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.