Live at Night with Jen Psaki Part III: Double Exposure

[MasturbationSuperstar]

The studio had changed.

The soft, moody lighting remained, as did the signature glass table and plush velvet chairs. But tonight, a new sign illuminated the back wall:

LIVE: PSAKI & KEILAR

The crowd--thirty again, maybe more--buzzed with excitement. The last two broadcasts had gone viral. Social media couldn't shut up about it. Hashtags trended: #BradUncensored, #JenGoesDown, #LiveAndHard.

Tonight was billed as a "network evolution." Viewers expected heat. No one knew how far it would go. Except you.

Because you were the reason it was happening.

And now, they were both here.

Jen Psaki entered from stage left, dressed in midnight blue silk, her copper-red hair pinned up tightly, heels echoing like punctuation marks. All confidence. Composure. Ice queen ready to melt.

From stage right came Brianna Keilar.

Blonde. Mid-forties. Her dress was a slinky, champagne-colored number that clung to her like it was afraid of being taken off. A mischievous smile played at her lips as she waved to the audience.

She was new to the show--but not new to wanting the spotlight. Or you.

They met at center stage, a faint friction in the air. Brianna leaned into the mic.

"Good evening, lovers. Welcome to Live: Psaki & Keilar. We're your hosts... and your voyeurs."

Jen smiled thinly. "Tonight, we continue our exploration of sexuality, fantasy, and surrender... with our returning guest."

She looked toward the side stage.

You stepped out slowly.

The applause was louder than before. The audience already knew what you were capable of. Or at least, they thought they did.

Jen extended her hand. You shook it--firm, electric. Brianna reached for the other one, but kissed your cheek instead.

Her lipstick left a mark. Jen noticed.

You sat between them.

"This week," Brianna purred, "we decided Brad should answer some new questions. Questions asked... not just by us, but by you, the viewers."

She held up a stack of cards. The top one read: "Have you ever had a threesome with two women who secretly wanted to outdo each other?"

Laughter from the crowd.

Jen crossed her legs. "Let's get to it."

Brianna turned to you. "So Brad... what do you see when you look at both of us?"

You smiled. "Jen is control. Ice and silk. She wants to pin you with her mind before her body."

Jen raised a brow. "Accurate."

"And you, Brianna?" you turned. "You're chaos in heels. You want to watch everything burn--while you're on top."

The audience whistled. Brianna's eyes glittered.

"So," Jen said, voice low, "if you had to choose--"

"I don't," you cut in.

The room held its breath.

Brianna smirked. "He wants both."

"I want to see who gives in first," you said. "And who makes the other beg."

The tension was instant. Thick. Jen glanced sideways at Brianna. Brianna leaned back, slowly crossing her legs.

"Let's test that," Jen said.

She reached beneath the glass table. Pressed a button. The lights shifted--redder, softer. The air thickened. The cameras repositioned.

The show was changing.

Jen stood, moving behind you, her hands brushing your shoulders, then your chest.

"Last time," she whispered into the mic, "I made Brad kneel. Tonight... I want to see what happens when I do."

She walked in front of you. Her eyes never left yours as she sank to her knees. The audience gasped.

Brianna blinked. That wasn't in the plan.

Jen's hands moved slowly over your thighs. She unbuckled your belt without hesitation.

The tension in the room snapped--into lust.

Jen freed your cock and stroked it once, twice. Her lips parted. Her breath was warm.

Then--Brianna stood.

"Not so fast," she said, stepping forward. "You don't get to swallow him whole without a little competition."

Jen looked up at her, eyes blazing but lips still wrapped around your tip.

Brianna dropped to her knees beside her.

Your body tensed. You weren't sure you could breathe.

Two of the sharpest women in media--kneeling, shoulder to shoulder, mouths open, eyes on you.

Jen took you in deeper first--slow, deliberate, throat flexing.

Then Brianna pushed her aside just slightly, her hand wrapping around your base. "Watch and learn," she said.

Her mouth was hotter. Wetter. Her tongue swirled.

Jen growled.

Suddenly, you were the battleground.

They took turns. Sometimes playful. Sometimes aggressive. Their lips brushed. They glared. They moaned. They sucked you like it was an interview and your cum was the truth.

The audience was still--but not silent. Heavy breathing. Shifting in seats. One couple clutched each other's hands.

Brianna looked up, your cock slick between her lips. "He's close."

Jen wiped her mouth. "Not yet."

She stood. Pulled Brianna up with her.

"Let's show them everything."

Jen unzipped her dress and let it fall. No bra. No panties. Her body was lean, tight, exquisite.

Brianna followed. Her dress puddled at her feet. She wore only thigh-highs and confidence.

The studio was now a confessional.

Jen climbed onto your lap, straddling you. Her breasts pressed to your chest, her hips hovering just above your cock.

Brianna moved behind you. You felt her breath on your neck. Then her lips.

Jen grabbed your face. "Tell us who you want."

"I want the moment you both stop pretending you're not dying to fuck each other."

That stopped them.

Jen looked over your shoulder. Met Brianna's eyes.

"You want me?"

Brianna didn't blink. "Since the first time you told me to keep my voice down in the green room."

Jen kissed her.

Slow. Deep. Tasting.

You watched their mouths lock. Their hands explore each other. Jen's hand slid between Brianna's thighs. Brianna gasped into her mouth.

Then Jen slid down your cock in one slow motion. Her mouth opened. Her eyes rolled. She began to ride.

Brianna bit your shoulder as she watched Jen move on you--wet, tight, grinding in circles.

Then Brianna stepped onto the chair behind you, straddled your face, and lowered herself onto your mouth.

It was too much.

Jen riding you. Brianna dripping onto your tongue. Their moans, your groans, the audience transfixed.

You tongued Brianna slowly, deliberately, as Jen fucked herself on you harder, faster.

Brianna came first--explosively, gripping your hair, gasping. "Fuck--yes, oh fuck--"

Her thighs shook. She collapsed onto your shoulders, panting.

Jen wasn't done.

She bounced. Rode. Took every inch. Her hair fell loose. Her polish cracked. Her voice broke.

"Brad--don't stop--fill me--fuck--now."

You exploded inside her, hands gripping her waist, buried to the hilt.

She collapsed against you, gasping. Brianna kissed her neck from behind, soothing, wet, slow.

The three of you stayed locked together, sweat-slicked, tangled.

Jen raised her head to the camera, lips swollen.

"Ladies and gentlemen... we'll be taking viewer submissions next week."

Blackout.