The Virgin Market: A Dark MFM Romance

by Dark Angel

  “MR. HAWKE, your company has really blazed a trail forward in bringing adult oriented entertainment even more mainstream than it has ever been. Many people call you a visionary. Others call you a smut peddler like your father with fancier technology. What are your comments to them?” the reporter asks Arsen as the news camera points to him. I’m standing to the side, content to let Arsen take the interview.

  But he doesn’t listen to my directions.

  “I couldn’t have done it without the help of my wife, Ashley,” he says, gesturing towards me. I gasp as the news camera swivels and takes a picture of me. “She’s the one that had the idea for a FaceTime app for our services, a Skype app, and a Facebook Live daily feed. She’s really harnessed social media.”

  “Mrs. Hawke, any comments?” Tricia the reporter asks, looking at me. She’s looking triumphant. I don’t understand why she wants to make us uncomfortable.

  I’m frozen. I wasn’t expecting to be put on the spot.

  It’s true though on some level. Every time we had brainstorming sessions for what to do next, Arsen could execute like nothing else, but he came to rely on me for ideas. But I need to be honest, if it weren’t for his questioning, I would have never have gotten the juices flowing to come up with the idea. And before you start snickering, that’s mental juices, okay? Oh my God, talk about mind in the gutter.

  “It’s more of a back and forth between Arsen and I that results in some of the ideas that we have coming to me,” I tell the camera sweetly, belying my thumping heart at being on television for millions. “If he weren’t asking the right questions, I wouldn’t be coming up with the ideas.”

  “How did you come up with the idea to partner with Oculus Rift to provide on-demand virtual reality re-enactments of popular romance e-books?” Tricia asks.

  “Oh, that’s easy,” Arsen says and the camera swivels back to him. “We were in the shower together, and having some fun, when I said everyone should be so lucky to have someone so good at…” Arsen trails off as he realizes just what he’s done. Tricia has a wide smile on her face, with a gotcha grin. Arsen’s just embarrassed himself on live television. This is what reporters live for.

  But not if I can help it.

  Taking a deep breath and summoning every last bit of courage I have, I take several steps over to my husband. The man I married six months ago in a wedding that the New York Journal called ‘the Social Event of the Year’.

  I wrap my arm around Arsen’s and take my hand and move his face over to mine. He looks at me, and I smile at him. He see’s into my soul through my eyes – and I think he realizes that together, nothing can stop us.

  That’s when I look to the camera.

  “Arsen and I were having sex in the shower,” I say without any trace of embarrassment and I see Tricia the reporter gasp. “He was fucking me so good doggiestyle, when he said to me that if everyone had someone like me in their lives who could fuck so good then a lot of the problems in the world would be solved.”

  “Uh-uhm, right…” Tricia says, starting to visibly sweat.

  “That’s when I pulled out and got on my knees and began to suck him off,” I say to Tricia, making sure to look her directly in the eyes. “And I started saying what if we had a movie that went along with a dirty book. And then what if we could somehow take the step of creating that world one step further for people. And that’s how Naughty Realities was born. From shower sex.”

  Tricia is visibly sweating. She didn’t expect me to get this raw. It’s only 8 am on the East Coast. People are still getting up.

  “Although,” I say sweetly, giving the reporter a break. “If there’s anyone else in this world we rely on more than anything else, it’s Arsen’s lawyer and his beautiful wife and my good friend, Yasmine.”

  Gerard and Yasmine smile from where they’re seated at the couch. They’ve just been married a month ago. It shows in how close they sit and the fact that they can’t stop touching one another.

  The interview continues for a little bit longer, mainly with Gerard and Arsen answering questions on the business end. How the proliferation of high-tech phone sex has created a new industry in America. How readily accessible virtual erotic encounters have literally taken the fight out of ISIS when used successfully. And how the future looks for Hawkelane Media.

  “Things are looking up,” Arsen says, looking at me as he smiles.

  I look down. There’s a tent beginning to form in his trousers. I smile. Looking up indeed.

  Within minutes, the interview closes and Tricia and her cameraman are out the door. Gerard and Yasmine follow soon after.

  Arsen and I eventually make our way to his office, where he closes the door as I pull myself into him and kiss him.

  I can feel my breasts mash against his hard body. I can feel his hands squeeze my ass and I gasp as a finger travels lightly over the opening to my pussy.

  Unfortunately, I’m going to have to leave you here. Don’t worry, I’m not kicking you out. You haven’t seen enough yet. There’s plenty more to come. Don’t you ever worry about that.

  There’s always more to cum.

  DIRTY LIL’ ANGELS

  Hi ladies!

  If you’re like me, once you finish, you’re not going to want the story to end!

  To receive exclusive sneak peeks, (before anyone else!), bonus content not seen anywhere else, giveaways, and tons more swag, visit me and my Naughty Angels on Facebook at Dirty Lil’ Angels.

  We’ll make it worth your while…anyways, on with Fiona Vs. Football Player!

  :)

  Alexis

  DESCRIPTION

  92

  FIONA

  “O h my God, look at that one!” Christine is waving furiously, pointing at one of the guys on the field. I place my hand over my eyes, narrowing them into slits and trying to see the man Christine is pointing to.

  “Which one? There are hot guys everywhere, Chris,” I tell her, and it’s the truth. I don’t know what it is about football players, but they just look so hot and indecent. The kind of men you don’t want to tell your mom about ... but exactly the kind of men you want to climb in through your bedroom window.

  To be honest, I’m not a big football fan; Christine is. When I look down at the field, I barely have any idea what’s happening. All I see are hot men running around and crashing into each other, their corded muscles rippling on impact, and that’s just fine with me.

  “Look!” Christine punches my shoulder without even bothering to look down at me. She’s standing up now, pointing frantically at one of the men standing close to us in one of those wonky formations right on the 50-yard line. That’s right, we’re this close to the action, right behind the platoon of photographers snapping photos of these hot pieces of—ahem, of the players. Ashley hooked us up with tickets, just one of the perks of having a man who’s a billionaire.

  “Oh, I see him!” I squeal, finally realizing who Christine is pointing to—Danny Manning, the New York Nailers quarterback. You’ve heard of him, right? He was the Nailers' first pick two years ago, and now he’s on the fast track to earning his team its first Super Bowl ring in like ten years, which totally makes sense considering he’s the hottest piece of ass in the league.

  “God, just look at that…” Christine trails off, finally sitting down. Her mouth is hanging slightly opening, and I don’t even want to think about the kind of stuff she’s probably imagining right now. Not that I can blame her. There’s a lot of indecency going on inside my mind as well. But, hey, I’m single.

  “Uh-uh, Chris, stop it. You already have Professor Hung just for yourself, leave a few men on the table, will you?”

  “Looking isn’t sinning, that’s what my mom always said,” she simply shrugs, and I know she means it. She turned into a hopeless romantic after she started dating Anders Trask, her former college professor. He’s hot as hell and, according to the ‘rumors’ (well, we egg Christine on to tell us all the dirty details), he’s also huge; I don’t have
to explain that last one, do I?

  “I don’t know about your mom, Chris, but I’d be down for some sinning with Danny…” I mutter, unblinking as I watch him position himself behind the offensive line. He has just instructed his team on some play, and now he's trotted to his position, his hands on his knees as he bends over.

  When the ball flies into his hands, he’s on the move. He takes two steps back, sidesteps a linebacker with a graceful movement of his hips, and then cocks his arm back. The whole stadium seems to drown in silence as the ball leaves his hands and flies in an arch. There’s a roar as the ball finds its way straight into the hands of the Nailers’ wide receiver on the other end of the field, and the whole crowd goes insane as he dives into the end zone.

  I know this happened because of the gigantic screen right in front of me, but in reality, my eyes have never left Danny Manning. Sweet Jesus, just watching him is enough to make my insides clench. He moves with a powerful dexterity, the muscles in his body working in perfect symmetry. And it’s quite a thing to witness; unlike some of the other players, Manning is all built on lean muscle, his skin stretched tight over his hard muscles. And I’m only talking about the parts that I can see… Just imagine how he must look under all that gear.

  That’s when I notice it; Danny Manning’s looking straight at me. His whole team is celebrating a much-needed touchdown, and he’s just standing in the middle of the field, one hand on his hip and staring straight at me. Right now, I don’t know if my blood is flowing straight to my face or to between my thighs. I just stare back at him, completely dumbfounded, and only when he looks away do I realize that I was holding my breath.

  “Oh. My. GOD!” Christine yelps, grabbing my arm and shaking me. “He was looking at you! Danny Manning was looking at you!”

  “He was,” I smile, suddenly feeling light headed. My eyes follow him as he sets up another play. “Look at him, Chris. He looks so… So… So fuckable!” I cry out, that warmness between my thighs turning into an uncomfortable wet feeling.

  “Totally,” Christine agrees as Danny runs close to the sidelines, just a few feet away from us. “How big do you think he is?”

  “I don’t know… But I wouldn’t mind finding out.” He runs past us again, and I turn my neck, following after him and devouring him with my eyes. By now, I completely forgot about the game. I don’t even know who’s winning—and who cares, really?

  “You know, Chris,” I say, turning to her and looking away from Danny for the first time in a long while. “I’d totally fuck him if I had the chan--” The words get lost in my throat as I hear a few of the photographers close to us crying out. I turn to see what all the commotion is about, and I do it just in time to see a tall Nailers player crashing through the line of photographers and stumbling toward us, the ball clutched tight to his chest.

  It’s Danny Manning, and I’m right in his way.

  93

  DANNY

  T hree passing touchdowns in fewer than thirty minutes. I’m on fire, baby.

  “Alright, guys,” I tell the team as they form a circle around me. “We’re gonna go with a flag play. Get me the ball and I’ll throw it far and wide. Just make sure you catch it,” I tell Anderson, the wide receiver, rapping my knuckles against his helmet. He grunts in response and then we’re back in formation.

  By the time the balls gets to my hands, I’m ready to go. I take two steps back and, watching one of the Miami MILFs’ linebackers rush toward me, I sidestep him. I scan the field quickly and, the moment I see Anderson closing in on the end zone, I draw my arm back and just shoot the ball in an arch. I can feel everyone's eyes in this stadium following the ball’s trajectory, but a fraction of a second before it left my hands I already knew where it was going to land: right where Anderson is now. I smile as he grabs the ball and makes a run for it. There’s nothing the MILFs' defense can do now; by the time Anderson is a few feet away from the end zone, he jumps forward and crashes after the line.

  Touchdown! And now that makes it four passing touchdowns in fewer than thirty minutes. Yeah, this year I’m going to smash every single team on my road to victory, and I won’t stop until I’m carrying this year’s Super Bowl trophy in my arms. What? I’m not being cocky; I just live to win, babe, whether you like it or not.

  I start to run toward the end zone, ready to join in as my whole team celebrates another six points, when I notice something out of the corner of my eye. There are two girls sitting by the 50-yard line, close to the reporters, and the blonde one is looking straight at me. Has she even seen the touchdown? She’s probably the only person in the whole stadium paying zero attention to the game.

  Her eyes find mine and, in a fraction of a second, her whole face turns comically red. She looks cute, actually—bright eyes and an easy smile, not a trace of those faux high-maintenance qualities I’m so tired of. She looks like the perfect girl next door.

  Okay, fuck. Enough of this. I have a game to win, I can’t be thinking of women right now. I turn my attention away from her and head down the field, mentally gearing up for the next play as our kicker snags one more point by kicking the ball between the uprights. But when I walk past the girls I can’t help but overhear a few snippets of their conversation, and they’re sure as hell not talking about football. Did I hear the word fuckable?

  I try to keep my head in the game for the next plays, but that girl has made a home out of my mind and I can’t focus right now. I’ve already made a fumble, and that’s my first one in the entire season. Fuck. And these two girls keep on talking about everything except the game. Now that my brain has been tuned to their voices, it seems that I can’t stop myself from hearing what they’re saying.

  “How big do you think he is?” I hear the blonde girl’s friend ask, and I’m pretty sure they’re talking about me. Momentarily forgetting where I am, I turn my eyes toward the girls and that’s when someone screams my name; I turn just in time to see the ball flying toward me, and I somehow manage to catch it. Except it’s too late now; two of the MILFs' linebackers are already coming toward me, one coming from the right and the other from the left, and they’re more than ready to steamroll me. Lucky for me, my body acts on muscle memory alone, and I take a fast step back; then I make a quick turn to the right, and the linebackers crash against each other.

  There’s a loud ooh and then a relieved aah coming from the crowd, and I jump back into action. It’s time to finish off these pussies for good. I start running down the field as fast as I can, trying to see a clear line of pass while trying to survive a whole team that wants to stomp me down. I’m running past the 50-yard-line, just a few feet away from the sidelines, when I notice that Anderson's open on the far end of the field. I cock my arm, ready to make another glorious winning pass, when a bright voice shoots a hole in my concentration.

  “I’d totally fuck him if I had the chance,” I hear her say, and I instinctively know it’s that blonde girl from before. Fuck, I lost the moment and Anderson is down on the ground now. And to top it all, there’s a lineman headed straight for me, and another two blocking my path to the right. When I hear one of the MILFs' players coming from the right, completely blindsiding me, I try and pivot to the left to avoid a sack.

  “Oh, crap!” I hear one of the photographers cry out, but by then it’s already too late. I step off of the field, crashing through the line and the photographers, and stumbling my way off of the field like a raging tornado. I’m heading straight to that blonde girl and her friend, but I can’t stop my trajectory now. Step out of the way, ladies—incoming.

  They jump out of their seats just in time; I crash on my back, right against where they were sitting, the ball still pressed tight against my chest. The seat under me seems like it’s broken now but, on the bright side, it seems like I got out of this in one piece.

  I take a deep breath, ready to go back to the field, when my eyes find that blonde girl. She’s staring at me, her mouth hanging open as if she still hasn’t processed that I almost cras
hed into her.

  Well, fuck it, I might have ruined the play, but I’m not going to ruin this: still lying down on the ruins of the broken seats, I flash her my game-winning smile.

  “Danny Manning, nice to meet you.”

  94

  FIONA

  Holy crap, what the hell just happened?

  One moment, I’m fantasizing about having Danny Manning between the sheets, and the next he literally crashes down on the place I’m sitting. I know I’m wet right now, but I never realized my pussy could summon hot guys like that. Now that’s a super power I don’t mind having.

  “Danny Manning, nice to meet you,” he says with a grin, still sprawled over the seats with the ball in his hand, and I almost pass out. Someone pinch me; is this really happening?

  “Fiona… Fiona Barnett,” I manage to say, looking at him in disbelief. Still with that smile on his face, he slowly goes up to his feet and starts ambling back to the field. When he walks past me he winks, and my knees start buckling. Around us, the photographers are going crazy, taking pictures of Danny as he keeps on smiling, acting as if he didn’t almost kill me just a few seconds ago.

  When I go back to my seat—now a broken mess of twisted plastic—Christine is looking at me as if I have two heads.

  “What?” I ask her. “Is it something on my face? My makeup?”

  “Girl … Your makeup’s fine. But, holy shit, he talked to you. He actually talked to you.”

  “I know…” I merely say, hardly believing that one of the most famous athletes in the US—no, in the world!—just introduced himself to me on live television. Now he’s back on the field, and I bet that he has already forgotten about me. I mean, he’s Danny Manning; women throw themselves at his feet every time he steps outside his home. And I’m just Fiona, a normal girl trying to make her mark on the world as a lawyer. Well, as a Law student actually, but whatever. Details, details.