Her face was being hammered down into his lap. The chair was squeaking in protest as he slammed his cock up into her maw. It felt as if her hair was being ripped out by the rook he had such a ruthless grip on it.
"Going to come," the man grunted.
Karen prayed he would.
"Going to come," he snorted harshly. "And you're going to swallow it."
Karen didn't care if she swallowed it or not. All she wanted was an end to the brutal bobbing, pounding, stretching.
"Coming," the producer snorted.
Karen felt it, and sucked harder as her nose was ground down against her hand.
"Gaaaaahh!!!"
The first spout of fluid was so monstrous Karen thought she was going to drown in it. Frantically, she gulped the mammoth creamy wad. She felt it sting her throat all the way down. The following spurts were less copious and spaced further apart, but so powerful she felt them spatter against her throat. Gulping and gulping, she felt the hot pulses of goo stream down to her belly and form a hot pool there. The last dribbles were thin and watery, less flavorful. She licked his click clean as it began to shrivel. She lifted her face from his prick when his grip on her hair relaxed.
Weakly, she sat back on her heels and wiped her chin with the back of one hand, then the other. Her jaw felt as if it had been dislocated. Her hair hurt from the cruel pulling. Her titties burned from being rubbed against his pants.
Wheezing with exhaustion, the producer sat back in his chair. His limp prick stuck out ludicrously from his open fly. Sweat gleamed on his face, stained his collar. He fought to catch his breath.
"Bathroom?" Karen croaked.
"Through that door," he told her, pointing.
Karen's whole body ached as she struggled to her feet. In the bathroom, she rinsed out her mouth and drank a full glass of water. It helped cut the thick taste of come in her throat. It was a relief to sit on the toilet, spread her thighs and loose a flood of pee into the bowl. She hadn't realized how badly she had needed to go. Then she forced herself to return to the man.
Still wearing only her stockings, garter belt and shoes, she went back into the plush office.
"Don't dress yet," he ordered, heading into the bathroom. Casually leaving the door open, he pissed into the toilet while she watched. Then, to her surprise, he began to undress.
He was as hairy as an ape, and just as powerfully built. There was little fat on his stocky frame. The muscles under his pale, thickly-pelted back flexed powerfully as he stripped. He turned to face her, and Karen shuddered as her lust boiled upward. The cock she had just sucked dry was already rising slowly, getting ready for a second shot at her.
"On my desk," he ordered. "Sit facing my chair."
"Why should I?"
"Because you're a slut, like all the rest of 'em," he answered. "And because you want to win. That's why."
Karen tried to deny both statements, but couldn't. Meekly, she walked around his desk and eased her fanny onto the blotter.
The producer sat down heavily in his chair and leaned back casually. "Now play with yourself. Spread those gorgeous gains of yours and play with your twat."
Karen felt a hot flush of shame and excitement, and spread her legs wide. After all, she had already played with her cunt while he watched. Her fingers found her clit and cunt. She spread her pussy lips, letting the heart of her dripping snatch flower in his face. She diddled two fingers on the gate to her hole, and flicked her clit with another finger. The man's hard mouth smiled slowly and viciously as he watched her humiliate herself. His cock was expanding quickly.
"You like that, don't you?" he asked softly.
Karen bit her lower lip and concentrated on the foul pleasure she was feeling.
"You like that, don't you?" he repeated, more loudly, more demandingly.
"Yes," she moaned. "Oh, yes, I like it. God help me, I like it."
"You like me watching, don't you?"
"I like you watching," she groaned. She was, she realized, really enjoying having an audience. She remembered driving herself to an orgasm in front of the television set under the hot, unseeing stare of Peter Sandier. Now, it was real! She was really doing it to herself while a man watched from just a few feet away. She was showing him the hot pink heart of her cunt while she shamelessly probed the dripping tunnel and diddled her burning clit.
"Don't stop," the man ordered. "No matter what, don't stop."
Karen couldn't imagine what he was going to do, but she was not about to stop. She wan rising slowly toward that exquisite peak. She wriggled three fingers into her cunt and mangled her cunt harder. He reached for his desk set, reached pest her, picked up a long, slender pen.
Casually, he used the end of the instrument to explore the rippled petals of her pussy. She felt the probe trace a chill path around the hole she had her fingers in. Then, a shot of pain that was almost pleasant, as he jabbed at her pinhole. He twisted the cold black plastic spear at the tiny opening, and she felt it penetrate slightly. She held herself motionless, terrified a slip would injure her.
Stopping that exploration, he eased the rounded point up her gash. She resumed stirring her fingers in a cunt that was wetter than ever. She felt the cold sharp pressure slither up her cunt, from her pisser to her clit. He flicked the nerve berry and her whole body convulsed violently. She was leaning back on one hand, frying to keep up the action on her cunt with the other. The flicking touch of the peal against her clit was like a high-voltage shock. Her thighs jumped crazily, her leg kicked. Desperately, she braced her feet on the arms of his chair.
Another flick of the pen brought a bellow of lust from her. Then he abandoned that target.
"Keep playing with yourself," he ordered softly, sounding slightly distracted.
Looking down, Karen watched as the producer swung the pen-tapping a lazy circle in front of her snatch. She wondered where that nasty implement might strike next. She wondered where it had been before it was poked into her quim. What kind of infection might she get from the plastic probe?
More important, what pleasure might she get from it next?
She realized suddenly that she didn't care where the implement had been before. All she cared about, really, was that it give her pleasure again. She was becoming a total wanton! She wanted that pen somewhere, anywhere it would give her pleasure.
She watched the circling stop, watched the pen slowly approach her. Her hand stopped pumping in her quim. The pen was under the fingers she had jammed in her cunt. She lost sight of the tip of the tool. She waited, her gut sucked in.
"Unnhh!" The touch brought a soft grunt. Her asshole twinged as it was delicately probed. The point scratched her bung, and she felt a pleasure she had never even imagined. Round and round and round the pucker of her brownie went the pen. Her crotch muscles knotted with ecstasy. She began diddling her clit again. Closer and closer, and closer to the pit of her pucker, and then she felt the pen settle right at the entrance of her crapper.
While she sat on the man's desk, legs raised and spread, crotch gaping at him, hand busy in her twat, she felt him slowly drill the sharp end of the pen up into her shitter. Shamelessly, she moaned her pleasure and rocked her ass to give him the best possible shot at her bung. It was such a little thing. And it felt so good! She saw his eyes glitter as he watched the pen slowly disappear up into her tail-hole.
Grunting mindlessly, stupidly, she mangled her pussy folds, jammed a fourth finger into her streaming cunt. She pulverized her cunt with her finger. She felt the pen twisting and turning in her crap-cave. Her hips squirmed and heaved. She knew that if the sharp point penetrated her asshole wall she would be hospitalized, but she didn't care. The fear was just another wonderful facet of her disgusting pleasure.