Something you probably aren't supposed to see....

"A-A --" Bridget barely gets the noises out through her parted lips, before they seal up tight again in a **** attempt to keep out the deep moans and squeals trying to escape from her. Her lips quiver and her eyes shut as she leans back, sinking even further into the chair as the show's host doesn't even move his hand around. He simply keeps it stuck in place between the elite Warrior's legs, and that sensation alone is enough to do this to her.

"Completely debilitated with just a bit of pressure!" Paul Judy announces to the sizeable studio audience, keeping the show on track like the professional he is. "I think we might have just found little Bridget's off button, folks."

"A-Aa......" Bridget attempts again, trying to get out something coherent but unable to as she sits back in the chair, unable to get up or move. She pauses, gulps, and takes a series of deep breaths, trying to regain herself. Then, screwing up her face in concentration and speaking slowly with an airy voice, she finally manages to form the words she's been thinking. "A-all these people...."

Hearing this, and seeing the mini-quakes that cut off the rest of the weakened Warrior's thought as she gyrates around in the seat (Paul's hand still unmoving from where he slotted it initially), the audience breaks out into a tinny laughter. Bridget's shaking amplifies in her seat as she hears and sees this, and from the look on her face it's almost like she's just about ready to cream herself right then and there. Paul Judy's face cracks into a grin -- this was going far, far better than he'd been expecting, and he was already looking forward to the sure-to-be-coming ratings. Really, nearly having the elite Warrior cumming herself delirious without even moving his hand.....

"Yes, Bridget, your barely functioning brain is being quite honest with you." Paul Judy taunts, trying to capitalise on the audience's laughter but frankly a bit out of his element without facing the teleprompter. "You ARE getting debased in front of a live studio audience, this IS going to go viral across the world, and you AREN'T putting up a fight at all. This is HAPPENING. Can you see where she gets her famed reputation for her calm rationality in high-pressure situations, folks?"

Bridget doesn't respond, she just squeezes her eyes shut, pushes yet further back into the chair, and bites down on her bottom lip to keep from anymore squealing for this man's show -- or worse, cumming for this man's show. Even if she'd acted differently, though, she wasn't exactly sure that she'd be able to say anything meaningful....

"How did you expect to put up any fight in the North, then? Hm? Hm, elite Warrior?" Paul Judy continues his taunts, absolutely revelling in his control over the situation. "Resist me! Stop me from doing this to you, if you're so capable!"

Despite his near-giddy pleasure, though, he was experienced enough to know what makes good television -- moving his hand to rub the crotch of her jeans and set her off, while personally entertaining, would be less of a show in the long-term than having her broken down slowly without any effort whatsoever. To have her publicly cumming and fainting from the equivalent labour of a handshake, as that was the direction that her weak efforts seemed to be leading towards.

"How do you POSSIBLY plan to free the North? Are you hoping that your limp, orgasmically shuddering body will fall on the monsters at just the right angle?" He continues. "LOOK at you! You're -- I'm only just TOUCHING you! Look at this! Oh, your secret's out now, 'hero'! You can be taken down for the count, with just some pressure on your pussy!”

It takes all the control that the evening TV host has to not get to work on making her cum right then and there, and then to rub her through the orgasm until the elite Warrior lies passed out and snoring on his soft leather chair, her legs parted wide and a ginormous, obvious wet stain on the front crotch of her jeans, unknowingly displayed for all to see in her slumber. Defeated. Still, somehow, he manages to hold back for the moment and simply milk the situation, in lieu of milking her body.

"I found your off switch~!" Paul Judy sings with the intonation of a taunting tune straight from a schoolyard. "And now look at you! You're really going under so FAST! You can't even stand up! Drained! Sapped dry of all of your strength and spirit, from nothing more than a touch! You're LOSING!"

"s-spare mee......." A struggling Bridget only just barely manages to whisper. Her voice is weak and higher-pitched than it had been in the interview prior to now, and softer than could ever be believed. It's as if her lungs no longer hold any strength at all.

All of the powerful woman's fire, all of her prior ferocity, it had all been put out. Now, as the crowd's noise levels pick up once again, Bridget Sluddsan had been thoroughly reduced to a simple laughing stock. Shamed, exposed as a fraud, and unable to even defend herself through her humiliation, so weak she had become. It was unbelievable -- even moreso given her standing up until now, and the esteemed presence she generally held. This sort of thing could never happen with any actress or singer on The Evening Gig (with Paul Judy). Yet, here was this supposed Warrior, this apparently tough woman of great reknown who was claiming that she would go on to take land from the monsters, being brought low with such ease in a manner that could not be replicated on anybody else. Not even on the very weakest among us. It really was something that had to be given time to be fully comprehended, and perhaps that disbelief is the only thing which stops Paul Judy from sending her into an orgasmic oblivion without any further waiting or consideration for showmanship in her decline.

As Bridget shakes in her seat again, and the audience howls with uproarous laughter at the sight, Paul Judy goes further than had been discussed in the meeting room prior to the night's show. Given that Bridget's reaction was going further than any of those in the meeting room had expected, he thought it only fair as he leans in close to whisper breathily into her ear. Still mic'd up, the audience heard every word, but the effect of the airy whispers on Bridget's shuddering body's ear was undeniable.

"Admit it...." He says, wide grin plastered over his face as his unmoving hand stays right between the Warrior's upper thighs, and as she pants heavily in her chair. "Admit that you're nothing more than a silly slut, hoping to get off on your way around the city. Admit it! Admit that you're nothing! Admit that this, all of this, is nothing more than a facade to help you get fucked! Admit that you love this!"

By the look on Bridget's flushed, heaving face, most of the words were probably lost on her unraveling mind, as her body was wracked with pleasure from the simplest of provocations. Each moment was being forgotten by the foggy-minded slut as the next moment began, so by the end of his long request, only one clause was left bouncing around inside of her empty head.

"I.... I LOVE IT!!!" Bridget shouts, excitedly announcing clearly to everybody watching that they're exactly right about her -- she's nothing but a slut pretending to be something more. Her tongue flops out of her gaping mouth and her eyes roll to the top of her head as, all of a sudden, she cums in a huge spray that the front of her jeans catch most of. Even still, some of her juices manage to fly a good distance out from even the thick material, and it is only now that Paul Judy finally amps up his efforts by quickly balling his hand and rubbing his knuckles a few times up and down the line of her hidden pussy.

As she's made to cum, and Paul Judy retracts his hand and stands back to watch the show, the airheaded woman's legs fall apart helplessly and she slides down and out of her chair to where her back is resting on the seat of it, and her recently gone-floppy legs are bent and parted like that of a chicken as she just cums and cums and cums for the cameras surrounding her. The audience claps, cheers, and hollers loudly at the sight -- Bridget doesn't seem to be taking any of it in, tongue still hanging out with some visible steam coming from her panting, gaping mouth as her eyes remain rolled to the top of her head.

As her orgasm finally dies down, she's reduced to a shuddering mess as it continues on spraying in pulses now. Eventually, the pulsing sprays and the thrusting of her hips come to an end too, and at last, Bridget Sluddsan slumps down into a heap resting back against the base of her chair. Her eyes are still rolled up, face entirely unresponsive, and her arms lie limp at her sides. At the end of her hands, her fingers twitch occasionally, and through the high heels at the end of her still-parted and presenting legs, her toes are visibly curling. Her breath comes in heaves as she sits there, and with a chuckle, Paul Judy reaches down to press a finger against her parted lips.

Giving the bottom lip a little flip with his thumb, he turns and heads back to wheel his chair behind his desk and sit down once again.

"I don't think we'll be seeing our city borders expanded any time soon, folks." Paul Judy says, adjusting his position in the chair to get more comfortable and smiling into the cameras. To his side, a delirious and stain-presenting Bridget still rests panting and out for the count, but he doesn't even acknowledge her any longer except to clarify his statement with a dismissive glance. "Not from this whore, anyway. But, at least now we know that all of the rumours are true, so I suppose it wasn't a complete loss. Right folks?"

The audience picks up in cheers and hollers again, but they're cut off by the screen suddenly going to black again and all of the audio cutting out.{if TVSluddsan == False} Oh, that must be where whoever put together this tape ended the recording.{else} That's the end of the recording on the tape, once again.{endif}