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.