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.