On that Friday afternoon, Stephanie came back home a bit earlier than usual. As soon as she opened the door, she took off her high heels with a sigh of pleasure. She walked barefooted on the soft gray carpeting, dropping her Louis-Vuitton bag on the small desk in the hallway.
From the bathroom she could hear the shower running. She briefly considered joining her husband under the shower, but she was not really in the mood for the inevitable afternoon frolics that would have followed.
They had been living in the modern downtown apartment for three years now. The rent was insanely high, even though the flat was not so spacious after all, but Stephanie loved the place, the modern furniture, the domotics appliances, the convenience of being a 5-minutes ride away from the financial district.
She headed for the bedroom, took off the short jacket of her tailleur and the simple golden earrings and matching necklace, then back to the kitchen to quickly wash her hands, thinking she might as well have a cup of tea as she waited for her turn under the hot water.
She cast a loud “hey!” towards the bathroom door, but Steve didn’t answer.
As she filled a pot with water in the small but modern kitchen facing the living room, she picked the remote from the counter and turned on the TV to hear the news in the background.
It took her a while to notice that she couldn’t really sort out the gibberish speech that was being delivered in a constant monotone by the anchorman.
Frowning, waiting for the water to boil, she dried her hands with the small towel and went to the living room.
The golden light of the afternoon filled the room, reflecting on the screen. She sat on the 5 seats corner sofa and stared at the screen.
It wasn’t the news, clearly. More like a talk show, but she couldn’t recognize the anchorman, a tall blond guy with a square jaw and intense eyes who was delivering an unceasing flow of words with no expressivity whatsoever.
The speech did not make any sense. It was just a series of word with a strange cadence and rhythm to them. Even less sense made what was going on in the studio. A young woman in her mid-twenties was sitting on a chair close to the presenter. Lithe and blond, she had the fair skin and the perfect visage of a model, or more probably of a social media starlette.
Her elegant figure, exalted by a simple black dress, contrasted openly with her wanton pose: legs open wide, front to the camera, displaying her simple black cotton panties.
Her slender right hand disappeared inside the panties, her fingers clearly busy in a slow, methodic jilling, while her left hand squeezed her chest.
She looked straight into the camera, eyes lucid, the red flush on her cheeks contrasting starkly with her fair complexion, her full pink lips humid and parted.
Stephanie’s first thought was that her husband had watched some porn stream on the TV and forgot to close the app before cooling off under the shower.
She scoffed at the thought – she almost caught him red-handed! – but then she noticed the Channel 4 logo at the bottom. Pushing the info button confirmed that she was, indeed, on TV channel 4.
“Someone screwed up big time, sending this live”, Steph muttered. She turned up the volume and sat back on the couch. Underlaying the senseless sequence of words by the anchorman, she could hear the girl’s soft pants as she continued to masturbate live on national TV on a Friday afternoon.
*This is unacceptable*, Stephanie thought, as she slid her own hand inside her skirt. *Why has no one stopped this? *. Her fingers found the hem of her panties and slid inside those as well. Her crotch was warm and pleasantly wet, and her fingers slid easily along her slit.
Stephanie thought of the families and all the people who could be exposed to such indecent, inappropriate show on a Friday afternoon. It was more than worrysome; it was frightening. Her hand found a pleasant tempo and she slid further on the couch, parting her legs.
She could imagine politicians jumping on their seats as they realized what was happening; family and religious associations readying their lawyers; and a lot of heads rolling off the respective shoulders at Channel 4.
On the monitor, the girl was now shaking and moaning, a wet damp spot well visible even on her black panties.
Steph realized the shower had stopped. She had to show this to Steve. It was just crazy. A pleasant warmth spread from her loins as the familiar feeling of a soft climax approached. She sped up the rhythm, her well lubricated fingers focusing on her clit, sending jolts of pleasure through her body.
The bathroom door opened. “Steve!”, she called, her voice trembling just a bit. “You have to see this. The guys at Channel Four have gone mad. It’s disgusting”.
Her husband came from the living room wearing a bathrobe. Stephanie couldn’t understand why he was just standing there staring at her instead of turning his attention to the TV. “Look there”, she said. “There’s some kind of soft porn on TV”. She paused to catch her breath, as she moaned in pleasure. “On Channel Four. In broad daylight”.
It was all she could say before the soft touch of her fingers brought her to orgasm. She closed her eyes, reclined her head on the couch, and let go a satisfied moan of release.
She was still basking in the afterglow as she felt Steve sit on the couch next to her, his weight on the cushion. “Unbelievable. This is crazy. Is this fake?”.
“Uh-uh”, she answered.
“Shouldn’t someone do something about this? They need to stop it. How long has this been going on?”
“It was already on when I arrived home. Probably 15 minutes ago?”.
She heard a rhythmic noise from her side. She opened her eyes to see her husband stroking his hard cock as he watched the show.
The anchorman was still speaking nonsense. The blonde girl had probably climaxed as well – or faked it, if she was an actress. Now she stood up and slid her damp panties on the floor before sitting again, one leg resting on an armchair, fingers parting her pussy lips.
Steph gasped. “Oh my God! She can’t do that!”
Steve pumped his cock faster as he stared at the screen in disbelief. “This… This can’t be happening! The authorities must stop this at once!”
Steph undid the buttons of her shirt, exposing her white lace bra. She unzipped her skirt and let it slide down at her feet. She tried to think about the best course of action. They could have called the police, but surely they must have received thousands of calls from all over the country. Why wasn’t anyone stopping this, then?
“I bet they have been hacked. It’s the only explanation”, said Steve, his eyes fixed on the screen, staring at the girl’s now very exposed pussy. His legs and abs tensed as he grunted and shot a long, thick load of cum in front of him, leaving a white trail on the carpet, followed by a salve of shorter, smaller loads.
“You must be right”, nodded Steph, her hands running over her body until they reached her pussy again. This time, her fingers slid right in. “Still, it’s unbelievable. There is something really wrong in those guys on screen. And frankly, it’s disgusting the way that girl exposes herself”. She shifted on the couch until she found a position that allowed her to more easily slide deeper inside her wet pussy. “You should go tell Frank and Sarah, if they are home. They won’t believe it”.
“Good idea”, Steve agreed. His cock was still half-hard. “I’ll go get dressed. You should call your sister”. Stephanie’s sister, Laura, worked in the office of the DA in Washington DC. “I bet she can do something. Or just tell us what the hell is going on”.
Stephanie could only nod and close her eyes again as her fingers reached the deepest core of her being. Her sister had to see this.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/dbuch2/the_friday_show_fsolo_msolo_mc
very nice!