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The sound of unzipping and the feel of cock in her mouth thrusting towards her throat. The pause, the gathering of muscle and then the swallow as she took the flesh of him into her gullet, working her throat. As her real body was being brought to climax the screen her was keening like a strangled kitten as yet another orgasm reached its peak.

The throat of the real her in the viewing room was swamped with the man's spunk as he spurted and spurted into her, the throat of the screen her was hoarse from the cries and screeches of ecstasy. The real her reached her first climax whilst the screen her reached her tenth. Her view was clear again and she saw the digital clock had moved on forty-five minutes. And she knew they were watching a time lapse film. She knew because she remembered. There were many hours to go yet. The audience were all breathing heavily as they watched the sexual marathon of the screen her. They too noticed the occasional jump forward in the time. But they didn't need that to show them the hours that had past.

The screen her was now an animal. Lines of lust were etched deep into her skin. Hair plastered to her scalp, saliva running in a stream, from her gaping mouth to hang in fragile strings of moisture to her breasts. Those breasts swollen to bursting point the nipples impossibly elongated and hard. The screen her rolled constantly around on the floor experiencing orgasm after orgasm after orgasm.

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