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.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Hold it, everybody," the director called over the studio loudspeakers. "We have a hitch here. Take a break. Mrs. Calder, please come to the control room."
Karen looked startled. The call was totally unexpected. Meekly, she got up and made her way through the tangle of cables and wires to the aisle. As she walked through the audience, they cast curious glances at her. She was sure they could smell the come clinging to her thighs and ass.
The dimly-lighted control room was crowded of switches and dials and meters. The whole side overlooking the studio was glass, from the top of the control panels to the ceiling. The back wall was bank after bank of instruments. Glowing monitors showed the views from the various cameras.
As Karen's eyes adjusted to the dim light, she picked the producer, Bernstein, out of the group of men in the booth. With him were three others two in shirt-sleeves, the third in a natty mod suit.
"Mr. Osborne here is the sponsor's representative," Bernstein said, indicating the mod-dressed man.
"How do you do?" Karen greeted him cautiously.
"Mr. Osborne, among other things, is concerned about your qualifications to be a winner on the show," Bernstein noted, studying his fingernails casually.
"I don't understand," she murmured warily, keeping her distance.
"I mean," Bernstein went on, "that you should show him exactly what it was about you that so impressed me in our interview."