, squirming, living probe was the most arousing, erotic thing she had ever felt. Karen began to come without warning. Her body heaved and shuddered as waves of fire raged through her. The man worked his tongue deeper and deeper into her hot greasy depths. She tried to open her gate wider to him. She saw a hot come-flush blossoming on her belly, spreading up and out over her hunched, wrinkled torso to her sagging titties. Her inner cunt-lips were throbbing, bright pink ruffles in the hairy nest of her snatch. Her cunt was a seething swamp of cream. She wanted to grab the man's head and jam it up her ass, but didn't want to lose her two-fisted, desperate grip on the mirror that was giving her such a perfect view of the perverted penetration.

The make-up man didn't stop driving into her until his nose was grinding into her snatch and his chin was against her butt. His tongue was like a hot log in her bung. Then he stopped. All Karen felt was a crazy, maddening stirring in her shitter. She kept coming and coming and coming. It went on and on, until at last she had to reach down and push the intruder away. He fell backwards. His tongue ripped out of her asshole as he tumbled to the hard floor. His chest heaved as he caught his breath.

Karen let her head fall back and groaned with relief. Slowly and agonizingly, she straightened her legs.

"Oh, golly, golly, golly," the make-up man moaned, dragging himself to his feet and hauling up his wrinkled pants. "I never thought a woman could be like you."

"There are all kinds of women, just like there are all kinds of men," Karen pointed out weakly.

"Can I help you get dressed?" he asked.

Karen swayed a little when she stood up. "No, that's all right." She began putting on her clothes. She looked for her panties, but they were nowhere in sight. After a few minutes frantic searching, they both gave up. She fastened her skirt.

"We'd better hurry, get you made up," the man noted, glancing at the clock. He set the chair to a more normal position and politely helped her sit down.

"You understand, don't you, that I'll never go for you as a woman," he noted as he made up her face.


"I find men more attractive," he observed. "Usually, anyway. I guess I'm hi, rather than pure homo."

"Oh, there's a spectrum?" Karen mused.

"Exactly. But anytime you would like some action, just let me know. I'm Paul."

"And your boyfriend is Jamie," Karen filled in. "What's Jamie like?"

"You'd like him. In fact, he'd like you, too. Why don't you drop by sometime and we'll make it a threesome?"

Karen giggled. "I don't know..."

"Well, just remember you're always welcome," the man told ha as he tinted the lips that had just been sucking his cock.

"Thank you," Karen replied politely. She was carefully keeping her thoughts away from what she was becoming.

Poor Mark, poor hard-working, strait-laced Mark. Missionary-position Mark. When he wasn't too tired to get it up at all. Well, maybe with the money she won, they could have a little leisure time together.

She wondered what she was likely to get herself into next or, rather, what was likely to get into her, and where. She half dozed as he finished her make-up.


"Break for lunch!" blared the loudspeaker. Karen slumped wearily in her seat on the stage. Mound her the stage hands and technicians dropped everything. The lights dimmed. Her celebrity partner, an actor she had never heard of, gave her a fond pat on the knee and disappeared. She sat there, hot and sweaty and weary, and looked around curiously. No one seemed to be paying any attention to her. Back in the control room she could see Bernstein, and the director, talking with someone. Her opponent had vanished. Everyone was rapidly disappearing. Peter Sandier had been engulfed by his entourage and hustled off somewhere.

"How about some lunch?" Shanda McAleer asked, startling Karen.

"Oh, yes, thank you," Karen agreed. "Where?"

"I can't go out like this," Shanda noted, indicating her gown. "Not in this neighborhood at this time of day. I usually order out and eat in my dressing room. Why don't you join me?"

"Gee, thanks," Karen agreed quickly. Her stomach growled, reminding her how hungry she was.

"Would you like to tub while we're waiting?" Shanda asked after ordering.

"A bath?" Karen could hardly believe it.

"Unzip me, will you please?" Shanda asked. "I need to get the knot out after the morning session. Come on. So long as you're careful of your hair and your make-up, it'll be all right. I can give you a bathing cap."

Karen unzipped Shanda's skintight dress, exposing a long vee of the woman's graceful, smooth, slender back. There was no bra, and, Karen discovered with shock, no panties. Shanda was stark naked under the dress.

"Ah, that feels better," Shanda sighed, stripping the dress off and hanging it up carefully. Unashamedly naked, she opened a door. The bathroom was posh, and had a mammoth tub. "Get naked and come on," Shanda called as she turned on the water.

Eagerly, Karen stripped. She couldn't remember when she had last had a chance to soak in a tub of hot water.

"Ahhhh, being a star does have its compensations," Shanda sighed as she lowered herself into the steaming water. She was slender and lean, except for her breasts. They were large, and had rich, dark tips. They were relaxed and flat.

Shanda was, Karen noticed, a real blonde. Her bush was a beautiful pale red.

"Wow, have you get a body," Shanda exclaimed as Karen eased down into the water.

"Oh, I'm kind of fat, I think," Karen stammered.

"Better than being skinny. Hell, look at me. Except for these," Shanda said, cupping her boobs, "I'm like a rail."

"I think you're beautiful," Karen said honestly.

"Yeah? Thanks. Fortunately for me, about nine out of ten men have a thing for big knockers. Ill be out of a job if they ever change," Shanda noted wryly.

"Oh boy, does this feel good," Karen gasped as she relaxed in the hot water.

"How about a little soapy-soapy to get the sweat off," Shanda suggested. "I'll do you first, and then you can do me."

"I uh well, okay," Karen agreed. "I mean, sure!" She felt her horniness rising again, strangely. It was only a bath, after all. And with another woman.

"Back first," Shanda ordered, taking a bar of scented soap.

Obediently, Karen knelt, and bent her head forward. The touch of Shanda's warm, soapy hands, slithering all over Karen's back was unexpectedly pleasant and sensuous. Karen let her mind drift lazily as the aches in her shoulders were massaged away by the other woman's skillful hands.

When Shanda tugged on her shoulders to lean her back, Karen didn't resist. She let her head rest against the edge of the tub.

One at a time, Shanda swirled soapy hands up and down Karen's sleek legs. She even massaged Karen's feet and toes, worked all the ache out of them. Karen was riding along on a soft wave of pure pleasure as she floated in the deep tub.

Shanda's hands moved up onto Karen's stomach. Karen shivered unexpectedly, then relaxed again. A cottony wave of lust was carrying her along. If Shanda didn't mind, why should she?

Shanda's soapy hands massaged Karen's generous jugs, and Karen felt her nipples rising. Then Karen's titties were pinched and rolled. Karen knew that it wasn't an accident, knew suddenly where this was all leading. She wouldn't have wanted it any other way. She felt her lust rise through her like a hot wave. She captured Shanda's wrists, and pressed the woman's hands down harder on her knockers.

Shanda smiled, and tormented Karen's tits with her strong fingers, and sharp nails. Karen wriggled in the water as the pain and pleasure all blended into a wonderful haze. Her thighs opened and hot water burned her aroused pussy.

Shanda slithered a soapy hand down Karen's torso to her twat. A soapy finger slid into Karen's grotto, and Karen's hips heaved upward. Rolling her head on the hard tub edge, Karen reached out blindly and curled her fingers around one of Shanda's hard, slender thighs. Moving her hand up, she felt her fingers slide into a mossy snatch, press against soft cunt lips.

Shanda slid her finger in and out of Karen's twat. Karen let her hips rise and fall, created reinforcing waves in the water. She was a totally sexual animal. It didn't matter any more what the source of the pleasure was. When Shanda's lips touched hers, it was Karen's mouth that opened first, Karen's tongue that probed first. Stroking Shanda's twat gently as her own was probed by Shanda's skillful finger, Karen let her lust boil upward.

Shanda stretched oat beside Karen, slid over her. The two women embraced face to face in the warm grasp of the water. Karen's thighs parted and Shanda eased one lean leg between them. Karen felt Shanda's wiry bush scrubbing her satin skin. Karen pressed her own twat against Shanda's bony hip. Breasts mashed against breasts, woman stomach rubbed against woman-stomach.

The kiss went on and on. Hands stroked and petted and aroused. Karen didn't break the kiss until she had to breathe. Then she turned her head, let Shanda nibble on her earlobe where it peeped from beneath the bathing cap.

"Lunch is here, Miss McAleer," someone called from the dressing room. Karen froze, felt her excitement turn to ice.

"Just leave it on the table," Shanda answered calmly, unruffled by the interruption. Her lips on Karen's ear quickly brought Karen's lust-level back up.

Karen squirmed a hand down between their warm bodies, and found Shanda's fuzzy nook. Karen's finger slithered into Shanda's slick twat. Karen pumped her digit slowly in and out of Shanda's slippery hole. Shanda's hips began a slow, languid fucking motion. Karen groped for the nubbin of the other woman's clit with her thumb, found it, and swirled the little button around until Shanda sank her teeth into Karen's neck.

For a long, stretching, agonizing, ecstatic moment, Karen and Shanda were locked in a tendon-straining orgasmic knot. Karen felt hot come on her finger, felt the knotting of Shanda's lean muscles, felt her own body tensing with a powerful coming.

Finally they relaxed into a warm, soft, soapy tangle. After they caught their breath, they quickly finished washing and climbed out of the tub. After being wrapped in a thick, warm towel, Karen carefully dried the other woman. On a crazy impulse, she took a comb and began combing Shanda's red muff.

"My turn," Shanda said at last, taking the comb from Karen. The slender woman knelt and began combing Karen's pussy hair. She patted the curls down, then combed them out again. Finally, with a soft cry, Shanda tossed the comb aside. She pulled on Karen's hips. Karen shuddered, and almost fell as she felt a hot tongue worm between her pussy lips and strike her clit.

Karen steadied herself, put her hands on Shanda's shoulders. Shanda's tongue struck deep into Karen's oozing gash, triggered a wave of juices when it rasped over Karen's clit. Then Shanda strained her tongue deep into Karen's cunt, scooped out wave after wave of the sweet flow her eating was triggering.

Moaning softly, Karen gripped Shanda's head, and pulled hard. In the mirror, Karen saw the mad scene: Shanda kneeling with her head between two sleek, round thighs. The sight of Shanda's graceful slim back, her tight hard bottom, and slender legs all helped raise Karen's lust even higher. She had never before thought of another woman erotically. But the sinuous tongue, the warm boobs pressing her legs, the hands that were clutching the backs of her thighs, all added to her searing pleasure.

"Awww, I'm going to come," Karen moaned.

"Yes," Shanda hissed through the mist of Karen's snatch. "Come, Karen, come. Come in my mouth."

The tongue speared into Karen's cunt again, slashed over her clit. Karen was engulfed in a fiery coming. Her legs shuddering, she jammed her pussy down on Shanda's sucking, eating mouth. She rubbed her twat on Shanda's face, not caring what she was doing to the woman's meticulously applied make-up, caring only for the searing, mind-blotting ecstasy of her own orgasm. Her titties began to shiver as her muscles went into exhausted convulsions. At last the pleasure faded. She slumped down weakly.

Shanda leaned back and sat on her heels. Her head tipped back. Her lipstick was a crimson smudge around her come-shiny mouth. Her teeth flashed through her parted lips as she breathed deeply. Come formed a sticky, shining film on her chin and cheeks. Her titties were a study in erect arousal.

Gathering herself together, Karen reached down to help Shanda up. Anus around each other, naked body against naked body, they went into the dressing room. Remaining naked, they sat down side by side on the couch. Karen carefully kept her mind a blank as she unwrapped her sandwich. Shanda handed her a glass of wine.

They ate quietly for a while. Then, suddenly, Shanda began to giggle.

"What's so funny?" Karen asked.

"I was just wondering what all those sweet, innocent housewives out there would say if they knew what went on behind the scenes on this show," Shanda answered, still giggling.

Karen sipped her wine, and set the glass down carefully. "I am, or was, one of those housewives. Remember?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make fun of you," Shanda apologized. "God knows, it's because of the fans that I have all of this." She waved vaguely at the luxurious dressing room.

"I think, probably, most fans suspect all isn't quite what it appears to be," Karen mused. "I mean, there are the sexy puns and everything. It's all very carefully calculated, isn't it?"

"Uh-huh," Shanda agreed.

"Like that little blonde that was on a couple of weeks ago. She was carefully picked, wasn't she? A sweet and innocent sexy type."

Shanda grimaced. "Sweet and innocent? After the director, called 'cut', she took on everyone on stage."


"Yep. Only, not all the cameramen had 'cunt'," Shanda added with a grim smile.

"My God, you mean it was on the air?" Karen asked.

"Christ no! But there is one hell of a reel of videotape around someplace," Shanda answered. "That little chick doesn't know it, but she is a star."

Karen thought of making it with the glassy eye of a TV camera focused on her, and shuddered with excitement. She thought of being spreadeagled on the wheel... thought of the lights flashing as she was fucked over and over... thought of millions of people watching. She shuddered, and shook the vision away. Her pussy had begun salivating, again.

Shanda, feeling the shudder, turned to Karen. "You okay?" she asked, concerned.

Instead of answering, Karen threw herself at the other woman. They fell back in a tangle of arms and legs and breasts and thighs. Karen's mouth found Shanda's, her tongue drilled deep into Shanda's mouth, tasted wine. Her hands captured Shanda's generous knockers, her fingers sank into the soft globes.

Shanda responded by sliding a hand up into Karen's snatch, and again drilling her fingers deep into Karen's cunt. Karen humped crazily against the pumping hand, and drove her thigh up against Shanda's crotch.

Breaking the kiss suddenly, Karen jerked away. "Wait, wait, wait," she groaned. "You ate me. Now it's my turn to eat you. I want to eat you and eat you and eat you."

"Yes," Shanda moaned eagerly. "Eat me. Suck my clit and my cunt and drink my come. Do it, Karen. Please. Do it now."

Karen paused to savor the anticipation, and the other woman's incredible body. Shanda's muff, reddish gold and shining, was fluffy and soft looking. Her thighs were ivory columns. Her tummy was flat and trim. Shanda's legs parted, and Karen could see the pink ruffles of the woman's aroused inner lips. They looked like the petals of a flower.

"Suck me," Shanda groaned, squirming on the couch, spreading her thighs wider. "Suck me."

Slowly, Karen lowered her mouth toward the red pubic patch, then changed her target. Pressing her lips to the oval hollow of Shanda's navel, she sucked, then rammed her tongue deep into the hole. Shanda lurched up. Arching and straining, she jammed her gut into Karen's face. Her hands clutched Karen's head. Shanda writhed like she was being electrocuted as Karen reamed out her belly button.

Leaving Shanda's belly button, Karen nibbled a hot trail down the woman's satin-smooth belly. Karen's tongue left a shining trail of spit on the pale, flawless skin. Then Karen's nose was being tickled by Shanda's golden muff, and she was smelling cunt juices. With loving, tender fingers, Karen combed out Shanda's pussy-hair. The cunt lips dragged apart, showed the pink gash.

It looked just like the picture Karen had seen in a book one time. It was all there laid out just like the photograph. There was the cunt, a little pink button under a dunce-cap-shared hood. The hood spread and grew, formed the tattered, ruffled pink inner lips. Just below the clit, ringed by a dainty ridge, was a tiny hole. Shanda's pisshole. And below that, looking like the heart of a rosebud, was the puckery, rippled, shining pink hole of Shanda's cunt. Below that, the valley floor rose to a ridge. Out of sight, behind that ridge, was the brown cuter of Shanda's asshole.

Tipping her head so she could stroke from clit to cunt-hole, Karen leaned over. She plowed her tongue along the hot, slick furrow. Shanda lurched again. She moaned harshly as she convulsed.

"Oh, eat me," Shanda moaned.

Karen stroked her velvety tongue the length of Shanda's twat again. She scraped over Shanda's clit, then her pisser, to the tunnel of her cunt. Karen twisted her tongue into the rippled, slimy hole. She tasted hot, metallic-salty female come. She slurped up the copious juices, rolled them in her mouth, and swallowed them.

Shanda was groaning mindlessly now. Her hips were rocking in a wild fucking motion as Karen drilled her twat. Karen reached deep, curled her tongue in the hot, velvet depths, scooped come into her mouth. Her nose was drowning in the smell of Shanda's pussy, and the smell of her asshole. The dirty, earthy stink increased Karen's crazy lust, made her mash her face harder into Shanda's creaming snatch. Shanda's thighs clamped on Karen's head, opened, then clamped shut again.

Karen suddenly realized that a hand was dragging at one of her naked thighs. Cautiously, Karen let her leg be guided up onto the couch, then over Shanda's face. Then her hips were drawn downward, and Karen felt her own cunt being invaded by Shanda's skilled tongue.

The resulting flash of lust made Karen suck sharply on Shanda's twat. Slippery ripples of cunt flesh were trapped between her lips, then swept by her tongue. Karen jammed her crotch down on Shanda's face. As the woman clutched Karen's butt. Karen clamped her fingers into Shanda's firm ass.

Seeking and finding Shanda's cunt, Karen sucked on the little berry. Trapping the nubbin between her lips, she stroked and tweaked it with her tongue. Her nose, deep in Shanda's tunnel, was swamped with a thick, gooey flood of come.

Shanda did the same thing to Karen's clit, and Karen went into a mad convulsion.

Her teeth closed on Shanda's nerve button. There was a muffled shriek of pleasure that dinned up through Karen's gut from her cunt. When Shanda resumed sucking and tormenting Karen's clit, Karen again bit Shanda's mini-prick. Karen felt hard teeth slash her own sensitive nubbin.

Karen gave a wrench of her head. She wanted somehow to get more of Shanda's sex meat into her mouth, but couldn't. In frustration, she exhaled sharply. The gust of air farted through Shanda's sodden twat.

Karen dipped her tongue into Shanda's vagina again. Her nose dug at the hard rose of Shanda's asshole. Then, her guts knotting with lust and disgust, Karen decided to commit the ultimate act. A pull of her hands lifted Shanda's ass, presenting Karen with the brown wink of an asshole. Karen could smell it, and see it, right in front of her. It was a rosette pucker of dusky flesh. In the very center was a tightly clenched hole.

Her whole body locked rigid with lust, Karen lowered her face, stuck out her tongue, and gently tickled Shanda's bung. Shanda shivered under her. Shanda's mouth was still on Karen's twat. Shanda was waiting tensely for the next flickering touch of her brownie.

Karen again tickled the pucker with her tongue. She left it glistening with spit. She watched as the muscle-ring spasmed slowly, excitingly, from the delicate stimulation. She was going to do it. Just thinking about it was enough to make her snatch flood.

Karen again touched the clenched winkie with her tongue tip, then slowly pushed at Shanda's back gate. Harder and harder Karen pressed. She felt the wrinkles yielding slowly to her penetration. She wiggled her tongue tip and felt the ring of muscle embrace it. Slowly, desperately, she wedged her tongue deeper and deeper up Shanda's dirt road. Bit, by exquisite bit, she dilated Shanda's crapper, penetrated, violated the woman's butt. Karen's own guts were a boiling swamp of sick excitement.

She liked it. She liked the taste. She liked the feel of a rubbery ring gripping her tongue. She liked the smell. But what she liked most of all was the knowledge of what she was doing. She squirmed her face in Shanda's ass and drilled her tongue as deep as she could in Shanda's hot tunnel. Her chin pound against Shanda's cunt.

Shanda's mouth fastened on Karen's cunt, and Karen felt her hole being reamed by Shanda's tongue. Karen began to come again. It was a hot, flaring coming that burned away everything but her pleasure. Her body was a sparkling mass of electricity as she came and came. The world swam around her and she realized she had forgotten to breathe. She sucked in a gust of shit-tainted air and drew her tongue out of the greasy pit.

With a blubbering moan, she slumped onto Shanda in a boneless heap. Her orgasm faded as she caught her breath. She felt Shanda's body heaving under hers. The other woman was breathing deeply, and her hot breath was burning Karen's thighs.

With the lust gone, the smell became a stink. Karen staggered desperately to the bathroom to wash her face and rinse her mouth out. When she came back, Shanda was wriggling into her gown.

"Better get something on. I sent for Paul to repair our faces and hair," Shanda told her.

Wearily, Karen dragged her clothes on. She was just fastening her skirt when there was a rap at the door. The man whose cock she had sucked so well came into the room.

"Well, ladies, have a nice lunch?" Paul asked as he opened his kit.

"Delicious," Shanda answered.

Paul worked silently on first Shanda, then Karen. He gave no sign that he suspected what they had been doing, though all the evidence was right there on their faces in the ruined make-up. Nor did he make any comment about what he and Karen had done earlier. After he left, Shanda made a face at the door.

"What's the matter, don't you like him?" Karen asked.

"Won't even give me the time of day, the bastard." Shanda growled. "God, I'd like to show him what a real woman is like."

Karen almost let slip what she had done with the man. "But I..." she started. "I think if ah he wants to be the way he is, it's his business," she stammered awkwardly.

"But it's a blow to my ego, sweetie," Shanda answered.

"Oh." Karen decided it was just as well she hadn't mentioned that she had made it with Paul.

"Well, back to the wars," Shanda said when the stage manager rapped on the door.

"I'm exhausted," Karen groaned. "I'll never make it."

"Just relax and let that partner of yours carry some of the load. He's itching for some camera time anyway. He's hoping some big producer will notice his performance."

"But he's so dumb," Karen blurted out.

Shanda chuckled. "Yeah, but hell have the answers this afternoon. I'll see to that."

Karen was beginning to wonder if anyone on the show was honest. "Going to be a long afternoon," she said carefully.

"Half-hour breaks each half hour this afternoon," Shanda assured her. "Three more shows to tape that means two breaks. You'll make it."

"I hope so." Karen sighed.

They walked slowly back to the studio.

Karen made her way to her seat, and gave her partner a shy smile.

"Hello there!" he gushed. Karen winced. He had been drinking heavily during the lunch break. His eyes looked a little glassy until they focused on her titties. His hand settled on her knee behind the podium, where the eye of the camera couldn't see. Karen decided it was going to be one hell of an afternoon.


"B-Baltimore," Karen managed to stammer out. She hoped her shaking, shuddering and squirming would be interpreted as nervousness. She wiggled her ass on her seat and shivered as a finger slithered up into her bare twat. The bright lights glared down on her. The unwinking eyes of four cameras seemed to be peering right into her soul.

And, beyond the cameras, shadowy and indistinct, was the studio audience. Their pale moon faces, a galaxy of them, rose into shadowy upper reaches. They were a concrete reminder of the millions of people the TV cameras represented.

Karen spread her thighs. Her lust roared higher. Her partner, the movie star, pumped his hand in her oozing snatch. His fingers fucked in and out of her cunt. He rolled and tugged her clit as he fucked her dripping twat. Five minutes after the taping had started, his hand had found her unprotected crotch, and he had grinned hotly at her. Now, halfway into the show, he was driving her mad with his hand.

Frantically, Karen battled to keep her mind on what Peter Sandier was saying. Her lead had been dwindling steadily, and it was the leader at the end of five shows that got to try for the jackpot. She had started passing the questions to her partner. But he was incredibly dumb apparently Shanda hadn't had a chance to give him any help. Anyway, he showed little interest in how she was doing on the show, though plenty in her naked crotch.

Karen slapped her buzzer and managed to give the correct answer to the question before a hot wave of lust swept ova her. The man's thumb was on her clit, and he was deftly rolling the squirmy nubbin against her pubic bone.

The master of ceremonies went on to the next question. Karen tried to keep her mind on what he was saying. But she was distracted by the hand in her twat. A finger was moving downward from her cunt, toward the crack of her ass, toward her shitter. She groaned and rocked on her chair, letting him touch her winkie.

"Chattanooga," she managed to groan, picking up another hundred dollars.

"Right!" Sandier cheered, then cast her a suspicious glance. "Please, try to speak up, Karen. All right, time for a word from the people who make all these prizes possible. We'll be right back after this message."

The red light on the camera went off. Karen let out a muffled moan as she relaxed and slumped in her chair. The most frightening thing about what was happening was how much she was enjoying it. And, mad as it seemed, she was enjoying it mainly because of all the people watching. She loved the idea that she was being felt up on a brightly lit stage while television cameras, technicians, and an audience, all looked on.

Her one regret was that she couldn't kick the podium over. She was sorry that she couldn't throw her legs wide, let the gleaming camera lens look up her thighs at her throbbing snatch, at the hand pumping in it. She wished that the gross image of her steaming twat could be carried into every home in the country. She knew that deep in her guts she was an exhibitionist.

"Better try to get in the game, Jason," Peter Sandier was telling Karen's partner.

"Why, this little lady is doing just fine, just fine," Jason drawled, not taking his hand out of her pussy. "She doesn't need my help. Do you, little lady?"

Karen wanted to snap that she wasn't his "little lady", but his grasp on her juicy pussy said otherwise. She was his, and everyone else's, it seemed. No more was she just her husband's woman she was the community twat. She had been had by the MC, the producer, the assistant, the make-up man, and now she was giving herself to her partner. Push the right button and watch the dolly flop on her back and spread her legs!

But it felt so damn, damn good! Mark had never done anything like this with her, ever. It was an incredible revelation to Karen that public sex, with many different people, was much better than fucking her husband in the privacy of their bedroom. She hived having everyone admire her body, loved being stimulated in every possible way. She loved sucking cock. She loved kissing ass. She loving having her asshole penetrated.

She reached over and unzipped her partner's fly as the cameras came back on. Peter Sandier began talking again.

Karen squeezed out the next answer just as she closed her hand around her partner's throbbing pee key. When the camera went off her, she looked down at the dick in her fist. She moved her hand up and down, felt the soft skin slither over the hard center. She felt pre-come sting her fingers. She wondered if the microphone could pick up the delicate erotic noise of her pumping hand. She hoped so.

Her partner hissed softly. His hips shifted and squirmed on his seat. He froze when the camera came back on them. Karen spit out an incorrect answer, saw her lead cut in half. Then she fought down a loud moan as she felt a finger press against her asshole. Her legs flapped crazily, open and shut, open and shut. She wanted to bring her knees up to her chest, to squat as if she were taking a crap in the woods, so he could bugger her bung more easily. But she couldn't do it. She had to sit there and pretend everything was normal while one finger pistoned in her twat, and another reamed her brownie. She kept on pumping his prick.

And all the time the lights were burning down on her, and the faces beyond the lights were watching. She imagined that she was naked, sitting on a high stool, with her legs spread wide so everyone could see. The thought made her crotch fountain come. Her tits were like red-hot marbles in her tight, confining bra.

She felt her bung slowly yielding to the drilling finger. She wondered, crazily, what he was going to do after he extracted his shitty finger from her butt. Where would he wipe it? A crazy giggle started bubbling up from her seething gut.

Of course, she was going to come. Right there on camera, on stage, she was going to come. And the need to look as normal as possible was going to make it a fantastic climax. The need to come absolutely silently was going to make it a high-pressure eruption. Because, the only outlet she would have would be the pleasure. She wouldn't have the outlet of screaming or groaning or writhing. All she would be able to do would be quiver, and enjoy, enjoy, enjoy.

And what about her partner? What if he came? Christ! His jettings might spurt above the shielding podium. Right there on camera, pearly spurts of jism would burst upward. People would think there was a geyser hidden behind the podium. Then the semen would spatter down on his trousers, stain them so when he got up, even if he had his dick tucked back in his fly, everyone would know he had come.

Karen hid her next grunt in a desperate answer to a question from Peter Sandier. The finger was well up her tail now. The celebrity was holding her as if she were a two-holed bowling ball, his thumb was in her twat, his longest finger was up her rear. He was rocking his hand back and forth, dragging his finger out of her bung as he fucked his thumb into her cunt, then the other way around.

Karen slid her hand slowly up and down the tower of his cock, stroked the bulb of his pecker, smeared it with his goo. His hips were shifting and thrusting nervously, tensely. He probably was getting close to coming. She eased off, and just squeezed his dick rhythmically.

She was nearing her own blistering orgasm as her crotch was rolled and twisted by his double-barreled penetration. Her asshole felt as if it was on fire. Her cunt was a sea of flames. The flames were getting bigger and bigger, and sooner or later they were going to roar up through her like an explosion.

She would never be able to hide it from the cameras, never. The all-seeing cameras would record forever the death throes of her respectability. The gleaming crystalline eyes would capture every shudder and twitch of her passion-racked muscles. Even the heavy television make-up would not hide the flush of her coming, the hot rush of blood that would mark the detonation of her ecstasy.

And all the time, what she really wanted, was to be spread out like a butterfly on display. All the time, what she wanted was a color camera to be focused on the hot pink-petaled opening of her snatch, focused on where she was being drilled by two fingers. She was thinking about what Shanda had told her about the little blonde. Somewhere, that sweet-looking little girl's image was recorded on videotape magnetic patterns of her taking cock after cock after cock.

Karen's insides writhed when she realized that, before the day was over, she would almost certainly do exactly the same thing. She was that lust-maddened, that crazed. She had gone so far, she was now willing to do anything at all, with anyone at all.

The show cut away for another commercial, and with little warning, Karen began to come. She had just one minute to enjoy her convulsions. She sat there, shuddering and heaving in her seat, knowing that Peter, and Shanda, and the producer, and the director, and the technicians, and probably the audience, too, were all aware of what was happening. She wished they all could see the flood of juice from her snatch. She wanted them all to inhale the thick scent of her orgasm.

Her partner erupted like Old Faithful. She clapped both hands down on his pulsing, spurting prick. Frantically, she smothered his jettings with her hands, tried to keep him from spraying semen high into the air and spattering them both. She felt his hot cream burst against her palm, stream in gummy waves down his shaft, down to her encircling fingers.

He kept coming and coming. Gallons of cream poured from his pecker. It pooled on her fingers, covered her hands with a thick paste. He was still spurting when the camera came back on focused on Peter, mercifully.

When the camera finally focused on Karen, she was done coming, and so was her partner. But she had been left with a double handful of goo, and had no place to put it.

A question came. Somehow she answered it, while feeling the jism dry to a sticky paste, then an itchy crust. Out of the corner of her eye she watched her partner tuck his dick back into his pants. She hauled her skirt down. It had been up around her waist.

Then she was able to concentrate on regaining her lost lead. Her partner seemed content to slouch uselessly in his seat. If the MC or anyone else suspected what had happened, it didn't show. From what Karen knew of the program, what she and her partner had done was, not unusual. Presumably, no one was shocked by it.

She was left with her musings and the quiz. She couldn't help wondering what she was becoming, and what would be left of her marriage when this was all over. She was winning. She was sure now that she would pick up the jackpot. So, she would get the money. But, she had not told Mark what she was doing. How was she going to explain a check for ten thousand dollars?

But, what worried her more, how could she go back to that shabby house, and that tranquil, dull marriage bed, after all that she had done? God, it would be the height of hypocrisy to go back to Mark as if nothing had happened. How could she be satisfied with his simple humping after what she had experienced?

But, she still loved him, totally. He was a prim and a prude, but he was a good man. He was a desperately proud young man who was keeping them in poverty unnecessarily, but he was a hard worker, and had an excellent future. He was kind and considerate. And, she loved him.

She answered the last question, was congratulated on winning again. She slumped weakly and wearily as the glare of the lights died and the cameras rolled away, and the audience for that taping filed out. The producer announced the half-hour break. There was a confused rush for the exits.

"Hey, come with me," her celebrity partner invited.

Karen looked at him, studied his too pretty face and too masculine body. She felt those hot stirring again. "Where to?" she asked.

"My dressing room," he answered, taking her elbow as she got up.

She let him propel her along. She thought of getting that prick of his, and felt her cunt get wet. It was crazy! She was becoming a fucking machine!

"Oh, do you have a bathtub, too?" she asked wryly.

"Huh? Naw, but I got a shower if you want it," he answered.

Once in his dressing room, he locked the door and swept her into his arms. She let her body press warmly against his. She felt her lust rise as he nibbled on her neck and slid a hand up under her skirt to clutch her ass. For a few moments, she let the foreplay continue, and then broke away. She knew she was going to take the next inevitable step upward, or perhaps it was downward, in her sexual education and degradation.

"We don't have a lot of time," she pointed out. "Why don't you get naked."

"Yeah, sure," he agreed eagerly, as she began to undress. She dropped her clothes casually over a chair. She let him study her richly rounded naked body. She felt her fifties sway and jiggle as she moved.

Jason quickly bared his well-tanned, well-tended actor's body. His dick was half hard a sagging rope of meat swinging over his dusky balls. His blue eyes were bright with lust as he raked them over Karen's naked fifties, then down to her brown muff.

"Let me see it all, lady, let me see it now," he ordered.

Karen obliged by walking around the room. She was shamelessly proud of her effect on him. His dick rose and stiffened as she shook her knockers. Her tits hardened. Cool air was drying her come-crusted cunt.

She backed up and sat on the edge of his make-up table. Slowly, she spread her legs wider, revealing her thick snatch. With her legs in a wide vee, she fingered her twat. She parted her cunt lips to show the hot inner folds of her sex. She diddled her clit, and swirled a finger in the hot funnel of her cunt.

The actor's cock was throbbing higher and higher. It jutted out like the bowsprit of a sailing ship. His bans drew up close to his groin, slithered down in their thin sac, then drew up again.

But she wasn't showing him all of it. Yet. There was still the target she wanted him to use. That, was what she was going to show him next. Easing down off the dressing table, she turned her back to him. She saw her reflection in the mirror, and shivered at the sight of the naked lust on her face, the sight of her naked body. Slowly, she bent over. Farther and farther and farther over. She thrust her a at the man behind her. In the mirror, she could see his hot stare, his burning eyes on her butt.

Reaching back, he hooked his fingers on her asscheeks and dragged them apart. Shamelessly, she showed him ha brownie. She was inviting him to drill his monster pecker into her bung. She was begging him, with her actions, to bugger her.

Reaching back between her thighs, she put a fingertip on her bung. Showily, she worked her finger up into her tail-hole. She loved the feel of a finger digging deep into the greasy tunnel of her crapper. More than that, she loved the hot, sweating lust on the face of the man watching her. Theatrically, she worked her finger in and out of her burning butt while the actor watched.

Then, in a final vile act of wanton lust, she drew her finger out of her asshole, brought it to her nose, and sniffed the thick, rich, earthy smell.

The actor gulped, and gripped his dick with his fist. He took two shaky steps toward her.

Karen took a jar of cold cream off his table, scooped out a cool glob of white peas... and smeared it in the crack of her ass. Then she carefully reamed an oily finger up her tail to grease the ring of her bung. Turning around, she smeared the man's prick with lubricant. Then she set the jar aside.

In a carefully controlled, slow move, she leaned forward on the make-up table. She braced her hands on the edge, and thrust her tail at the actor's drooling prick.

"Bugger me," she groaned. "Bugger me!"

The man took a step forward, and she felt hit dick touch her winkie. She felt her asshole clench, then relax. He pushed, and she felt the pressure on her hole growing. She tried to shit, tried to open her gate to him.

She felt his dick burrow into her winkle. He drove at her harder. Her bung burned as it was slowly stretched by his cockhead. She felt her muscle stretching, wider and wider. The pressure in her butt grew as the piston of his prick drove slowly deeper.

A slithering, sliding, snapping feeling made her lurch. Her tail muscle had slid into the groove behind his cockhead! Her bung blazed like fire as he rammed the full length of his pecker deep into her dirt tunnel.

"Aaaaah, God!" she moaned as she felt her ass being filled with his brutal mass. "Jeeezus!"

"Christ, that's tight," the actor grunted as his dick was clasped in her hot, greasy tunnel. He started to draw out, but she reached back and clutched at him desperately.

"Wait," she moaned. "Let me get used to it for a minute." The pain eased and the pleasure grew, and she finally felt ready. "Okay."

The actor drew his dick out of her winkie slowly, until just the head remained in her butt. Then he drove back into her, and her asshole screamed from the searing friction. Her guts knotted from the changing pressure in her belly. Reaching back under herself, she stuffed two fingers into her dripping pussy. He eased his pecker out of her tail again.

He bent over her and sank his fingers into her swaying titties. His hips moved and his prick pistoned in her shitter like a monster pile-driver. The friction drew the tight ring of her hung out, then rammed it back in. The greasy walls of her crap-hole stroked his driving dick. His balls swung and slapped her twat on every inward drive. Mis hips jammed against her coushiony buttocks.

She was dying with pleasure. Her body shivered and shuddered. He tormented her heavy jugs with cruel hands. Flaming waves of lust boiled through her every time his dick pulled out or rammed back in. The entire core of her being was lust, unholy, perverted, exquisite lust. She wiggled and pumped her fingers in her fountaining twat.

She felt his balls hugging his groin and knew he was going to come. He drew out, and slammed back into her with bruising force. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her mouth was gaping with the strain and lust. She saw him hanging ova her back, saw his hands digging into her knockers.

She felt his cock spasming in her greasy, shitty depths. She felt a hot gush of jizz spill into her crapper. A boiling enema of fuck juice was flooding her tunnel. Her winkie went into a series of spasms around the blocking bulk of the buggering dick. Her twat convulsed around her stirring fingers, and she felt cunt juices spilling down onto her hand, running down the insides of her thighs.

The pain and pleasure all congealed into a monster hot ball, which then rolled away, taking her mind with it. For a long time she was a shuddering, pleasure-racked animal. She clung to the edge of the make-up table so she wouldn't fall on her face.

She didn't rouse until her body was crapping out the shrinking dick. Her bung closed with a stinging twinge, and she slumped forward as he let go of her battered titties.

He staggered back from her and flopped down in a chair. His soiled prick dangled weakly over his nuts. A slimy strand of come stained one hairy thigh. His face was beaded with sweat. His chest rose and fell as he caught his breath.

Karen wondered how much more she was going to be able to take. It was reaching mind-boggling proportions, this insatiable, wanton lust of hers.

And there were still two shows to be taped this afternoon. She wondered what would happen during the next half-hour break.

"Christ, I thought my agent was crazy when he got me this gig," the actor grunted. "Shows how wrong I was."

"Oh?" Karen dragged herself to a standing position and turned to face him. She was so used to being naked and recovering from an orgasm, she didn't pay any attention to the cold come drizzling down her thighs.

"The pay is crummy," the actor explained. "But he said the fringe benefits were out of sight. What fringe benefits, I wondered. A one-day gig doesn't have a health insurance clause or a paid vacation. Now I know what fringe benefits. I'd heard rumors, but until today, I never believed them."

"You mean, everyone knows about this -- this whatever you want to call it?" Karen asked.

"Shit, call it what it is. Whoring." The actor snorted. "Everyone fucks everyone else, and the contestant that makes the biggest impression on the most people is the one who wins the biggie."

Karen wrestled desperately with herself. Which, she wondered, was worse? To do what she had been doing for money, or to do it because she enjoyed it? What was she? A whoring slut? Or, a wanton bitch who would do anything with anyone?

But, after all, what difference did it make? She was doing it, and that was that. And she was going to do it again, and again, and again.

She decided not to contemplate what the days after this one would be like. Instead, she showered quickly, combed her mussed hair, and put on her bra, blouse and skirt. She didn't even miss her panties anymore. She could feel come oozing from her snatch and her butt.

She wondered what it would feel like to have two or three men at once. The thought made her cunt water and tighten hungrily.


"Hold it, everybody," the director called over the studio loudspeakers. "We have a hitch here. Take a break. Mrs. Calder, please come to the control room."

Karen looked startled. The call was totally unexpected. Meekly, she got up and made her way through the tangle of cables and wires to the aisle. As she walked through the audience, they cast curious glances at her. She was sure they could smell the come clinging to her thighs and ass.

The dimly-lighted control room was crowded of switches and dials and meters. The whole side overlooking the studio was glass, from the top of the control panels to the ceiling. The back wall was bank after bank of instruments. Glowing monitors showed the views from the various cameras.

As Karen's eyes adjusted to the dim light, she picked the producer, Bernstein, out of the group of men in the booth. With him were three others two in shirt-sleeves, the third in a natty mod suit.

"Mr. Osborne here is the sponsor's representative," Bernstein said, indicating the mod-dressed man.

"How do you do?" Karen greeted him cautiously.

"Mr. Osborne, among other things, is concerned about your qualifications to be a winner on the show," Bernstein noted, studying his fingernails casually.

"I don't understand," she murmured warily, keeping her distance.

"I mean," Bernstein went on, "that you should show him exactly what it was about you that so impressed me in our interview."

Karen shook her head. "No," she answered. She was tired and sore, and suddenly, fed up with the whole scene. "No. I don't think I'll do anything of the kind."

"Now, Mrs. Calder," Bernstein went on with an oily smoothness, "I'm not asking you to do anything you haven't already done with me, with Peter, with Shanda, with Jason, and with God knows who else on our horny crew."

"I don't care..." Karen started, more sharply.

"Mrs. Calder, it would be most unfortunate if we were forced to disqualify you at this late date," Bernstein said in a voice that was velvet over steel. "All your winnings would be forfeit. And it would mean that this whole day of taping would be wasted. At no slight expense to us, I might add. I'm sure you understand that we don't want to have to take such a drastic step, over a triviality."

Karen filtered all this through her battered brain, and focused on the fact that her sexual favors were considered a "triviality". That was the way Bernstein had put it. She noted that the two shirt-sleeved men in the booth with them were studiously intent on the control boards in front of them. But she knew they must be listening to everything that was being said. She also knew that she could expect no help from them. They were, if anything, part of the conspiracy.

"Now, I suggest you get that cock-sucking little mouth of yours to work, before Mr. Osborne becomes impatient," Bernstein continued in the same deadly, reasonable tone.

Osborne, the man in the mod suit, was lean and lanky. He had long hair, and a face that was too old for the clothes and hair style. His dick was a prominent ridge in his tight trousers.

"Come on, baby, and lick my dick," the sponsor's representative invited her in a nasty tone. He unzipped his fly, and levered his pecker out. It expanded still more as Karen watched. It was long and slender, like its owner. There was a slight upward curve to it. In the dim control-room light, the shaft looked pale, the head dark and ominous.

"Mrs. Calder?" Bernstein asked softly.

"Bastard," Karen hissed, not taking her eyes off the pecker she was being offered. In spite of her hatred, and the amount of sex she had already had that day, she felt her horniness rising at the sight of Osborne's dick. Her pussy twinged. It was too beaten and tired to do more than that.

She walked over to the lean, mod man. He sat down on a high stool. He was too high for her to kneel on the floor, so she braced herself, put a hand on his warm, hard thigh. She bent over. Steadying his prick with her free hand, she licked it. She tasted sweat, and then a sticky surge of cock drippings.

She heard chairs squeak and glanced up. The two shirt-sleeved men had swivelled around to watch her degradation. Carefully, she shut her mind to everything but sucking the cock she was holding. With her tongue, she stroked the hard shaft from base to tip. She swirled her tongue around the tip.

Then she slid the hard dong between her lips, along the velvet carpet of her tongue, to the back of her mouth. She held it that way, the head just brushing the back of her mouth, and stroked the underside with her tongue. She sucked. Her cheeks in.

"Deeper," Bernstein ordered. "Deep throat it, baby. All the way! Just like you did with me."

Karen's mouth was filled with cock, so she didn't try to point out that Bernstein's stocky pecker was half the length of this one. She was beaten all she wanted to do was get the whole revolting episode over with. She slid another half inch of pecker into her mouth, and fought down her gagging. It was hard, bent over this way, to do what she had done with the make-up man.

The lean man put his hands on her head and pushed, forcing her to take more of his prick. She stroked the hard base of his whang, bleakly acceded to his demand, swallowed the head of his prick. Her throat knotted around the brutal invader.

She thought of the men watching, and felt her lust boil up. She was an exhibitionist. She was beginning to love having people watch while she committed depraved acts. See how filthy I am? she thought. I'll do anything, anything at all. Just watch me.

Someone reached under her and began unbuttoning her blouse. Without breaking the cock sucking, she let whoever it was take her blouse. Then her bra was loosened. Her heavy titties sagged as the support was taken from them. Someone was unfastening her skirt, dragging it down over her ass. She stepped out of it.

She was naked with four men. She was sucking a cock while three pairs of hands explored her naked body. Fingers tortured her tits, pinched hey ass and her legs, plunged into her dripping snatch. She continued to draw on the slender prick. She was a plaything for the four men in the control room.

Suddenly, from behind, a cock was driven into her cunt. Brutally, without warning, she was raped by one of the men. While he grasped her hard by the waist, he rammed his pecker into her burning twat. Her breasts jolted and shuddered under the slamming impact of the rape.

She didn't stop sucking cock. She kept sucking the man's prick. Her head bobbed slowly up and down, up and down. She stroked and slurped on his throbbing prick while someone rammed into her snatch from behind. He was taking her like a stud takes a bitch.

She liked it. She loved the brutal raping. She loved the taste of the dick in her mouth. She hated herself for loving it, but she was loving it. She loved the feel of a cock burning into her snatch. She loved the feel of the man's balls swinging and slapping her cunt lips. She loved the feel of his hard hips hitting her ass. She loved having her throat bruised by cock.

She hoped that she would be drowned in come. She wanted gallons of thick, creamy, hot jizz. She wanted come in her mouth, in her throat, in her stomach, in her cunt.

The cock in her mouth twitched, filled her with a titanic eruption of thick, fragrant come. Sucking and slurping, she felt the hot gobbets surge dawn to her stomach. The dong in her cunt leaped and jerked, and jizz spattered deep into her quim.

As the prick was yanked from her snatch she was grabbed from behind and dragged away from the still-pulsing, oozing one in her mouth. A spatter of come drizzled across her cheek as she was driven against the control panel under the windows. As she leaned against the cool glass, a man rammed his prick into her snatch, and lust roared up through her like fire. Not caring that anyone in the studio who looked at the control room could see her being ravished, she let the shirt-sleeved technician piston his prick in her cunt.

Come spattered her legs as the man's cock pumped out the load already in her. His penetration was deep, so deep she felt the end of her tunnel being battered. Spreading her thighs wide, she bent her knees and hauled her legs upward, so he could pound even deeper. Hands on her knees, she dragged her legs wide, wondering if she might tear herself in half.

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore, nothing at all. All there was in the world was cocks. Cocks and more cocks. Cocks to fill her cunt and her mouth and her ass. It didn't matter who the cocks belonged to. She was nothing but a receptacle for cocks and come.

When the man spearing her on his lean dick began to come, Karen felt a surge of fear, because she wasn't coming herself. Her come threshold had been jacked too high by the successive ravishings she had been jaded by too much cock. She felt the prick jerking and spurting in her steaming depths, and tightened her twat. She was suddenly afraid that it meant the fuck was over, and that she would be left hanging on the verge of her own coming. Or, worse, it meant that she would have to face herself, and she wasn't ready to face herself.

She writhed desperately against the control panel. Hard switches and knobs dug painfully into her ass. She squirmed and twisted as come oozed out around the still-spurting prick, flooded her spread gash, dripped down her ass. Then the cock was gone and she was empty and hungry.

But the void didn't last long. Another man the last one took her sharply and violently, without even giving her a chance to straighten her legs. He slammed his rigid pole into her flooded snatch with a squishy smack.

"UH!" Karen grunted, as his piston drove the wind from her lungs. Her cunt felt inflamed and bruised and sore. But she had to get to the peak one more time. She had to reach the apex of pleasure.

Hard hands clamped down on her titties and twisted them. Her boob-skin burned from the brutal wrenching of her big knockers. The man was digging strong fingers into her soft, tender globes, wrenching them. She let go of her knees, and clamped her hands down on his and urged him on. She wanted pain, and pain, and more pain until pleasure obliterated everything else.

While three exhausted, sex-drained men watched, Karen welcomed the final bruising assault of her battered body. She was making crazy, incoherent noises. She sounded like the ravaged animal she was. The huge pane of glass against her back boomed and shuddered as the impacts against her cunt were transmitted up through her body. The reflected dials and meters danced and shivered in a crazy syncopation to the pounding in her hole. A sharp switch handle was tearing a hole in one tender asscheek as she was hammered and pounded by the man's brutal drives.

But still she wasn't coming. In spite of the tearing of his hands at her boobs, the burning of his prick in and out of her blazing cunt, the mangling of her clit and the tearing at her naked tail, she was not coming. It didn't seem like she would ever come again. She had been to the top of the mountain one too many times.

Then the man began to come and she began to cry, because his climax marked the end of it all. After all, there were four men in the room and she had had all four of them. That's all there was. There was no more cock. No prick to fill her twat, no pubic bone to crash against her clit.

The cock in her cunt was heaving its load into her already glutted well. Three men's come was oozing thickly out of her, flooding the hot valley of her twat, spreading upward over her clit, washing slowly down over her asshole.

Suddenly, there was a tickle in her clit! The tickle ran the full length of the blazing floor of her snatch. There was a crazy twittering in her nerve endings, that grew and grew, and grew, and GREW! A river of fire began to burn deep in her body and spread out through her muscles, setting them all jumping and twitching. Rivers of flame streamed along every nerve path in her body until she was a quivering, jerking, heaving, shuddering mass of meat.

She was dying. Crazy, flashing bursts of color filled her maddened brain. Weird siren sounds echoed in her deaf ears. Her cunt was a crazy, knotted spasm. All her muscles were dancing. Her chest was jittering uselessly, neither taking air in nor pushing it out. Her heart beat was a crazy, futile quivering. Then everything disappeared into a spreading inky veil. Then she passed out completely.

She roused to a man pinching her nose shut as his mouth clamped down on hers. She fought the air he blew into her lungs and he drew away. The man leaning on her chest between her breasts drew back as her eyes fluttered open. She took a deep, shaky breath.

"Jesus, that was a close one," the ad man said as he wiped the sweat off his forehead. He was staring at her nervously.

Karen was still naked. She was lying on the control room floor. The four men were grouped around her. "What happened?" she asked weakly. The unbelievable orgasm was only a vague memory.

"Must have been all that come," the first shirt-sleeved man to have her answered. "You were sitting up on the control panel. Some of the come must have trickled down into the switches."

"I was being electrocuted," Karen concluded weakly.

"Yeah," the man agreed. "You were taking cock. When Carl started coming, you went into convulsions. We thought at first you were coming, having real great time. But the convulsions kept getting worse. Then you stopped breathing. We hauled you down off the board. We couldn't even get a heartbeat. You were dead!"

"I was dying," Karen agreed. "It was so beautiful. I've never felt anything like it before. It was a-a cosmic orgasm."

"Yeah, well, if you hadn't slid that ole switch half closed with your butt, it would have been your last orgasm. If that control had been wide open, the way it usually is, you would have lit up half a neon sign and burned out like a flashbulb."

She squirmed, tried to get up. The two men that had been working on her helped her sit up. She wasn't ready to try to make it to her feet. She crawled weakly toward her clothes, ignoring the hands trying to help her.

The director was checking out the panel. "We'll have to cancel the rest of today's taping. And tomorrow's," he told Bernstein. "The whole board's going to have to be torn down and dried out."

"Shit!" the producer swore. Then he sighed. "Well, could have been worse."

"Yeah," one shirt-sleeved man commented feelingly. "She could have died." Karen flashed him a smile of appreciation as she hooked her bra. He seemed to be the only one who cared.

"Yeah, then we'd have to retape all the shows," Bernstein said callously. "Tell 'em all to go home. Tell 'em to be back here day after tomorrow. We'll start taping at 10:30."

Karen was just finishing dressing when all but the man who had worried about her filed out. He asked if she was sure she was all right.

Karen nodded wearily, though her strained muscles still ached. "I'm okay," she told him. "Has anything like this ever happened before?"

"Christ no! Usually it's only the bigwigs who get a turn with the contestants. I'm the technical director, by the way."

"Bernstein always gets in his strokes, and the sponsor's man, of course," the technical director went on. "Peter is used to soften 'em up. Uh, sorry."


"Us union men are out in the cold when it comes to getting to rip a piece," the man added bitterly.

"Can't say I disagree with that," Karen noted. "Seeing as how I'm the piece that got ripped off."

"Oh, yeah, well, aaah..." the man stammered, embarrassed at his choice of words.

"But, on the other hand, you were the only one that really worried about me," Karen said appreciatively.

"Well, shucks, you're a person, and a nice one," the man answered, flushing. He was trying to be bluff and callous. "Besides, if you died it might screw up the whole show, and it's a good job."

Karen knew he didn't mean it. "Maybe I'll be able to thank you for saving my life. But not today," she told him.

"Shucks, if I hadn't been such an animal, it might never have happened at all," he stuttered. "You don't owe me anything."

"I'll see you day after tomorrow," she said, opening the control-room door.

"Take care of yourself. If you feel faint or anything, you should see a doctor."

Karen smiled at him. "And, just how would I explain that I almost got electrocuted in a TV studio control room? Especially considering where the burns are located?"

Outside the studio, she walked until her legs started to give out. Then she found a bus stop. She was afraid to sit down, she was so flooded with come. Wherever she sat, she would leave a big, wet splotch. She stood on the bus, even though there were plenty of seats, and the driver kept looking at her curiously.

Once in the house, she loosened her skirt and let it fall. She unbuttoned her blouse as she headed for the bathroom. As she stepped under the shower, she remembered Shanda's huge, luxurious tub. It seemed as if that had been weeks ago, not hours. After soaping the outside of her body, she got out her douche and tried to flush the gallons of jizz out of her twat.

Then she went to her bed and lay down, naked, and stared at the ceiling. Whether she liked it or not, she had to face herself. She couldn't put it off any longer. She wasn't able to tell herself that she had hated every minute of it or that she had been forced. She had invited most of it. And she had enjoyed all of it. Even her death had been pleasurable.

The only thing she hated were some of the men involved. To most of them all she was was apiece of meat. Come to think of it, that's all she was to Shanda, too. To Bernstein, and the ad man, and her celebrity "partner" and Peter Sandier, she was a cunt one of a long line of cunts.

The only one who had given a shit about her was the technical director. He had shown more thoughtfulness toward her than her husband had in the past month. Granted, the guy had fucked her, right along with the rest of them. But, she had asked for it. And welcomed it.

She had to go back there in two days. What frightened her about the situation was not that she would have to face all those men again. What frightened her was that she knew she wanted to go, wanted the endless series of fuckings and suckings.

She knew she was going to do it all again. But she didn't want to give the sons-of-bitches the idea that she was just another cunt for them to use. She wanted to get fucked, all right. But she wanted to get fucked by men it would mean something to. She wanted to be special.

Somehow, she had to manage that, without messing up her chances on the show. She still had to be the big winner. She didn't know what future her marriage would have, after it was all done. But if she didn't win, it didn't have any future at all. Her infidelities could be concealed, but the debts she had piled up couldn't.


Karen was climbing the walls. The day between the tapings was excruciating. The tension was absolutely nerve-racking. With nothing to do but pace the shabby little house, she was going mad. She wasn't sure if she was just anxious to get the game show over with, or if she was horny.

Finally, seeking escape, she made out a shopping list and headed for the supermarket. It was a block-and-a-half walk to the store a block, and a half in the hot sun. She was sweating through her light dress by the time she got there. Once inside, the air-conditioning chilled her, and her tits jabbed up sharply. She glanced down, and suddenly wished that she had worn a bra after all. The bruises on her titties had made the cups painful, but now, her boob ends were showing, poking anxiously against the soft cotton bodice of her dress.

She wasn't wearing any panties, either. She was suddenly exquisitely aware of her nakedness under the dress. The cool air touched her naked snatch as she pushed the cart down the aisle. The stack of cucumbers made her pussy simmer, made her think of all those cocks she was going to have the next day. Turning away from the long, green cock-like vegetables, she saw the bananas, and her cunt convulsed again.

She was unbelievably horny, and she was going to have to wait a whole day to get her hole filled. Her insides squirmed at the thought. A whole day of excruciating hunger would drive her mad. If only she had a man for a husband, instead of a damn fool machine, it wouldn't be so bad. But all he did was fall into bed, and go right to sleep. He hadn't even noticed that she had gone to bed naked.

Karen idled her way down the aisle, killing time as much as anything. Most of the sloping bins were nearly empty this early in the morning. But it didn't matter. She didn't need any vegetables anyway. But it seemed that everywhere she looked, there was something that made her think of pricks. If it wasn't cucumbers or bananas, it was a squash. She kept having the urge to curl up in a tight ball around the hot core of horniness in her gut.

At the back of the store, the swinging doors into the cooler, the stock room for the vegetables, were propped open. The stock boy was at the back of the room, working at the sink. He was young, about eighteen. He was also tall, slender and black.

Karen tried to remember his name. She had seen it many times on his badge. Peter? No, that was Sandier's name, from the show. Easing her cart off to one side, she glanced casually around. No one was watching. She slipped through the doors into the cool, earthy-scented confines of the produce room. The doors swung closed behind her with a soft thump.

"Mrs. Calder!" the stock boy exclaimed, turning at the sound of the doors. "You're not supposed to be in here."

"I was looking for something fresh, this morning," Karen answered. She felt her titties sharpen from the change in temperature, and from her arousal. The teenager was wearing a pair of tight black slacks. The bulge at his groin was impressive.

"Something special?" the black youth asked.

"You might say that," Karen agreed, running a finger along the edge of a crate. "Something long, and fresh, and juicy," Her insides were boiling. A hot spring of lust had formed in her guts.

"Got some nice fresh carrots here."

"That's not exactly what I had in mind," Karen purred. "But that's the right shape." She wondered how her pussy could get so wet so fast.

The lump in the youth's groin got bigger. His hot, dark eyes were stroking over her body, picking out the tips of her titties, the generous thrust of her knockers, the swell of her mature hips. "Something more along the lines of a cucumber," he said, his voice rich with meaning.

"Something like that," she agreed.

"Something sort of round, and hard, and long," the black youth went on. "Something that the juice sort of spurts out of when you bite down on it."

"Exactly," Karen agreed. Her breath rushed out of her lust-knotted lungs.

"I think I have what you need," the youth assured her. "Just a moment while I fix the door so we won't be disturbed."

Karen heard feet clatter on the wooden slats over the concrete floor. The latch on the swinging doors snapped loudly. She was locked in with him!

He turned. He was standing at the door, looking at her, his hand touching his fly. He ran the zipper down, and pried his dong out. He curled his black fish around his black prick and skinned the foreskin back, revealed the purple-black knob. He pumped his hand slowly, made the skin slide over the rigid center.

"This what you were looking for?" he asked softly.

"Yes," Karen whispered. "Yes," she moaned. "Oh, God, yes, that's it." She tottered toward it, her eyes focused on the vertical slit that would spew hot come into her, come that would put out the raging inferno in her guts.

Without his even asking, she dropped to her knees in front of him. She reached out both hands and touched his throbbing whang delicately, tenderly. She stroked his black dick, felt how velvety soft the skin was, how hard the interior shaft was. She tickled the underside, along the dorsal vein, along the channel that would carry creamy jizz into her.

Leaning forward, she let her warm, sucking mouth engulf his dick. She swirled her tongue over the rubbery knob. She tasted him, savored him, stroked the nerve-patch beneath the cockhead. His goo sizzled onto her tongue, filling her with its taste and scent. Surrounded by vegetables, she sucked his cock. She took half of it into her mouth, took it until it squirmed against the back of her mouth.

Still kneeling on the floor with his dick in her mouth, she used one hand to drag her dress up. She pulled her thin cotton dress up, baring her pale white body. She shoved her dress up until it was bunched under her armpits, and her great, naked titties with their hard rubbery points, were exposed. She had bared her pale rounded tummy, her white, lush thighs, the thick brown tangle of her twat.

She wriggled erotically in front of the stock boy while she sucked on his dripping dick. Her breasts quivered and joggled as she writhed on her knees before him. Her hips pumped and fucked as she mouthed his cock. His strong hands stroked her long brown hair, dragging her face farther onto his dick.

Squirming and wriggling and writhing, Karen sucked his cock, finally swallowing the rubbery head the way she had learned at the TV studio. She swallowed more and more of it, working her lips, sucking it in. She mashed her nose into his wiry black pubic hair, then had to back off to suck in some air.

She was surprised when the youth leaned back, too. He dragged his dick out of her mouth and rubbed it over her face. He smeared her face with her spit and his pre-come. Holding her head with one hand, his rigid hard-on with the other, he wiped his cock on her face. She tipped her head back so he could see the goo he was spreading all over her cheeks and nose and lips.

"Know what I'd like to do to you, white lady?" the black man asked.

"What?" Karen groaned.

"I'd like to piss all over you."

"Oh, God!" Karen moaned hotly, her lust jumping to an incredible level.

He went on wiping his dick on her face, smearing her with pre-come. "Like to piss right in your face," he went on. "Piss in your mouth, watch my piss just run down that white body of yours in yellow rivers."

"Yes," Karen moaned. "Anything, anything at all, piss on me if you want."

"Take your dress off," he ordered harshly.

Desperately, Karen struggled out of her dress and threw it side. Naked, she knelt on the slats, knelt in front of the produce man. She touched his dick with her fingers, held it, and held herself ready for him. Her mouth was half open.

For a long, aching, agonizing minute, nothing happened. She felt his pecker soften slightly, then pulse and jump in her fingers. Something hot, and wet stung her face. Hot, salty liquid spattered on her nose, into her mouth, spilled down her throat, around and over her titties, down her body in burning rivers. She felt the prick in her hands vibrating as it unloaded all over her lush, pole body, filling the air around her with a warm scent.

She was kneeling in front of a man, holding his prick while he pined all over her! And she loved it. She felt her cunt go into a mad series of spasms as she came just from his hot wastes pouring over her naked body. She writhed in a blazing coming as he pissed on her.

For what seemed like hours the hot stream played over her, then slowly died. It cut off, spurted twice, then quit completely. She was dripping and shivering. Leaning forward, she took the cock that had just fountained all over her, and put it into her mouth. She felt it come back to full hardness.

With a groan, she fell backwards onto the cold, hard, slippery slats and spread her crotch to the black man. With no preliminaries, he dropped on her and slammed his cock deep into her spuming cunt. She wound her legs around him as her hips bucked and heaved. His cock pistoned in her with a hot slapping sound. Her cunt was pounded to a pulp by his hard body.

She roared up to another screaming orgasm as he kicked her there on the floor. She dug her heels into his hard ass, spiking herself on his dick. She felt his cock leap and pump in her steaming tunnel, felt come fill her cunt as she was cremated by the flames of her coming.

Then he was done and his prick was shriveling, and she was coming down from her own peak. She felt his dick pull out of her flooded cunt. She became aware of his pies drying coldly on her naked skin. As she lay on her back, his cream dripping from her twat, she saw him rip off his shirt and throw it aside. She realized it must have gotten soaked with piss as he raped her.

For a moment, he looked down at her. He was shaking, and his hands were opening and closing nervously. "God, what have I done?" he asked.

"Nothing I didn't ask for," she assured him weakly, sadly. "Not a thing I didn't ask for."

"Yeah," he agreed, his fear easing. "Yeah, I guess that's true."

Feeling gross and disgusting and ashamed, Karen struggled to her feet. She teetered over to the sink and turned on the water hard. Then, while the youth watched, she used the hose to clean her naked body, to wash off the piss still clinging to her breasts and belly and face.

After drying herself with paper towels, she pulled her dress on. She was shivering. Without a word to the man she had degraded herself with, she unlocked the door and went back out into the store. Like she was in a dream, she took her cart and started down the next aisle.

She kept thinking of what she had just done, and kept getting horny. She thought of letting that man piss all over her, and her pussy heated up. She remembered the feel of his cock jumping and spurting in her snatch, and felt her need for another fucking growing greater.

She was going mad, of course. I must be a nymphomaniac, she reflected. But she had heard that a nymphomaniac never got any satisfaction from sex. Karen got a great deal of satisfaction from her fucking. That was the trouble. If she didn't get so much satisfaction, maybe she wouldn't do it so much.

As she was pushing her cart past the the delicatessen section, her eyes fell on the sticks of pepperoni. She stopped dead and studied the long sausages longingly. She felt come trickling down the insides of her thighs. She thought of taking one of those long cylinders, rough and hard as it was, and jamming it into her cunt. God, how it would burn! Or, up her ass, maybe. It would tear and rasp at her asshole, burn her butt with its peppery juices.

She tore herself away, and headed down the next aisle in a turmoil. There didn't seem to be any limit to her imagination any more. She didn't seem to have any inhibitions left. None at all.

Anyway, why not do it? Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. She turned up the coffee-breakfast-foods aisle. She was screamingly horny again. She had to find someone to plug her hungry hole.

She reached the meat counter, saw the butcher at work behind the plate-glass window. With powerful swings of his arm, he was cutting chops from a pork roast. After weighing and packaging them he went into a huge cooler. The door closed behind him. He came back out and set a tray of packages of a conveyor belt. The tray started toward the display case where Karen was standing.

She waited, shivering with fear and loathing for herself, and lust. He unloaded the tray and was about to head back info the workroom.

"Hello, Murph," she greeted him throatily.

"Hi, there, Mrs. Calder," the stocky Irishman said warmly. "Something I can do for you?"

"I need some meat, Murph," she answered. She was becoming much bolder.

"Yes, ma'am, that's what I'm here for."

Karen looked up and down the counter. No one was in sight. "The meat I'm looking for isn't in new," she told him conspiratorially.

Murph looked puzzled. He looked up and down the long, low case. "I don't know what it could be then," he mused. "We've got beef, lamb, pork, chicken, turkey and Cornish hen all out. Everything but horsemeat and goat," he joked.

"Why don't we go back into the cooler and see if I can find it there," Karen elaborated.

"But I'm not supposed to allow anyone back there," Murph stammered.

Karen was about to give up. The man was unbelievably dense. She rubbed her cunt through her dress, bunched the material in her crotch, moistened it with the come oozing from her slit. "I don't think you understand," she breathed. His blue eyes widened as he watched her. "This is a very special order only you can fill. And, it has, to be done in private," she told him.

Murph flushed pink and licked his lips. He wiped his hands on his apron and looked around nervously. "Well, ah, okay, but hurry, so nobody sees you," he hissed.

Karen abandoned her cart and followed him into the cool workroom. Right on his heels she followed him through the heavy door into the cooler. He pulled the door shut behind them. She heard the latch click.

The room was brightly lighted by big fluorescent fixtures. In the center was a wooden butcher's table, eight feet long and half again as wide.

Hanging along the walls, on meat hooks, were sides of beet and pork and lamb. They looked naked and ashamed without their hides all pink lean and white meat.

"Now," Murph said, gaining assurance from the familiar surroundings, "just what was this order you wanted filled?"

Karen didn't hesitate. She stripped her dress up and off. She shivered, remembering that the ideal storage temperature for meat is about forty degrees. Her tits were hard as rocks.

"How would you like to carve off a piece of this?" she asked, fingering her brown-bushed cunt, rubbing her erect clit.

Murph turned pink. He licked his lips as he studied her. His strong, meat-cutter's hands came up under her jugs, lifted the heavy globes. His thumbs stroked her erect tits. Karen shut her eyes as excitement rushed through her. She imagined being caned up by sharp knives, and shivered as her cunt flooded.

His hands stroked clown her bold naked flanks to her hips. He gripped her crotch, slid his fingers in between her thighs.

"Choice grade?" she asked hotly.

"Prime," he answered. "Strictly prime nicely marbled. Not too much fat. Tender and juicy." He slid a thick finger up into her steaming cunt. She didn't tell him that half the juice there was another man's come. Instead, she spread her thighs and humped her pelvis. He fucked her with his finger, hooked it, so he was lifting her with it. She went up on her toes as be hauled upward on her crotch.

If they hadn't been so cruelly sharp, she would have asked him to hook one of his meat hooks into her snatch. She imagined his finger was one of those shining hooks. She imagined that she was going to be racked next to a side of beef, swung from the ceiling.

He toyed with her twat for a long time, until she was shivering from the cold. Then, with an easy lift of has muscular arms, he boosted her up onto the cutting table. The wood felt cold and greasy under her ass. As she lay back she saw him starting to strip. He was stocky, pale and pink. He had red hair on his chest, and a red bush.

His dick was sturdy and solid, ready to ream her cunt. Karen had the feeling the butchered animals were watching her as she stretched out on the carving block. Over her head was a glittering array of knives and cleavers.

The table shook slightly as Murph heaved himself up between her spread legs. She kept staring up at the knives, the shining, sharp knives. He lowered his bulk down on top of her. His cock touched her twat. Her hips heaved upward in welcome as his weight crushed down on her chest. His cock bored into her streaming tunnel. She spread her arms and legs wide. His hot, heavy body ground her into the fat-oiled top of the chopping block. He speared her on his thick, hard sausage.

She stretched herself, wider and wider. She imagined ropes were dragging her arms and legs out. She imagined her tendons were stretching and stinging as she was dragged open. She felt his cock pistoning in her cunt, felt him crushing her clit, and her lust boiled higher.

As butchered hogs and steers swung around her, she let herself be impaled on the meat-cutter's pounding prick. She slitted her eyes, and the gleaming edges of the knives and cleavers hanging over her spun out into shining clouds.

The butcher continued to slam into her, continued pounding her into the table. His dick burned in and out, in and out. Her clit was being rolled and squeezed between their crotch bones. Her coming went on and on and on, until she was a shivering, helpless carcass.

She didn't rouse until the might was off her body and the cock was gone from her cunt. She was lying on her back in a cold room, another load of come sloshing around in her abused cunt. The butcher was dragging his clothes on. She rolled off the table and got to her feet. He didn't even look at her ass he pulled her dress on and stepped into her sandals.

He cautiously opened the cooler door and stuck his head out. Then he escorted her quickly back to the right side of the meat case. Then he vanished into the cooler a frightened gnome returning to his cave.

Karen was shivering from the chill. And still more male juices were oozing down her naked thighs from her bare snatch. A wave of misery rolled over her. Two grotesque fucks already. And the rest of the day stretched ahead of her like a vast wasteland.

A hot lump of horniness burned in her gut, in spite of her multiple comings. As she wheeled her cart down the next aisle, she felt the insides of her thighs getting slippery and slimy. And all that gooey flow did was make her hungry for more. She was hungry for sex. She remembered her near electrocution the day before. Today's pleasure paled before that memory.

Swinging past a stack of cans, she started up the next aisle, and almost ran over a stock boy who was loading shelve. She cast a longing glance at him, and wondered what his cock was like, what it would feel like jammed into her snatch.

"Can I do something for you?" he asked, noticing her stare.

She wanted to ask him to fuck her. She shook her head tensely. "No thank you, I was just thinking. Prices sure are going up these days, aren't they?"

"Yes'm," he agreed politely, and went back to his stacking.

She lingered a moment longer, fighting the urge to rip her dress off and attack him. Finally, she forced herself away and continued down the aisle. She felt her come-smeared thighs stick together. She was going mad. First the vegetable department and then the meat department. And she had almost raped a stock boy right in the aisle.

Hiding behind a pyramid of soup, she got her list out and tried to read it. Her hands were shaking so badly, she had to steady them on the cart. She looked down. The only thing she had gotten was toilet paper. Suddenly, she realized she had forgotten her wallet. She almost broke down and cried.

How could she have gotten herself into such a state? It didn't seem possible. Sweet, innocent, demure Karen Calder was turning into a whore. Only, she wasn't even doing it for pay! In high school, she had been one of the "nice girls". Until she had married, she had been a virgin. Now, there wasn't anything she wasn't willing, eager to try.

Blinking back tears, she blundered toward the toilet paper aisle to put the package back before heading homeward. She overran the aisle and was about to turn back, when she was grabbed from behind. A hand clamped don over her mouth. She struggled weakly, but it was no use. She was dragged through a door into a storage room.

Rude hands fondled her breasts, and she felt her lust betraying her, boiling upward. Her dress was dragged up to bare her yet again. Suddenly the man who had grabbed her was slamming his cock into her hot snatch, and she was bucking with pleasure.

She managed to get her eyes in focus. She recognized the security officer of the store. His gray uniform cap askew, he was raping her with brutal single-mindedness. She began to come yet again. He was an elderly man, with a bit of a hunch. He was sweet and gentle-looking, usually and he was raping her. He had always been polite and courteous to her, opened the door for her. And here he was, stabbing her with his towering hard-on.

And she was loving it, eating it up, taking his drives, clawing at him. She pushed her against a stack of cartons. His face beaded with sweat as he rammed into her again and again. Then he began to come. His spurting cock filled her full of creamy juice.

"Awwwww," Karen moaned as she came again. Her body ached with exhaustion from all the spurning and coming. She shuddered as overflow of man-juice flooded from her snatch and spattered her thighs. A burp of air farted from her cunt as the man pistoned in her one more time in an effort to keep his climax going.

Then he was backing away from her, slumping wearily on a stack of boxes. His chest heaved as he fought to catch his breath. All Karen could do was lean back against the cartons. Her dress was still up under her arms her breast and belly and sodden snatch were all bare. She felt come drying cold and sticky and crusty on her belly. The inside of her thighs were rubbed raw from all the ravishings.

For the first time that day, she was sated. The knot of horniness was gone from her gut. She was also exhausted. She heaved in a deep, shaky breath.

"Mr. Eaton, you astonish me," Karen croaked. "I-I saw you with the butcher, on closed-circuit TV," the guard wheezed weakly. "I'm sorry, but, it just got me so turned-on, I just had to have you. I had to! You, sashaying around here all naked under that dress, propositioning the butcher and poor little Willy, letting them do terrible things to you. I just had to have you. I had to."

Karen didn't make any attempt to pail her dress down. She just didn't care anymore. Besides, the come would dry faster this way. She didn't want her dress stained with the goo. "You saw it all, then."

"Everything. Even when that animal urinated in your face. Even that. You seemed to love it. And with Murph, you looked like you were being drawn and quartered. And you looked like you were enjoying it."

Karen shuddered and closed her eyes, and visualized what this sweet, elderly man must have seen.

"My wife hasn't been interested in sex in years," the man went on morosely. "I go to X-rated movies with an overcoat to put over my lap. Under it I masturbate. Seeing you was more than I could stand. If you want to turn me in, you can. You have every right to."

Karen shook her head. "I don't have a right to do anything," she answered sadly. "I asked for it all. I wanted it, everything that I got, even you. I mean including you," she corrected herself.

"You meant 'even' me," he noted sadly. "I'm old and paunchy and ugly. I'm hardly a sex star."

Karen wanted to argue with him, wanted to reassure him. "You were very good," she said softly. "I'm not horny any longer."

"You aren't?"

"No, you finally did it for me," she told him truthfully.

"Gosh!" The pride on the man's face was touching.

"I think I'd better be heading for home," Karen said at last. She dragged her dress down to cover herself.

"What's happened to you, Mrs. Calder?" the guard asked. "You've never acted this way before."

Karen bit her lip nervously. "I guess I'm changing, Mr. Eaton."

"Please, call me Jake."

"Mark hasn't been paying any attention to me," she admitted, then decided she'd better change the subject. "You say you go to X-rated movies?"

"Almost every week. It's kind of expensive, but on my day off I usually manage to get to at least one, sometimes two."

"How expensive are they?"

"Five dollars, usually. But I have to have some outlet."

Karen thought of her taping the next day. She knew the itch in her guts was going to bebackby then. "Would you like to see me in action again?" she asked.


"Are you off tomorrow?"


She told him where to be, and when. "But, I don't understand," he stuttered. "Let's just say it will be my last performance," she told him. "I'm going to bring down the hall."


"Oh, my, Mr. Bernstein isn't going to like that at all," Paul observed when he saw Karen wasn't wearing a bra. She had stripped her blouse off as soon as the door of the make-up room had shut behind her. She was as jittery as a cat, and got incredibly turned-on whenever she thought about what was going to happen that day.

"Oh?" she asked innocently.

Paul shook his head dubiously and eyed her full, heavy titties. "You'll be bouncing all over the stage."

"Bernstein didn't seem to mind that blonde going bra-less."

"Well, she didn't bounce, she just sort of jiggled," Paul pointed out delicately.

Karen eased back in the chair. She felt her jugs settle from the pull of gravity. "Don't take too long with my make-up," he cautioned. "How well do you know the technical director?"

Paul busied himself with his tray. "Not very well. But Jamie does. Not intimately, you understand."

"I'd like to met Jamie," Karen announced. "This morning."

"He's not busy right now," Paul said as he started on her face. "Should I call him? Do you want to cover yourself?"

"Give him a call, and I'll stay this way," Karen answered.

"Jamie is hi too," Paul cautioned.

"So, adjust the chair," Karen joked lightly.

"You mean that? He'd love that cock-sucking technique of yours." Paul had the telephone receiver in his hand.

"Bring him on," Karen said recklessly.

When he turned from the phone, Karen could see that the make up artist had a monster hard-on. He stomach quivering with lust, she squirmed her thighs together. She could feel her tits stiffening. "Why don't you get the chair adjusted and make yourself comfortable."

Paul eased her backwards until she was lying on her back. He stood by her head, and dropped the headrest back. He nose was inches from his crotch. She had just reached up and liberated his swollen dick when the door opened and Jamie came in.

Karen studied his reflection, upside down and felt her muscles tighten with desire. Jamie was built like a surfer, broad shoulders and narrow hips, sandy blond hair and a rich golden tan. His eyes stroked her naked torso admiringly, and his dick swelled powerfully in his tight pants.

"Paul has told me a great deal about you," Jamie said. His voice was surprisingly deep.

"I understand you know the technical director," Karen said.

"Fairly well," Jamie admitted cautiously. "He's one of the few people here that treat me and Paul like human beings. Maybe because he's one of the few men in this crew who's certain which way he swings. He doesn't feel threatened by us. The way Sandier does, for example."

"Do you know him well enough to get him to meet me backstage about ten?" Karen asked.

"What's in it for me?" Jamie asked.

"Jamie!" Paul exclaimed.

"No, it's all right," Karen assured the make-up man quickly. "Fair is fair. Because by the time I get done today, this show and all the hot shots in it may be drawing unemployment."

"Won't bother us," Paul noted smugly.

Karen ignored Paul's comment. "Anything you want," she told Jamie. She didn't add that she was horny and immensely attracted to him.

Jamie considered for a moment, then went to the telephone. In a minute he had set up the meeting Karen had requested. He hung up, and turned around. He unlimbered his long, lean hard-on as he came toward her. He waved his dong at her, stroked it. There was a thick drizzle of clear juice. "Anything?" he asked.

"Anything," Karen hissed. Her eyes were on his dick.

"Show him how you swallowed my prick," Paul urged, nudging her with his throbbing cock.

"I'm a cunt man, myself," Jamie observed, unfastening Karen's skirt. Karen lifted her hips and let him drag her last garment down her lush legs and off. She was totally naked now. She bent, her legs and spread her knees, exposing her pink gash and brown snatch. Her inner petals were distended, and formed a pink ruffle in the heart of her muff.

In the mirror, she could see Jamie's eyes burning into her naked crotch.

"Suck me," Paul ordered, grasping her head and thrusting his cock at her face. "Swallow my cock."

Karen let his dick nudge her mouth, then let her lips open. His prick slid slowly into her mouth. The friction brought a quick flow of pre-come. It smeared her tongue as his pocket slid toward her throat.

She felt the chair shuddering and shifting as Jamie adjusted the footrest. She felt his hands on her butt. He lifted her as and slid a cushion under her hips. Paul's prick poked the back of her mouth and she opened her throat to him.

He thrust, and the head of his cock jammed into her gullet. On her back, her head hanging toward the floor, her mouth and throat were in line. He sheathed his dick in her maw. It was like a sword-swallower was putting his weapon away.

"Look," Paul hissed. "Look, Jamie. This is the way to do it. She's got it all, all of it, right down her throat. Watch me fuck her now."

His hips moved. His dick slid out of Karen's mouth, and she sucked in a quick breath. Her guts were a wringing knot of lust. She knew the other man was watching avidly. She let Paul fuck his dick down her throat again. Her neck worked as she swallowed his meat. She scrubbed her tongue against his hot, hard, engorged staff. She felt her throat squirming trying to work the blocking man down to her stomach.

His pants down around his knees, he let his hips swing in a fucking motion. Karen felt his balls slap her nose as he pistoned his prick in her sucking mouth. He leaned forward and pressed his hands down hard, on her naked titties, mashing them against her chest.

Karen had placed herself completely at the two men's mercy. She lay upside down in the chair. Her legs were drawn up and spread wide. She could feel the air cutting into her naked ass, into her steaming twat. She reached down and fondled Paul's balls as she continued sucking his thrusting whang.

Suddenly a mouth fastened on her twat, and her thighs clenched, then relaxed. Jamie lapped his tongue along her flooding gash. His hands were spreading her thighs so wide it felt like she was being torn in half. Jamie dug his face into her snatch, squirmed his nose into her slippery folds, drove his tongue deep into her cunt. She felt his tongue wiggling in her nerve-packed tunnel, and moaned around the sliding piston of Paul's prick. Her heavy tits were still being kneaded by Paul's strong, slender fingers.

She clutched Paul's hips, and dragged, forcing his dick farther down her throat. Her nose nuzzled his slithery balls. She pushed him away, and felt his prick slide out until she had just the tip between her lips. She swirled her tongue around the knob, as much to savor his hot, stinging juice as to give him pleasure.

Jamie snorted into her snatch, and fucked her with his tongue. He drove his tongue in and out of her fountaining cunt. His nose squirmed over her cunt, made the slippery pearl wriggle and twist and roll.

She took Paul's prick down her throat again. She worked her swallower, to get every lean, hard inch of his pecker in. She twisted her head from side to side and drew the last fraction of an inch of his dick in. His balls hung down on either side of her nose. The warm, velvety sac draped across her nostrils.

With a stroking slurp of his tongue, Jamie took his mouth from Karen's cunt. She pushed Paul away again so she could get a breath of air. Just as she inhaled, a hot determined prick nuzzled her cunt, and slowly and relentlessly filled her cunt, stretching her velvety walls with its bulk. She took Paul's prick in her mouth again as Jamie fucked his cock deep into her cunt. Soon his cockhead was against the blind end of her tunnel and his balls were bumping against her bottom.

Then Jamie jerked his pecker out of her pussy. Karen felt abandoned and hollow, in spite of the cock in her mouth. Something touched her bung and her insides screamed with pleasure. Her excitement flared hotter than ever as she thought about what Jamie was surely going to do with his juicy dick. She spread her legs still wider. Her feet waved crazily out to the sides until Paul grabbed her ankles. He pulled on her legs until her hips lifted off the cushion Jamie had wedged under them.

"Forgot to mention I'm an ass man, too," Jamie murmured. He bored forward with his prick, and Karen felt her bung slowly wedge open. He kept a steady pressure against her winkie. She fought to let him in, fought ta relax her rear gate. She let Paul face-fuck her as she battled frantically to get Jamie's dick up into her asshole.

She felt her bung stretching, wider, and wider. She was sure her hole was going to tear. She was half hoping that it would, so she could have that towering rod deep in her crapper. There was a sliding snapping feeling and she lurched the same way she had when the electrical current had seared her flooded snatch. She felt a cock drive up into her shit-hole, felt the contents of her tunnel being pressured up into her, felt her bung burn from the searing friction. She felt her cunt flood with jealousy as her winkie got the load.

She swallowed Paul's prick again as she felt Jamie's hips up against her butt. She imagined what she must look like and winced. The two cocks were jamming both ends of her, threatening to meet in the middle. She had a solid core of cock running from her asshole straight up through her straining, spread body, up to her mouth. She had the feeling they could pick her up, and give her a twist, and she would rotate around the axle formed by their monstrous pricks.

For a moment, the world swam around her and she thought she was dying again. She loved dying. Then Paul began to fuck her face and Jamie began to fuck her butt, and she was engulfed in a blazing wash of pleasure. For a moment they screwed her in opposition, both drawing out at the same time, then both ramming back in. Then one was sliding out as the other was driving in. It was like she was sliding back and forth on a pole run through her body.

The shadows on her face changed, and she opened her eyes. She closed them when she saw what the two men were doing with each other, while they pounded their cocks into her opposite ends. She was coming. It was a roaring bonfire of a coming that obliterated everything but the delicious sensation of the pistoning pricks in her holes.

The cock burning up her ass began to spasm and she felt a jizz enema flooding her. The prick in her mouth began to spurt. It was rammed even further down her throat. The come poured straight into her stomach as she tried to swallow the spasming cock. The jizz poured into her from either end. She was whirled away on a flood-tide of thick, creamy juice. Lying on her back, naked, spread wide, spiked on two jetting dicks, Karen let herself be drowned with hot cream. She roused a little when Paul drew his jetting dick out to let her breathe. Her mouth was drenched with come. She roused a little more when the cock in her tail wrung itself dry and began to shrink. She regained her senses completely as she crapped out Jamie's cock and spat out Paul's.

With a happy groan, she straightened her leg. She let them hang loosely, not caring how it arched ha bare body and thrust her naked pussy apart. Jamie reset the footrest and she was able to wriggle into a more comfortable position. Paul brought up the headrest. She let her muscles relax completely while she caught her breath. She could feel come drizzling out of her bung, smearing her asscheeks. She could feel spit and come drying on her face.

Jamie and Paul stood over her. "What's this idea you have to bring down the high-and-mighty perverts who run this show?" Paul asked. He had his arm around Jamie's waist.

"Can't tell you," Karen answered. Her voice felt sticky. "But hang around for the finale of the last show. It should be exciting." She saw them glance at each other and shrug. Then Jamie left. Paul quickly mopped the jizz off her face and got her made up.

Standing up, she used a handful of tissue to wipe the come from her bottom. She felt the make-up man's eyes on her. She slipped her skirt and blouse on, and felt her naked tits burn against the material. She wasn't used to going bra-less, and her titties were continually getting aroused by the rubbing friction of the shirt.

"You're really stripped for action today, aren't you?" Paul observed as she slipped en her sandals.

"You bet your sweet ass I am."

"It's not that I'm particularly attached to our beloved producer and stars," Paul mused, "but I don't understand exactly why you're so determined to ruin them."

"Because, they used me," Karen answered.

"They used me, and a great many other people. This show is rigged. The contestants that go along with Bernstein's filthy little setup are the ones that win."

"You haven't exactly insisted on chastity," Paul pointed out.

Karen bit her lips, acknowledging the truth of that. "But, I want to do it when I want, with who I want, because I want to. I don't want to have it extorted from me."

"Admirable," Paul told her. "What does Mr. Calder think of all this?"

Karen felt her insides congeal at the mention of Mark. "He doesn't know a thing about it," she answered truthfully.

She didn't notice that Paul had his mouth open and was about to say something. She slipped out the door, eager for her appointment with the technical director. She picked her way through the back corridors until she located the show's set. She ducked behind the big drops, stepping cautiously over the maze of wires for the elaborate light show.

He was waiting for her near the back of the wheel of fortune. She noticed that the wheel was mounted on a sturdy steel frame, and that there was a flywheel to counterbalance it. She also noticed that the flywheel was marked so someone backstage could tell when and where to stop the wheel. Even the wheel was rigged.

"Mrs. Calder?" the technical director greeted her cautiously.

"Is there somewhere we can talk?" she asked nervously. A stagehand was eyeing them curiously.

"This way." The technical director led the way through the maze to a storage room and closed the door behind them. Racked around the walls were coils of cable, spare lights and frames, and countless small wires and tools.

"Now, what's so mysterious?" he asked. "Jamie said this appeared to be very important to you?"

"And that it's a secret."

"How much trouble would you have finding another job?" she asked.

"Not much. I've had offers."

"You don't seem to like the bosses on this show very much," she went on, feeling the man out.

"Bastards," he grunted.

She felt a surge of sympathy and desire for the man. "With your help, I'll bring them down," she offered.

"But it might cost me my job," he stated, not concerned, just wanting to get the facts.

"It might," she agreed.

"What do you want me to do?"

She took a deep breath. "I want you to keep at least one camera on after the show is over. I want you to videotape everything that happens, but I don't want Bernstein or any of his crowd to know until after you've slipped me the videotape."

"You're going to blackmail them," the technical director assumed.

"I'm not going to do anything to them that they haven't already done to me and a lot of others. But, if Sandier and Bernstein are humbled, she'll fall, too."

"She's an iceberg," the technical director said. "She's the frigid temptress, the woman who never comes. Show her as the wanton bitch she is and it'll destroy her."

"That leaves the damned sponsor's representative. And Bernstein himself, of course."

"If you're offering it down on the stage, that ad man won't hang around the control room for more than about ten seconds," the technical director said sourly.

"They say that the ad game involves a lot of ass-kissing," Karen mused. "Why don't we see how good he really is at it?"

"You're crazy, aren't you?"

Karen didn't answer that. "Bernstein," she mused, "now what about Bernstein?"

"Only thing he likes more than his show and women are those stinking cigars of his."

Karen smiled slowly. "Well then, I guess I'll let him have one of his cigars."

The technical director looked puzzled, but didn't say anything. "I'll need to have a man down in videotape," he pointed out.

"Can you find someone?" she asked.

He shrugged. "There's one I think I can trust. But he'll need some inducement."

"Will he keep a bargain, once he's made it?" Karen asked.

"I think so."

"Get him up here then," Karen ordered with a calmness she didn't feel.

After he was off the telephone, Karen eased up to him and pressed her warm, soft body against his, and began playing with his belt. She was hotter than ever.

"Hey, you don't need to do it with me," the man told her.

"I want to," she assured him. "Besides, you're going to be in the control room. All you'll be able to do is watch. It's only fair that you get your piece of the community snatch, too." She had his prick out. His trousers had settled around his ankles. Looking down at his lovely hard-on, Karen stroked the hot meat tenderly.

"Yeah, what did you want?" a videotape man asked, entering the storeroom without any warning. "Sonofabitch!"

"We need your help," Karen answered as she advanced on the youth. She was pleased he was young, and handsome. The technical director explained what he wanted, while the newcomer stared at the technical director's hard-on.

"I don't like those guys either," the youth stammered. "But I don't know about this."

Karen began unbuttoning her blouse. "Wouldn't you like to at lent see what they're all excited about?" she asked. She shed her blouse, and the youth's eyes got as big as saucers when he saw her tits. A flick at the button and zipper, and her skirt was off, and she was naked. She eased up to the boy. She lifted and fondled her titties.

"Say you'll do it," she whispered. "Promise you'll do it, and I'm yours for the taking."

The youth's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. His eyes raked over her naked body. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. "Honest?" he squeaked.

Karen rubbed her hand up and down his crotch, felt the hard mass of his pecker. She guided one of his hands to her generous boobs. "Honest," she assured him. "Right here, and right now." She unbuttoned his shirt.

"Okay," he wheezed as she undid his pants. "I'll do it, I promise."

She wrapped her hand around his throbbing prick and pumped his meat like they were shaking hands on the deal. Then, slowly, she sank to her knees in front of him. She drew his throbbing pecker into her mouth, and began sucking on it with loving care. Moving her head back and forth, she sucked his dong until she tasted hot seepings.

"We don't have too much time," she purred. "Why don't you lie down on your back and let me do all the work?"

Eagerly, the youth eased down and stretched out on his back on the floor. He watched her straddle him. Her snatch parted as she placed her knees on either side of him. His hands came up and grabbed the full, swaying masses of her titties.

She had a feeling of power as she aimed his prick up into her cunt. She was in control of this. She would control how deep he drilled her, how fast his prick moved in her pussy.

She nuzzled the tip of his hard-on between her cunt lips, and eased down tentatively. She felt his prick squirm into her cunt. She eased down a little more, and felt his tower drill slowly up into her twat. She was deliberately tormenting him, and herself, with the slowness of the skewering.

She felt his hips heaving, and tried to hold him off. She pressed down, drove his cock up into her cunt.

"Aww shit!" he swore miserably as his cock began to pulse in her twat.

Karen realized she had misjudged badly, but it was too late. His cock leaped and twisted in her hot hole, and she felt his jism jump into her, in sealing spurts. She felt his cream pushing back out around his erupting dick. It spilled from her barely aroused cunt, forming a sticky pool between them.

"Noooo," she moaned, shivering. She was only halfway up the mountain. She writhed and twisted in a desperate attempt to bring herself off. She failed. She felt the cock in her snatch give a final heave, felt his last hot wave of come ooze out around his shriveling dick. She slumped, miserable and frustrated.

"I'm sorry," the boy cried, almost in tears. "It-it was all my fault, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Karen realized suddenly that, while he would never admit it, it had been the youngster's first time. She felt a surge of sympathy for him. Leaning forward, she lay down on him. She felt come smear between their bellies. It felt slippery and gooey. She snuggled him tenderly. Her boobs were like soft pillows between them. His withered dick was still in her cunt.

"It's all right," she assured him. "It's alright I understand."

She was still reassuring him when she felt someone behind her. Something hot and hard prodded between her asscheeks. She felt a prick nuzzle her bung, and cast a sharp glance over her shoulder at the technical director. He was aiming his dick into her ass and was leaning against her, driving his unlubricated pecker at her winkle.

"Too dry," she moaned as her brownie burned. "Sorry," the technical director panted. "My cunt sopping," she whispered. "Jesus Christ." The youth under her exploded when his prick, still in her cunt, was wedged aside by the probing hard-on of the older man.

For an incredible stretching moment, Karen had two cocks in her cunt, one shriveled tit flabby the other steel-hard. Then the hard one whipped out of her flooded cunt. The flaccid dick began to inflate in her channel, began drilling its nose deeper and deeper.

The hard cock was back at her bung again, pushing into her. This time, it was slippery and wet. This time, her winkie yielded. The technical director reamed her butt with his whang, stretching her shitter with his powerful cock. He grasped his whang to stiffen it, and watched as it bored into her butt.

"Awww," Karen moaned. "More. Jesus, more." She got more, and more and more. She got more cock up her ass, and more in her cunt. The prick of the boy under her revived, pulsed bigger and harder with every eager throb of his heart. It was like having a balloon inflating in her cunt.

At the same time, a monumental piston was driving up her ass, shoving everything else along ahead of it. She hadn't even noticed when he had gotten the head of his dick into her. All she was aware of now was the full length of his whang sliding through her clutching bung, glutting her crap hole. She lifted her head and arched her back as the cock filled her bottom.

"Jesus, I can feel that," the boy under her moaned. "I can feel his dick going right up into you. Jesus! Jesus, it's great."

Karen was glad the boy had come when he did. It had given the technical director enough juice to grease his path, and it meant, too, that the boy would have good staying power.

She felt as if she were being ripped open from the crotch upward. She had the full bulk of two men's hard-ons in her. The cock in her cunt was as big as a telephone pole. The one in her ass was even bigger. The entire lower half of her body was filled with rock-hard cocks.

"I love it," she moaned hotly. "Oh, God almighty, I love it! So big, so hard, so full. Aaaahh. Don't move for a minute. Let me get used to it. God almighty!"

They waited, but she didn't think she would ever get used to it. She loved it, really, really loved it. Hesitantly, she wiggled her hips, and felt the two peckers stir in her.

The only thing better than two cocks would be three, she decided.

Her movement had been all the signal that the man in her ass needed. He drew his dick out, and drove it back in. Karen felt her insides twist and roll from the brutal penetration. She felt the thin wall between cunt and bung twist and pinch.

She moved on top of the boy in her twat. The man in her ass rode along with her, so his cock didn't move. She slid the dick out of her snatch, until it almost popped free. She slid back down on the tower, feeling her breasts compress as they squashed against his hard chest.

"Sheee-it!" the youth snorted in her face.

The man in her ass moved, dragged his dick out, rammed it back in.

"I can feel that!" the boy exclaimed. "I can feel his dick going in and out of you! Jesus Christ!"

Karen moved on the boy's pecker and felt the man on her back shudder. If the boy could feel the cock in her ass, then the cock in her ass could feel the cock in her cunt!

And she could feel them both! The next time she eased upward, the man with his cock in her ass stayed still. She drew away from his pecker, too. From being jammed overfull with cock, she went to being empty, terrifyingly empty. She jammed herself down on the two spikes quickly, and felt her innards shudder at the sudden shock of being too full of cock again.

"Too much," she moaned. "It's too much!" She groped for the man in her ass. "No, God no, don't go away, don't go away. Awwww!"

Her voice trailed off as she began coming with no warning. Her cunt spumed around one dick, while her bung twitched around the other.

"Take turns," she moaned when her coming faded. "Take turns moving in me."

The man in her ass moved first. He slid his cock out of her winkie, then drove it back in. When he was full depth, he kept right on pushing, and drove her forward off the cock in her cunt. Then he stopped. Karen eased back down on the cock in her cunt. When she had that prick back full depth in her snatch, the awn in her butt moved, dragging his prick out, then rammed it back in.

In seconds, they, had a rhythm going that was cremating her with blazing pleasure. One minute, her cunt was full of cock and her butt empty, the next minute the reverse. In between she had two monster cocks jamming her holes. She was a two-banger fucking-machine, a double-barreled cock-socket.

She reduced to just being along for the ride after a few strokes. She bounced up and down on the boy, slid his cock in and out of her pinched cunt. She was driven by the cock in her ass and by her own mad lust. She drooled mindlessly on the boy as her brain was short-circuited by blazing ecstasy.

She was coming, maybe more than once. It was hard to tell if it was a series of comings, or just a single long, nerve-searing one. Her muscles, no longer obeyed her.

"I'm gonna come again," the boy under her moaned.

She didn't even hear him.

"Go ahead," the man in her ass grunted. "Go ahead, I'm about to come, too."

The cock in her cunt began to jump and squirm. A second thick load spurted into her spasming snatch. She felt thick cream hit the cupped end of her cunt, and pressure back out around the twitching column of meat. She felt hot searing lava squeeze out of her tunnel, fill her crack, smear over her cunt and her pubes to form a slippery paste between their naked bellies.

Then the cock in her butt began to lurch and spurt. Both cocks were pumping now. She was being hosed to death with come. She was being drowned, floated on a tidal-wave of jizz, and her brain whirled away on the flood.

She didn't regain her senses until the two pricks in her had shriveled to half their erect bulk. It was a weird, weird feeling to have peckers slowly withering and retreating from the depths of her cunt and bung, at the same time. It was so weird that she was racked by a series of shudders, aftershocks. Mini-comings really. Karen clutched at the man on her back and squirmed against the one under her. She didn't want them to pull out too soon.

She didn't let them go until she that out the cock up her ass. Then she eased up off the exhausted dick in her cunt, and tolled to her side on the hard floor. She felt come drying to a crust on her belly, her thighs, and her ass.

"Jesus, lady, are you all right?" the youth from videotape asked.

"I'm fine," Karen groaned.

"Jesus," he repeated.

"Hey! I hate to break this up, but we're running out of time," the technical director said as he hauled his pants up.

"I'd better get cleaned up a little and get my make-up touched up," Karen said dragging herself to her feet. "Can I wake it ban here to make-up without being seen?"

"Yeah, just slip through between the drops."

"I don't want to get my clothes dirty," Karen giggled. She was feeling a little hysterical.

"You know, you don't have to go through with this," the man told her as he guided her along.

Karen was carrying her clothes over one arm. "But I'm going to."

"You're crazy."

"Maybe so. Because, I really want to do it... I really want it, all of it, every bit of it."

He left her, shaking his head slowly.

In a few minutes, the startled Paul had helped her wipe the come off, and repaired her make-up. Then she dressed, took a deep breath, and headed for the studio. She was ready to take on her opponent, and the entire crew, and bring them all to their knees. She was totally, wonderfully aware of her naked body under her blouse and skirt as she thought of how she was going to get the orgy rolling. After she had dragged in Bernstein, and Sandier, and the ad man, she would show the world just what they were. It was going to be a delightful afternoon.


Karen was grateful there had been a lunch break after they had finished taping the show that had been interrupted. It had given her a chance to recuperate from the morning's fuckings. She had drunk most of her lunch.

Now she sat behind the podium, the warm glow of the liquor conning through her veins. Mingling with it was a simmering dedication to the downfall of the oozing MC, his assistant, the producer, the ad man, and anyone else who got in her way. Overriding everything was a hot horniness that was making her cunt drool in anticipation.

Because of the changed schedule, there was only a minuscule live audience just a few ghastly faces beyond the bright lights. Probably they were the handpicked cronies of the producer. Everyone seemed to be anticipating an orgiastic ending to the day.

Little did they know just how orgiastic it was going to be. Karen was ready and loose, her snatch honed and ready. Every time she caught sight of Bernstein, back in the control room, her lust and fury boiled higher.

At the beginning of the lunch break, he had tried to get her to go up to the control room, but she had refused. She had managed to do it so that, instead of getting mad, he was looking forward to a hot time later. He had suggested she find a bra to wear. She had looked down at her chest and jiggled her titties up and down gently. It was very arousing, the way her knockers joggled. Her tits burned against her blouse. She had ignored his suggestion about the bra.

Now, as the final show was taped, she was firing off the answers confidently. Her opponent seemed stunned, and more interested in the lush curves of her figure than anything else. Well, he could have a shot at her, too, when it was all over. He deserved a consolation prize, Karen decided.

She felt her partner sliding his hand up under her skirt, and let her legs ease open. His fingers slid into her hot, oozing twat while the glassy eyes of a camera focused on her smiling face. Indulgently, she let the out-of-work actor pump his fingers in her dripping cunt. Then she eased a hand over into his lap. He grinned at her, as if he was proud of her for answering a question. What he was grinning about, really, was her grip on his pecker. She had freed it from his pants.

Pretending to scratch her throat, Karen unbuttoned the top button of her blouse. She could feel the hot eye of a TV camera on her. She thought of stripping naked in front of millions of watchers, and her cunt spewed hot lust. She squirmed in her chair. Her excitement built as she let herself be fondled, while she stroked the lean prick of her celebrity partner. Her tits were hard and hot and more sensitive than a safecracker's fingertips as they stroked the sensuous weave of her blouse.

Peter Sandier looked at her expectantly, waiting for her answer. His eyes lighted on her generous titties, the gap in her blouse. The suave MC wallowed hard, licked his lips. His prick surged to prominence in his tight pants. Karen saw the producer say something to the director, saw the director relay it to someone else. The cameraman that covered Sandier nodded, grinned slightly, and domed in closer to the host. The word had been passed, evidently, to cut Sandier off at the waist so his hard-on wouldn't be broadcast coast to cost. At the same time, a longer lens had been rotated into position on the camera covering Karen, taking just her head, cutting off the opening in her blouse and her titties.

Karen unbuttoned another button, the one well below her tits. She let the blouse open to show the inner curves of her generous jugs. She felt the heat of the lights on the valley between her knockers. She sensed the erotic tensions created by her calculated display, and her twat began to boil.

Bernstein said something to the technical director, who shook his head. Bernstein picked up a phone and talked heatedly into it, then slammed it don and yelled something at the director. The camera moved in still closer on Karen and Sandier. Karen realized suddenly that she was getting help she hadn't expected. Obviously, Bernstein had wanted to stop the taping, but someone down in videotape had refused. There were no more commercials scheduled, either. The taping had to go on, no matter what she did!

Karen fought down a tight chuckle. She wondered how they were going to show the flashing numbers that recorded her score. The numbers were on her podium. To show them they would have to show more of her than the Federal Communications System would allow, because she had just unbuttoned the last button on her blouse.

She watched the MC's eyes bulge out as she eased the blouse back off her shoulders. She took a deep breath. Her titties rose and fell as she breathed. Her opponent looked like he was about to faint. His actress partner looked frankly envious.

Without batting an eye, without giving a hint of the lust that was raging through her, Karen answered the last question. The director managed to key the right sound and light effects, and Karen was bathed in a psychedelic eruption. She began unfastening her skirt. The actor sitting beside her was the only one who could see what she was doing, and he looked like he couldn't believe his eyes.

Peter Sandier was looking around frantically, hoping for direction. At this point in a normal taping he had the winner stand beside him. Then the wheel of fortune was spun for the jackpot. Desperately, he looked at the control booth, hoping for an indication of what he was supposed to do. He couldn't ask her to get up. She was naked to her waist! Right there, in front of the cameras and a live studio audience.

Karen was aware of a desperate flurry in the control room. Bernstein was hiding his head in his hands. The director's eyes were fastened on her naked titties. The technical director was the calmest one in the glass booth. The ad man was grinning hotly and expectantly at her.

Finally, not knowing what else to do, Sandier announced she was the winner and called her over to the wheel of fortune. Karen smiled. Her smile was hot with lust, cold with cruelty. She stood up, and her skirt fell around her ankles. Gracefully, she stepped out of her skirt, then out from behind the podium. She was wearing only her smile, her make-up, and her sandals.

Some when backstage, something dropped with a loud clatter. Shanda McAleer leaned back against the set. It swayed ominously. Karen's opponent's eyes were as big as saucers. She caroused in front of him, her titties joggling enticingly. Her pussy was steaming with lust as the hot lights burned her naked cunt.

The blank eyes of the cameras followed her with moronic devotion, focusing on her head only. She thought Sandier was going to have a heart attack.

And still the show went on. Karen kept expecting to hear a bellow from the control room, but there was nothing. Her guts were a puddle of boiling lust. She was burning up with excitement. All those eyes on her naked body! She could see vaguely that the audience was on their feet, leaning forward, watching her. She pond for them. She was proud of her sensuous curves, her generous tilt, the swell of her hips, the lush brown of her muff.

Sandier stood like a statue. She eased up next to him and guided his arm around bet naked waist. She nuzzled his chest with one of her big tits. She grinned up at him, and stroked his prick through his pants, then managed to get his fly open and free his pecker.

The MC was frantically hurrying through the closing routine of the show, desperately clinging to the carefully memorized lines. He explained the wheel while Shanda stood there next to it like a mindless mannequins. Her eyes kept returning to Karen's wanton display, a searing hunger in her looks.

The wheel turned and the lights fished. Karen jiggled with excitement. Her titty rubbed against the MC's chest, and she squeezed his cock in her hot little hand. For a few moments, most of the attention in the studio was on the rotating, rigged game of chance. Her twat drooling, Karen watched the wheel spin. The pie wedges of light flashed garishly, the ring of lights around the outside flickered crazily. It began to slow, and Karen held her breath.

Whoever was controlling the wheel backstage eased it to a stop right at the jackpot. She had won ten thousand dollars! Karen leaped and jumped, and wrapped her arms and legs around the staggering master of ceremonies. His cock slammed into her cunt as she hugged him against her naked body. She ground her snatch against him, and felt his pecker stir in her streaming cunt. She scraped her tender, aroused titties against his rough suit.

While she fucked herself on him, right there on stage, the man frantically tried to close the show. He was hanging onto his microphone with maniacal desperation. Karen's opponent heaved himself up from his chair as the closing lines were read. Coming up behind her, his prick out and ready, he spiked Karen's ass with his cock.

The unlubricated penetration of her bung made Karen shriek with pain. Then the pain faded, was replaced by searing pleasure. Pinned between two men, she had pricks in her cunt and her bring. With the glaring lights still burning down on her, she let herself be taken by two men simultaneously. She let them support her full weight between them.

The three of them tumbled to the stage when Shanda slammed into them. Peter Sandier's hard-on ripped free of Karen's cunt, but she didn't care. She still had her opponent's cock up her butt. Brutally, she shoved Sandier away. He was aroused and unsatisfied but she didn't care. She let the man corn-holing her slam his towering prick deep into her burning winkie. Spreading her legs wide, she displayed the man's rear penetration to the camera, to the sweating faces of the audience.

The man pistoning his prick in her tail thrust again, deeper. She felt his pecker leaping and jerking, felt come hosing her brownie. Karen heaved in the grip of her own flaming orgasm as the man filled her with jism.

When his twitchings finally began to fade, and she felt his dick shrinking, she twisted off of him. As her winkie snapped shut, a dribble of come escaped, and burned her tail. She was the center of attention. She was the object of Peter Sandier's lust, of Shanda McAleer's lesbian horniness, the target of her celebrity partner's stabbing prick, and the fury and crude lust of the producer, who had come thundering down from the control booth.

With a wrench Karen yanked free of their grabbing hands and backed up against the round disk of the wheel of fortune. She felt the axle dig into her naked back. Like an animal at bay, she bared her teeth at them. They all froze.

"You want me," she hissed. "You all want me, don't you?" She didn't need a spoken answer how much they wanted her was in their eyes, in their stiff pricks, in their reaching hands. They were hungry for her lush, naked body.

"You all want me, don't you?" She laughed. "Well, you used me. And now, by God, I'm going to use you."

"Mrs. Calder?" the producer stammered. He was sweating badly.

"Karen," Peter Sandier croaked. His prick was still glistening with her juices.

"Shut up," she snapped. "One more word from any of you and I'll blow the whistle on this shabby little operation of yours."

They knew she meant it, and refrained from grabbing her.

"What do you want?" Bernstein whispered.

Karen grinned at him. It wasn't a pleasant grin. "Give me one of your cigars," she said calmly.

Fumbling desperately, the man pulled out one of his thick stogies. Karen glanced at it. Intriguingly, it was from Cuba. Delicately, she twirled the cigar in her fingers.

"Now, take off your clothes," she ordered softly. She was steaming with lust.


"Don't argue," she warned. "It's not as if I haven't seen you naked before. Remember?"

With a shudder, under the hot, staring eyes of the crowd, the producer began to undress. His hands shook as he bared his blocky, hard body. His stubby cock was swollen and bloated.

Karen sucked on the cigar thoughtfully, as if it was a cock. "Now, turn around and bend over," she said softly.

The sweating producer shuddered again, and turned. Looking back over his shoulder at her, he slowly bent at the waist. Karen put a hand on his back and pushed, until his hands hit the floor. His fat ass thrust back at her.

With a theatrical flourish, she waved the spit-slicked cigar. She carefully spread his asscheeks with the fingers of her other hand. While everyone looked on, aghast and aroused, she set the tip of the cigar on the brown, hair-fringed pucker of the producer's asshole. Her teeth bared in a delighted snarl, Karen slowly pushed the cigar into the man's resisting bung. Bit by bit, she augured the roll of tobacco up into the tight, clenched winkie. She watched his crap gate twinge as it was invaded, watched his shit lock wink and wink.

She loved the expressions that played over the producer's seamed face. The horror had been diluted first with pain. Then, as the cigar drilled deeper up his dirt road, there was a hot sheen of pleasure on his sweating features. Against his will, he was enjoying being buggered by one of his prize Havanas.

Karen didn't stop until two thirds of the cigar was in his hard butt. Then she paused, letting everyone see the producer's tobacco-buggery. She reached between the man's hairy thighs and wrapped her hand around his stocky cock. She began to jack him off, as she slid the cigar in and out of his clinging butt. While everyone watched, she jerked his whang and fucked his bung. And everyone could see just how much he was enjoying it.

It didn't take long for his come to be spattering the stage with a thick, creamy rain. Karen twisted the cigar in his tail as she milked the hot flood from his pecker. The producer groaned in ecstasy as he hunched over in front of her. His buttocks clenched as he squeezed out the last trickles of jizz. They strung down from his dick toward the stage.

Then he slumped in a wheezing heap. He curled up with the cigar sticking obscenely out his rear. His crapper got itself into gear, and the brown cylinder slowly slid out of his tail. He shuddered and moaned.

Peter Sandier muttered something angrily, and instantly regretted it when Karen's attention shifted to him.

"Come here," she ordered softly.

Like a rabbit hypnotized by a snake, the dapper MC obeyed. His cock swaying and bobbing from his gaping fly, he approached her meekly. His lust pole had been rammed into her snatch once already, then yanked out before it could erupt.

Delicately, she reached down and stroked the underside of his dick. She could feel oily oozings on his hot meat.

"Eat me," she ordered the master of ceremonies. Like a puppet, he dropped to his knees in front of her. She spread her legs and thrust her pussy at him. She combed her twat with her fingers, showed him her glistening snatch. He licked his lips and moved toward her. She felt his hot breath on her twat. He nuzzled his face into her cunt. She rubbed her pussy against his face.

"My cunt," she ordered. "Put your tongue in my cunt."

She felt his tongue burrow into her hot hole, wiggle, felt him suck up her hot juices. Grabbing his curly hair, she jammed his face deep into her snatch. Waves of fire raged up through her as he explored her twat.

She felt another hot, biological need swelling in her belly, and felt her lust roar higher at the thought. It was so delightfully suitable! Just perfect for the meticulously groomed stud kneeling and munching on her cunt. She had to do it, she just had to. She used her grip on the man's curly locks to drag his face out of her snatch. His nose, cheeks and chin were slick and shining with juices. He looked up at her, lust and adoration in his eyes.

Keeping one hand twined in his hair, she used the fingers of her other to part her cunt lips. Humping her hips forward, she squeezed down inside herself, and a hot jet of piss shot into his adoring face. He didn't even try to pull away! His eyes closed against the hot, aromatic spatter, he let her cover him with piss. Swinging her hips, she hosed his handsome face with urine. She covered his eyes, his cheeks, his nose, even his mouth. He lapped up the flood of pee. It stained the shoulders of his jacket, drenched his necktie and his shirt, dribbled off his chin, spilled down onto his pants and naked prick.

The man's abject enjoyment of the vile humiliation was a real turn-on. She was giving him more pleasure than he had ever experienced in his life. He was jerking off while the hot stream played over his face, ran down his body, soaked his clothes. Then his cock was erupting, spraying the stage, spattering Karen's feet and ankles with thick cream. Her pissing faded, spurted, then died completely. Still his pecker lurched and spouted, added its load to the one left by the producer. Bernstein was now sitting like a dazed Buddha, staring at the soiled cigar in his hand.

With a jerk, Karen forced Sandier's mouth back to her twat, guided him to her cunt. "Suck it," she hissed as the piss on his face smeared her snatch. He licked her twat, sucked on the hot berry of her clit. Karen was suddenly overwhelmed by an incredible coming and smothered him with her sodden twat. The pink flush of pleasure blossomed on her naked torso and she flooded his mouth with cunt cream instead of piss. She held his head in her crotch until the last quivers of her coming were gone.

Then she let him go. She pushed him away, watched him sprawl out next to the producer. The MC's clothes were soaked with piss. On his face an expression of shame mingled with one of lusty pleasure. His dick drizzled its overflow on his soiled trousers. He stared at the still-stunned naked producer.

Karen glanced over them, toward the audience, and smiled. Hanging on the edge of the stage, his face shining with it, and enjoyment, and delight, was Jake, the security man from the market. He had made it, and she was giving him a show he'd never forget.

She was about to start on Shanda, when she realized the woman had already been taken care of. Shanda, cool, beautiful Shanda, was tangled head-to-crotch with the celebrity starlet who had been Karen's opponent's partner. The two naked women were a heaving tangle of madness as they ate each other's snatches. Shanda twisted and rolled her face in the starlet's jet-black crotch, dug her tongue deep into the woman's streaming gash. Shanda's hips were heaving and bucking, smothering the other woman with twat.

This was obviously no momentary aberration on either woman's part. There was a practiced skill in their stimulation of each other. They quickly reached a flaming, simultaneous lesbian coming. Their bodies bucked and heaved on the slick, come-spattered stage. Breasts were mashed against bellies, hands were clutching asses, painted nails were digging into tender white globes. They were trying to devour each other.

Shanda ripped her mouth off the starlet's snatch. For a moment, Karen could see come on Shanda's face. Then Shanda attacked again. She hauled on the starlet's bottom, reached with her mouth. Shanda found the starlet's bung and drilled her tongue into the tight pucker. Shanda reamed the starlet's asshole with total, wanton abandon. There was a collective hot moan of lust from the audience and her fellow workers.

Karen laughed. It was a laugh loaded with cruel satisfaction and hot lust. She felt her own come-flooded bung spasm. She remembered how a tongue spearing up into her winkie felt her twat drooled hungrily at the memory. She caught the ad man's eye. He cringed as she beckoned to him.

"No," the man mumbled. "Please."

She saw the hot desire in his eyes. He knew what she wanted, and he wanted to do it. He was going to do it, and he was going to love it. "Kiss my ass," she hissed.

"No," he groaned. The one word contained pain and shame and desire all at the same time. Even as he protested, he was easing down on his knees, kneeling in the spattered puddle of jism left by the two men Karen had already subdued.

"Do it," Karen ordered. "Do it!"

"Oh, God, you, you bitch!" the man moaned hoarsely as she towered over him. She was a naked lust Goddess. "Jesus!" he groaned.

"KISS my ass," she repeated, softly, confidently. She shoved his head downward and spread her legs. The man crawled under her dripping snatch, and turned. She stuck her butt out, and felt his hands on her an, felt him part her firm globes. His breath puffed on the come left from her buggering. She felt his nose sniff her soaked tail.

Then his mouth fastened on her winkle. She braced her hands on her knees. She ground her backside against him as she felt him suck her winkle. He probed his tongue at her crapper and her lust roared upward. She felt his tongue twist slowly into her tail hole, wedge the ring open with agonizing slowness. As she fought to let him deeper, she realized his penetration was being eased by all the come swilling around inside her butt. Just as she felt his tongue twist into her rear, her star partner crawled under her and fastened his mouth to her snatch.

Chin to chin, the two men drilled her with their tongues on her cunt, the other her bung. Karen shuddered from the double tongue-fuck, and began to come. Her juice poured over the sucking, working mouth of the man in her snatch, ran back, spilled over the sucking face of the man drilling his tongue into her bung. Her coming raging through her, Karen's muscles shivered and shuddered. Her full titties jiggled and swayed.

She had done it! She had them in her power. She had ground them into the dirt with her body. And every one of them was loving it, loving the power she had over them.

She kept the two men eating at her snatch and her bung until she was shuddering with carnal exhaustion. Her twat was a solid ache it had, done so much spuming. Finally, a determined thrust sent the two men tumbling to the floor.

Suddenly, without any warning, two men grabbed her and dragged her backward across the stage. Too drained to struggle, she was barely able to keep her feet under her. At orders from the producer, the naked, swearing producer, Karen was slammed back against the garishly lighted wheel of fortune. She was urged up until she was balancing on her tiptoes.

Shaking the hair out of her face, she tried to figure out what was happening. She tried to drag her wrists free as she felt the wheel behind her shift. She looked up, and shivered. Her hands were tied to the pegs of the wheel!

When she looked at the producer, he was not pleased with the expression on her face. Instead of terror or humiliation or wariness, it was a look of searing, eager expectancy.

Teetering crazily for a desperate moment, Karen lifted one foot, found a peg for it to rest on. The wheel swung unexpectedly from the pressure, yanking her other foot sideways off the stage. She kicked, slamming the heel of that foot down on the remaining peg, and her insane daydream was a reality!

She was spread-eagled on the wheel of fortune, surrounded by glittering, flashing lights, the axle digging into her back. The wheel turned until she was right side up again, and then her feet were lashed to the pegs they were on. She was pinned to the wheel like a specimen in a collection. It was like a circus act she had seen once where a knife thrower had outlined a shapely girl with glittering blades while she was turned on a huge wheel.

Naked, spread wide, her twat streaming come, her chest heaving, Karen eyed the producer warily. The naked, stocky man studied her pose. Wit a cruel grin, he took one of her tits and pinched it until tears of pain burned her eyes. The hot flood from her twat increased.

"Now let's see who gets the next shot at the little lady," he hissed nastily. Gripping one of the pegs, he pulled on it, pulled it down and around, starting the wheel and Karen turning.

Tied to the spinning disk, under the merciless glare of the bright stage lights, Karen whirled end over end in an insane, dizzy series of cartwheels. Her hair whipped in the breeze from the centrifugal force. Behind her naked body, the pie wedges of light flashed and flickered, bathing her in crazy patterns of colored light. Around the rim of the wheel lights flickered in the opposite direction.

She was the spinning wheel of chance and the prize. Her breasts swayed and shifted arousingly with the changing tug of gravity. The bindings that held her wrists and ankles chafed her tender skin. She began to feel sick and dizzy as the wheel continued to whirl around and around.

At last the spinning of the wheel slowed. The flashing lights dimmed Karen felt the wheel slow to a stop. Unfortunately, she was upside down. She desperately clutched the pegs her wrists were lashed to. She felt her feet falling away from their pegs. The ropes holding them tightened cruelly.

"My turn," Shanda purred, coming up to Karen. She hung helplessly suspended, crotch gaping wide and upward. Her cunt was a perfect funnel for Shanda's desires.

With a purr of happiness, the slender, big-titted model nuzzled her face into Karen's twat, and bit Karen's tender, juicy folds. Karen moaned. The blood pounded in her head as pain and pleasure blued through her inverted body. She arched her spine and struggled feebly against the cruel ropes. Shanda ignored the thrashing and devoted herself to devouring Karen's gaping snatch. She raped Karen with lips and teeth and tongue. Finally, Karen was writhing dn the verge of a blackout.

There was a commotion, and suddenly the wheel was moving again, and Shanda was no longer chewing on Karen's battered twat. Hands were tearing at Karen's bonds. One arm pulled free as the wheel stopped at a new angle. Karen flapped her arm helplessly, terrified of falling. Then she was spun upright and her feet were freed, then her remaining hand. She tumbled to the stage.

A man came down on top of her, rammed his dick into her streaming cunt. She spread herself wide, welcoming the brutal raping. She bucked and heaved and tossed, and suddenly she was on top, and she was raping him. Something dug into her ass, drilled into her bung with burning pain, and pleasure. She had two cocks in her now!

Cocks pounded in her ass and cunt. Karen felt the wall between the holes stretching, threatening to shred. She didn't care if it did, because she was feeling a pleasure that made up for everything else. Someone grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. A dick was jammed against her lips, driven into her mouth. Now she had three cocks working in her. Sucking frantically on the cock in her mouth, she let her bung be reamed, her cunt get raped. She felt her body convulse madly as she came.

The cock in her butt blistered her with a towering, pulsing flood of jizz. Her butt spasmed crazily. Then that spent prick whipped out of her flooded winkie, and another, fully erect one, was drilling through her exhausted crap-valve. The cock in her cunt erupted, then died. The man under her heaved her up and over, so she was on her beck on top of the man in her ass. Her flooded cunt was open, ready for another assault. The man who had been raping her mouth had been dislodged. He regained his opening, and she got his dick down her throat just in time to take his full load. She choked, spattering jism and spit all over. His prick whipped free of her mouth while it was still spouting. Thick juice showered her face, her eyes, her throat, and her hair.

Without even thinking, she reached up with both hands and smeared the creamy goo into her skin, coating her face with the unknown man's sex fluid.

The second cock to ream her began to spurt, and she soured upwards in the grip of yet another coming. The cock in her cunt jerked and heaved. She was getting a double-barreled load of jism. Pinned between two spurting men, the come of a third drying stickily on her face, Karen left her sanity behind and floated away on the flood of pleasure.

She roused to the unfamiliar sensation of someone holding and soothing her, without using one of her openings. Mindlessly, she snuggled into the comforting, gentle embrace. She tried to hide from her memories as she recovered. The lights on the stage began dying out.

"Oh, Karen," a familiar voice sighed.

"Mark?" Karen whimpered as cold fear slashed through her. She pulled back and looked, then slowly died inside at the sight of her husband's face. It was Mark who was holding her, snuggling, soothing her. And he was stark naked. She wanted to crawl into a hole.

"It's all right," he soothed. "It's all right."

"My God, what are you doing here?" she moaned.

"I was told to be here," he answered. "The producer said you were probably going to be a jackpot winner. They like to have the spouse here for the blessed event. Bernstein didn't expect the ending you supplied. Neither did I."

"Why didn't you stop me?" she whispered. "My God, what you saw!"

"I saw things I wish I'd known about years ago. I saw you do things I've always wanted to try, but didn't have the nerve. And I saw you bring those sons-of-bitches down."

"Who who was it that was doing me at the end?" she asked softly.

"Me, and the other men in the audience," Mark answered. "We ran all the bastards out, but we were too damned turned-on to keep from having you ourselves. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she sighed, relieved. "It was the most wonderful thing ever." She shivered. "What about Bernstein?"

"He'll pay you your winnings. Nothing else he can do. He'd be jailed if he didn't. I can tell you one thing, though."

"What's that?"

"From here on, the game will be honest. He learned his lesson."

Karen snuggled contentedly against her husband. "Can we play some games, once in a while?" she asked.

"You bet your sweet ass we can," he told her fondly.


  • More sex stories