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The Champ

By: bb_peaks



I don't know about you but I've always had one of those Fantasy Fucks—men I would love to have sex with that are famous. They are fantasy because the odds of me A) actually meeting one and B) having him agree to have sex with me are slim to none. I think my odds of winning the lottery are greater. 

For the longest time Matthew McCaughnahey topped my list. I would even joke about him being my next husband after I divorced the first. Now that I've been married to my second for a while, Hubby and I joke about them and call them "Freebies." Good ole hunka hunka burning love Matt topped my list for a number of years. It has since evolved and someone else soon replaced him.

Hubby has his own list too. When we first got together I can't remember whom he had as his "freebie." Jennifer Garner became his number one for a while—before Ben Affleck claimed her of course. Lita (Amy Dumas and former WWE Diva) was his numero uno for a bit too. I believe she is back on top.

Mine would be none other than John Cena—average height, short blond hair, massive muscles. God how I'd love to just kiss him from head to toe—for starters. I've even had those realistic dreams where he and I were kissing. It felt so real that I woke up horny and needing sex.

The whole point of him being a fantasy is that I can lust after him and know that my fantasy will never become a reality. I'm happy with that. He's a nice fantasy of mine. A friend of ours gave us two tickets to see the latest WWE show that was coming to town. I think Hubby was more excited than me about getting to go see them.

The morning arrived of the match and Hubby received bad news—he was going to have to work that night and wouldn't be able to go.

"I won't go either," I told him. Ever the nice, loving man that he is he told me "You shouldn't miss it. I know you've been wanting to see a show for a long time and I have seen one before."

I wore one of John's older, black shirts with a pair of tight fitting jeans. They hid my lacy black bra and matching silk thong panties. With my signs and ticket in hand, I walked through the entrance. I had to get me a John Cena shirt since and soon found my seat. It wasn't the greatest but I wasn't in the bloody nose section either. Wow what a show. It was even better than what I had seen on the television. The crowd booed and cheered at the various wrestlers. Too soon and the show ended. 

I made my way to the cordoned off area where the superstars signed various items—signs, shirts, skin. I was next in line to see John up close and personal. I felt like a schoolgirl my heart beating faster. Would I freak out and not say anything? Would he leave before it was my turn? Before I knew it, the teenage boy in front of me walked off.

Oh my God, his smile to me about made my knees buckle. I reached out to hand him my newly purchased shirt. "Will you sign this for me?" I asked, and spelled my name for him.

When he grabbed it, our hands touched. Sparks flew between us. My heart rate increased even more. His blue eyes met my blue eyes. I could tell he felt it too. He had his own marker so I left mine in my jeans pocket. As he handed it back, I thanked him and walked away.

After I walked out of the building, I looked down at my shirt. It was then I noticed I had a piece of paper attached it

. "Meet me at the side door in 15." Those 8 quickly scribbled words made my panties moisten. I couldn't believe he actually wanted me to meet him.

Should I do it? What about Hubby? Yeah we always talked about our "freebies" but we both knew that we would never really get the chance to meet him or her. I couldn't call him and ask what he wanted me to do. I decided I would meet him and just see what happened. I had no clue what he wanted and I was just jumping to conclusions.

After conversing with myself, I walked toward the side entrance. I was laughing as I almost got there because I figured John would know Lita and if nothing else I could find out if he could get me something for Hubby.

"I wasn't sure if you would meet me or not," he said. "Would you like a private tour of the WWE experience?" I nodded.

"Normally the crew would be breaking everything down, packing up and heading out tonight," he said. "We don't have a show tomorrow, so everyone is staying in town to get some rest."

"I see," I said. 

He opened the door for me and I walked through with him following. His words and all I saw in the backroom area were but a blur. I was in too much shock at actually being with him to hear what he had to say. 

When we walked into the arena through the superstar's entrance, WOW. It was amazing. Even with most of the lights off and it empty, I could almost hear the crowd cheering. What a rush to enter through here.

"I see that you get that feeling too," John said. "It's pretty amazing."

We walked down the ramp and he climbed into the ring. He reached out a hand and helped me up. Then he sat on the middle rope and I climbed into the ring. Most of the lights were now out except for a few scattered throughout the arena.

"The crew is leaving," he said. "We are alone. I hope that doesn't bother you."

"I'll be okay," I told him. 

"You want me to show you some moves?" he asked. 

"Sure," I replied with a huge smile on my face.

"Come here," he commanded. I walked toward him and he grabbed me at my thigh and underneath my arm. It felt so good. All I could think about was my lips meeting his. I wasn't prepared as he lifted me up and slammed me onto the mat. 

"You don't waste any time, do you?" I asked through my giggles. 

"Let me help you back up," he said.

He reached for my hand and I pulled with all my might and caught him off guard. He fell onto the mat beside me. 

"Looks like you could teach me a thing or two," John said.

We both sat up on the mat. Our eyes met again and this time he leaned in toward me, his hand placed on the back of my brown curls. I closed my eyes as our lips met. He gently moved his lips on mine. I relaxed and leaned into him. When he darted his tongue into my mouth it was all I could do to not ravage him.

I twisted my body so we were closer. I slowly reached my hand and stroked the back of his shaved head. I'd always been a sucker for that military haircut. I loved the feel of the near stubble on my hands. A sigh escaped my lips. He reached up and grabbed one of my breasts through my shirt.

I moaned. My other arm reached around him and I slid it up underneath his shirt. He felt better than anything I dreamed. We both got on our knees and helped each other remove each other's shirt, our lips breaking contact as the shirts came over our heads. 

We threw them to the side and began kissing again, with more urgency this time. My hands wrapped around his waist with his around mine. He again brought one of his hands to my breast and squeezed and kneaded it. I sighed louder. He raised my black silk and lace and when his hand touched my nipple I about came.

"Oh god," I sighed into our kiss. My hands ran up and down his taut back. He broke our kiss and his lips lightly touched my neck. His hands reached behind me and with a couple of quick moves, he freed my ample bosom from its silky prison.

When his lips trailed lower and lower, I couldn't remain on my knees any longer. I slid down sideways with my legs out beside me. He lowered himself and took one of my large, stiff nipples in his mouth. I grabbed the back of his head with both my hands and pulled him even closer. 

It felt so good. I could feel my thin panties getting even wetter. He nibbled on the nipple then made his way to the other one. It was pure ecstasy. The way his full lips wrapped around my brown nipple made me want so much more of him. He kissed his way to my ear and whispered, "Lie back."

I put my hands on the mat and swung my legs out in front of me. When I was flat, he reached down and unzipped my calf-high boots and tossed them aside. He slid my socks slowly off me and nibbled on my red-painted toes. He slid his body up my legs and unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans. 

I raised my rump from the mat and he slid my jeans off my body. He saw my thin piece of silk barely covering my neatly-shaven pussy and smiled. He leaned down and kissed beside the thin strap. I about came off the mat. With his teeth he slid one side down my thigh then the other. 

I parted my thighs. When his mouth brushed against me, I couldn't hold back any longer, I felt my pussy tighten and I shuddered as I orgasmed. Before he wrapped his teeth around the center of my panties, he lightly licked my clit, sending me over the edge even farther. When he pulled my panties down around my knees with his teeth, he used his hands to slip them off. 

He started at my toes and kissed his way back to my moistened center. He nibbled at my thighs. My breathing increased the closer and closer he got to my moistened mound. With a mind of their own, my thighs parted even farther. John grabbed my hips as he buried his face. I rose up to meet his tongue. He licked and sucked on my clit before sliding his tongue in and out of my lips. 

I began bucking against his face, my head turning from side to side. It was pleasant torture the way he sucked on me. Orgasm upon orgasm washed over me. I know I cried out at one point. Just when I thought I could take no more of this tantalizing torture. He let go of my hips and used on of his hands to part my lips. His tongue darted over my clit and slid deep within me. 

"My god, John," I cried out. "I'm going to cum all over you." And I did. My juices spilled out of me and he licked them all up. When he felt me stop shuddering, he kissed my stomach, making a straight path to my face. 

I could taste myself on his lips when he kissed me. He stuck his tongue in my mouth and I sucked on it lightly. He moaned and deepened the kiss. I moved my tongue around his mouth. 

We rolled slightly and I was now atop him. I deepened the kiss before I moved my lips to his ear.

"I'm going to let you know just how much you pleasured me," I whispered into his ear before nibbling on it. He closed his eyes and lay back onto the mat. My lips licked their way over his muscles. I sucked on his nipples. He grabbed for my hair, running his fingers through it.

I lightly bit his other nipple before kissing lower. I heard him suck in a breath, when my mouth reached just above the band of his jean shorts. I unbuttoned them and he raised his hips to help me slide them off. When I had them around his ankles, I slipped off his shoes and shorts and tossed them aside.

I too kissed my way up his body. I could tell he held his breath when I reached his boxer-briefs. I couldn't help but let a little laugh escape my lips when I saw he wore his own brand. I slid them off his hips and tossed them aside.

God, he was so gorgeous. His penis stood erect and waiting for my lips. My already-moist pussy got wetter at the thought of my lips wrapped around him. I slunk up him, my breasts rubbing over his legs the entire way. 

When my lips brushed against the head, he moaned. I took just the head in my mouth and sucked—gently at first then harder and harder. My mouth took him all the way in and I licked around the base of his shaft before releasing him. I sucked on his magnificent manhood hard and fast then slow and easy. He began bucking against my lips. I reached and grabbed his balls, almost sending him over the edge. 

He grabbed my short hair and guided my mouth to the rhythm he sought. I licked his penis like and ice cream, drinking up his pre-cum. Oh he tasted so good. I wanted more. My lips licked him up and down. My mouth moved on his cock. He was about to cum when he motioned for me to stop.

"I'm not ready for this to be over. Are you?" John asked. I shook my head no. I sat on the mat between his legs, my legs on either side of his waist. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and he grabbed my waist pulling me even closer to him.

We looked at each other as our lips touched. I closed mine when he moved his lips over mine. I sighed and once again relaxed into him. I didn't notice as he moved my hips and positioned my pussy right next to his cock. He reached down and guided himself into me. 

"Oh god," I cried out. It felt better than I could have ever dreamed it to be. I moved my thighs to take him in deeper. I wrapped my arms around the middle of his back and rode him hard and fast. I let go of him and put my arms behind me so I could grind against him. I felt my pussy tighten against him, my juices coating his shaft.

"God John, I can't breathe. You make me feel so good," I said. 

"Let me help you up," he said as I scooted down. He stood and put out his hand. I let him help me this time. "Come here."

I stood up to him and he moved me toward the ropes. He had me face the non-existent crowd while he came up behind me.

"Lie over the rope," he commanded. I did. He slid his penis into me once again. He grabbed my hips and fucked me hard and fast. I couldn't help but scream and cry out. It felt so good having him buried deep inside me. I came over and over and over again.

"I'm going to cum," John said as he came inside me. He lay over me, his chest resting on my back. When he breathing slowed to normal, he released me and I felt his shaft leave my moist warmth. He turned me around and placed his arms on my shoulders.

"I want you to know I don't normally do this," he said. "There was just something about you when our hands met."

I nodded I understood. He stepped away from me briefly and brought back my discarded panties and bra. He knelt in front of me and helped me slide my panties up. He put my arms through my bra straps. Lifting my large breast and placing them in the cups, he reached around and clasped my bra. He brought back my socks and slid them over my feet.

Next he put my jeans on me and zipped and buttoned them. He next brought my boots and slid them over my feet before zipping them up. Before he brought my shirt over, he quickly put his clothes back on. With my shirt still in his hand, He placed his arms on my hips and kissed me.

It was a bittersweet kiss. We both knew this would be all we had. There wouldn't be another meeting between us. When our lips parted, he slipped my shirt over my head. He grabbed his shoes and we exited the ring in silence. He grabbed my hand as we began walking. The walk back up the ramp wasn't near as exciting as the trek down it.

When we reached the side door, he opened it for me. We stepped out into the cool night air.

"Let me walk you to your car," he said. Still hand in hand, we walked toward the car park. Mine was the only one left in the lot. He took my keys from me and opened my car door. 

"This has been one amazing night," he said. "It's one I won't soon forget."

With that he briefly kissed my lips, shut my car door and walked away, glancing back just once as I put my car in gear to drive away.

The Champ



Fuck! Why did I agree to meet his ass here in the first place, I thought. I shook my head and cracked my knuckles as I stood at the bottom of the dozen or so cracked cement stairs leading up to the gym entrance. For some reason I couldn't move. I just stood there looking up at the glass doors. I felt stupid.

Five long years had passed since I'd seen or heard from my old trainer, Deon. I hadn't thought about him or the gym all that time until he called the night before. He said he wanted to see me about something important. I had no idea what he wanted. I should have followed my first instinct and simply said no. We had parted ways so long ago. There would have been no love lost.

But I wasn't thinking with my mind last night. I knew exactly why I agreed to meet with Deon. Despite everything, I wanted to see him, to smell his scent and to feel his skin firmly pressed against mine just one more time. 

My gut twisted and my dick thickened uncomfortably against my thigh. Flashbacks of my dick driving in and out of his tight, wet hole invaded my mind. Just thinking about the last time I spread Deon's round, perky cheeks and fucked him until everyone on the hotel floor knew my name had my heart racing. I missed him. I missed pounding his ass. But anxiety over seeing Deon wasn't keeping from climbing those stairs.

I kicked the bottom stair. My nerves were getting the best of me. The years away from the gym and the boxing ring is what gave me pause. I missed the training, the gloves, the camaraderie and the fans. I longed to be a part of that world again.

Something in the pit of my stomach pulled at me, urging me to turn around and continue to leave the world of boxing and all the dreams lost after my accident in the past, right where they belonged.

Five years ago boxing was everything. It defined who I was. I ate, drank and slept the ring. And Deon had helped me hone my skills and become one of the best boxers in the state of New York. 

Like so many who had stepped foot in the gym, I dreamed of being amongst the great boxers who won titles and belts. I wanted my name written in history books and etched in the memories of trainers schooling young boxers.

For hours, day after agonizing day, I would train my hardest in hopes of being a super middleweight champion. Some days I longed to get in the gym. Other days I hated walking in that building. Those were the times when my friendship with my trainer, Deon, was so important. The attention and affection he showed me gave me the strength to stay focused.

Deon made me feel special. He made me a better man and a better boxer. He taught me how to throw a solid jab, how to dance around the ring and how to work the ropes. And he taught me what it meant to love a man. He was my first.

I missed boxing. I missed Deon. But I wasn't sure which one I missed more.

Slowly, I walked up to the door, step by step. I gripped the door handle and smiled. I remembered the words Deon said to me when I stepped to the gym doors for the first time: You cross this threshold and you can never look back.

"Come on man, you going in or what?"

I turned around and faced a pair of teenagers toting gym bags and boxing gloves over their shoulders. An eerie feeling of nostalgia crept in me. I felt a silly grin form on my lips. The two of them were a little older than I was when I stepped inside a boxing ring for the very first time.

The tall, dark-skinned boy looked at me, annoyed. I yanked the door open and stepped aside so they could go in the gym. Then I just stood there, numb. The door was open. All I had to do was walk in. With all the strength I could muster, I took a deep breath and walked through the door.

The familiar humid thickness in the air from a gym full of ambitious boxers training and conditioning pressed against my skin. Sounds of jump ropes smacking the ground, gloves connecting with punching bags and flesh and trainers yelling at the top of their lungs, pushing their boxers to the limit filled the air. It was intoxicating.

I fought the urge to slip on a pair of gloves and go an hour on the speed bags. My blood burned. My adrenaline pumped furiously. I wanted to step back in the ring so badly. For the first time in years I realized just how much I missed being in the ring, going one on one with another man. 

I pushed the feelings of nostalgia to the back of my mind and focused on finding Deon. No use in lingering on what can never be. I scanned the room. About two dozen boxers of varying ages and weight classes working out throughout the gym. There were only a handful of trainers. Deon was nowhere to be seen.

My old trainer's absence and tardiness to our meeting didn't surprise me. For the ten years that Deon had trained me I could not remember one time where he wasn't late for something. The only time Deon was on time was when he had to be at a match. Oddly enough, he was always early for those.

I invited him to my birthdays, dinners with my family, my high school graduation and a long list of other events in my life that were important but he was always late. The only redeeming quality in light of his persistent tardiness was the fact that he always showed up, even if it was after the event was over. And I always waited for him, even if I had wait hours afterwards. He knew I would always wait for him. And I knew he would always come.

For my twenty-first birthday, all the guys at the gym had rented me a hotel room and hired a bunch of strippers. Instead of enjoying a lap dance or a private show, I spent most of my time looking and waiting for Deon to show up. By three in the morning everyone had left, even the strippers. It wasn't until five o'clock that I heard a knock at the door. It was Deon.

For some reason I was never mad or angry at Deon for being late. If anything, I was always a little disappointed that he wasn't around. But whenever he did show up I was ecstatic. When he smiled at me I felt special. It was that same feeling of being special when everyone congratulates you for winning a title. But it was something special only he and I shared.

When I let Deon in the room the first thing I noticed was that he was empty handed. It wasn't that I wanted a gift but a simple card would have been nice. I thought he forgot it was my birthday. 

Before I could get upset, Deon walked up to me and held me in a way he never had before and told me he had a special gift for me. He led me to the bedroom and took me. It was the most amazing and sensual experience I had ever had. 

But that was years ago. Deon and I were different men now and there was no point in lingering in the past. I walked through the gym and studied some of the boxer's form and technique. I wasn't impressed.

The boys sparring in the ring looked horrible. Their stance was all wrong and it looked like one didn't even know what punch to throw. A trainer was yelling for him to throw a cross but the kid was throwing a jab.

Once the boy took a seat in the corner he started arguing with the man that I thought was a trainer. It was actually his dad. That explained why the kid was poorly trained. Just about every other boxer in the gym looked just as bad or worse.

There was some raw talent but it would take months to get just a handful of them ready to compete in a tournament. They needed work. And with that realization, I knew exactly why Deon had called me out of the blue after five years. 

I jumped at the heavy hand that came down on my shoulder. "Whoa, calm down, Beast."

I turned towards the familiar deep, baritone voice. It was Deon. He stood there looking at me with a huge grin on his face. We clasped hands and embraced each other in a brother-man hug. 

His arm wrapped tightly around me. I felt like that inexperienced twenty-one year-old under his touch. I took in a deep breath. He smelled the same. Reluctantly, I let him go and took in the sight of him.

Deon was just as handsome and confident looking as the last time I remembered seeing him. His skin was still taut over his ripped muscles. For thirty-seven the man looked damned good. He could probably hop back in the ring as a light heavyweight if he wanted to. He'd obviously been taking care of his body.

"No one's called me Beast since I was in the ring." I said, smiling at the man that was my first love, my first everything.

"I gave you that nickname." Deon said, raising his right eyebrow. "And I don't recall it having anything to do with your performance in the ring."

My dick jumped at the memory of the first time Deon called me Beast. It was the first time he let me inside of him. I looked at him, starry eyed.

"Well, they say that a boxer's performance and skill in the ring reflects his skill in the bedroom."

"Yea? Well then you're one hell of a boxer, Roman."

"Was," I corrected. 

Deon shook his head, reached out and gripped my shoulder. "No. Once a boxer, always a boxer. That will never change. It's in your blood."

Deon draped his arms over my shoulders and pulled me in tight. I thought I would faint. I hadn't felt Deon's heavy hands on my body in years. He was the first and only man that I let get that close to me, that I let stir so many emotions in me.

When we reached his office, Deon motioned for me to sit down. I watch his firm, perky ass intently as he walked around to his desk. If I didn't know any better I would have sworn his ass had gotten bigger, plumper. Maybe it was just the form fitting khakis. Either way, my dick liked the view.

"I'm pretty sure you have an idea on why I asked you come down," Deon said, a wry grin on his face.

I sat back in the chair and crossed my arms over my chests. This wasn't a personal call. He wanted to talk shop and I was more than willing to oblige. But there was no way I was helping at the gym.

"Your gym is some shit," I said matter-of-factly. "You're short on trainers and you have parents working with the kids and fucking up their technique. You need help."

Deon nodded his head, laced his thick fingers in front of him and leaned forward on his desk. Sunlight from the small window in the office made the grays in his salt-pepper hair shimmer. He looked beautiful.

"Good. So when can you start?"

I chuckled at how presumptuous he was. "You know I don't box anymore. I can't. Hell, I won't."

"I'm not asking you to box, Roman, I'm asking you to train and help run the gym. You saw those kids out there. They need held, your help. I need you."

I shook my head. "I'm sorry, I just can't."

"Why not?"

"Deon, I haven't seen or heard from you in almost five years and you hit me up with this shit. Are you serious?" I asked with an air of indignation in my voice. "You know damn well why I can't."

"What? Because you didn't get a title? You won the golden gloves three times in a row. That's no small feat in New York. You were the most sought after super middleweight in the state."

"Yea, and then I got knocked out in the fifth round of the biggest match of my life and was unconscious for weeks."

"You think I don't remember? I was there. And I was there every day by your side at the hospital. It's nothing to be ashamed of or resent. I know you don't want to hear this but that knockout saved your life." 

I shot up from the seat and went for the door. Deon was quicker. He rounded his desk and pressed against the door. Deon pressed his hand firmly against my chest. His touch and the look in his eyes made my knees buckle.

"There is no telling how many months or years would have passed before that tumor in your head killed you. They found it early because you got knocked out. Thank God the only thing you carry now is that scar under your eye."

I shook my head and covered my face with my hand. Deon was right but I didn't want to hear that shit. Yea, they found the tumor. But it ended my boxing career. And what kind of life did I have now? Wife divorced me and I couldn't hold a steady job. 

Deon took hold of the nape of my neck and pressed his forehead against mine, like he had so many times before when I was about to head into the ring.

"I need you, Roman. I need you." Deon whispered, over and over again.

I heard the words but they meant something different for me at that moment. The sound of his voice, his touch on my skin and his warm breath on my lips pulled at a deep longing that I hadn't felt in years. 

I nudged forward and pressed my lips against his. Not knowing where his mind was, I pulled back slowly and studied his face, waiting for some affirmation that what I had done was okay.

Deon exhaled loudly and bit his bottom lip. I could see the internal struggle in his face. I pulled away from his grip and tried to get to the door again. He blocked my way.

"Wait, Roman."

"For what? We're done, right?"

Deon held my gaze, consoling me with his eyes. He took my head in both his hands. Deon pulled me in and kissed me deeply. His lips felt like fire against mine. I thought my legs would go out when his tongue grazed against my bottom lip. He teased me with his mouth, not only licking but sucking at me. 

As long as I had known him, Deon was never one to rush. He took his time. And that was one of the reasons he had me hooked so many years ago.

His tongue slid smoothly in my mouth, exploring every inch and gently wrestling with my tongue. I ran my hands up his shirt and let my finger tips graze over his hard midsection. The six-pack was gone but his muscles were still taut and firm.

My hands shot up to his chest. He flexed under the touch of my palms. The intense beating of his heart against my hand sent jolts though my body, I felt connected to Deon. I was sure he felt the same way. I even mused that he felt so hot to the touch because I was giving him fever.

Deon pushed me back against the wall, reached for the door and locked it. He looked at me with the same lust filled stare he had on his face when I fucked him for the first time many years ago. I knew exactly what he wanted.

I grabbed Deon by the waist and pushed him back until he bumped into the desk. Lust and longing flared in his eyes. I was sure he saw the same in mine. I reached behind him and wiped everything off the desk with my arm. He smiled and shook his head.

"Little fucker. You know you're going to clean that shit up, right?"

"Why you stressing the small shit?" I asked, teasingly. I pulled his hips into mine and grinded my hardening manhood into his thigh. "And I don't know if you forgot, but there is nothing on me you can call small."

I unzipped my pants and let them fall to the ground. With both my hands, I pushed down on Deon's shoulders and urged him to his knees until he was eyelevel with my crotch.

Deon planted both his hands on my thighs, squeezing, as he nibbled at my straining meat through the fabric of my underwear. His teasing drove me crazy. I wanted his mouth wrapped around my dick badly. I reached down and placed my hand on the back of his neck and tilted his head up to face me. 

"Go ahead and put it in your mouth. Stop playing with me."

Deon's brow wrinkled as he shook his head and smiled. He brought his hands up and pulled at my waistband, finally freeing my straining dick from its fabric prison.

I watched, mesmerized, as my dick disappear down Deon's throat. He took my dick deep in his mouth, tightening his lips around my pulsing pole. He was slow at first, paying close attention to the crown of my dick, licking and kissing. Then he speed up, bopping up and down at a quick, steady rhythm.

I thrust my head back and looked towards the ceiling. My eyes clinched shut out of pure excitement. The wet warmth of Deon's mouth engulfing my shaft had my mind spinning. My balls tightened and drew up each time the head of my dick grazed the back of his throat. I could feel my orgasm building exponentially each time Deon bottomed out on my shit.

I had to pulled him off my dick before I busted in his mouth. He stood back up and smiled.

"Too much?" He asked, wiping the saliva from the corner of his mouth.

"Naw, not at all. Just not used to you going like that. You were more of the slow and steady type from what I remember."

"Have to keep up with you youngins. Had to up my skills."

"Hmm, I turn twenty-eight next month. Not all that young anymore."

"No? Well, I'm sure the Beast is still alive and well."

"Maybe," I said. I bit my bottom lip and grinned from ear to ear. He was stroking my ego and making dick hard as bricks.

I grabbed Deon by his hip and lifted him up on the already cleared desk. He pulled off his shirt and tossed it over to the chair. I ran my fingers over his collar bone and down through the soft patch of hair in the middle of his chest. His body looked amazing. His nipples were still dark like a pair of Hershey kisses.

I leaned in and sucked on his nipples until I heard a soft, muffled moan echo in his throat. Encouraged, I bit at his chest, leaving little marks on his light, caramel complexioned skin, all while working his pants off.

Deon's thick pole flopped down on his stomach when I yanked his khakis down. He wasn't wearing any underwear. I grabbed his meat in my hand and stroked it, hard. A large pearl of precum quickly formed at the slit of his dick. I took the index finger of my free hand and scooped up the natural lubricant.

I looked up from his swollen meat and locked my eyes with his. He knew what was coming next. The look on his face screamed that he wanted it. So I gave it to him.

I smeared the precum over his hole and rubbed my finger over his sphincter until I could feel the tension in his body relax. Then I pressed inside of him. Deon's body twisted and turned, a moan mixed with slight discomfort and familiar pleasure rolled over his lips.

His dick jumped in my hand as I jutted my finger in and out of his tight, quivering hole. I could feel his warm insides flex and caress my finger. I could tell he was getting used to the invader, so I added a second finger. He yelped and grabbed my forearm, his nails digging into my skin.

With his eyes, Deon told me to go slow and I had no problem obliging. I kept pumping his dick until it was slick with his precum. Still pressing my two fingers inside him, I leaned down and ran my tongue over the engorged crown of his dick. I felt his ass muscles clench around my fingers and I saw how his body tensed. 

Deon let out a heavy breath, reached down and pushed both of my hands away. He leaned back on the desk and thrust his large, muscular legs in the air. Deon's puckered rosebud was fully exposed. His hole was slightly darker than his caramel complexion. My mouth was wet with anticipation. He brought his head up and looked at me.

"Fuck me. I want you to fuck me."

"I will," I assured him. "I want to taste you first."

Deon smiled and laid his head back down on the desk. I moved in on his ass. First, I nibbled on that small piece of flesh between his balls and hole. Then I dragged my tongue down and over to his ass cheek.

"Stop playing with me, Roman," he said, his voiced strained with excitement.

I chuckled a little and moved to his hole. I pressed my tongue against the lips of his ass and easily slid inside. My fingers had down their job and worked him open already. I darted my tongue in and out Deon's fuck chute, his soft whimpering driving me to push in him deeper and harder.

"Yes, work that ass, boy." Deon said, moaning. "Make this ass yours, shit, just like that. Fuck, you feel good as shit. Damn, just fuck me already, you fucking Beast."

Enough was enough. I stood up and grabbed my dick at the base. I placed my free hand on Deon's stomach as I smacked my meat against his ass cheeks. His body tensed up in anticipation.

Veins bulged and pulsated on my dick as I lined the head up with Deon's hole. He flinched and placed his hands on my thighs, nervous about what he wanted so much. I brushed his hands away and pressed inside of his ass. The head went in easily. His ass gripped at my dick with every inch I slid inside him until my balls nestled up against his ass.




The Champ



I watched Deon's face wrestle with discomfort and sexual euphoria. He clenched at the edge of the desk with one hand and pulled at his nipple with the other. Watching him get used to my dick inside of him was the most arousing and erotic thing I had seen in a long time.

Slowly, I pulled half the length of my pole out before pushing it all the way back in. Over and over again, I half dicked his ass until I knew he could take some pounding. 

"Fuck! You feel good, Deon," I said, hissing the words as I stroked in and out of my old trainer. "Damn, I swear I miss this ass." 

Deon's hand slipped from the desk to my side, pushing and pulling me into him faster and harder. I grabbed his hip with my right hand and reached up for his throat with my left. His body went rigid as I pulled out, leaving only the head of my pole in, and quickly plunged the full length back inside. 

Small screams struggled to escape from his squeezed neck as I started plowing his ass hard but with slow determination. I wanted him to feel every thick, pulsing inch of me.

"Fuck me, Roman, just fuck me," He said, his words little more than whispers caught between moans of pleasure. 

His hips bucked up meeting my deep, hard thrusts. Deon pulled his legs up against his chest, giving me a perfect angle to destroy his ass. His opened up and I pushed pass what felt like a second ring inside his ass.

In a fury of lust, I grabbed Deon by the wrists and placed his hands behind my neck.

"Hold on," I warned him.

Deon nodded and laced his fingers. Uncertainty and fear danced in his eyes as I picked him up from the desk by the waist. His legs gripped at my sides. I squatted slightly with him in my arms. I lifted him up, off the length of my dick and then dropped all of his weight down on my meat as I thrust up, hard. It sounded like a train had collided. Deon's legs shook against my sides.

I did it over and over again, the sound of wet flesh colliding filling the room. Deon clung on to my neck, fighting to hold on and take all the dick I was forcing in his tight ass. 

The smell of sweat, ass and sex filled the room. The two of us had become little more than a mangled mess of horny flesh. The sensation engulfing every nerve ending in my dick threw me over the edge. My orgasm came barreling out of my sweaty body.

I growled against Deon's chest and plunged the length of my pole deep inside of Deon's tender hole. My dick spasmed as shot after shot after painstaking shot of my hot seed lined his insides. Just I busted I could feel Deon's hole tighten and loosen around my dick. I looked down and saw thick, white puddles of nutt oozing all over his abs and chest. 

I held Deon in my arms until his body stopped quivering from the body shaking orgasm he had just experienced. I could feel my hot cum and ass juices dripping from his used hole down to my balls. I felt nasty and spent but so satisfied.

Deon eased my softening dick from his hole and placed his feet on the ground. I wished he would have waited and let me stay inside of him until I went completely soft...if I went soft. I felt like I could have went again.

He looked at me shaking his head and grinning. I knew what he was thinking. I was thinking the same thing. Deon walked over to the metal cabinet in the corner of the office and pulled out a towel and some wet napkins.

"Here, we need to get dressed. There's someone I want you to meet."

"Oh, so you think you're going to get me to train your boys by throwing me some ass?" I asked, teasingly.

"Think? Naw, I know. This ass is priceless."

I laughed heartedly as I watched him grab both cheeks and made them bounce in his hands.

"Come on, Deon. You aint even tell me how much it pays."

"We'll discuss that later, right now I got a kid I want you to meet."

"Kid?" I asked. 

"Yea, his name's Quentin, he'll be twenty-one next week. He's a hot head, just like you were."

"Quentin, hunh."

"Yea, I figured you could take him under your wings like I did you."

"Hmm, we see how that turned out," I said, motioning to the drying nutt on his stomach.

We both laughed as we got dressed. I still wasn't sure about getting involved with boxing again but I was anxious to meet this Quentin kid. Maybe he'd have enough raw talent to justify my time and effort.



The Champ



There were times when Eric found life to be such a glorious thing. 

Taking a long sip from his brandy glass, the seasoned drink swirling hypnotically within, Eric couldn't restrain himself and snorted with laughter as he watched an image of his younger self hurl the equally burly opponent easily over his shoulder. The cameraman had jumped when the fighter hit the tiles, causing the footage to leap upwards for an instant before coming back down to show his youthful doppelganger wrestling the bloodied lump across the WWE ring, all the while showboating to the enthusiastically roaring crowd.

The champ spent much of his days watching these recordings, though it was hardly necessary, he could recall every detail of that day. He'd had to fight in five matches almost back to back, each one a vicious battle against foes of similar skill and size. Yet he was Eric Shaw, and he had crushed them all one by one until there had been none but him to stand on that podium. A voluptuous redhead in a skimpy, low cut uniform had dressed him with the Champ's belt, a great hulking skin of supple brown leather decorated with a dozen gold medallions, and then he had got down on one knee and asked his love to marry him.

Touched by the memory, Eric's head twisted and, against his better judgment, he cast his eyes over the photo frame on his bookcase. It was a beautiful thing of sterling silver inlaid with vines of gold filigree along the edges. Beneath its solid crystal screen was an overly creased photo of him and his bride on their wedding day. She had looked so lovely that day, encased in his arms. Her dress was made from pure white silk and had hugged her body close with every movement. Beneath the veil, her long raven hair had been spun into gentle ringlets and her eyes seemed to twinkle like two great sapphires. 

They had first met in playschool; she had been little more than a squirrel back then, with a face of freckles and her hair tied into two long pigtails. She had followed him around like a lost puppy from then until they entered secondary school, when his little squirrel suddenly evolved into a long legged goddess. She had been beautiful, gorgeous, and so wonderful he had found himself besotted with her. For five years they had danced around one another, she the head cheerleader and him the captain of the rugby team. Twice he had asked her to the prom and twice she turned him down. Yet unwilling to take no for an answer, he had snuck into the headmaster's office and asked her again over the intercom, but only after singeing 'I think I love you!'

There had been much laughing, and an overly excessive detention period, but in the end she accepted and since then she had always been his girl. She had supported him even when the rugby leagues kicked him out. They had been so close; he had thought they would be together for ever. And then...

His good mood suddenly evaporating, Eric set his half empty glass down and rose up out of his chair. He was only wearing a robe, but made no effort to fasten his loosening tie as he moved towards the bookcase. Reaching out, he tried to take the frame from its shelf but realised one of the maids must have moved it as no matter how far he stretched, he couldn't reach. It was probably for the best; that was the photo's third frame this year.

Grumbling to himself, he was about to return to his recordings when he heard a gentle creak overhead. Cloudy eyes widening, he glanced to the ornate gold clock on his desk and saw to his surprise that it was already 8:30pm. Forgetting his videos, he drunkenly stumbled out of his den and into the houses foyer to find his daughter coming to the bottom of the winding stare. She was trying to be stealthy, even going so far as to carry the glamorous pair of high heels she intended to wear in her hand as came down the steps, but even the lightest movements would make the stairs above his den creek and Eric didn't need to be sober to realise his baby girl was planning on sneaking out.

"Katharine!" He bellowed, causing the teen to suddenly go as still as the foyer's white marble walls. "And just where do you think you're going young lady?"

"Hi Dad," She said, her sweet voice filled with a false confidence as she turned to face him. "I was just going round to my friend Amy's, she needs some help with her chemistry essay and I said I-"

"You're going round to your friends, dressed like that?" He asked, his eyes slowly giving his daughter an expert onceover. She'd taken her hair down from its usual ponytail to fall down past her shoulders. There was no sign of her usual baggy tops and skinny jeans. Instead she had donned a resplendent sleeveless dress of crimson silk that clung to her eighteen-year old body like a second skin until it reached her lower abdomen where it fluttered lightly as a skirt all the way down to just past her knees. Its V-shaped neckline was low, too low, and spilled half way down the valley of her well rounded breasts, offering a tantalising display of flawless milky flesh. The sight stirred the beast within him. "Are you sure it's not a boy you're sneaking out to see?" 

For a moment, Katharine looked as if she was about to protest, but she cowered under the weight of his gaze and all her lies escaped her. "Daddy...I swear Amy just wants me to go to a club with her...I wouldn't...I couldn't..."

Erics's eyes narrowed dangerously. "That's right, you won't." He growled, his voice taking on a low and dangerous tone as he approached the stair. "You know you can't see any boy unless he can beat me, and that is never going to happen, I am the champ! And no one with ever beat me! I won't let some snot nosed little punk steal my baby girl from me! Now come down here."

Unable to meet his gaze, Katharine kept her head lowered as she silently obeyed. He was pleased she knew better than to annoy him further. Coming off the last step, she dropped her shoes and continued to stare at her feet. "Take it off."

Surprised, Katharine looked up; her doe eyes suddenly staring up at him questioningly with a stray lock of her raven coloured hair hang between them to tickle her nose. She had her mother's hair, her mother's big sapphire eyes, even the same pointed nose and gently rounded chin. "Dad?" 

"Take the dress off, now." There was no bartering in his tone and his daughter had no choice but to obey. Visibly shaking, she reached up and pushed the straps off her shoulders. Unsupported the garment effortlessly slid to the floor, exposing the unblemished perfection of her sylphlike form as it pooled around her bare feet. In an instant, Eric felt himself become completely sober. It had been well over a decade since he had last seen this much of his little girl and it was a shocking reminder of how much she had grown up since the days he carried her on his shoulders and played in the park. Utterly naked for all but a pair of lacy black panties, she had a shapely hourglass figure that was well toned from her hockey practise and complimented to no end by her long shapely legs and full rounded breasts. 'An easy C-cup, maybe even a small D.' He observed as his eyes greedily devoured the feast of young flesh, only half noticing the growing hardness in his loins as he said "Good girl, now go down on your knees and take it out."

Unable to hide her fear, Katharine took a frightened step back toward the stairs. "N-no...Dad please not again."

Suddenly angry, Eric resisted the urge to slap her and instead placed a firm hand on her shoulder and forced her down while his other reached within his loose robe. He would not be refused by her, her bitch of a mother had denied him but she would not. Already hard as steel, his rigid arousal sprung into his grip as he took himself in hand and presented her with his cock. 

Looking up at him with her big blue eyes, glassy with unshed tears, the teen meekly nodded before leaning forward, her full lips parting slightly as her small tongue darted out to lick the bulbous crown.

Uttering a low groan from the back of his throat, the champ unknowingly loosened his hold on his daughter's shoulder as she lightly licked his tip before sensuously swirling her talented tongue around his cock's sensitised head. Katharine knew what he wanted; she concentrated on that for a moment, working him into a wild frenzy as she twirled her tongue around the pulsating ridges and glands, only to suck the tip into her mouth.

"Mmm...good Girl" He moaned, his eyes squeezing shut as he felt the head of his cock being slowly engulfed by her warm orifice, her plush lips squeezing him tightly. As her mouth settled over his engorged organ, her tongue slithered underneath to message his sensitive underside while she began to earnestly suckle. She was obviously determined to finish him quickly, yet she was going so slowly, hesitating, reluctant to continue even though she knew the penalties that would surly follow if she dared refuse him now. It was a game they always played, every time since that first night he'd called her into his den and told her she was going to learn her place.

She'd been scared then, but she had learnt quickly when given the correct motivation. She was so like her mother, determined, stubborn, and never willing to back down from a challenge. It had been so easy to train her as to what he liked, yet no matter what there was always that little part of her that would resist him. No matter, he would put an end to all that tonight. Katharine was his; no one would ever take her from him.

Seized by a moment's primal desire, Eric uttered a low animal growl as he placed both his hands on his daughter's head. Her inky raven hair was soft and silky to the touch and he gloried in the feel of it coursing between his fingers as he roughly yanked her down, embedding his cock deep into her throat. With a muffled scream, Katharine's hands flew up to brace against his hips as she instinctively tried to pull away, only he was stronger and his grip had an iron will that forced her to remain there. It was only fortunate she had lost her gag reflex, or she might have chocked.

The feeling was so delicious his hips bucked automatically when his cock entered her throat, forcing more of his length into her molten orifice. Katharine struggled for a moment, the muscles of her throat writhing around him as she tried to adjust, to swallow the long phallus, then just as quickly, she began to relax. Sighing as he felt her breath wafting over his flesh, Eric fought against the pleasure building within him to look down on his daughter but the sight that greeted him was so erotic he almost spilled himself down her throat. 

It was, without a doubt, one of the most carnal scenes he had ever beheld. Katharine was poised on her knees before him, her full lips stretched impossibly wide around his hard flesh as a single drop of saliva rolled down her perfect chin. And all the while her eyes stared back up at him, a furious fire suddenly blazing in her cool sapphire depths. Hatred burned inside her, giving her new strength. Without warning, her lithe fingers seized the base of his cock and began to roughly jerk and squeeze.

Losing himself in the sudden rush of sensations, Eric could only gasp and pant as she moved back up his length until just the bulbous head remained in her warm cavern, when she plunged back down. She repeated the process again, and again, taking him deeper into her throat with each downward stroke until his hips began to move of their own accord. 

"Oh Fuck! Yea that's it Katharine...Swallow it...worship your daddy's cock" He growled; shifting his feet to move a little closer as his hips bucked up to match her delicious tempo, pushing his cock in and out of her greedy mouth. His fingers were still in her hair, preventing her from pulling all the way off his cock, yet Katharine was resolute and worked her orifice in perfect sync with the rhythmic pumping of her hand. Her heavy breasts were jiggling, her torso twisting this way and that as she worked, using her jaw muscles to hold and suck him while her tongue swirled around his shaft's underside.

Eric was losing his mind, she was too good. He was close, so very close, God how could she be this good, had she been practising away from home? Maybe with some little punk who thought he was the shit by banging the champ's daughter, like her mother had. Well, he'd show her, if she wanted to be a whore, then he'd treat her like one. 

It took all of his strength of will to break free of her spell and with a low growl; he all but threw his daughter off his cock. Reeling back, Katharine landed hard on her buttocks and broke into a coughing fit as she tried to catch her breath. Eric felt no pity for her. "Get up stairs, you little whore."

Stilled by the coldness of his tone, her big doe eyes could only look up at him with confusion before she once again gave him a tiny nod. Rising up, she reached for her dress but under his gaze seemed to think better of it as instead she turned and began to slowly ascend the spiralling staircase. Ignoring his erection's painful throbs as it jumped with his every step, Eric followed close behind, rarely letting his eyes stray far from the seductive sway of her round buttocks. On the first floor, Katharine tried to head down the corridor to her own room, but she was gravely mistaken about their destination and Eric quickly set her right by giving her an unceremonious push up the next three steps. Katharine went on quietly, though her feet began to notably drag.

On the floor above, there were no corridors to navigate, only a wide gallery with a high glass dome ceiling beyond which stood a set of thick oaken double doors. Stepping forward, Eric threw both doors open before motioning for her to enter. Sleeplessly, she did as he commanded. Inside, Erics's master bedroom was dimly lit and decorated with all the extravagance as that of a sultan. The walls were painted red and the floors covered by thick black carpeting that felt like genuine fur underfoot. His furniture was oaken and each wall boasted an immense portrait depicting ancient scenes of carnal abandon. And in its centre, his great king-size awaited. When Katharine saw it, her big doe eyes grew even wider. "Dad..."

"Get on the bed." Though visibly chewing her lip, she might yet of hopped it was all a bluff and went meekly to the bed. "No; on the bed." He growled warningly as she tried to sit on its edge. Again she obeyed, avoiding his gave as she climbed upon the immense four-poster's black satin sheets. "That's it, on your hands and knees like a little bitch in heat." It was a miracle she did not bark at that, but she knew what that would bring her so she held her tongue. 

Confident of her submission, Eric shut the doors and crossed his bedchamber, with only a long admiring stare at the way her pale shapely form appeared to glow in the low light, before coming to one of the two cabinets which stood alongside the bed. From within its draw he withdrew a small unmarked jaw that when opened appeared to be half filled with a thick translucent jell. Grinning, he scooped a glob of it into his fingers before applying it to his still glistening erection, moaning lowly at the warm sensation it sent rushing along his nerves.

"Now, turn around and face the door." He instructed, upon noticing the way Katharine's eyes watched his every move. Swallowing nervously, she shuffled about until the full checks of her buttocks faced him as he climbed onto the bed and manoeuvred behind her. Hooking a finger under the hem of her lacy black panties, he quickly tugged the garment down her thighs.

"No Daddy...please anything but that..."Katharine gasped, her voice hitching slightly as he reached out and touched her folds with one thick finger. He could feel her wet warmth radiating out and was seized by the overwhelming urge to fuck her, to claim her and make her scream and beg like a whore. But that wasn't what he had planned.

"Are you talking back to me? Such a naughty little whore" he growled before seizing her heart shaped rump, his large hands roughly kneading her round cheeks to expose her trembling anus. "Very well, you leave me no choice..." Sneering, he guided the purple head of his cock to her rear entrance.

"What! No!" She gasped and attempted to turn around as she realized his intentions but it was far too late. "No! not there...Aaagghhhh!" The cry left her lips in a ragged scream as he jabbed his hips forward with such force that her tight sphincter opened up and swallowed his shaft's pulsating head.

Eric couldn't help but moan as he felt the intense heat of his daughter's butt enveloping his cock. Though her body had gone still, every one of her rectal muscles was convulsing around him, working in the common goal of trying to force the invader from their depths but serving only to heighten his delight. "Oh Yea! Struggle all you want little whore, I'm going to stick all of my dick inside your tight asshole." In answer, Katharine could only utter a strangled gasp as she clawed the sheets and lent forward in what must have been a last desperate attempt to pull herself clear of his invading flesh. Not willing to let her get away however, he dragged her back and then pushed the rest of himself inside of her, filling her tight bowels completely. "Ohhh fuck...so tight!"

Surprised by the complete violation, Katharine's back arched and her mouth opened in a silent scream, her big doe eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. Too drunk on his own pleasure, Eric didn't give her time to adjust. Keeping a firm hold on her slender toned waist, he pulled back until all but the head remained inside her trembling anus before driving back into her with such fervent vigour that a sob was torn from his daughter. Alas, she was much too tight to allow him the speed he would have preferred, but aided by the glistening lubricant, his motions lost none of their savagery as he began driving his cock back and forth in a fierce rhythm. 

"S-S-Stop! No daddy...you're hurting me..." Katharine pleaded; her once strong voice now nothing but a mix of pained gaps and sobs with none of its former fire. A mere shadow of her usual self, she seemed to have lost all the strength of her arms and had half collapsed, her angelic face pressing against the dark silk sheets while her rump was held up by her trembling legs. Sparkling crystal tears were rolling down her cheeks as she clawed uselessly at the bedding. Utterly powerless beneath him, her every attempt to escape him was thwarted when his large hands wrenched her roughly back onto his invading phallus. "Ahhh ...I-I can't stand it...too deep...your tearing me apart!"

"What are you saying? I can tell your ripe little arse is just craving for my big cock. I bet you love taking it up the arse, don't you?" The bed was rocking with his rhythm, its heavy oaken beams creaking loudly every time he plunged back into her intense warmth. With each of his devastating thrusts, a bit more of her depths opened up and he could feel himself probing a bit deeper. Again and again, he bucked into her until one particularly deep thrust caused the girl to moan. He grinned wickedly at the sound. It wouldn't be long now; anal sex was a queer thing and had a unique feel for every woman, but her mother had always loved it rough. Despite her protests, Katharine's body had betrayed her. The lubricant he'd employed was in fact an extremely potent herbal aphrodisiac engineered to stimulate the pleasure spots of the anus. She could fight it all she liked, but her surrender to the feelings stirring within her was inevitable...

"No...please...stoohhh God...so...so hot...I...I can't take anymore..." she suddenly moaned as the flood of sensations sent her into a sexual frenzy. Pushing back with her hands, she began to wantonly grind her buttocks against his thrusting hips. "Oohhh God...So good...Yes daddy...take my arse...take it...take it..."




The Champ



"That's it, my good little whore. Your arse is mine. Take my big cock and know that no other man will ever please you again." he growled, grinning in triumph as he felt her rounded buttocks moving to meet his thrusts, pushing him even deeper and making her moan in rapture. 

As their rhythm intensified, the sound of their hips slapping together mixed with the bed's loud creaking and Katharine's heated moans to form a crescendo that must have been heard throughout half of London. 'She's as loud as her mother', Eric recalled, and the way she writhed and thrashed and bucked against him, they were so similar even in their passionate throes it was hard to believe they could only be mother and daughter and not twins separated by time. 

"Ohhh Yes Daddy, my arse is yours. You can fuck it whenever you want to; just please, I want more. Fuck me harder...ohhh harder!" A hot shiver shot up Erics's spine at her lustful cries, before an idea occurred to him and his eyes darted to where he had once most conveniently placed a free standing oaken mirror. Perfectly positioned and hidden within a shadowy corner, few noticed it there unless they knew of it before hand and all for the better, or else its purpose and his pleasure would be spoiled.

From where he sat, he could see Katharine's whole reflection perfectly and on her hands and knees as she was, she had no secrets from the mirror. Darker now, her piercing blue eyes had become veiled by desire and stared out at nothing in particular from beneath her dishevelled raven ringlets as her lips hung open in wondrous pleasure. Arousal had flushed her skin a deep pink and with each powerful thrust, her supple breasts would bounce so enticingly that Eric wanted nothing more than to take the full orbs in his mouth and suck on her pert rosy nipples. 

For his part, Eric was more than glad his own reflection was half hidden in shadow. It had been many years since he had last stepped into the ring and his once magnificent chest, etched with muscle and equally as smooth as his daughter's magnificent rump, had become covered by a forest of coarse hair. His muscles remained, mostly, but a prominent bulge had begun to shape his softening stomach. He didn't know who he'd see there but it wasn't Eric Shaw, it wasn't the WWE champ. 

Renewed anger suddenly raged in his heart. No, he was the champ. He was the greatest, no man could stand against him and he would prove it. No little puck could hope to match him, he would show this whore what he was capable of; he would let Elaine experience the true power of the champion. 

"Oh-oh-oh-ohhh God...so...so rough...yesss...more...daddy...fuck me more..."Her cries disintegrated into a stream of near inaudible words and moans as he gave up all restraint. Letting rage fire his movements, he gave himself over to his desire and hammered her supple young body with unrestrained abandon. Subconsciously he could feel his own release brewing, yet he refused to let these feelings end. Gritting his teeth, he did all he could to restrain his mounting climax as she bucked against him. He wouldn't last much longer, the alcohol in his system was beginning to go to his head and proved to be almost too much for him when coupled with the intense heat and the way her still tight channel writhed around him. "Ohhh...God...so hot...don't stop...daddy...you're amazing!"

"That's it Elaine, beg for my cock. Isn't it better than his; bigger than any other, I bet that wimpy little punk never fucked you like this?" Eric growled, watching the beauty writhing beneath him. His eyes devoured her milky flesh as the tremors of his every Herculean thrust rippled across her toned form, but his eyes saw only the memory of a night long ago, a memory he'd once hopped to drown away in a flood of alcohol.

Katharine appeared not to hear him however. "Something's coming....Oh God I...I've never felt like this before...I think...I think I'm going to cum....I'm going to cum!" She moaned, writhing and bucking against him before her arms suddenly failed her and she collapsed into the rumpled satin sheets. Snatching desperate breaths, he drove into her with bruising intensity. He could feel her wetness running down her thighs in thick rivulets and the bed was creaking so loudly, it was a miracle the oaken beams hadn't shattered. Still keeping an iron tight hold on her rolling buttocks; Eric carried on regardless as her anus contracted around his pulsating member. Yet it was too much and with a ragged gasp, he pulled her against him and exploded inside her quivering bowels.

"I can feel it," Katharine moaned, still trembling as the force of her own release washed over her. "Oh God Daddy, I can feel your cum in my stomach! It's so hot...so hot..."

The champ could only grunt as rope after rope of his pent up seed flooded her anus. Feeling the tension in his loins ease, he released his hold on Katharine's hips and let himself fall back into the waiting pillows. Too exhausted to speak or move, his daughter simply sprawled across the mattress and lay there in an unconscious stupor as his essence began to seep from her gapping anus. A veil of sweat covered her body and her knickers had become tangled around her knees and though suddenly exhausted, the sight of her in such a pose made Eric want to laugh. 

He would have her again later, he decided, and again tomorrow and then again the day after. Katharine was his; he would take her every day until she learnt that, only then would he take what was left of her virginity. He would not make the same mistake he had with her slut mother. He had loved Elaine and given her every luxury she could have desired. He had been soft and kind and lenient, but in the end she had left him and vanished with some wretched punk half his size and without a penny to his name. He would not lose Katharine however; she would learn her place and become a dutiful, obedient daughter who would never leave him. He would make sure of that...

Yes, life was such a grand thing.

The End

AN: Ok, this is an altered version of my most recent fanfic and I'm not so sure how it turned out. I have never written this type of story before so it is quite an experiment for me. For those of you who have questions, this is basically about a disgraced rugby star, former wrestling champion, father whose wife cheated and left him. Angry, he gets frequently drunk and takes his frustrations out on their eighteen year old daughter, sometimes becoming confused and mistaking them as she bears a striking resemblance to her mother.



The Champagne Campaign



This is a work of fiction. The characters, events, incidents in this novel are the product of the author's imagination, as are the businesses, products, and residences. Any resemblance to actual persons, businesses, products, residences, or events is entirely coincidental. All persons in this novel are over the age of 18 years. 

Ch. 01 Cassie's Contribution

Cassie stretched and took in the Chicago skyline for the umpteenth time. After all it was a magnificent view with the high-rises looming above her, and below Lake Michigan shimmering in the midmorning sun. The light fell across her drawing board, her layout tables, the flat-files holding all the paraphernalia of her job, and most importantly right now the rough-layouts for the presentation.

Not an easy assignment this campaign even though she couldn't wait to get it. Finally her boss had given her a shot at a big time account but there was no unique selling proposition here. After all booze was just booze; Bubbles Champagne another me-too product in a sea of bubbly scrambling for market share and everything depended on selling the sizzle, or the fizz in this case. She pondered her efforts again feeling that mingled surge of satisfaction and apprehension that always hit her just before a presentation. Today was special; her presentation was for a new client, a new product, and an account essential to the agency right now. It all added up to breathlessness and her pulses quickened as she glanced at her watch. Almost show-time!

A sound at her door and a waft of Scotty's after-shave carried his voice to her. "How's it going babe?" he queried with his usual breezy aplomb as his hand lifted and massaged the tightness at the angle of her neck and shoulder. He was so damn fresh but she had to admit it felt good too, especially right now when she was tensing up like this. He was a groper but the best copywriter in agency and it had been a challenge when she had been assigned to the account with him. It was just that he was after her all the time, and she had never let sex and work mix in her life before. Not real sex that is.

The campaign had been his idea but she knew now she had inspired his copy concept. It had all started a year ago when she was first hired by the ad agency as an apprentice art director fresh from Design School. Right from the beginning Scotty never failed to give her a friendly little nod and a wink when he entered the design department with a project for the group his gaze often lingering appreciatively on her face, her bosom, and her butt.

Such attentions had both flattered and distracted her and she started dressing down to keep her mind and everyone else's on the work at hand, favoring loose blouses that hid the sexy tilt of her breasts and the tease of her nipples, covering everything with a floppy artist's smock that concealed her slim waist, the flare of her hips, and the sway of her taut round little buttocks that turned heads when she went by.

And then a month ago her boss had informed her that she had been assigned to work with Scotty at his request. She had been astounded and pleased, but not particularly surprised when he outlined the copy platform for her and suggested the graphics. He was selling the product with sex and she guessed that her attractions were something of an inspiration for him, an inspiration that soon flowered into a very compatible working relationship, and one that she had augmented with this surprising outburst of her talents. 

"What do you think?" she responded with a nod at her layouts.

"It's damn good, Cassie. You're graphics are great. The whole presentation sings."

"Let's hope Connors likes our tune," she sighed nervously. "I could use a shot of good old Barbacchi's right now to settle me down," she added as she studied her graphics of the tall champagne flute with its shape-shifting patterns in the bubbles. Would they see what she had put into those patterns, all those sensual shapes and erotic images buried there?

That's what frightened her. She was going to get up there and explain to Cliff Connors, the client's hard-headed up-tight marketing manager, that she had buried boobs, butts, and the whole damn Kama Sutra in Bubbles Champagne, every sip a randy toast to sex; suggestive of course, just suggestive. Nothing blatant or obvious, just hints, almost accidents. But it was there and that's what would pull the audience into the ads.

If the campaign jelled the prospects would be out there with magnifying glasses turning the ads round and round looking for the sixty-nines. The hot graphics with Scotty's cool "The Best Of Taste" headline would be a naughty eye-popper when the audience caught on. And of course the hints wouldn't be in every ad. But the audience would be looking at every ad to see what they could find. It would be brand-recognition that no one would forget. But would Connors have the guts to go with it? Could she sell it to him?

Predictably Scotty's hand left her neck and traveled down to her upper arm. He squeezed there for a moment and then tried to burrow beneath her arm groping for the side of her breast. "Scotty!" Cassie moaned wearily shifting on her stool and clamping her arm against her side to block him. Actually it felt good and it had been feeling better all the time but it wouldn't have paid to let him know it. Scotty had been fumbling around like this for weeks now, casually trying to cop a feel. She had always brushed him off and he'd never pushed, just been persistent. In truth it was this unresolved sexual tension between them that had generated the whole campaign. The sublimated hours together mulling over erotic images of nipples, breasts, vulvas, penises, and copulating couples had emerged at last in these charged graphics that were now relentlessly tweaking their libidos.

Scotty studied their images mirrored faintly in the window before him, taken as always by the contrast between her appearance and her personality. She looked like a petite teenager but she behaved with maturity beyond her years. Sensing Scotty's distraction Cassie lifted her gaze to the window, caught his absorption in her image, and a sudden throb of satisfaction flashed within her. She knew he thought she was cute and sexy but she had always insisted on being taken seriously at work, and when people caught the expression on her face, they did take her seriously. It was in her large widespread eyes mostly, in that level direct calculating look that said, 'Listen to what I have to say'. 

Normally her words soon focused her audience on the matters at hand, but today she'd decided that she could use all the help that nature had given her to make the right impression on this client and her boss, and she'd dressed for the effect of a sophisticated career woman instead of the apprentice art director she really was. As she looked at Scotty she wondered just how effective her image might be.

Under her loose cotton work-smock she wore an elegant soft beige silk suit with a long front-button jacket and a deep collar. It was a lovely fit for her compact little torso. Her high waist accented by the drape of her fitted slacks over her curvaceously trim buttocks displayed the length of her legs to her slim ankles. The whole effect was just loose enough and just clingy enough to be very suggestive, just like her graphics. As for her hair, which she normally wore held back with a demure gold clasp, today she let her long honey-brown tresses loose to fall in soft waves about the sides of her face and down over her back.

She knew Scotty had never seen her dressed quite like this. His eyes were on hers in the window glass in front of them and for once she didn't look away. Letting her sexy self come through at last had an excitement of its own for her as well as him. Besides, everything was hanging on this presentation and she wanted something to make it as electric as she could. So this time she let the sexual tension flicker like hot little lasers between them. But how far should she go? His hand still lay softly clamped between her arm and her side as she looked around into his face.

"You're so fresh," she muttered, but she said it with a smile not a frown and relaxed her arm. Instantly his hand slid to the side of her breast until could she feel the warmth of his fingers softly sounding out her shape. "You're so stacked," Scotty offered soberly.

"How do you know? You've never seen me in anything but my work clothes," Cassie returned, and then his hand moved boldly to cup her breast so deliciously that it made her tremble.

"I'd give anything to see you out of them, Cassie," he said with a plea of gratitude in his voice for this incredible favor of her breast settling into his palm so he could at long last fondle out her succulent pear shape that had teased him so unmercifully for so long. 

"Anything?" she laughed, glancing up into his eyes and settling into that soft massage. His fingers left her breast, moved to toy with the button on her smock and it dropped through the buttonhole, the dark space it left matching the widening darkness in Scotty's pupils as the next one followed it. Cassie gave a gentle shrug and the shapeless smock slid easily off her silky shoulders and down the long sleeves of her jacket to drape around her hips on the stool.

"What do you think?' she said posing before him, and the effect was just what she thought it would be. "I think you look too good for words, and for a copywriter that says everything!" he offered.

Cassie could tell he meant it, but what he couldn't tell was what she was willing to let him do about it. She knew the fact that she was just sitting there looking at him with that tease in her eyes was encouraging him, so when he impulsively lifted his hand to stroke the silky slope of her shoulder she again offered no resistance. The soft slide of his hand traveled down her shoulder capturing a lock of her hair in his fingers and followed it down to the slope of her breast. Instantly she felt the warmth flood through the thin silk and over her breast like the sun on the distant beach before them. Suddenly her heart was thudding in her bosom, and her whole being was paralyzed by an overwhelming sensation of excitement. Would he dare she wondered? Should she let him if he did dare? 

The question hung silently between them, and then he answered it by slipping his hand beneath the collar of her jacket to find the heat of her breast beneath the thin gauzy little cup of her bra and settle on her nipple collapsing into a taut bud of sensation in his fingers. But then when his other hand began to slide down over the firm curves of her butt she instantly captured it with hers to block the wild gush of excitement throbbing in her loins and ringing in her ears.

Ringing!

"Oh my God!" Cassie gasped lurching for the phone and Scotty followed the luscious dangle of her breasts with his fondling hands. "Yes?" she hissed into the receiver while he toyed maddeningly with her nipples. "All right. All right. Gotcha!" She cradled the receiver as the reality welled up in her. "Connors is early. We've got ten minutes to set up."

Scotty blew out his breath in a puff of frustrated exasperation, his face ruddy and shining moistly with excitement. "Damn!," he moaned, "lightening missed me again."

"You get a rain-check," Cassie muttered, fumbling to straighten her jacket and fluff at her hair. "How do I look?" she exclaimed.

"Like more!" Scotty groaned as they turned to the layouts. Her impulse had flowered far beyond her expectations. She could hardly believe she had been so close to utter surrender. 

******

 Ch. 02 Tricky Business

Connors settled himself at the head of the oval table, surveyed the conference room and the agency team assembled before him. He chatted amiably with Harrison the V.P. on his right, and with Matthews the account exec on his left, but his attention was really focused on the art-director and the copywriter sitting together by the projectors. 

Cassie and Scott had impressed him with their presentation on the market weeks ago. The fellow was sharp all right, on top of the market and the competition. As for that cutie art-director, she had been quiet but watchful and quick, and her questions were right on the mark. The one thing he was sure of was that she was one-hell-of-a-good-looking-girl. In fact she was even more attractive right now than he had remembered from his previous encounters. There was something different about her. Maybe it was the slinky suit, or her hair, or the way her clear blue eyes seemed so bright, and her skin glowing with the flush underneath. Clearly she was excited but not in a nervous way; turned-on was more like it.

The formalities over at last Scotty made the presentation on strategy. The proposal was to broaden the market beyond the merely festive toasts at dinners, weddings, graduations and such. The market segment they were after consisted of venturesome young singles and married couples aspiring to a definite touch of naughty-ness with their fun and romance. In short the strategy was to bring Bubbles Champagne into the bedroom. And it was a triple sec for women as well as men, women who savored a heady aroma and the piquancy of a powerful sensation upon their tongues captured by the double entendre of his headline, "The Best Of Taste", leading into Cassie's sexy graphics.

Connors leaned forward with interest when Cassie rose to make her presentation on the art-work. She flicked the Power Point Projector on and the image of a lifted champagne flute, with all its phallic overtones, filled the screen. The man's hand cradled the tall narrow glass to the woman's sumptuous lips and her fingers rested ever so gently on the back of his hand as he lifted the glass to her mouth. Cassie stepped to the screen, raised her pointer to the magnified swirls of light and reflections in the bottom of the glass, and while she spoke Connors heard the husky timbre that had invaded her voice.

"What we are aiming at here are subliminal suggestions of sensual pleasure. For example this could be a reflection, or something else...." Cassie's pointer lingered on the vague image of what might indeed be merely a reflection, or also what Connor's discerned as possibly a woman's breast beneath the man's fingers that held the glass. Cassie rotated the graphic to offer another view and now the image that filled the screen could possibly be an engorged and turgid nipple between the man's fingers. Her voice was level and professional as she made another turn. 

"And here we have the merest suggestion of a couple in an intimate embrace. We see this as a series of journal insertions getting more explicit as the campaign progresses. Naturally media selection will be in such up-scale men's and women's magazines as   'Bon-Vivant', 'Melannie's Miracles', and so forth. Of course these are just rough layouts and preliminary graphics to illustrate the tactics we are proposing," Cassie finished.

Heavy silence filled the room. Connors blinked and stared, he could hear what the girl was saying but he could just barely see in the graphics what she was describing as the subtly erotic campaign unfolded before him. What he could most satisfactorily see was the firm resilience of Cassie's breasts and the outline of her nipples moving beneath her jacket every time she lifted the pointer and moved between the overhead and the screen. The effect was far more obvious and intriguing than the vague shapes in the pictures.

"I'm not sure I picked up on everything you were describing, Cassie. Do you have the original artwork for these images?" he queried.

Cassie nodded with a little jolt of surprise, and a decided twinge of discomfort. Some of the close-ups were of her self, transparencies she'd shot of her own breasts and her buttocks. In fact she'd used her own breast in the flute image, puckering her nipple with the touch of an ice-cube.

Scotty hardly heard what she was saying. He had barely made it through his own presentation his mind was in such a whirl. He had worked for weeks beside this girl and been thoroughly impressed with how bright, talented, and articulate she had proved herself to be. There was no question he'd had the hots for her as well, and the sample she had given him just now had virtually blown his mind. He'd looked at those graphics of mouthwatering breasts that she had shown him in the past weeks without thinking that they might be hers, but now there was no mistaking those nipples and those luscious shapes for Cassie's own. If what he had felt of her bosom was any clue, the rest of her must be absolutely stunning.

"Maybe if I saw the original shots I'd get a better sense of what you're aiming at, Cassie," Connors went on with a half wise smile on his face. "You guys don't mind do you?" he chuckled at Harrison and Matthews.

The broad grins of assent flustered Cassie while she fumbled for the images he'd requested. 'God! They were all going to get a peep-show now with her-self as the main attraction' she quaked, flicked the projector on and doused the room lights. At least they wouldn't see her blush. And then there they were, her own breasts up there on the screen fifty times bigger than life, with her rosy nipples all pointy.

Scotty squirmed next to her and whispered, "I can't wait for that rain-check!."

Cassie shrugged and clicked as rapidly through the images as she dared while the hot flush mounted moistly beneath her silky jacket molding it ever more closely to her bosom.

"Hold it there, Cassie," Connors ordered and they all stared up at her butt on the screen. "Where did that image appear in the campaign?" Cassie flicked to the layout and pointed out the place where the mere shadow of her own buttocks swam alluringly in the depths of the champagne. She stood there in front of the screen pointing at the utter revelation of herself, feeling her silky slacks clinging to every curve and crevice of her bottom.

"Yes," Connors mused out loud. "It's all becoming very clear to me now. I see...I see...."

"You gotta agree that you're never gonna see a more beautiful tush than that," Scotty muttered and Cassie would have whacked him with the pointer had she dared when she shut off the projector. Heaving an inaudible sigh of relief she slumped down into her chair and quivered with tension.

Silence descended on the room while they waited for some signal from Connors who sat steepling his fingers judgmentally and contemplated everyone's future. Harrison, the V.P., stared grimly up at the screen. He not only wanted this account, he needed it! With it his black sheet would look impressive. Without it there would be some lay-offs. It was a risky campaign, but it would work if Connors had the moxie to recommend it to his management.

"Promising...." Connors articulated at last.

"Any problems?" Harrison queried accommodatingly.

"I need some time to think about it," Connors responded his gaze drifting from the screen to Cassie.

"Well let's break for lunch," Harrison offered. "I've got reservations at The Hancock. Cassie will join us," he finished.

'Crap!' Cassie thought. That meant her presence was mandatory and this would be another long boozy lunch hour and a late evening catching up on the day's work. Two hours later she sat disconsolately at their table on Ninety-Fifth Floor of the Hancock Building and glanced at her watch. This luncheon was becoming as endless as the combers rolling in off Lake Michigan to the Chicago shoreline below. For the moment she could take a mental break from the desultory talk and the equally steady flow of martinis. The effort of trying to be charming to Connors who had gone off to the john with Harrison was eating up her day and her energy.

Apparently her presentation seemed to have gone well, despite her utter discomfiture at the end, probably the best she'd made in her first year at the agency, and Conners had certainly paid close attention. He'd certainly seemed impressed, nodding and smiling agreeably as they'd discussed the campaign over lunch. But there was so still no commitment. She didn't know whether she had made the sale or not, and this luncheon hadn't seemed to bring matters any closer to a conclusion. Instead she had been increasingly aware of Connor's focus upon herself rather than her creations. It had been distracting at first, and now it was annoying. She was grateful for a few moments alone to compose her self.