But the void didn't last long. Another man the last one took her sharply and violently, without even giving her a chance to straighten her legs. He slammed his rigid pole into her flooded snatch with a squishy smack.
"UH!" Karen grunted, as his piston drove the wind from her lungs. Her cunt felt inflamed and bruised and sore. But she had to get to the peak one more time. She had to reach the apex of pleasure.
Hard hands clamped down on her titties and twisted them. Her boob-skin burned from the brutal wrenching of her big knockers. The man was digging strong fingers into her soft, tender globes, wrenching them. She let go of her knees, and clamped her hands down on his and urged him on. She wanted pain, and pain, and more pain until pleasure obliterated everything else.
While three exhausted, sex-drained men watched, Karen welcomed the final bruising assault of her battered body. She was making crazy, incoherent noises. She sounded like the ravaged animal she was. The huge pane of glass against her back boomed and shuddered as the impacts against her cunt were transmitted up through her body. The reflected dials and meters danced and shivered in a crazy syncopation to the pounding in her hole. A sharp switch handle was tearing a hole in one tender asscheek as she was hammered and pounded by the man's brutal drives.
But still she wasn't coming. In spite of the tearing of his hands at her boobs, the burning of his prick in and out of her blazing cunt, the mangling of her clit and the tearing at her naked tail, she was not coming. It didn't seem like she would ever come again. She had been to the top of the mountain one too many times.
Then the man began to come and she began to cry, because his climax marked the end of it all. After all, there were four men in the room and she had had all four of them. That's all there was. There was no more cock. No prick to fill her twat, no pubic bone to crash against her clit.
The cock in her cunt was heaving its load into her already glutted well. Three men's come was oozing thickly out of her, flooding the hot valley of her twat, spreading upward over her clit, washing slowly down over her asshole.
Suddenly, there was a tickle in her clit! The tickle ran the full length of the blazing floor of her snatch. There was a crazy twittering in her nerve endings, that grew and grew, and grew, and GREW! A river of fire began to burn deep in her body and spread out through her muscles, setting them all jumping and twitching. Rivers of flame streamed along every nerve path in her body until she was a quivering, jerking, heaving, shuddering mass of meat.
She was dying. Crazy, flashing bursts of color filled her maddened brain. Weird siren sounds echoed in her deaf ears. Her cunt was a crazy, knotted spasm. All her muscles were dancing. Her chest was jittering uselessly, neither taking air in nor pushing it out. Her heart beat was a crazy, futile quivering. Then everything disappeared into a spreading inky veil. Then she passed out completely.
She roused to a man pinching her nose shut as his mouth clamped down on hers. She fought the air he blew into her lungs and he drew away. The man leaning on her chest between her breasts drew back as her eyes fluttered open. She took a deep, shaky breath.
"Jesus, that was a close one," the ad man said as he wiped the sweat off his forehead. He was staring at her nervously.
Karen was still naked. She was lying on the control room floor. The four men were grouped around her. "What happened?" she asked weakly. The unbelievable orgasm was only a vague memory.
"Must have been all that come," the first shirt-sleeved man to have her answered. "You were sitting up on the control panel. Some of the come must have trickled down into the switches."
"I was being electrocuted," Karen concluded weakly.
"Yeah," the man agreed. "You were taking cock. When Carl started coming, you went into convulsions. We thought at first you were coming, having real great time. But the convulsions kept getting worse. Then you stopped breathing. We hauled you down off the board. We couldn't even get a heartbeat. You were dead!"
"I was dying," Karen agreed. "It was so beautiful. I've never felt anything like it before. It was a-a cosmic orgasm."
"Yeah, well, if you hadn't slid that ole switch half closed with your butt, it would have been your last orgasm. If that control had been wide open, the way it usually is, you would have lit up half a neon sign and burned out like a flashbulb."
She squirmed, tried to get up. The two men that had been working on her helped her sit up. She wasn't ready to try to make it to her feet. She crawled weakly toward her clothes, ignoring the hands trying to help her.
The director was checking out the panel. "We'll have to cancel the rest of today's taping. And tomorrow's," he told Bernstein. "The whole board's going to have to be torn down and dried out."
"Shit!" the producer swore. Then he sighed. "Well, could have been worse."
"Yeah," one shirt-sleeved man commented feelingly. "She could have died." Karen flashed him a smile of appreciation as she hooked her bra. He seemed to be the only one who cared.
"Yeah, then we'd have to retape all the shows," Bernstein said callously. "Tell 'em all to go home. Tell 'em to be back here day after tomorrow. We'll start taping at 10:30."
Karen was just finishing dressing when all but the man who had worried about her filed out. He asked if she was sure she was all right.
Karen nodded wearily, though her strained muscles still ached. "I'm okay," she told him. "Has anything like this ever happened before?"
"Christ no! Usually it's only the bigwigs who get a turn with the contestants. I'm the technical director, by the way."
"Bernstein always gets in his strokes, and the sponsor's man, of course," the technical director went on. "Peter is used to soften 'em up. Uh, sorry."
"That's…"
"Us union men are out in the cold when it comes to getting to rip a piece," the man added bitterly.
"Can't say I disagree with that," Karen noted. "Seeing as how I'm the piece that got ripped off."
"Oh, yeah, well, aaah…" the man stammered, embarrassed at his choice of words.
"But, on the other hand, you were the only one that really worried about me," Karen said appreciatively.
"Well, shucks, you're a person, and a nice one," the man answered, flushing. He was trying to be bluff and callous. "Besides, if you died it might screw up the whole show, and it's a good job."
Karen knew he didn't mean it. "Maybe I'll be able to thank you for saving my life. But not today," she told him.
"Shucks, if I hadn't been such an animal, it might never have happened at all," he stuttered. "You don't owe me anything."
"I'll see you day after tomorrow," she said, opening the control-room door.
"Take care of yourself. If you feel faint or anything, you should see a doctor."
Karen smiled at him. "And, just how would I explain that I almost got electrocuted in a TV studio control room? Especially considering where the burns are located?"
Outside the studio, she walked until her legs started to give out. Then she found a bus stop. She was afraid to sit down, she was so flooded with come. Wherever she sat, she would leave a big, wet splotch. She stood on the bus, even though there were plenty of seats, and the driver kept looking at her curiously.
Once in the house, she loosened her skirt and let it fall. She unbuttoned her blouse as she headed for the bathroom. As she stepped under the shower, she remembered Shanda's huge, luxurious tub. It seemed as if that had been weeks ago, not hours. After soaping the outside of her body, she got out her douche and tried to flush the gallons of jizz out of her twat.
Then she went to her bed and lay down, naked, and stared at the ceiling. Whether she liked it or not, she had to face herself. She couldn't put it off any longer. She wasn't able to tell herself that she had hated every minute of it or that she had been forced. She had invited most of it. And she had enjoyed all of it. Even her death had been pleasurable.