by Candy Sloane
“Chris, you okay?” Private asked, “You look flustered.”
“I’m fine, keep dancing,” I replied, but I could barely speak. I could barely see, hear, or smell—forget about the dark increasing your other senses—there was nothing more intense than a vibrator right on your clit, someone else manning the controls, and a room full of people who couldn’t know anything about it watching you, taping you.
Scott stopped the vibrator, maybe sensing I was about to explode. I looked at him. His lips pulled into a sly smile, his muscular biceps pushing against the fabric of his T-shirt as he shifted the control in his pocket.
I nodded imperceptibly to anyone but him. I was ready, Make me come, Scott. Make me come in front of all these people and the whole of MTV’s viewing audience.
“It’s great being alone with you,” Private said, “finally having some one…”
Another hum, stronger, almost buckling me in two; I guess the controller had levels. I’d thought Scott was going to finish me off, but maybe he was just getting started.
“on one time.”
And then a blinding pulse that actually buckled me in two.
I steadied myself before Private could ask me what was wrong, because nothing was wrong. Everything was right. The intensity I felt, the constant skipped beat of my heart in fear of someone realizing what was really happening, and the sheen of sweat all over me from trying to keep the pleasure running through me as something only Scott would notice was the rightest thing in the world.
“I’m also glad,” I said, “we could have some one…”
Another vibration, even stronger, lightning striking and jarring me. Maybe because I’d brought it on myself, let Scott know there was no doubt I wanted whatever he was offering. I wanted that and more.
“on one,” I continued, bringing another.
He kept it going, long, sustained, a growl.
“time too.”
I thought about how many other ways I could add one into the conversation. Too bad Kappa wasn’t there. I’m pretty sure I could have gotten him to chant, I’m number one over and over again. That repetition was what I needed to take me into the throes of passion with Scott at the controls with no one the wiser.
“I’m glad. You seem kind of distant, though,” Private said.
I’m sure I did. Men are said to think with their penises. I totally understood because at that moment I was thinking only with my clit. The little brain inside it knew one word, more.
“Maybe you should count for us,” I said, selfishly, “I think I would do better if I had a beat to go to. I’m counting in my head, that’s why I’m distracted.”
“Oh,” he said, “okay, what should I count to?”
“Up to two should be plenty.”
Private started counting, one, two, one, two; he and I moved across the dance floor, our bodies so close I was surprised he couldn’t feel the vibrations Scott was sending each time Private said our word, which were now arriving without even a second in between.
“Do you smell something burning?” Private asked.
“What?” I asked, barely able to form words.
“It smells like rubber,” he said, sniffing the air.
I looked down, was I on fire? I mean it felt like I was, in a good way, but was I literally? I didn’t see any smoke.
Damn, I guess I should have listened to Allie and gotten a Brazilian instead of my usual moderate bikini wax. I’d have been less flammable.
Scott turned the buzzer over like he was trying to read the directions. He shrugged. I guess it hadn’t been tested under the conditions I was in.
Honestly, at that point I would have taken a trip to the burn unit. I was so close. I didn’t want to stop now, fire hazard or no fire hazard.
“Let’s try it from the beginning. One,”— I lengthened the word, aiming my eyes on Scott to let him know I was ready to continue—“more time.”
The intensity in his eyes told me he knew—knew what I was on the precipice of. Knew that he was the only one who could give me what I was begging for, what my body was demanding.
He increased the intensity. I felt myself about to go. All my muscles clenched, completely under Scott’s spell. Pleasure submerged me. I was drowning, my lungs ached, my heart cartwheeled, but I didn’t fight it. I needed to see how deep this sea of satisfaction went. My breath caught, and I gasped as my hips tensed, my insides seemed to spiral, down and down into the sea of Scott and his manipulation.
His total control.
You are mine, V, he mouthed from beside the camera as release washed over me.
And I realized I was.
Episode Eight: Talk Sort of Dirty to Me
Private was the next Gasm I sent packing. It made the most sense, since he was the last person I’d been on a date with. He took the news with the stiff upper lip he’d been trained to show in the army. And, I saw something else on his face when his name was called: relief.
I understood. If someone would have given me a reprieve from this sexual circus so I didn’t have to keep hiding my true feelings for Scott, I would have been grateful, too.
He kept saying that once the show was over we could finally be together without sneaking around, but I knew it wasn’t that simple. There were a lot of hurdles to get through first, of the co-ed naked track team variety.
That day’s episode was supposed to be a sensual cooking competition, but I pleaded with Garrett not to do anything involving food. I couldn’t deal with having another Gasm throw up on me, or douse me in curdled crème brûlée, or burn my lips while they made me taste their sauce.
Don’t be gross.
It didn’t take too much persuasion, considering just recently he’d seen me leave dinner in the dark with a huge wet spot on my dress—
Don’t be gross again.
—from when I’d spilled water all over myself. He knew I was an accident waiting to happen.
“Okay, then,” Garrett agreed. “Phone sex it is.”
I swallowed. I should have kept my mouth shut. That would be insanely more uncomfortable considering phone sex was Scott’s and my thing.
Or at least it had been. I guess now we had a lot of things.
Now, our thing was anything we could get away with that got me off.
“Christine, are you in there?” Garrett boomed. “Phone sex work for you?”
The back of my scalp prickled, but I nodded. There was nothing I could say. Even though I’d much rather have had Kappa try and seduce me with a bowl of Cheetos and a Budweiser than have phone sex with him while Garrett, and Allie, and, worst of all, Scott were watching.
I’d even take whatever two-armed meat Private might have grilled up over that.
Once wardrobe and makeup worked their magic, the crew arranged me on one side of an oriental screen. I was directed to lounge on a red velvet chaise. This seemed like a simple request, except wardrobe had me in black lace lingerie complete with garters, stockings, and a corset. Not what anyone would wear for lounging, but at least my stomach and, well, everything else was covered. Still, I longed for a pair of yoga pants and a ratty old T-shirt.
On the other side of the screen was a Gasm I couldn’t see. I would only be able to hear him or her through a white Princess phone. Three cameras were set up, one for long shots of both of us, and two for close-ups.
Scott was my close-up, and Garrett was taping on the Gasm side. I was thankful to have Scott nearby for several reasons, not the least of which was that the thought of Garrett staring at me through a camera lens, even in what would be considered fabric-heavy lingerie, made me want to throw up on myself.
Allie was off-camera with the rest of the crew, sipping on champagne with a strawberry in it.
“Can I get one of those?” I asked.
One of the crew guys nodded and scurried away.
Forget not drinking to keep my secrets. Something to take the edge off was trumping that now.
“Afraid you won’t be loose enough on film?” Sc
ott asked, loud enough so everyone else could hear.
I guess that meant he wanted a public answer; my private one would have been something like, I think you know exactly how tight I am.
Or at least, I would have thought to say that later.
“I guess a little,” I said, becoming scared, boring, librarian Chris—the Chris I was when I wasn’t his private V.
“Just picture the camera as someone you want to have sex with,” he said, widening his stance.
“Like one of the Gasms?”
“Sure,” he said with an imperceptible wink. “Like one of the Gasms.”
My champagne was delivered and I took a long drink, the bubbles tickling my throat.
Garrett moved in front of both of the screens so everyone could see him while he gave directions. “You are only supposed to talk,” he announced, “You can touch yourself above the waist, play with your hair, but nothing in the southern hemisphere. We are on network TV, people. Try your best not to get carried away. We’ll do a censoring of the words later with our standards and practices people, but keep the swearing to a minimum and use terms that are okay for TV: ass, penis, vagina, breasts,” he said, ticking fingers.
“This is going to be super sexy,” Allie snorted.
Garrett turned to her.
She gave him a five-hundred-watt smile. “Want me to say that again for the cameras?”
The back of his neck tinged red. There was definitely something going on between them. I wondered if it was anywhere near as hot as the secret sex life of Scott and V.
“Okay, places everyone,” Garrett clapped as he took his position behind the screen with the “secret” Gasm.
It was kind of silly. I mean, I knew their voices. But I understood, like everything else on The Orgasm Virgin, it was important to maintain the illusion that all of this was very sexy and forbidden.
Scott fixed his camera on me and mouthed, You look so fucking hot, V. I’m hard just picturing what I would do if we were up in your room right now.
My abdomen clenched, I fought the urge to reach out for him and, instead, picked up the Princess phone.
“Hey, Chris,” MD said with a throaty growl.
“Hey yourself.”
There was an awkward silence while I waited for him to reply. Allie motioned for me to keep talking.
“Tell me what you’re wearing,” I tried, fiddling with my glasses. It was what I thought people said when they had phone sex. Really, Scott had been my first for that too, and, from the swirling words I remembered, there weren’t a lot of questions, and certainly not ones as mundane as that.
“Well,” he said, probably pausing to look down, “a white T-shirt and pajama pants, but I can take off my shirt if you want.”
“Sure,” I said, though when I did I looked at Scott. Really I wanted him to be the one taking off his shirt. I wanted to see his tanned, toned shoulders in front of me. Wanted to be running my hands down them, my fingers moving slow and slick like water droplets, sliding ever so slowly down his thick arms and along his muscular chest and down to his taut stomach, traveling so gently toward the hairs teasing his waistband it would make him shiver.
MD spoke, recounting how he would start by kissing my neck…yawn.
I watched Scott from behind the camera, My tongue is desperate to be on you, he mouthed, in you again. I want to cup my hands around your perfect ass and tongue-fuck you senseless.
My skin turned to flames at his words, my bones to ash. I fought the urge to slide my hand down and into my panties. I wondered if he would come up with four different scenarios—something actually hot for me to focus on while each Gasm blabbed on.
If so, by the time he got to number three I would be sopping, aching.
Kappa was next. His breathing on the line heralding either a boy in middle school calling a girl he liked or a serial killer. I kind of wished Tongue was on the phone, too, because she would have told him that.
Instead I said, “It sounds like you’re excited.”
“About you,” he replied. “First I’m going to take off all my clothes and stand in front of you…”
As Kappa went on I turned to Scott. He took one hand off the camera and slid his expert tongue along his pointer finger, middle finger, ring finger. He trailed the tip of it along the skin of his pinky and sucked, before he kissed his palm lightly and blew it my way.
I wanted that kiss, those lips, and that tongue. I wanted those fingers on me, inside me.
I hadn’t even realized that Kappa had finished his attempt at seduction and Cowboy was now on the other end of the line.
“I’m not really good at talking about this stuff,” Cowboy said, though I think he was speaking to Garrett and not me.
“Let’s start with what you’re wearing,” I said.
“Just my hat,” he laughed.
I craned my neck behind Scott, so I could see Allie’s face.
She nodded. He’s got it covering his dick, she mouthed.
“Oh my,” I said. “You do know you don’t have to be naked for phone sex.”
“But it sure makes things easier, doesn’t it, darlin’.”
As he went on, Scott mouthed, Next time I come visit, I’ll just wear my hat, too.
I pictured him walking down the hall to my room. His apple of an ass out and on display, a The Orgasm Virgin baseball cap covering what had felt like his very well-endowed cock and couldn’t help but laugh. There was no way a baseball hat would come close to covering what he had waiting for me.
“I’m not trying to be funny.”
“Sorry,” I said, remembering I was on the phone with Cowboy. “I was thinking about something else.”
Cowboy didn’t respond. I couldn’t even hear him breathe. He froze, and why wouldn’t he? I had just completely emasculated him.
Oh, you’re telling me how hard you’re going to ride me. I’m too busy laughing and thinking about something else.
“Give me that,” Tongue said. I heard her grab the phone. “You guys are a bunch of amateurs.”
She cleared her throat and began, “We’re just sitting around having some drinks, and I’m trying desperately to keep myself from wanting you the way I do. So much so, I’m sucking on an ice cube. You laugh at something I say and the way your tongue runs across your lips is all the invitation I need. Using the ice cube between my teeth, I trace down the length of your body starting at your chin. I slide down the front of your neck, the line of your windpipe, taking your breath. I move down to your firm breasts,” she chuckled, the word she was forced to use amusing her, “running the ice cube and my tongue down and along each one, teasing your nipples until they ache, burn. Your skin is so hot the ice cube has melted, and you are so wet I can’t even stand it. Now, with my lips and tongue so cold, so blistering, I taste my way down your stomach, licking at your belly button. I slide lower, slicking my tongue against your pubic bone—”
“Cut,” Garrett yelled. “That’s enough. The rest would all be bleeped out anyway.”
“I thought they were allowed to say vagina?” Allie asked.
“They are,” he said. “She’s not.”
“Story of my life,” Tongue said. “We can finish off-camera, Miss Chris, maybe by the pool again,” she suggested as she smacked a kiss over the phone line.
Scott lowered his camera and slow clapped. I can’t top that, he mouthed.
Few could. I suddenly wished I was a lesbian.
Garrett instructed the crew to start cleaning up. Scott moved behind me and acted like he was tearing down lights.
“I’m not going to be able to come and see you tonight,” he whispered.
A cold knot formed in my stomach and my face fell. That was the one thing that had kept me going, the knowledge that I would have Scott’s trained tongue and fingers waiting for me on the other side.
And, maybe, I was starting to realize it was nice having someone who cared all about what I wanted and needed and not because someone was paying them to.
My disappointment was forgotten for a moment. We were leaving the house? Did that mean that maybe Scott and I could finally really be together? Sneak away long enough that he could show me the hard cock I kept feeling against me?
“Where are we going?”
“I’m not allowed to say. We have to tell you on-camera so we can get your actual reaction.”
I stood up and walked over to him so he could see my eyes, my lips, and my tongue. “The only place I want to go is with you into a bedroom with no cameras and a lock on the door. Does where we’re going have that?”
“We could have one camera,” he joked.
“I’m ready for my close-up,” I joked back.
He wiped a stray hair away from my face. “Take a bath tonight, touch yourself, and play out my fantasy of tongue-fucking you senseless.”
I considered it, but if he could wait for me I could wait for him. “I’m fine.”
He moved his lips to my ear, his hot, sweet breath breaking me. “It wasn’t a suggestion.”
Episode Nine: High Rollers
Garrett told us the news when we were standing in front of the private plane, bags packed. The cameras rolled as our mouths dropped in awe at the sleek G-500.
We were going to VEGAS—Surprise—to tape the final episodes of the show.
Or, really, no surprise at all; of course the world’s sleaziest show would take us to the sleaziest place in the world.
When Scott told me we were traveling somewhere, my mind couldn’t help but wander to the places a booklover might want to visit: San Francisco if they didn’t want to go too far, or New York City, or, if I let myself dream big, London. But, as per usual, this show was not about what I liked.
I guess it never could have been considering I wasn’t even the one who had written the Craigslist post in the first place.
