Ever since you were a teenage girl you've had nightmares about going out naked, of going to school or being on stage without clothes. Some of your friends, knowing these fears, somehow convinced you to face them by wearing nothing underneath your white graduation gowns.
The low-voltage feeling you'd felt in your groin that day, as you first realized the folly of your nightmares, was nothing compared to now. You never quite forget that there are five people in the room and a running camera.
Mid-orgasm your only thought is to pull harder on the lacy panties, to grind them some more against your convulsing gash.
"Good improvisation," the woman, Julie, murmers. "A little over the top, though."
The men don't seem to notice her words, but mortified as you are they help convince you to carry on, to pretend it was all part of the act, even if the bulges in the mens' pants might suggest they know otherwise.
You wiggle your way out of your panties, teasing them with a rear-view before stooping, picking up the panties and then, staying bent over, straightening your legs, giving them a full-on view of your derriere until with your legs fully straight your bent-over position gives them a view of your engorged pussy lips.
It doesn't hurt that by facing away from them you hid your red face until you recovered your poise. Now you look back over your shoulder as you straighten, rub a hand over your buttock and toss your panties towards them with a grin.
The three men at the table look a little red themselves as your perfomance continues with you leaning back against a table and spreading legs. The move gives them full view of your pussy, bare but for a thin 'landing strip' above it.
You're going to town rubbing your hands over your body, squeezing your tits, rubbing along the edges of your slit but never actually touching it, when Andrew clears his throat. You're so close to a second orgasm that it takes an effort of will to stop and look up at him.
His eyes stay glued to your pussy at first, then reluctantly travel up your body to your face. "Excellent," he says with a strained voice. "We'll let you know our decision within the week."
For a moment you're frozen. A week? They're not going to give it to you? You have to stop? Mentally you shake yourself and with trembling hands pick up the bits of your clothes that you can find. The producers give you innocent looks when you look around for your underwear and so you reluctantly pull on the top and skirt. |