Karen shook her head. "No," she answered. She was tired and sore, and suddenly, fed up with the whole scene. "No. I don't think I'll do anything of the kind."
"Now, Mrs. Calder," Bernstein went on with an oily smoothness, "I'm not asking you to do anything you haven't already done with me, with Peter, with Shanda, with Jason, and with God knows who else on our horny crew."
"I don't care…" Karen started, more sharply.
"Mrs. Calder, it would be most unfortunate if we were forced to disqualify you at this late date," Bernstein said in a voice that was velvet over steel. "All your winnings would be forfeit. And it would mean that this whole day of taping would be wasted. At no slight expense to us, I might add. I'm sure you understand that we don't want to have to take such a drastic step, over a triviality."
Karen filtered all this through her battered brain, and focused on the fact that her sexual favors were considered a "triviality". That was the way Bernstein had put it. She noted that the two shirt-sleeved men in the booth with them were studiously intent on the control boards in front of them. But she knew they must be listening to everything that was being said. She also knew that she could expect no help from them. They were, if anything, part of the conspiracy.
"Now, I suggest you get that cock-sucking little mouth of yours to work, before Mr. Osborne becomes impatient," Bernstein continued in the same deadly, reasonable tone.
Osborne, the man in the mod suit, was lean and lanky. He had long hair, and a face that was too old for the clothes and hair style. His dick was a prominent ridge in his tight trousers.
"Come on, baby, and lick my dick," the sponsor's representative invited her in a nasty tone. He unzipped his fly, and levered his pecker out. It expanded still more as Karen watched. It was long and slender, like its owner. There was a slight upward curve to it. In the dim control-room light, the shaft looked pale, the head dark and ominous.
"Mrs. Calder?" Bernstein asked softly.
"Bastard," Karen hissed, not taking her eyes off the pecker she was being offered. In spite of her hatred, and the amount of sex she had already had that day, she felt her horniness rising at the sight of Osborne's dick. Her pussy twinged. It was too beaten and tired to do more than that.
She walked over to the lean, mod man. He sat down on a high stool. He was too high for her to kneel on the floor, so she braced herself, put a hand on his warm, hard thigh. She bent over. Steadying his prick with her free hand, she licked it. She tasted sweat, and then a sticky surge of cock drippings.
She heard chairs squeak and glanced up. The two shirt-sleeved men had swivelled around to watch her degradation. Carefully, she shut her mind to everything but sucking the cock she was holding. With her tongue, she stroked the hard shaft from base to tip. She swirled her tongue around the tip.
Then she slid the hard dong between her lips, along the velvet carpet of her tongue, to the back of her mouth. She held it that way, the head just brushing the back of her mouth, and stroked the underside with her tongue. She sucked. Her cheeks in.
"Deeper," Bernstein ordered. "Deep throat it, baby. All the way! Just like you did with me."
Karen's mouth was filled with cock, so she didn't try to point out that Bernstein's stocky pecker was half the length of this one. She was beaten all she wanted to do was get the whole revolting episode over with. She slid another half inch of pecker into her mouth, and fought down her gagging. It was hard, bent over this way, to do what she had done with the make-up man.
The lean man put his hands on her head and pushed, forcing her to take more of his prick. She stroked the hard base of his whang, bleakly acceded to his demand, swallowed the head of his prick. Her throat knotted around the brutal invader.
She thought of the men watching, and felt her lust boil up. She was an exhibitionist. She was beginning to love having people watch while she committed depraved acts. See how filthy I am? she thought. I'll do anything, anything at all. Just watch me.
Someone reached under her and began unbuttoning her blouse. Without breaking the cock sucking, she let whoever it was take her blouse. Then her bra was loosened. Her heavy titties sagged as the support was taken from them. Someone was unfastening her skirt, dragging it down over her ass. She stepped out of it.
She was naked with four men. She was sucking a cock while three pairs of hands explored her naked body. Fingers tortured her tits, pinched hey ass and her legs, plunged into her dripping snatch. She continued to draw on the slender prick. She was a plaything for the four men in the control room.
Suddenly, from behind, a cock was driven into her cunt. Brutally, without warning, she was raped by one of the men. While he grasped her hard by the waist, he rammed his pecker into her burning twat. Her breasts jolted and shuddered under the slamming impact of the rape.
She didn't stop sucking cock. She kept sucking the man's prick. Her head bobbed slowly up and down, up and down. She stroked and slurped on his throbbing prick while someone rammed into her snatch from behind. He was taking her like a stud takes a bitch.
She liked it. She loved the brutal raping. She loved the taste of the dick in her mouth. She hated herself for loving it, but she was loving it. She loved the feel of a cock burning into her snatch. She loved the feel of the man's balls swinging and slapping her cunt lips. She loved the feel of his hard hips hitting her ass. She loved having her throat bruised by cock.
She hoped that she would be drowned in come. She wanted gallons of thick, creamy, hot jizz. She wanted come in her mouth, in her throat, in her stomach, in her cunt.
The cock in her mouth twitched, filled her with a titanic eruption of thick, fragrant come. Sucking and slurping, she felt the hot gobbets surge dawn to her stomach. The dong in her cunt leaped and jerked, and jizz spattered deep into her quim.
As the prick was yanked from her snatch she was grabbed from behind and dragged away from the still-pulsing, oozing one in her mouth. A spatter of come drizzled across her cheek as she was driven against the control panel under the windows. As she leaned against the cool glass, a man rammed his prick into her snatch, and lust roared up through her like fire. Not caring that anyone in the studio who looked at the control room could see her being ravished, she let the shirt-sleeved technician piston his prick in her cunt.
Come spattered her legs as the man's cock pumped out the load already in her. His penetration was deep, so deep she felt the end of her tunnel being battered. Spreading her thighs wide, she bent her knees and hauled her legs upward, so he could pound even deeper. Hands on her knees, she dragged her legs wide, wondering if she might tear herself in half.
It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore, nothing at all. All there was in the world was cocks. Cocks and more cocks. Cocks to fill her cunt and her mouth and her ass. It didn't matter who the cocks belonged to. She was nothing but a receptacle for cocks and come.
When the man spearing her on his lean dick began to come, Karen felt a surge of fear, because she wasn't coming herself. Her come threshold had been jacked too high by the successive ravishings she had been jaded by too much cock. She felt the prick jerking and spurting in her steaming depths, and tightened her twat. She was suddenly afraid that it meant the fuck was over, and that she would be left hanging on the verge of her own coming. Or, worse, it meant that she would have to face herself, and she wasn't ready to face herself.
She writhed desperately against the control panel. Hard switches and knobs dug painfully into her ass. She squirmed and twisted as come oozed out around the still-spurting prick, flooded her spread gash, dripped down her ass. Then the cock was gone and she was empty and hungry.