2 comments/ 75633 views/ 6 favorites Jennifer Aniston On 'The View' By: peeder_exposed The publicity machine had hyped the living shit out of it for at least a month: Jennifer Aniston--THE Jennifer Aniston--a special guest on THE VIEW. When the final day arrived, production assistants scurried all over the studio from before five AM, making sure everything was in readiness for her: the usual bottled water, idiosyncratic snacks and sundries, but strange requests too, like lavender-scented mineral oil, expensive organic natural fiber towels heated in a towel warmer to precisely 98.6 degrees, and an imposing python head sculpted from wax. One production assistant stated with apparent authority that Jennifer needed the snakehead to display on the show because she was passionate about animals. More preparations were made than for visiting royalty. In fact, Jennifer Aniston was America's answer to visiting royalty, a true Hollywood star deigning to do a daytime television appearance. Barbara Walters would have been willing to sell her left tit to manage this coup; fortunately, she didn't have to. The staff in the makeup room were surprised when Jennifer appeared that morning at 5AM, having already changed into a robe. She looked much smaller in real life, and had a girl-next-door quality about her that belied her stardom. She had to introduce herself to be noticed. "Hi, I'm Jen," she said, offering her hand to the head makeup artist. "Of—of course you are," the startled woman stammered. "H-how do you do, I'm so meesed to pleat you—I mean, pleased to meet you, I'm sure. See how I am?" she added, flustered. "I'm Vera, incidentally. "Hi, Vera. And relax; I get that all the time from fans. I'm flattered. Ready to work your magic?" "Oh, no magic required. You're so beautiful Ms. Aniston, this job'll be the easiest I've ever done." "Now I'm really flattered. Especially because this morning I need all the help I can get. Courtney and I practically closed Il Sole last night trying to wait out the fucking paparazzi, but the cocksuckers ambushed us anyway." Even though in her business she'd heard it all before, Vera tried not to react. It was so discordant: the voice and face were Jennifer Aniston's from Friends, but the argot was Al Pacino in Scarface. Shocked by Jennifer's plain language, Vera beckoned her to a chair and went to work. Jen's skin was nearly perfect, her hair was already washed and pulled up in a headband; Vera could clearly see the natural wave. She started with foundation, matching the tone and shade and requesting Jen's approval. "Have you ever eaten a woman's pussy in the back seat of a Hummer?" Jen asked a propos of nothing. "C-can't say as I have, Ms. Aniston." "Jen. Here's a piece of advice: get a room. Courtney and I thought we'd given those paparazzi pricks the slip last night, so she parks the Hummer on the upper deck on the NBC lot—we have lifetime privileges there, and everybody usually leaves us alone to do our thing. Wouldn't you know it, no sooner do we slip our panties off when along comes this one little shitsucker in a chartered helicopter clicking away with his Nikon and a telephoto lens. I told Courtney, we should have popped for a suite at someplace quiet like the Chateau Marmont. I don't know about you, but I don't want to have my bare cunt splashed all over the tabloids like Britney Spears's." Before Vera could answer, Joy Behar's voice rang out. "Jen, Dear! How's my favorite friend from Friends?" Joy rushed to Jen and the two women embraced. Joy's hair was wrapped tightly under a silk turban; her pre-makeup face looked drawn and haggard, her eyes and mouth somehow smaller. Vera thought she glanced Joy's fingertips slip under Jen's robe and explore her breast, but she couldn't be sure. Joy brayed, "I hear you can still take a licking and keep on ticking, as the saying goes." "I proved it again last night," Jen said, then burst into giggles. "You little minx, you! Who was the lucky gal? No, don't tell me, let me guess. Madonna?" "Didn't even know she was in town. Good guess, though: she and I nearly wore each other out after the MTV Movie awards last season." "Demi?" "We've taken to calling her The Bionic Woman after all the surgery. Wrong again. I haven't been with Demi since the Bruce Willis days when we shared a three-way in Idaho, in bed with half her damn doll collection for witnesses. You should hear her when she cums. She has that dainty face, but what comes out of her mouth sounds like a moose cow in rutting season." Joy whooped with laughter. "You're telling me? She almost got the two of us thrown out of the powder room at last year's Donna Karan." "You two? Sounds fantastic." "You should have joined us." "Next time call me." "It's a date. I hear that new boy toy of hers, what's his name, Kutcher? They say he has a schwantz on him that'd split you in two." "He'd have to have to cum after Bruce." 'Honey, Bruce is still one of the most well hung studs in Hollywood and I've had them all. Speaking of which, have you met Barbara and Whoopie?" "Not yet," Jen said. "They promised to pop into the green room before the show." "Pop in: interesting use of the term," Joy mused. "After Vera gets you all pretty and you're done in hair, buzz me from the green room." "Interesting use of the term," Jen said playfully. "Buzz me." Jen was alone in the green room by seven-fifteen. She poured herself a bottled water over crushed ice and watched the monitor. Suddenly the door burst open and in walked Barbara Walters and Elizabeth Hasselbeck. Elizabeth blurted out, "Jennifer Aniston! I loved you in GIRL, INTERRUPTED." "Elizabeth, be quiet," Barbara broke in. "Jennifer, we are so very pleased that you could be on our show today." "Thanks, Barbara. I've always been a big fan of the show, and, truthfully, it's been a dream of mine to meet all you ladies." "The pleasure is all ours," Barbara responded graciously. "Now if you'll excuse me I'm needed in makeup. At age eighty-seven everything takes a tad longer." "Even the sex?" Jennifer asked with an impish expression. "Especially the sex," Barbara said. "Take my latest book, for example. Had I been even more truthful and honest, I would have admitted my affair with Art Linkletter during the HOUSE PARTY days in the early television era. That man's shlong was like an all-day sucker. Made my jaws ache so that I could hardly talk to Dave Garroway. That was when people first started thinking I had a speech impediment." "I can understand you perfectly," Jen said. "Thank you dear. Now Elizabeth will keep you company. Try not to let her annoy you." Barbara quickly exited. "What's Brad Pitt really like?" Elizabeth ventured. "He really likes filthy skanks who steal other women's' husbands," Jen said, looking her right in the eye. "He never forgave me for giving Billy Bob Thornton a rim job at that Vanity Fair Oscars party." Jennifer Aniston On 'The View' Ch. 02 "So Elizabeth, do you ever help your guests loosen up before the show?" Jen asked. "I try to make our guests as comfortable as possible, whatever." "That's exactly what I wanted to hear you say, Elizabeth, because you know what? The only thing that helps me loosen up before a television appearance is to have another woman eat my pussy." Elizabeth gasped, "But Jennifer, I'm a good Catholic girl. I even went to Catholic school, all the way through." "Then you're no stranger to cunnilingus, Elizabeth." "Call me Liz." "I'd rather call you Lez," Jen joked, wriggling out of her tight short skirt to reveal she was going commando for the occasion. "I can't believe I'm sitting here with Jennifer Aniston in the green room and she's...bottomless," Elizabeth marveled, her mouth agape. "I can see your tongue hanging out, Elizabeth," Jen smirked. "Why not put it to better use? I know you want to." Sighing, "I've always wanted to," Elizabeth went down on Jen like an eagle swooping down on a mouse, or rather, a beaver. She licked away, enraptured with the rare thrill of orally servicing her favorite star. Jen spread her legs and closed her eyes. There is nothing like experiencing another woman's first time eating your pussy, she mused. Elizabeth was a natural, exhibiting even more innate cuntlicking skill than both Olsen twins put together. Her tongue was everywhere, ultimately working its way to the border of Jen's asshole. "Oh, baby, rim my ass. Rim my ass, baby, that's what I really want, oh, yeah," Jen moaned. Just then the green room door burst open and in strode Whoopie Goldberg, clad in a gaudy pantsuit that only she could wear for the show. "Elizabeth! Can't leave you alone for a minute, child," she scolded gently. "Still, I can understand. After all, how many times in a woman's life does she get a crack at Jennifer Aniston?" "Hi, Whoopie," Jen said, her legs pulled up to better open her asshole for Elizabeth's intimate attention, adding, "Don't stop, Elizabeth." "Girl Friend," Whoopie cheered, "I've been trying to get her to do that for me since Rosie left the show. Damn, that white girl can eat ass. She can clean up my back kitchen any time." "You don't know what you're missing, Whoopie," Jen said, her voice quavering with pleasure. "You know what you need, Jen? The one thing that would hit the spot right now? Is to be sucking on a big black dick. You ever suck black dick, girl Friend?" "No, but I'd love to sometime," Jen said. "No time like the present." Whoopie unzipped her fly and let her distinctly masculine trousers fall to the floor. She was wearing a leopard thong underneath. A leopard thong with a distinctly unfeminine bulge at the crotch, at Jen's line of sight and inches from her face. Whoopie's eyes bulged with desire as Jen reached and peeled down the thong. Twisting over one shoulder to see, Elizabeth shrieked, "Whoopie has a penis!" "Damn right Whoopie has a penis," Whoopie said. "Whoopie's what they call a hermaphro-dyke." "I'd love to suck it for you, Whoopie," Jen sighed. "Thought you'd never ask," Whoopie replied, offering her big black cock for Jen to fellate. Nearly concealing a sagging bull ball sack, her cock hung easily nine inches limp, but it didn't stay limp for long once Jen went to work on it. Aroused, Whoopie's cock was easily thirteen inches of mahogany. Pumping her pelvis, Whoopie fucked Jen in the face while Elizabeth ate away, alternating at each woman's asshole. She noticed Whoopie's scrotum tightening down to the size of two prunes, and knew that Whoopie was close to cumming. Wondering whether she should warn Jen in advance, she decided against it. It was less than four minutes before air time. Moaning and exhaling hoarsely, Whoopie came all over Jen's face and in her hair, a copious flood of cum. At that same moment, Jen came from the combined effect of Elizabeth's ass licking and lucky guess at finding her g-spot with her fingers up Jen's cunt. The waves of pleasure were so intense, Jen failed to notice the cum decorating on her face and hair. Someone knocked on the door and announced, "Three minutes, ladies." "Oh, shit," Whoopie cursed, struggling to snap her thong back into place and hitch up her pants. "Hate to get eaten and run, Jen, but that's show business." "Is my lipstick smeared?" Elizabeth bleated. "Your mouth's been in two women's assholes and you wanna know is your lipstick smeared?" Whoopie said. "Look in a mirror, girl. Clean yourself up, or twelve million housewives gonna know all your business." "Bye, Jen. And thanks," Elizabeth said as she left the green room. "I should thank you. Both of you," Jen said gratefully. "Jen, you're our first and only guest this hour," Whoopie said. "So maybe you ought to take a quick look in—" A stage manager urged, "Whoopie, you're on!" and rushed her on camera. After a few minutes of the usual banter among the co-hosts, Barbara Walters introduced Jennifer Aniston. The crowd went wild, standing and cheering for Jen's entrance. Those cheers turned to gasps as the audience members—mostly women—studied Jen's face in closeup on the monitor. Whoopie's semen, although it had dried and clarified during the five minutes Jen had waited to make her entrance, was still clearly visible adorning her hair and forehead. The audience's shocked whispers mixed with a few nervous laughs at first, then regained intensity into a renewed, even louder roar of approval. The tabloids screamed THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT JEN!! above cover photos artfully concealing the blots of semen in black patterns that could mean nothing else. Mothers protested and blocked their children's view in the checkout lines, but the "Jennifer Aniston facial" issues sold out everywhere. "Facial Chic" briefly took over in Hollywood, with celebrities as diverse as Sharon Stone, Lindsey Lohan and Corey Haim arranging with publicists to be "surprised" by paparazzi while wearing a facial in public. Even Jane Fonda got into the act, touting a new video and a line of "cum cosmetics" that she claimed would remove wrinkles.