English Sex Stories
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I should explain that this patent masturbator comes with a three hour warranty
Megan stands in the darkness, waiting. All around her, she can hear the sound of the audience--not quite silent, but expectant. She hears a few whispered conversations and some coughing, but for the most part, people are waiting patiently for the show to start. It really sinks in for the first time that they're all waiting to see her, and Megan takes a deep breath to calm the butterflies in her stomach. She hasn't been this nervous in years.

A single spotlight stabs down into the heart of the stage, onto the raised podium where the infamous "hot seat" is located. The light illuminates not just the chair itself, but the nude man standing next to it. He's amazingly well-muscled, practically perfect from every angle, and his oiled skin gleams under the spotlights. Megan tries to concentrate on something else. The night is going to be hard enough without fantasizing about a blond Adonis less than three feet away from her...which is exactly why they put him there, of course.

"Good evening," he says. "I'm Parker Randolph. Tonight, you may well see one woman walk away with the single largest cash payoff in television." He smiles a dazzling, movie-star grin. "Or...you may see her lose it completely and masturbate until she can't walk straight for a week. Either way, you win! Now let's see if Megan does, on America's highest-rated adult program...'A Question of Lust'!"

The rest of the stage lights up, although the audience remains in darkness, and Megan knows that's her cue. She jogs out of the darkness into the lights of the stage, blinking momentarily at the sudden contrast. Parker gives her his trademark smile, and Megan represses a shiver. He's flirting with her, damn him! That's not fair!

"Good evening, Megan!" he says. The crowd choruses right along with him. "So...are you ready to bust your lust?"

She smiles nervously. "I hope so, Parker!" she says. She's been practicing with her boyfriend for weeks now, ever since she was accepted as a contestant. She read books and answered questions while he teased her nipples and rubbed at her inner thighs until she practically ached with need...Megan pulls her mind off of the practice sessions. No need to make this harder than it is.

"All right, then!" Parker shouts, his cock twitching just slightly in anticipation. "Then it's time to get ready to get into that chair, Megan!"

This is the first test, of course. A few contestants have backed out right here rather than strip naked on national television. For a heartbeat, Megan thinks over the implications one last time, making sure she's ready to deal with the fact that people--lots of people--are about to know what she looks like in the buff.

Screw it, she decides. She doesn't have anything to be ashamed of. She pulls her T-shirt up over her head, tossing it lightly to the ground, and the crowd roars. She's no exhibitionist (thank God! The last thing she needs is to get turned on by this!) But she has to admit, she gets a tiny thrill of gratification from their wild applause as she undoes her bra to reveal her tits. She'd never thought that C-cups were big enough to drive the men wild, but the wolf whistles, hoots, and hollers tell her that the men (and the women) are quite appreciative.

She slips off her shoes, and pulls her shorts and panties down in a single gesture. The crowd is absolutely insane now, and the noise batters at her like a physical force. She knows some girls make more of a show than this of their stripping, but Megan isn't interested in turning this into a performance. She's here to win five million dollars.

"All right, Megan!" Parker shouts to the crowd. "Let's show her what you think of her, folks!" The cheers of the crowd become even more intense, before finally Parker signals them for silence. "And now, the moment you've all been waiting for...Megan, are you ready to get into the hot seat?"

Megan nods. At this point, she's got nothing to lose and everything to gain--she's already stripped naked in front of fifteen million people, she'd feel pretty stupid backing down now. "I'm ready, Parker," she says after a moment, remembering that she has to give verbal consent for legal purposes.

"Then go ahead and take your seat!" Parker says, gesturing to the chair. The crowd lets forth another burst of applause. It's almost like Parker's throwing raw meat into a lion cage, Megan thinks, then realizes that she's the "raw meat" in that analogy.

As she sits down, Megan muses briefly on the casual brilliance of the concept. The Eroticon had been nothing but a curiosity before 'A Question of Lust' got a hold of it--sure, a device that could instantly stimulate the libido by remote control sounded like every man's wet dream, but not when it took up half a room and cost somewhere in the neighborhood of a million dollars to own and two hundred bucks a minute in electricity to operate. Apart from a few impotent billionaires and some hospitals that made medical use of the technology, nobody both needed and could afford an Eroticon. Until someone had the bright idea of making a game show out of it.

Megan presses her knees against the posts on either side of the chair, and puts her hands onto the armrests. She feels the buttons click slightly under the pressure of her touch, and knows that she's now locked in--if she moves her arms or legs, the buttons will register it. No rubbing her thighs together, no reaching down to her pussy. Not unless she wants to forfeit her winnings, that is.

Three colored spotlights swivel around to shine down on her, and she's momentarily startled by the lack of a musical cue--at home, they always play a "stinger" before turning on the Eroticon. They must add it later on in post-production, she realizes. "So, Megan," Parker says. "Are you ready to play...'A Question of Lust'?"

She feels it, then. Just a tiny, tingling little itch in her pussy, the kind of feeling she gets when she and her boyfriend have been going at it for an hour or so, and she's had a couple of orgasms but she's still ready for one more go. Nothing she can't handle, at least not yet. Dave pounded her pussy pretty hard all last night to make sure she was satisfied walking into this. "I'm ready to go, Parker," she says with a wink. (Did she mean to be this flirty before she sat down? Or was that a side effect of the Eroticon?)

"That's the spirit!" Parker says, laughing. "All right, Megan. Your first question, for five hundred dollars." Megan relaxes just a little, now that the game is underway. The first question is always an easy one. "What 19th century Romantic poet was married to the author of 'Frankenstein'? Was it A, Lord Byron, B, Percy Shelley, C, John Polidori, or D, Claire Clairmont?"

Megan snorts with laughter. She always loves the way that 'D' is an obvious joke answer on these early questions. (Well, obvious to students of Romantic literature, at any rate.) "B, Percy Shelley," she says. "Final answer."

"Correct!" Parker exclaims. The lights glow just a little bit brighter, and Megan feels a rush of heat on her skin, as though she's blushing all over. Now it feels a bit like having dinner with your parents when you've just been doing a little heavy petting with your boyfriend and didn't have time to get any further. "Now, for one thousand dollars. Franklin Delano Roosevelt was elected how many times as President of the United States? A, two, B, three, C, four, or D, six?"

"C, four, final answer," Megan says confidently. She's a little surprised. She would have expected a question like that to come a little later, when she'll be more distracted by the needs of her own body. A question like that is almost a 'gimme' for a smart contestant, even for these early ones.

"Correct again," Parker says. The lights glow brighter once more, and Megan shivers. Now she can definitely feel it. The heat of the studio lights seems like a sensual warmth, seeping into her whole body and leaving her just a little bit hot and flushed. She can feel the blood flowing, causing her clit to just swell a tiny bit, and she can imagine just how it would feel under her fingers...

But imagining is all she's going to do right now. She's got some money to win. "Next question, Megan," Parker says. "For fifteen hundred dollars, which Beatle had a solo hit with the song, 'Got My Mind Set On You'? A, George Harrison, B, John Lennon, C, Paul McCartney, or D, Pete Best?"

"Um..." Megan pauses, her lips opening and closing as she tries to think of the answer. It's not the arousal...probably...music just isn't one of her stronger subjects, especially not older music. Maddeningly, the refrain from Weird Al Yankovic's parody echoes through her head over and over. "This song is just six words long! This song is just six words long!"

Wait. That actually helps. Work it out, Megan, work it out. "Okay," she says. "I know Weird Al did a parody of that song, so that rules out Lennon." She always hates it at home when the contestants think out loud, but she has to admit, it helps. "Can't be Best, he never had any hits." She hopes he's not watching. Then again, if he is, he's probably not paying any attention to what she's saying. "Harrison or McCartney, Harrison or McCartney...grrr!"

"Having a little trouble concentrating, Megan?" Parker asks with a knowing grin. "Don't forget, you can use your lifelines in an emergency."

Megan knows, but she doesn't want to blow any lifelines on just the third question. Instead, she pushes through the distraction and concentrates on remembering the sound of the original song. She can only get a few snatches in her head, but that's enough--it's not McCartney's distinctive tones, she's sure of it. She looks over at the monitor nearby to remind herself of which choice is which. "A, George Harrison," she says. After a moment's hesitation, she adds, "Final answer."

There's a pause, just long enough to create suspense. She breathes a sigh of relief when Parker finally says, "Correct!" The sigh is replaced by a sharp inhalation as she feels the Eroticon turn up another notch. Seeing it work on other people at home doesn't really convey it, she realizes. She squirms slightly in her seat as the slow, pulsing throb of her clit makes her unconsciously seek something to rub against.

"Now, Megan, for twenty-five hundred dollars." Megan feels beads of sweat run down her face as she listens to the next question. "John Ford won the Academy Award in 1941 for Best Director, for the film 'How Green Was My Valley'. Which film's director was nominated that same year and lost? Was it A, Dumbo, B, The Maltese Falcon, C, Citizen Kane, or D, The Devil and Miss Jones?"

Megan wants to rub her eyes, but she can't take her hands off the buttons. Instead, she clenches them shut tightly for a moment, then opens them again. "Can't be D," she mutters to herself, "that's a porno movie..." She involuntarily thinks about porn for a second, her nipples hardening as she imagines watching some hardcore flick of a girl getting double-penetrated by two well-hung studs, before she manages to push the thought out of her head. "Don't think it's A..."

It's no good. She hadn't wanted to use a lifeline this soon, but better to stay in the game than to quit with all her lifelines. "I want to phone a friend," she says.

"Not a problem," Parker says. She notices he's got a bit of a chubby, and wonders if he gets off on seeing her like this, or if he's just standing a little too close to the lights. "Which friend would you like to call?"

"Jean," she says. "She's a film buff, and--" Megan manages to clamp her mouth shut before adding, "and she's got a great ass." Now she knows the Eroticon's getting into her head. Her boyfriend has never managed to convince her to do a three-way. "Let's call Jean."

"Sure thing," Parker replies, and after a moment, Megan hears several quick beeps. *Guess they don't dub that one in later,* she thinks.

The phone rings once, twice, and then Megan hears Jean's voice on the other end. "Hello, this is Jeannie," she says.

"Jean!" Parker replies with a smile. "This is Parker Randolph, of 'A Question of Lust'! I've got your friend Megan on the line. She says you're a bit of a film buff--think you can help her out with this next question?"

"I'll try," Jean says. Megan notices for the first time how sexy her voice is.

"All right, Megan, you have sixty seconds. Go!"

Megan starts speaking, perhaps a little too quickly. "Okay, Jean. Which of these was nominated for Best Director in 1941? Dumbo, the Maltese Falcon, Citizen Kane, or the Devil in Miss Jones?" She grits her teeth. "And, sorry. The Devil and Miss Jones." It's not the porno, she realizes. She's going to look pretty stupid when this airs.

"Citizen Kane," Jean says confidently. "Nominated but didn't win. It's a total travesty."

"You're sure?" Megan asks. She can hear the strain in her voice.

Evidently, Jean can too, because she says, "One hundred percent, Megs. You holding up all right, there? How you feeling?"

"Horny," Megan blurts out. "I, um...I gotta go." A few more seconds on the line, and she's pretty sure she'd be inviting Jean to that threesome. She'd eat Jean out while Dave fucked her face, or maybe shot his load onto her tits... Megan shakes her head to clear it. "C, Parker. Citizen Kane. Um, final answer."

The pause feels longer this time, or maybe it's only her imagination. "Correct!" Parker says, though, and Megan braces herself for another wave of lust.

This one feels like hot breath right on her pussy, and Megan stiffens in the chair as it hits. At least she's not worried about the knee buttons--her legs keep involuntarily spreading wider and wider, waiting for a phantom cock that will never come. Never come, never cum...Megan smiles giddily at the mental pun. "Next question," Parker says, startling her out of her reverie. "If you get this one right, Megan, you're guaranteed at least five thousand dollars. So for five grand...which of these mammals is one of only two that lays eggs? A, the kangaroo, B, the platypus, C, the dolphin, or D, the ostrich?"

Oh thank God, Megan thinks. An easy one. She knows that she's due up for some easy ones soon, but by the time she gets to them she's going to be pretty easy, too. "B, platypus, final answer." She shifts in the chair while she waits for confirmation, hoping that maybe she can find a position that will give her a little bit of release...

"Correct!" Parker says, and the words aren't even out of his mouth before Megan feels a wave of lazy heat churn through her pussy. She can feel a trickle of wetness on her pussylips, and she knows she's leaking. She remembers watching the show to prepare for her appearance, how some of those girls were practically drooling between their thighs, and now she's drooling thinking about it. She closes her eyes tightly again, trying to focus.

"Congratulations, Megan," Parker adds. "You're at the five thousand dollar safe point. No matter what happens from now on, you'll walk away with five thousand dollars. So are you ready to keep going?"

Megan nods. "Uh-huh," she says. She's aware that she's panting when she speaks. She doesn't dare look over at Parker, she knows exactly where her eyes would go. Instead, she opens her eyes and glares determinedly at the monitor.

"Then let's play...'A Question of Lust'!" Parker pauses, expertly timing the length of the musical sting, then continues. "For ten thousand dollars, Megan...who starred with Angelina Jolie in the film 'Mr. and Mrs. Smith' in 2005? Was it A, Matt Damon...B, Ed Norton...C, Samuel L. Jackson...or D, Brad Pitt?"

Megan immediately knows it's Brad Pitt, but the very mention of his name plunges her into a vivid sexual fantasy where Brad takes her back to his home to meet Angelina, and the two movie stars tie her to a bed and ravish her slowly. She's just getting to the bit where Brad tickles her pussy with a feather duster while Angelina tweaks her nipples when Parker says, "Megan? Still with us?"

"B-barely," Megan whimpers. She knew that they like to throw in a question or two like this, something with a subject that's subtly or overtly sexual, but it still caught her off-guard. "I, um...D?" She blinks again, focusing on the monitor. "Yeah. D. Brad..." *Oh fuck he's so sexy, want him inside me, God his cock must be huge...* "P-Pitt."

Her eyes glaze over as she pictures Angelina pursing those full, sexy lips around her nipples, and it comes as a real surprise when Parker says, "Final answer?"

Megan smacks her head against the back of the chair, hard enough to sting. "Yes!" she yelps out. "Final answer!"

"Correct!" Megan's nipples stiffen, suddenly aching with need as the Eroticon increases its stimulation. They're so hard, and she knows they'd feel like tiny pebbles under her fingers...it's all she can do not to find out, and she clenches the handgrips with white-knuckle intensity to keep from letting go. "Do you want to keep going, Megan, or do you want to safeword out with ten grand?"

Megan grits her teeth. She knows that all she has to do in order to walk away with her current winnings is say her pre-arranged safeword, but the lure of five million dollars is still stronger than her aching arousal, at least right now. "I'll keep going, Parker," she says.

"And I'm sure our audience is thrilled to hear it!" Parker replies, and the audience applauds wildly. They're watching her shake and quiver with arousal, and the thought of that sends another surge of heat through her pussy. If she wasn't an exhibitionist a little bit ago, she sure is now. "Let's play...'A Question of Lust'!"

The sound of Megan's heartbeat in her own ears nearly makes it impossible to hear Parker's next question. "For twenty thousand dollars, Megan...which 'American Idol' winner recorded the hit single, 'Since U Been Gone'? Was it A...Carrie Underwood, B...Clay Aiken, C...Kelly Clarkson, or D...Jordin Sparks?"

Megan wants to scream. Another fucking music question, and she's too horny to think straight even if she was good at these! "Audience," she gasps out. "I want to use my...my audience lifeline."

"Well, I'm sure they want to see you stick around a little longer," Parker says with a smirk. "Audience, you want to go ahead and help Megan out? If you know what I mean..."

Megan feels a bead of sweat trickle down the small of her back while she waits for the audience to vote for the answer, and the maddening feel of the tiny droplet caressing her skin on its slow journey makes her shiver with desire. She feels light-headed, and she leans over to take a tiny sip from the water bottle attached to the chair. It makes her feel a little bit like a hamster, but better that than passing out from dehydration.

After a few moments, the monitor lights up with the results. "Looks pretty clear," Parker says. "Ninety-five percent of the audience is saying 'C'. You want to go with their answer, or safeword out?"

Megan sets her jaw. Safeword out on this? Hell no. Not when the whole damn audience knows the answer. "I'll trust the audience, Parker. C. Final answer."

She braces herself, not for failure but for success. "Correct!" Parker says, and Megan openly moans as she feels the next wave of arousal kick in. She realizes that she's not even halfway yet, and despair starts to set in as she feels her fingers twitch with the effort of stopping herself from jamming them into her cunt. She feels like she hasn't been fucked in years; her marathon session with Dave last night now feels like a distant memory that only makes her more and more horny, and the thought that this thing can get her even hotter is something she can't even imagine.

Parker must sense her weakness, because he asks again, "Do you want to keep going, Megan, or do you want to safeword out with twenty thousand dollars?"

"I...I..." She almost considers it. It would almost be worth 4.98 million dollars just to go backstage and let Dave fuck her brains out. (Assuming she can make it that far. She's seen a few contestants jump Parker right there on stage.) But she's gone too far to walk away with so little. "I'll keep going, Parker," she says at last. "I want to go all the way."
"That's the sort of thing we like to hear," he says. She's still not looking at him, but she knows he's giving her a thumbs up--it's one of his little trademarks, like the smirk and the massive cock that's probably rock-hard right now, just waiting to be sucked and licked and humped and taken up the ass and into her cunt and--

She bites down on her lip as he starts to ask the next question. "For forty thousand dollars, which female vocalist accidentally exposed her breast during Superbowl XXXVII? Was it..." Megan loses track of the question, she's too busy thinking about breasts. How has she not noticed before how tempting, how luscious, how suckable and lickable they are? And every woman has them, everywhere. Billions and billions of women, all with gorgeous tits just waiting for Megan to bury her face in them and lick and lick and lick...

By the time her mind refocuses, Parker has completely finished the question. "I, um...I'm sorry," she says in a voice about an octave higher than normal. "Could you repeat the choices?" They're up on the monitor, but her eyes are stinging as sweat drips into them and she can't wipe it away without losing the game.

"Certainly, Megan," Parker says with a knowing tone in his voice. "A, Avril Lavigne, B, Alanis Morrisette, C, Janet Jackson, or D, Britney Spears?"

Megan's vaguely proud of the fact that she only pictures the four singers in a lesbian orgy for a few seconds before managing to husk out, "C."

She's a little less proud of the fact that she immediately drifts right back into the fantasy, and it takes Parker a couple of tries to get her attention again before he can ask, "Final answer, Megan?"

Megan takes a long, shuddery breath. "Final answer."

She doesn't even hear Parker say, "Correct!" Everything goes blood-red; sight and sound fade away as her pussy throbs like a second heartbeat. She feels her clit, swollen and pulsing in tune with every breath she takes as if the air itself was licking her out. It takes her a long moment to notice the high-pitched whine, and an even longer moment to realize she's making it. When Parker asks, "Do you want to keep going, Megan, or safeword out?" it sounds like he's speaking at the wrong speed.

"K-k-keep going," she gasps. It's not bravado this time. Megan can't remember her safeword. She can't really think of anything anymore except for her pussy and her tits and her ass and oh fuck, even her feet feel like erogenous zones now, she feels like a touch anywhere on her body would make her cum. But squirming in the chair gives no release. It only makes it worse.

"Then for eighty thousand dollars, Megan, which of these countries is not in South America? A, Brazil. B, Argentina. C, Peru. Or D, Guatemala?"

Megan notices that he's pausing longer between each choice. Probably just playing for drama, unless he likes to draw out her erotic torture by giving her more time between each word to notice the feverish passion raging in her whole body now, driving her mad with need...desperately, Megan tries to think of anything other than sex. It's no good. Argentina reminds her of 'Evita', and that makes her think of Antonio Banderas, his eyes smoldering as they're framed by the valley between her thighs and she can't, she has to, she needs to...

"I'm going to use my final lifeline," she whimpers out, moments before her resistance collapses.

"I think we'd all be happy to see that," Parker says, and she knows he's got that damned smirk on his face but she doesn't care, she mewls in gratitude as he hands her a thick rubber dildo. "Remember, your lifeline only gives you five minutes to pleasure yourself."

It doesn't even take her five seconds to cum. She slides the dildo in, her pussy so slick and wet that she takes its whole length like she was sinking it into warm butter, and her cunt clenches and grabs at the fake cock as she cums so hard. It's amazing, her body is so primed and ready that she feels another orgasm hit almost before the first one's subsided, and she wishes that someone would hurry up and find a way to miniaturize this technology, because this is the best fucking sex she's ever had in her life. She wants to do this every day, wants to drag Jean and Dave in front of the Eroticon and turn it all the way up, lose her mind completely in lust and fuck them both the way the toy is fucking her now. She pounds it roughly into herself, grunting madly with each thrust as she rides it to orgasm after orgasm. She knows she's going to be sore tomorrow, but right now she doesn't care. Even the soreness feels good when she's this horny.

It doesn't feel like it's been even a minute when Parker says, "Time's up!" He takes the dildo away from her, and she shudders all over again at the feel of it slipping out of her wet cunny. "Arms and legs in position, please..."

Megan races to comply. The buttons feel slick to her touch now, and she knows that it's her own pussy juices that she's feeling. She feels a strange compulsion to lick it off, but the frantic masturbation has cleared her mind enough for her to remember just what a bad idea that is. With a deep breath, she steadies herself. "D, Guatemala," she says, looking up at the monitor. "Final answer." Her voice is shaky, but clear.

"And that is..." Parker pauses for a long moment, long enough for some of the endorphins to buzz out Megan's brain and leave her in a warm, fuzzy afterglow. "Correct!" Megan sags in her chair in a warm daze, the mix of heady post-coital bliss mingling with the next setting of the Eroticon to turn her brain to mush. She still can't remember her safeword. She can't remember much of anything anymore. She nods vacantly at Parker's question with only the barest realization of what it is.

"Then let's play...'A Question of Lust'!" Megan feels a vague irritation at the catch-phrase, but she knows that they use it to come in and out of the commercials on TV. "This next question is another safe point, Megan. If you get this one right, you're guaranteed at least one hundred twenty-five thousand dollars! So, for a hundred twenty five thousand dollars, Megan, which country used the lira as its unit of currency before it switched to the euro in 2002? Is it A, France? B, Italy? C, Spain? Or D, Belgium?"

This is the really hard area, Megan remembers. The questions are still hard enough that you have to think about them, but your pussy is too horny to think about...pussy, God that felt good when that dildo was crammed up her cunt and stretching her fuck-hole. Maybe they'd let her do that again if she asked?

The lira, she reminds herself. This one's easy, easy like a horny teenage boy that she could seduce just by flashing her pussy at him and watching his dick pop up like a pup tent in his pants, so horny that he'd be ready to go again as soon as he came, and she'd be so ready too, she'd--

Megan closes her eyes and focuses her whole mind on the mental image of giving Wilford Brimley a sponge bath. Her libido tries desperately to stay aroused, and Megan hopes she's not breaking something inside her head--the last thing she needs is to develop a fetish for septuagenarians. But it does the trick. She opens her eyes and looks at the monitor. "B!" she exclaims. "Final answer!"

"Correct!" Parker replies, and suddenly even Wilford Brimley looks good to her. The tiny part of Megan's brain that can still think changes its mind about wanting a portable version of this--it'd end human civilization. Everyone would be so consumed with lust that they'd forget to eat and sleep. Even if someone handed her food right now, Megan thinks, she'd try to use it as a sex toy.

"Uh-huh," Megan says, and she only dimly realizes that Parker wasn't asking her about sex toys when he keeps talking. Something about a question. Money. He's asking her something about...it's no use. Her brain just keeps drifting away into thoughts of sex, and it's only pure instinct that keeps her from letting go of the chair when her thoughts melt down into her pussy and from there onto the chair.

He's looking at her expectantly, Megan realizes. He must have asked her something. "Yes?" she says hesitantly, and the audience laughs.

Parker laughs too. His cock wiggles when he laughs. Megan can't stop staring at it--she can't remember when she stopped looking at the monitor and started looking at him, but now she can't stop. His cock is huge, and she's drooling as she stares at it. She just barely hears him this time as he says, "I said, A, the Sex Pistols, B, the Clash, C, the Ramones, or D, the New York Dolls?"

"I, um..." Megan stares blankly ahead like a deer in the headlights. She doesn't know what the question is, let alone the answer. All four choices just seem like random words.

"Would you like to safeword out, Megan?" She's totally lost track of strategy. She doesn't remember how much she'd lose if she safeworded out, but it doesn't matter because she doesn't remember her safeword anyway. She can barely remember her name.

"I, um...no..um..." She's babbling now. She knows that she's going to feel like a complete idiot when she watches this later, but right now she's too horny to care. All she can do is blurt out, "D?" and hope for a quick end to it all.

"Is that your final answer, Megan?"

She nods, then realizes that she needs to say it. "Yes," she snaps out, waiting for the inevitable buzzer so that she can quit caring about the stupid game and finger-fuck herself.

"Correct!" Parker says, the astonishment clear in his voice. Megan's so surprised, she almost forgets how horny she is for half a second. But the Eroticon doesn't let her forget. It wrings the arousal from her exhausted, sweat-slippery body and her hands tremble and dance on the buttons as she struggles to keep them there a tiny bit longer. They're cramping up from the effort, but even the pain feels good now. She can imagine herself being whipped with a riding crop, clothespins clamped onto her pussylips, welcoming the sensations just as much as she would welcome any kiss or caress. Everything makes her hotter and hotter now, needier and hornier and...and...

She nods automatically at Parker's question. She barely even registers the words, all she can think of is that maybe if she keeps agreeing with him, he'll fuck her. She wants that, now, wants it so bad that only her death-grip on the buttons keeps her from lunging out of the chair and tackling him.

"Then for five hundred thousand dollars, Megan..." Megan idly wonders when they got to that much money, but then her thoughts sink on a tide of blood-red lust and she barely even hears him ask, "Who's the current President of the United States? A, Barack Obama? B, Joe Biden? C, Hilary Clinton? Or D, Sarah Palin?"

"Doesn't matter," she says with a dreamy look in her eyes. "They're all pretty sexy." The audience laughs at that one, too. She knows she's not going to win this. She's too far gone, her brain is nothing but a gooey mess of horny slutty kinky sexy oh fuck she needs dick in her right fucking now...

"I'm afraid I need an answer, Megan, unless you want to safeword out," Parker says apologetically.

Megan tries to concentrate. Obama, Biden, Clinton, Palin...she tries to think about which one she'd like to fuck the most. "Barack Obama," she decides.

"Is that your final answer?" Parker asks.

"Yes," Megan sighs out, already lost in fantasies of being bent over a desk and taken roughly from behind by the President--oh! Obama's the President! "Wait," she cries out. "I want to change my answer!" She can't remember what her answer was, but she knows the right answer now.

"Too late," Parker says. "I'm afraid you already locked that in as your final answer." Megan practically wants to cry, she's so frustrated (and horny and needy and, and--) "But you're better off not changing it, Megan, because that is correct!"

And with that, she's gone. Her eyes are still staring straight ahead, but she's not seeing anything. Her pussy is leaking all over the chair, her body is aching with need, her nipples feel like someone's been rubbing them with an ice cube for the last five minutes and she wishes someone would. She's nodding her head up and down, moaning out "Yes, oh please yes," to whatever it is Parker says, and one of her fingers slips off the button as she thinks about how damned good it would feel to jill off right now.

Parker says something else, and she blurts out, "Will you please fuck me?" in response, in a tiny little voice that's absolutely desperate with lust. She closes her eyes, imagining his cock inside her, and now two fingers have slipped off the button, but with an effort of willpower she didn't even know she had she manages to open her eyes and stare up at the monitor. It's blurry and she doesn't seem to want to focus on much of anything anymore except the feelings in her cunt but she still manages to read the question. "What is your mother's maiden name?" it says. "A) Hartford, B) Colt, C) Goodwin, D) Swenson."

The thought of her mother is like ice water poured onto her libido, clearing her head just long enough to groan out, "A, Final answer."

She doesn't even hear words anymore after that. She's lost track of how much money she's made, now. She knows it's a lot. She knows she stands to lose most of it if she doesn't safeword out, because she's barely got one finger on the button and her knees are quaking like she's just seen a ghost, and she doesn't have a hope in hell of holding on much longer. She knows she picked something easy for the safeword, something she could always remember, but she never imagined in her life that she could feel this horny. She never imagined that pure sexual need could blank out her brain this bad. And she never imagined that she'd enjoy it so fucking much.

She hears herself through a distant haze of lust, panting out "oh fuck, oh God please fuck me, fuck me hard in the ass fuck my pussy pound my cunny oh fuck please need cock need pussy need titties guh guh God need to fuck," and even that makes her hotter until she can't think at all.

She loses herself completely to fantasy, the thought of Dave teasing her now more solid and vivid as the stage around her. She remembers his fingers brushing at her pussy during their practice sessions, tracing around her inner thighs until she can't take it anymore, and she begs and whimpers for him to fuck her, but he just smiles and teases her some more. "You can do it, babe," he whispers in her ear, "I know you can..."

And then, when she finally really really can't take it anymore, she mewls softly like a little girl. "Please fuck my horny little honey-hole," she says, her pet name for her pussy slipping out before she can stop herself.

It's all too much, the fantasy and the reality and the need bursting over her like a dam breaking, and she's too far gone to care as she lets go of the handgrips and jams three fingers into her hot and needy pussy. It feels so good when her pussylips stretch around them, and so much better to feel her slick and dripping cunny around those fingers. Her other hand drops to her clit and rubs, and rubs, and rubs as she cums and cums and cums and it's worth every penny to feel those unbelievable orgasms ripping through her.

And then it stops. Just like that, the stimulation breaks off, leaving her exhausted and wrung out. "Congratulations, Megan!" Parker says. "One point two five million dollars!"

She looks up at him blearily, the rush of endorphins on top of her exhaustion leaving her feeling like she's got a wad of cotton stuffed into her head where her brain was. "Million?" she says, trying to parse it. "But I was...the safe point is a hundred twenty-five thousand." She looks down at her hand, still deep in her pussy. She looks over at the buttons. Nothing seems to make sense right now.

Parker chuckles. "You safeworded, Megan. Don't you remember?"

Megan thinks back, trying to remember everything she said in her haze of lust. "Oh," she says at last, blushing. She didn't think she could be embarrassed by anything at this point, but somehow this manages to make her feel a little silly. "Right. 'Honey-hole'." She shrugs. At least it worked the way it was supposed to.

She stands up on woozy legs to accept the check. "Any ideas how you'll spend the money?" Parker asks.

"I don't know," she says, only half-joking. "How much do those Eroticon things cost again?"


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