Turn Me On

I am lying back in the leather chair, my eyes closed. A tiny brush is running over my lips, tickling lightly as it applies a deep shade of crimson. Then another brush takes its place, and I smell the sickly sweetness of lip gloss as a light coat is added.

"Open your eyes and look ahead," the make-up artist commands, as she adds a final sweep of mascara to my eyelashes. I stare at the image in the mirror: not me, but Lucy Laws, newsreader. My skin is flawless, warm and glowing, my cheeks rosy, my eyes smoky, my lips full, and my hair sleek and shiny. I wish, again, that I could see this in my bathroom mirror in the morning, instead of the usual bleary eyes, smudged make-up and hair standing on end.

"You're finished," she announces.

"Thanks, Toula," I say, as I slide out of the chair and head into the studio.

I feel the white heat of the lights as soon as I push open the doors. I stride across the floor and settle into my seat, and the guys in the semi-darkness stop joking with each other about Britney Spears and turn the cameras towards me, focusing. I glance down to my monitor and check: the purple jacket, the black silk camisole, the silver earrings. Fine. Stylish. Classy. Just sexy enough to grab the viewers' attention but not too sexy to distract them from what I'm saying.

People sometimes imagine that under the desk I'm wearing shorts and thongs, but I'm not. I'm wearing a skirt, and nice shoes, because I'm at work. But no knickers. I like the thought that while I'm informing Australia about the latest one quarter of a per cent rise in official interest rates, I can feel a light breeze blowing against my pussy lips. I think it adds a certain dimension of humanity to my delivery.

Just kidding. I'm a tart at heart, that's all.

BJ, the sound guy, comes up to attach my microphone. BJ and I are going to fuck each other one day, and it's going to be brilliant. We both know it. He's only been here two weeks, and we haven't exchanged more than a dozen words, but it's going to happen. With some people you know as soon as you meet them. Lust at first sight. I'm a firm believer in it. The heat between us is something I haven't felt in a long time. When he looks at me, his eyes burn right through my clothes, and I know he can see me naked. I feel a jolt run through me to my cunt, and I have to turn away.

BJ is tall and skinny, with curly dark hair that he scrapes back in a loose ponytail, and the most beautiful hands you've ever seen, with long, elegant fingers. I watch them as he fiddles with the microphone, trying to get it to sit right on my camisole. His fingers are just centimetres away from my breasts. As I breathe in, my breasts rise, and so does the camisole. He is still fiddling with the microphone. It's not that hard to get it right. My nipples are erect. He knows it. I look down to his jeans and I can see the long outline of his dick. It's hard, as I suspected.

"BJ, haven't you got her miked up yet?" comes the shout from Dave, the floor manager, and we both jump. BJ finishes and slinks off. I am left sitting there alone under the glare of the lights. My thighs are already slippery with my juices. BJ and I are going to have to fuck very, very soon. I don't think I can stand this sexual tension night after night.

"Sound check!"

I glance down at the pile of papers in front of me, then look up at the autocue. "John Howard found in motel room with Bronwyn Bishop and mystery gerbil," I announce in my most serious voice. The floor crew snicker. They're used to me adlibbing. "Pauline Hanson pregnant with Ernie Dingo's love child."

"Okay, that's fine."

I compose my newsreader face and prepare myself. I try not to think about my wet cunt and the hard-on hidden in BJ's jeans. I'm a professional.

"Five...four...three..."

And then I'm on.

"Good evening. In news tonight, the Government announces a plan to slash hospital waiting lists."

And in hundreds of thousands of lounge rooms, I'm there, delivering the news of the day. As always, I imagine them watching: families eating dinner, kids struggling with their homework, couples snuggling into each other, men having a quiet wank. I know this last one is true, because some of them write in to tell me about it. "I like to have a tug while watching you read the news," one letter ran, "but last night, just as I reached the vinegar stroke, Johnnie Howard's face came up. I felt physically ill. Can you read a bit slower please so this doesn't happen again?"

As I read, I wonder if he's watching again tonight, and I wonder if he'll get his timing right. Maybe he's breathing heavily right now, maybe his body is stiffening, maybe his spoof is shooting out, hitting the screen, and trickling slowly down my face. I wonder.

"The Queensland by-election this weekend is expected to show a swing against Labor."

Even if I hadn't been turned on already, I would be by now. It's sexy reading the news, fucking sexy, with all these lights and cameras and men focusing their attention on me. Afterwards I always feel charged. I can't go home and sleep, so I head out to bars and down vodka or tequila till the early hours. But men are too scared to approach me unless they're drunk, and by then they're useless for what I want them for, so most nights I fall into my cold sheets alone.

"Investigations are continuing."

I finish the story and glance down at the papers in front of me, keeping up the pretence that I read from them. I move the top sheet aside. "I want to growl you out," the next page reads. I gasp suddenly, but change it into a clearing of the throat. I look up at the autocue and continue without missing a beat.

"Eighty people are believed dead, following a train crash in India..."

Now my cunt is pulsing. As the footage comes up on screen, my eyes flick around the studio. BJ's eyes meet mine and I can feel his lust. I know he wrote that. Cheeky bastard. Maybe tonight, maybe after the news is over.

"The world record for line-dancing has been broken my..." I stop. The autocue reads my tongue in your pussy. Tom, the autocue operator, scrolls down quickly, in a panic. I recover. "I'm sorry, by country music fans in Tamworth," I continue. My heart is thumping and I'm finding it hard to breathe. The shock of nearly making a major blunder on camera and being sent such a sexually explicit message have me spinning. I'm fuming, yet incredibly turned on.

As we go to a commercial break, Tom rushes up to me. "Lucy, I'm really sorry, I swear it wasn't me who put that in there."

"It's okay, Tom."

"I mean, we all joke around, but I wouldn't do anything like that."

"I know, I know." I'm looking around for BJ but he's disappeared.

"You recovered really well. You're a real pro," he adds before dashing back to his place.

It's nearly the end of the news now. Just the cute furry animal story to go.

"Sydney's Taronga Park Zoo is today celebrating the birth of a baby panda."

I sense a movement beneath the desk and realise it's BJ. Somehow he's crept under there without anyone realising. I feel his long cool fingers on my thighs as he gently parts my legs. I let him. Oh fuck, what am I doing?

"The zoo staff have named the cub Chi...Chi!" My voice unexpectedly rises at the end of the sentence as the warm tip of BJ's tongue connects with my swollen and sensitive clit. Now his tongue is flicking it gently from side to side. I clamp my thighs together around BJ's head to try to make him stop, but he won't. I know that in the incredibly aroused state I'm in, I'm not going to be able to stand more than a few seconds of this.

"Mother and baby are both well."

I summon up every ounce of professionalism I have to ignore the sensations shooting through me. Fuck, this guy is good! I feel weak. Beneath my make-up I am flushed. My palms are clammy.

"And from all of us here, goodnight."

And as the lights dim, I feel waves of intense joy wash over me. I grip the edge of the desk, close my eyes and clamp my lips together. I am having an orgasm in front of hundreds of thousands of people, but I am determined they will not know.

"You all right, Lucy?" Dave calls out when we're off air. "You look like you're in pain."

"Stomach cramps," I gasp, as the waves subside. "Must have been something I ate. I think I'll just sit here for a while."

The studio gradually empties, except for me, and BJ, still crouched beneath the desk. Once everyone is gone, I reach down, grab BJ by the front of his shirt and haul him out. He's grinning.

"You bastard!" I yell at him.

"Lucy, I..."

"You prick! I could have fucked up on camera in front of all of Australia!"

"Lucy, I knew you wouldn't..."

"You cocksucking motherfucker!" I thump him in the chest with both my hands to emphasise my point, and he staggers backwards into the desk. "You know what I'm going to do to you?" I demand.

His grin is fading in the face of my anger. "What?" he asks uncertainly.

"I'm going to fuck you like you've never been fucked before!" I yell at him, and give him another shove onto the desk. He lies on his back, and I grab at his jeans, struggling momentarily with the zip. Up springs his cock. Like him, it is long and skinny. I hike my skirt up around my waist, and climb up on the desk. There's no need for preliminaries - the past hour has been foreplay. My knees either side of him, I position myself above his cock, then slowly, slowly slide all the way down. Although I am dripping wet, I feel his cock parting the walls of my cunt, millimetre by millimetre. He lets out a long, deep groan. "Oh, fuck. Oh, Lucy. Your cunt is so tight."

For a minute I am motionless, enjoying the sensation of him being in so deep. I grind my clit against the roughness of his coarse, curly pubic hair. I tighten the muscles of my cunt, clenching his cock tight. He groans again. "Oh, fuck, Lucy!"

His hands reach up, sliding under my camisole to my bare breasts. "I just have to feel these gorgeous tits," he murmurs. His long fingers play gently with my nipples, teasing them, tweaking them. And then I am riding him, slowly at first, then faster, and faster, and I forget where I am, and I'm lost in the rhythm of fucking him. I watch his face all screwed-up as he comes.

We lie there for a while. I can feel his come dribbling out of me onto the desk, and I know if I don't get up now to wipe it up, it will leave a stain. I don't move. I want that stain to be there tomorrow night and every night. And I have a feeling it won't be the last.