"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.