I've always been into electronics and lights and things, which maybe explains why I would up doing studio lighting for a daytime talk show. It's fun, it's low-stress, and there was one time it had benefits far beyond any that I could have imagined.

In college, I went with a girl named Heather. She was cute, smart, and a good fuck. We had all kinds of fun over the three years I knew her. And since I was also interested in hypnosis at the time, she proved a willing subject for my experiments.

Many a night would find her entranced, doing my bidding without any hesitation. Being into the things I was into, I created various scenarios using lights alone which would entrance her, and then instruct her to do various things depending on the color of the light, whether it was flashing, and if so, how rapidly.

Heather dumped me in our senior year for the captain of the football team. She said bluntly that she had no desire to see me again, ever. It was as if all the fun we had together had never happened.

Naturally, that left a bad taste in my mouth.

She married the jerk. Two years later, she dumped him and joined one of those evangelistic crusades, healing people with the power of television and your donation. What a joke.

Which brings us to the benefits of being a lighting director.

Heather and her Religious Right boss were scheduled to appear on the show I worked for. They were going to explain the evils of sex, among other things. Ratings were sure to be high. And I realized I had a perfect opportunity for revenge.

I thought long and hard, remembering the different colored lights that would make Heather do different things. Would she still react to any of these triggers? There was only one way to find out.

After innocently asking the director which chair she would be in, I climbed high into the rafters and rigged several small strobe lights with multi-colored filters. They were not overly bright. They didn't have to be. Then I waited until she came on stage and sat down.

She was dressed perfectly. A plain, sexless skirt and dark blouse. She was still incredibly beautiful, and I felt a twinge of regret at what I was about to attempt. Then I grinned as I wondered if her football hero would be watching. Maybe he'd take me out for a drink after this.

She sat there, nodding in all the right places as her well-dressed, overweight boss thundered against the sins of sex and lust. Her eyes wandered around the studio, finally glancing upward.

There, high in the rafters, a small purple light flashed on and off, on and off, along with a small orange one right beside it.

She blinked and looked away, a puzzled expression on her face. Then her eyes were drawn upwards again.

This time they stayed there. Held by the steadily blinking purple and orange lights, blinking at a specific number of flashes per minute, her eyes remained staring upwards.

I looked at her, then at my stopwatch. If memory served me correctly, that combination would entrance her in fifteen seconds. Sure enough, fifteen seconds later, her lips parted and she seemed to sink into her chair, still gazing upwards. I guess she really does remember, I thought gleefully.

Quickly, I rotated the filters, and now a pretty green light flashed, along with a brighter white one. They flashed much faster than the first set of lights. I saw her cheeks flushing as her boss stood up and told the audience that sex for pleasure only was a sin. Little did he know that his protégé was becoming aroused as he spoke, although it certainly was not due to him.

Thirty seconds with the green and white lights, and Heather's chest was rising and falling quickly, her shallow breathing and crimson color indicating her state of arousal.

Now I switched on the other strobes. Red, yellow, and blue, blinking in a pretty, fascinating pattern. Her boss looked at her to confirm what he had just said - just as she slipped her hand inside her skirt.

Staring raptly at the small colored lights, Heather's finger darted inside her panties and brushed against her clit.

She moaned, slouching down in her chair and spreading her legs wide.

Her boss turned pale, gaping in horror at his masturbating cohort.

The hostess of the show turned pale as well.

Most of the audience cheered. Some booed, some hissed, some left, furious at such a thing happening on live TV.

Things moved quickly. Heather hiked her skirt up around her hips, showing off her lacy white panties, as well as the fact they were becoming rather damp. Her fingers worked furiously, her cries became louder and louder as she fondled herself with total abandon.

When her other hand went up and began caressing her breasts, her boss stormed off the stage, shouting almost hysterically.

The hostess gamely tried to reason with Heather, but Heather could not hear her. All Heather cared about was those lights and pleasure. She came, groaning and writhing in her chair.

The director was hollering at anyone who would listen, of which there weren't too many. All the guys were staring, awestruck, at the sight of a luscious blonde playing with herself on live TV. The women, those that weren't staring, dropped what they were doing and hurried to the stage.

Someone finally got the grinning camera operators to shut down. The hostess gave up and stalked offstage, waving her arms and muttering about all the crazies in the TV religion business.

Heather just sat there, staring helplessly at the lights, and made herself cum again. With a cry, she climaxed, her body shuddering violently. She squeezed hard at her breast, drove her finger deep into herself, then resumed rubbing her clit at a frantic pace.

By now at least six women were huddled around her, trying to calm her down, trying to get her to stop. There was only one way Heather would stop, however. I laughed out loud.

Heather's body shook as she came again. Finally, one of the younger assistant directors, quite pretty in her own right, grabbed Heather's arm and forcibly removed her hand from her crotch.

I shut the lights off and hurried down to the floor.

Heather blinked, panting heavily, looking around at all the women who had suddenly appeared around her. She noticed her skirt up around her waist, wrinkled her nose as the aroma of her arousal came to her. Then her eyes came to rest on her hand, slick and glistening with her juices.

With a shriek of fright and humiliation, she shot to her feet, straight-armed two women who tried to help her, and ran offstage howling. Someone mentioned that Heather had just been seen leaving the studio grounds, crying hysterically, her skirt still askew. Someone else pointed out Heather's boss to the cops, who, grateful to have something to do now, sent two officers after Heather and one, with our security, to talk to him.

It turned out that most of it had been caught on film, and everything up to and including her first climax had been aired live. Every news show in the country showed at least part of it that night, and several of the tamer stills made it into the papers the next day. Of course, someone sold a copy of the film to a checkout rag, which printed video captures of it all.

Heather disappeared from public view. Her boss had a hard time explaining things, finally giving the excuse that the young lady had been overcome by sin.

Should I have done it? I don't know. But I had a good time, I got my revenge, and our ratings skyrocketed. There's nothing wrong with that, is there? After all, this is the TV business.