Duncan Fox - Deep throat wife

The MC was frantically hurrying through the closing routine of the show, desperately clinging to the carefully memorized lines. He explained the wheel while Shanda stood there next to it like a mindless mannequins. Her eyes kept returning to Karen's wanton display, a searing hunger in her looks.

The wheel turned and the lights fished. Karen jiggled with excitement. Her titty rubbed against the MC's chest, and she squeezed his cock in her hot little hand. For a few moments, most of the attention in the studio was on the rotating, rigged game of chance. Her twat drooling, Karen watched the wheel spin. The pie wedges of light flashed garishly, the ring of lights around the outside flickered crazily. It began to slow, and Karen held her breath.

Whoever was controlling the wheel backstage eased it to a stop right at the jackpot. She had won ten thousand dollars! Karen leaped and jumped, and wrapped her arms and legs around the staggering master of ceremonies. His cock slammed into her cunt as she hugged him against her naked body. She ground her snatch against him, and felt his pecker stir in her streaming cunt. She scraped her tender, aroused titties against his rough suit.

While she fucked herself on him, right there on stage, the man frantically tried to close the show. He was hanging onto his microphone with maniacal desperation. Karen's opponent heaved himself up from his chair as the closing lines were read. Coming up behind her, his prick out and ready, he spiked Karen's ass with his cock.

The unlubricated penetration of her bung made Karen shriek with pain. Then the pain faded, was replaced by searing pleasure. Pinned between two men, she had pricks in her cunt and her bring. With the glaring lights still burning down on her, she let herself be taken by two men simultaneously. She let them support her full weight between them.

The three of them tumbled to the stage when Shanda slammed into them. Peter Sandier's hard-on ripped free of Karen's cunt, but she didn't care. She still had her opponent's cock up her butt. Brutally, she shoved Sandier away. He was aroused and unsatisfied but she didn't care. She let the man corn-holing her slam his towering prick deep into her burning winkie. Spreading her legs wide, she displayed the man's rear penetration to the camera, to the sweating faces of the audience.

The man pistoning his prick in her tail thrust again, deeper. She felt his pecker leaping and jerking, felt come hosing her brownie. Karen heaved in the grip of her own flaming orgasm as the man filled her with jism.

When his twitchings finally began to fade, and she felt his dick shrinking, she twisted off of him. As her winkie snapped shut, a dribble of come escaped, and burned her tail. She was the center of attention. She was the object of Peter Sandier's lust, of Shanda McAleer's lesbian horniness, the target of her celebrity partner's stabbing prick, and the fury and crude lust of the producer, who had come thundering down from the control booth.

With a wrench Karen yanked free of their grabbing hands and backed up against the round disk of the wheel of fortune. She felt the axle dig into her naked back. Like an animal at bay, she bared her teeth at them. They all froze.

"You want me," she hissed. "You all want me, don't you?" She didn't need a spoken answer how much they wanted her was in their eyes, in their stiff pricks, in their reaching hands. They were hungry for her lush, naked body.

"You all want me, don't you?" She laughed. "Well, you used me. And now, by God, I'm going to use you."

"Mrs. Calder?" the producer stammered. He was sweating badly.

"Karen," Peter Sandier croaked. His prick was still glistening with her juices.

"Shut up," she snapped. "One more word from any of you and I'll blow the whistle on this shabby little operation of yours."

They knew she meant it, and refrained from grabbing her.

"What do you want?" Bernstein whispered.

Karen grinned at him. It wasn't a pleasant grin. "Give me one of your cigars," she said calmly.

Fumbling desperately, the man pulled out one of his thick stogies. Karen glanced at it. Intriguingly, it was from Cuba. Delicately, she twirled the cigar in her fingers.

"Now, take off your clothes," she ordered softly. She was steaming with lust.

"But…"

"Don't argue," she warned. "It's not as if I haven't seen you naked before. Remember?"

With a shudder, under the hot, staring eyes of the crowd, the producer began to undress. His hands shook as he bared his blocky, hard body. His stubby cock was swollen and bloated.

Karen sucked on the cigar thoughtfully, as if it was a cock. "Now, turn around and bend over," she said softly.

The sweating producer shuddered again, and turned. Looking back over his shoulder at her, he slowly bent at the waist. Karen put a hand on his back and pushed, until his hands hit the floor. His fat ass thrust back at her.

With a theatrical flourish, she waved the spit-slicked cigar. She carefully spread his asscheeks with the fingers of her other hand. While everyone looked on, aghast and aroused, she set the tip of the cigar on the brown, hair-fringed pucker of the producer's asshole. Her teeth bared in a delighted snarl, Karen slowly pushed the cigar into the man's resisting bung. Bit by bit, she augured the roll of tobacco up into the tight, clenched winkie. She watched his crap gate twinge as it was invaded, watched his shit lock wink and wink.

She loved the expressions that played over the producer's seamed face. The horror had been diluted first with pain. Then, as the cigar drilled deeper up his dirt road, there was a hot sheen of pleasure on his sweating features. Against his will, he was enjoying being buggered by one of his prize Havanas.

Karen didn't stop until two thirds of the cigar was in his hard butt. Then she paused, letting everyone see the producer's tobacco-buggery. She reached between the man's hairy thighs and wrapped her hand around his stocky cock. She began to jack him off, as she slid the cigar in and out of his clinging butt. While everyone watched, she jerked his whang and fucked his bung. And everyone could see just how much he was enjoying it.

It didn't take long for his come to be spattering the stage with a thick, creamy rain. Karen twisted the cigar in his tail as she milked the hot flood from his pecker. The producer groaned in ecstasy as he hunched over in front of her. His buttocks clenched as he squeezed out the last trickles of jizz. They strung down from his dick toward the stage.

Then he slumped in a wheezing heap. He curled up with the cigar sticking obscenely out his rear. His crapper got itself into gear, and the brown cylinder slowly slid out of his tail. He shuddered and moaned.

Peter Sandier muttered something angrily, and instantly regretted it when Karen's attention shifted to him.

"Come here," she ordered softly.

Like a rabbit hypnotized by a snake, the dapper MC obeyed. His cock swaying and bobbing from his gaping fly, he approached her meekly. His lust pole had been rammed into her snatch once already, then yanked out before it could erupt.

Delicately, she reached down and stroked the underside of his dick. She could feel oily oozings on his hot meat.

"Eat me," she ordered the master of ceremonies. Like a puppet, he dropped to his knees in front of her. She spread her legs and thrust her pussy at him. She combed her twat with her fingers, showed him her glistening snatch. He licked his lips and moved toward her. She felt his hot breath on her twat. He nuzzled his face into her cunt. She rubbed her pussy against his face.

"My cunt," she ordered. "Put your tongue in my cunt."

She felt his tongue burrow into her hot hole, wiggle, felt him suck up her hot juices. Grabbing his curly hair, she jammed his face deep into her snatch. Waves of fire raged up through her as he explored her twat.