Rachel's Countdown

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Celebrity Erotic Fantasy Story.
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WARNING: The following is a work of erotic fan fiction, the events of which are completely made up and did not happen, and is no true reflection of the celebrities, people, places, conventions, events etc depicted within. This material is unsuitable to be viewed by those under the legal age limit of viewing pornographic material in your current country of residence.

Featuring: Rachel Riley (TV presenter)

Rachel's Countdown

A celebrity erotic story

Codes: MF, FF, Cons, Oral, WS, Group.

*****

Rachel's Countdown

How had it come to this, she thought as she approached the mansion which rose majestically before her.

It didn't take long for her brain to remind her; she might have been a maths genius but the stock market wasn't based of maths; it was based on a series of algorithms and circumstances that, unlike maths, were beyond her control. A gamble and she had lost everything; her money, her house, and her job - she never should have persuaded the producers to go in with her, and when it looked to be going well she should never have told them all to shove their TV careers up their arses. It was her arse that was going to be troubled.

But what a pretty arse it was. The dress she wore was designed to show it off. She'd been told to dress well, her ass was perched above long, slender legs, legs she had always dressed to show off on the programme she was famous for, legs that got the audience to whistle when her name was called out, a whistle that sent tingles through her every time, glancing around the audience and knowing that they all wanted her. That time was gone. They all wanted her; but she was no longer theirs. She was this guy's, the guy who owned the mansion; Mr Adams was what she knew him as. They guy she was in debt to, to the region of three million pounds.

She held her breath as she used the big brass knocker, slamming metal off metal. It sounded like the death knell of her old life and the thought scared her. She could back out, but who knew what other people would do to get their three million back; that was even scarier. Wobbling on the cherry red heels, she smoothed down the slinky cream dress, one she had managed to pilfer from the show, one that they'd considered too hot for TV. Which it was, barely coming over the cheeks of her ass, tight around her slim, size six figure, and promoting what little she had up top. It was designed to do that, all without the aid of a bra.

As she waited she fluffed up her curly, blonde hair that nestled on her angled shoulders and stared at her reflection in the brass knocker, shined up like a mirror. She looked good, perhaps too slutty but she doubted Mr Adams would care. What she was going to do was worth three million pounds. Three million pounds to play a game of Countdown.

The glossy lacquer-finished door opened and she was greeted by a man, the man she had agreed to do this for. Mr Adams. Easily in his sixties though he wore it well, the suit tailored to his still slim-looking body. She had no idea what he wanted but if it involved having sex with him, there could have been worse people to do it with even if he was at least twice her age.

'A drink?' he offered, voice as smooth as the silk panties that she'd decided to wear. She had auctioned off most of her stuff to pay back some of her debt. She knew that Rachel Riley's used underwear would have gone down a storm in certain circles but couldn't bring herself to do it. So she wore them for this instead. They made her feel good.

Taking the green cocktail in an expensive crystal glass from him, she quaffed it in one.

Mr Adams laughed. 'Building up your courage are you?' he said before handing her another. She showed more restraint with the second, sipping it and allowing him to lead her into another room, what she guessed had been a sitting room, or some type of leisure quarters, ornate, carved and ancient. Now it was decked out like a very passable imitation of the Countdown set. He'd gone to some expense on this. But if he was able to pay her three million for doing this, then he had plenty to spare.

Doing what came naturally to her, she made for her place on the stage by the letters and numbers, touching the podium, memories flooding back. It felt good to be on stage once again. She knew how much she missed it, though she would never let it show.

'So where are the contestants? Who are the contestants?' she asked looking to Mr Adams who took up position in the main chair, Nick's chair, Jeff's chair, the man in control.

She glanced to the rows and rows of expensive cushioned chairs facing the stage. Never mind the contestants, she thought to herself, where was the audience? Were they going to play to an empty crowd? A crowd that she would have to imagine was there? That wouldn't be as fun.

She turned to ask Mr Adams what was happening. From nowhere two players were now in the contestant's chairs as if they had materialised out of thin air. One male and one female. She recognised the female immediately. Know that twisted up face anywhere. Her old co-worker Susie Dent. Why was she here, she asked herself, but knew the reason why. One of the reasons her reputation had taken a dive, why they had let her go from the show. She had fucked Susie's husband, not out of spite, or malice; just because she could. He wasn't even good-looking, but he was off-bounds and she liked that, liked the danger. It had been over in less than a minute, but it had made a major contribution to her downfall.

She strained to see the name on the front of the male card. She hadn't a clue who he was, but he was pretty good-looking and if nothing else, a bit of eye candy for her to keep an eye on throughout this 'show'. She always tried to pick out one piece, meant that she could be distracted during the boring bits of the show.

Mr Adams waved a hand towards her. Rachel didn't know what he wanted, couldn't decipher what he was trying to say. But it wasn't her he was signalling. From the door she and Mr Adams had entered a crowd of well-dressed people streamed inside, taking up position in the crowd; men and woman, mostly of advancing years, well-heeled and well-tanned, here to enjoy the show. Putting on her game face, she smiled at them all.

'Let's start,' said Mr Adams, no impatience in his voice. 'Susie, you can pick the first letters.'

A silent nod from Susie, but a look on her face that could have cut straight through Rachel. She hadn't forgotten, not that Rachel ever thought she had.

'Could I have a vowel please... bitch?' said Susie, spat at her, sharp and violent.

Rachel jerked a little but accepted that she probably deserved that. The audience murmured. This wasn't going to be the usual polite game of Countdown. There was an undercurrent that would have made great TV. Looking around, she couldn't see any recording equipment.

'Now if we can keep this civil, Susie. At least for the time being,' said Mr Adams authoritative - and ominous. Rachel was glad someone was in charge.

The letters were chosen as normal - A, G, I, L, N, A, S, U, N - with no thank you's or pleasantry, and the imitation Countdown clock set into motion with the familiar catchy ditty. As she normally did, Rachel played along. What else was there to do?

As ever the thirty seconds played out fast. She had a seven letter word - SAILING - and was pretty proud of it.

Mr Adams asked the contestants for their words. Like Rachel, the unknown male had SAILING too but Susie stated she had a nine. A nine, thought Rachel, show off... bitch.

Susie smiled, straight at Rachel as she said it - ANALINGUS. Another murmur from the audience. Trust her to find the nine letter one. She was always good at this crap she thought placing the letters in order.

'Well done, Susie. Now we need to have a demonstration.'

Rachel froze. A demonstration? Of what? She turned back to see the awkward grin of her former co-worker.

'As winner of that round you get to choose who performs the demonstration,' said Mr Adams. 'And on whom.'

'Easy,' said Susie, without hesitation, 'the Riley bitch can eat out your ass.' Blunt, nothing flowery about the language. Rachel had never heard Susie talk so dirty and if she hadn't been the focus of the wrath she might even have been a little turned on. She liked a straight-talker.

'I... no,' stuttered Rachel.

'You will,' replied Susie. They both looked to Mr Adams who rose from his seat and took a place in the centre of the stage. Without further ado, he unhooked his belt and the trousers fell to the floor, exposing an ass that had begun to sag, an ass that sprouted a great forest of hair down the middle. There was no way...

'I can't,' repeated Rachel, seeing the old ass uncovered and putting a hand to her mouth. She had never... had never even thought about licking anyone there, even her ex-boyfriends. Even the ones who had made her suck them in public or fingered her ass.

'You know what you're doing here, don't you Rachel?' said Mr Adams, in complete charge, 'You know why you're here, so get over here now and get on your knees.'

Commanded, and knowing the price she was being paid for all this, she walked over slowly, wobbling on the high heels. Staring first at the audience, and then an evil grinning Susie, she slumped to her knees in front of the old man's ass.

'Please no,' she begged, staring at the audience for mercy. But there was to be none.

Holding her breath she leaned forward, gingerly running her tongue over the mostly hairless cheek. There was a louder murmur from the audience and a long moan from the recipient of the tongue who spread his legs wider in response.

'Spread that ass and lick him,' yelled out Susie.

Putting her soft hands on the mass of flesh, Rachel parted the cheeks to come face to face with the Mr Adam's ass, the man she thought was her benefactor, the man who had brought her here to play Countdown - but she know knew that it would be no ordinary game. His wrinkled asshole winked at her as if to give her the go-ahead to start. Leaning in, her tongue touched the folded flesh. She gagged hard, tasting him on her tongue, musty and dirty, like... she didn't even know how to describe such was the sensory overload. She scrunched her face up in displeasure.

'More!'

This time it was someone from the audience and, on command, she licked again, sliding her tongue over his asshole, catching on the hairs. It was a nervous, tentative stroke but she hoped it was enough. The hand on the back of her head thrusting her forward and into the depths of his ass told her that it wasn't the case. Susie's voice came from close-by her ear, the owner of the hands, pushing her head in. Rachel struggled in vain, taking a deep breath of the musty, sweaty ass, mouth open to try and get air but getting nothing but a mouthful of hot ass. Knowing there was now no way out of this, Rachel slathered her tongue over the wrinkled hole, tasting him, gagging more but doing it again, her tongue pushing harder, the tip easing into him.

'She's inside,' gasped Mr Adams, his ancient legs wobbling.

'And there you are,' said Susie, 'the once great Rachel - Fucking - Riley now eating an old man's shitty ass.'

Rachel felt like crying but couldn't. There was nothing but this stranger's ass and the taste. She was being humiliated. Humiliated in front of these strangers and in front of someone who hated her guts. Humiliated but yet...

She hadn't touched it but she knew that her pussy was wet. Why the hell was her pussy wet? Not only that her hard nipples were poking against the expensive material of her dress. Somehow she was aroused by this, aroused by being forced to eat this old man's ass. What the hell was going on? Was it being front of a group? She had always fantasised about it. Subconsciously she licked again, almost French kissing his anus now, slurping up the ass-covered saliva she was drooling.

Her hair was yanked violently. She came off the ass, gasping for air, a little ass-flavoured drool falling to her dress and soaking in. Instead of a wet, pouting asshole she was looking up into the face of Susie who had a firm hold of her curled blonde locks as if she wanted to rip them out.

'You liked that didn't you, bitch?'

Rachel didn't answer. Her lack of complaint told the whole story.

Susie grinned and gripped her hair again causing Rachel to grunt in pain. By the time her former colleague let her go; Mr Adams had his pants back on and was in the main chair again. Alone in the middle of the room and in front of the audience, Rachel found that somehow she missed licking his asshole and again found it confusing why it should be so. Was she really that much of a slut? She found she didn't want to answer the question.

Now free, she wandered back to her station like a trained puppy, wiping off the ass-smeared saliva with the back of her hand.

'Second round. More letters. Your turn this time, Steve.'

So the other contestants name was Steve. Steve who? She still didn't recognise him and had no idea why he was here unless he was a friend of Mr Adams. Not his son surely?

He chose the next set of letters - E, T, P, B, O, U, A, J, H.

The clock started again. Rachel played along though she could still taste Mr Adam's ass on her tongue, savoury rather than sweet, a persistent tang.

She had a four - BOUT. A poor effort but they were poor letters. But she didn't do as poorly as the Susie and Steve. Both claimed a two. Two! How the hell did they not get more than that?

Mr Adams asked them for their answers. In conjunction they gave the same: BJ.

'Well done,' said Mr Adams.

'But that's not even—' The glare from the main chair stopped her in her tracks. They all knew it wasn't a word and she knew what was coming next.

With Steve in charge of deciding who was going to receive the blowjob and from whom, it was no surprise to Rachel that she was to be the giver... and he the receiver.

Up he stepped, as he strode ever closer she could see that he was over six foot tall and dressed impeccably. Straight out a modelling calendar. The kind of man she would go for. All day, every day. Again, although she was embarrassed, Rachel couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to suck him. If only it had been a bit more private. Who was she kidding? A lot more private. But she had no choice.

Knowing what she had to do she stepped forward and met him in the middle. He was very handsome, cheeks chiselled and defined. Looked down at her with no expression. She tried a smile to get him to emote something towards her - but nothing.

She glanced down at his pants. She could see the outline of his bulge. It looked impressive, tacked to the side and touching his leg. Yum.

Sliding to her knees, she looked up at him and began to undo his belt; the murmurs in the crowd lost to her, only hearing the tinkle of the clasp being undone and rustle of material as she pulled his trousers and boxers off in one swoop. The cock that charged out at her was a beauty, a solid eight inches, veined, but smooth as marble, swollen and ready. Involuntarily she licked her lips and stared at the shiny red helmet at the end, poking out at her screaming for attention.

Not looking anywhere else; not looking at the audience, Susie, or Mr Adams, she placed her hand on the cock and felt the heat pulse through it and into her like it was a magic wand. The heat reached her sex. She was going to have her expensive knickers soaked in seconds, she thought as she started to stroke it in rhythm with the moans coming from the owner.

Stroking slow and stroking long a glob of clear precum rose on the end. She darted her tongue out at it and gathered it up. Salty and strong. So much better than the taste of ass and so she moved her mouth onto the tip, enveloping the slick head, her tongue running along the underside of his hard shaft, the soft, sucking sounds loud in her head, like the sound of an audience clapping. She sucked deeper and deeper, twisting her head so that her mouth moved around the length, the flesh now slick in her mouth, sucking him, pleasing him, and forgetting where she was, even who she was doing it for. There was nothing in her mind but the cock in front of her. Even the gag that crunched her stomach into a ball didn't knock her from stride, her throat closing over the tip as if to milk it. Steve even moaned as she did so. She gagged again, on purpose to elicit the same moan. She wasn't disappointed. From the sounds, neither was he.

His hand was in her hair now and she felt the firm touch of his fingers on her scalp pushing her deeper, making her gag harder, choking on the cock, coughing little flecks of spittle on to his balls. Still he pressed. No longer did she feel at ease with the cock. It seemed that he was trying to press it all into her mouth. She knew that was impossible. He was two inches too big for that. Six was all she had ever managed. She tried to pull back. The strong hand didn't let her. She coughed again, feeling the strong retch driving up from deep within her, clenching her pussy, threatening to bring the bile up from her stomach.

As she struggled he pushed more. Her eyes were wide, staring at his toned stomach, her nose inching ever closer to it. She had now beaten her record and felt like it was sliding all the way down the back of her throat and towards her stomach—

Another retch, a loud huuuurgghh - one that seemed louder than her ears could deal with. With the second huuuurgghh came the explosion. Hot, spitting bile shot up through her oesophagus, bathing the cock in her mouth, before shooting out her mouth and onto his balls. And her dress. She could feel the terrible heat on her small breasts, the heat on her nipples, leaking through the thin material. The taste was horrible, like acid.

If she had thought it was the end, she was wrong. Still the cock probed, the nasty cock that she had once thought so perfect, jamming into her throat and—

She puked again, bringing up chunks of the rice she had earlier. The hand on the back of her head let go and she pulled back, rocking back onto her feet folded beneath her, the thick puke drooling out and down her dress. She was a mess.

A towel flew from the crowd. Not for her but for him, Steve wiping off his still rock-hard penis and settling back down in his seat. The round was over. Rachel looked to him and the others. No-one stepped forward. No-one was going to help her. She was going to suffer this all on her own. And who knew how many rounds there were to go.

She staggered back to her position and took a seat. The puke dripped from her and as she looked down could see that it had stained her dress, almost making it see-through, her pink nipples poking, as hard as eager as Steve's cock had been.

She barely heard Mr Adams call out for the Numbers round. At least they couldn't make up some filthy sexual act out of those. Unless they went for 69 but she knew that number couldn't come up. Unless they had rigged the machine.

The numbers were dealt out: 100, 50, 6, 10, 8, 8. Not a great selection but—

She pressed the button for the number: 333.

The clock started and despite her puke-drained state she tried to get it.

The clock ticked fast. She could get 326 quickly, next attempt; 334. Her brain wasn't working. It must be there. Having all even numbers wasn't helping. The tune played to the crescendo. She frantically tried to solve it. Failed. And hung her head.

Both Susie and Steve had failed to get it too.

'Well Rachel?' Mr Adams, she could almost hear the smile in his voice.

'No,' she said.

'Well you know what that means?'

She didn't but could guess.

'It means a punishment,' he said. Her fears confirmed.

12