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.
"Oh?"
"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.
CHAPTER FIVE
"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?