by Dark Angel
Fuck him. What the fuck does he think he knows?
“I don’t care what you say, you’ll always be Number Two,” I say.
“And you’ll always be Rosebud,” he snaps back at me. “You get out of line and I’ll be the one snapping you in place.”
Rosebud.
Oh, fuck. He didn’t go there. Not bringing that name up from elementary school on national fucking television.
I don’t even know what compels me but I jump out of my chair. Ethan, true to his word at least, stands up also.
“You don’t know anything about me!” I yell at him.
At some point, Jessica’s slid her chair back and is telling us to calm down. But no one listens to her. The cameras must be loving this because no one stops the broadcast.
“I don’t need to know much to know you're a silver spooned, candy-ass, fucking pretty boy, Colt!” Ethan yells back.
That’s when I punch him.
Don’t get me fucking wrong. Ethan’s a big guy. He’s my height. He’s got a cut, ripped body and giant fucking muscles. If I didn’t hate him, I’d respect him.
But my punch lands on his face and I see blood burst from his lip and all of a sudden he hits me back. I feel the wind go out of my lungs and I double over.
But not before I sweep my legs and trip him.
But he gets his hands on me and carries me down.
We don’t realize that there’s a bank of cameras across from the table and we both go flying into it.
Imagine a QB and his defensive end coming at you both - 500 pounds of muscle. It’s no wonder that the camera men are running away into the audience. Fucking pussies.
That’s when we crash into the equipment. I feel pokes and stabs of metal as they enter my flesh but I’m trying to punch Ethan. He’s got me by my neck. I knee him in the stomach.
He slams a hand hard into my eye.
Ouch. That’s going to leave a hurt for sure.
Security comes and tries to get us apart, but Ethan and I brush them off like flies. They go crashing in two different directions.
That’s when the real cops burst in. Uniformed officers and even SWAT.
The audience is fucking screaming.
“There’s the fucker right there,” a cop yells as he points out to me.
Fuck. It’s cum-car cop.
The cops draw their guns, cocking them.
The studio looks like a war zone. Broken glass is everywhere and the audience is in chaos, running to the doors.
Finally, I see two security guards and a police officer come up behind Ethan and I smile in triumph. He’s going to get what he deserves and he doesn’t even realize. One of the men pulls out a TASER. This is going to be good.
Just as I’m about to crow, I feel 1000 volts of electricity go through me.
Fuck!
Ethan drops to the floor, too. They must have gotten us both…
Whatever. When I wake up, I’ll kick his ass all over again.
SportsNation
SportsNation Highlights
Hello, and welcome to SportsNation Highlights. I’m your host, Suzy Fren.
One word can only describe the mood of the nation before we head into the week’s lineup. That word: Wow. If you didn’t get a chance to tune in to our show on Sunday, boy did you miss out.
That’s right. It took the NFL only one day to place both Ethan Blake and Colt Stackford on a paid suspension as they reviewed their on-air actions. What on air actions are we talking about?
Cut to clip of Colt punching Ethan in the face.
This Monday, NFL Commissioner Bo Horton announced that both the quarterback and defensive end were being suspended after their on-air fight and arrest. And then to add yet another twist to the unfolding drama, we reported a whirlwind of activity between the Dallas Devils as they tried to get rid of their toxic players. Why would they do that, you ask?
Cut to clip of Bo Horton at a press conference.
“It’s not outside the possibility that the League could end up either fining these players for their despicable behavior or their team for allowing something like this to take place. This is a breakdown in discipline. And it’s something I’m going to stop if it’s the last thing I do. And as Commissioner, I promise you, if these two get in trouble ever again – if they so much as litter – this League is going to throw the book at them as well as any team that decides to employ them.”
Cut back to the clip of Suzy Fren.
That’s right. You heard it here. The Dallas Devils have decided that Colt and Ethan are such liabilities that they’re better off without the top quarterback and defensive player in the league. And so a late night secret trade was announced yesterday evening – between the Dallas Devils and New York Nailers. The Nailers gave up third string kicker, Boris Johnson and received both Ethan and Colt.
So think the Nailers made off like bandits? Not so fast. You heard the Commissioner. For the first time, the League is cracking down on bad behavior. Which means that Commissioner Horton will hold the teams responsible for any future bad behavior from the players. Colt and Ethan better keep their noses clean, because the Nailers are on the hook and the League is going to be watching.
The New York Nailers for what it’s worth could use the help. They’re currently 3 games to 1 in the season so far and hoping to make it to the playoffs. This after Julianna Heaton, the team owner became the first woman and youngest owner of an NFL team when she purchased the struggling franchise outright roughly a year ago for $1.8 billion. She’s displayed a tough approach as she took a bankrupt team and proceeded to turn it around to become Super Bowl contenders this year. We also all remember her father, the late Bob Heaton who used to coach the Nailers and sadly passed away last year.
Julianna Heaton has been no stranger to controversy herself – her forceful and vocal support of women’s rights within corporate America has made her a target for conservative columnists. She was last in the public eye this year when she complained about the salary caps that were imposed by the NFL on the teams in the league. It’s too soon, but the acquisition of Colt and Ethan by the Nailers has some speculating the Julianna is going to have to cut one of the players, as combined they exceed the salary cap that the New York Nailers are allowed. The good news? She has until the end of the season to decide. The bad news? These are the two best players in the NFL. And they’re both so toxic that no other team wants them at this time.
Within hours of the trade being announced, opinions were split as to whether Julianna, as the first female owner of an NFL franchise would be able to tame these two bad boys. But from everything that we can tell, this woman is up for the challenge. Getting her start on Wall Street, where she personally rose to the top within ten years as CEO of the multi-national investment bank, Carter Jeffries, Julianna has never been a stranger to media scrutiny. While named as the most charismatic billionaire on the Forbes 400, as well as the richest single woman alive last year, Julianna Heaton has however always been one to polarize. Her supporters point to her independent and strong attitude - not bowing or scraping to anyone. Her detractors point to a long list of complaints against her - from a take-no-prisoners attitude that she uses wherever she goes professionally, to an almost gleeful indulgence in her own playboy lifestyle, to the complete lack of mercy she has shown her corporate enemies. This, Julianna’s supporters counter, is nothing more than what any successful, wealthy, single alpha male would do. Why, they ask, is it so hard for an alpha woman to do so?
Regardless of which way one supports her, it’s up to Julianna to straighten out these two men. Which has some people a bit worried. Because who’s going to be the one to straighten her out first?
Julianna
The sun is the first thing that wakes me. It’s 6:45 am as I look at the clock and I’m usually up by 6.
Christ. I slept in again.
I look over to my right and at the naked man and I realize the reason why I slept in.
Last night was like something
out of a porno - except I was both the director and star.
What’s his name again? I’m having trouble remembering.
Bill?
Mike?
No. It’s Barry. Right. Barry Miller or something like that. He's sleeping on his front, in a deep and dreamless slumber.
I think he’s passed out after the workout I gave him. I don't think he’s used to women taking charge like I did.
I look over at him. He’s six feet two inches. He’s muscular. I’ve seen him around the gym a few times too. He works out pretty thoroughly and has a nice body. I mean, 6 pack abs are nice. Leg and back muscles are great. But I’ve seen it all. His cock isn't bad. About 9 inches. It gets the job done.
But overall? It’s just meh. Another bad boy in a long line of bad boys. All looking at themselves in the mirror, trying to look like the perfect alpha male. All trying to be brooding and mysterious. I seriously chew them up and spit them out without a thought nowadays. They think they’re all that before they meet me. They think they’re players. That they can drink and fuck everything in their path.
I don’t mind that. Let people be people. But they think they’re God’s gift to women. That women will just drop everything in their lives to suck their cock.
Yeah, Barry wasn’t bad, but I’ve had better.
I am better.
I mean, you name it, I’ve fucked it. Mafia hit men. Billionaires. Princes. Firefighters. Cowboys. Even some really wealthy guy that claimed to be a dragon.
I wake up the guy. I doubt he’s the one usually getting woken up after sex. He’s probably so used to tiring the girl out that she can’t walk the next day.
Not me.
“Hey Julianna,” he murmurs as he opens his eyes.
But we don’t have time for small talk. I’m usually at my punching bag by this time. I start my day with some yoga. Then I hit the bag. Then I run. And by 7:30 am, I’m showered and in the office.
I’ve followed this same schedule since I was 7. I was determined to succeed back then at life. I kept that determination when I went to college - graduating magna cum laude from Yale, and then getting my MBA at Harvard at the top of my class. Oh, it wasn’t all studying all the time. Trust me. I knew where my priorities were, sure, but I also knew I had urges I needed to fulfill. And trust me when I tell you I wasn’t going to let a bunch of old men who made rules dictate what I could or couldn’t do with my body. Fuck them. I dressed how I wanted to, ate how I wanted to, fucked who I wanted to. So you’d see me at a fraternity party with the guys checking me out. But I was deciding myself which one I wanted. Regardless of who came up to me, I always placed my desires first.
That’s why when the investment bank Carter Jeffries offered me an Analyst role, I jumped at the chance. Five years later I was the youngest Managing Director in the history of the Firm. Five years after that I was their CEO. But I wasn’t content to just stay at CEO. I started a holding company and began buying distressed real estate right after I got out of Business School. It began doing really well and by the time I was made CEO of Carter Jeffries, I was able to sell it for a nice amount.
What’s a nice amount to me? Try $5 billion.
After climbing the top of Wall Street, there was one thing I needed to do in life. So the next year, I quit and bought the New York Nailers football team.
I paid the entire $1.8 billion out of my own pocket.
That’s right. I paid for a football team like some men go buy cars.
How many bad boys you know that do that?
To be fair, it was hard work. I bought the team last year. And over the course of one year, I turned it around from a bankrupt organization bleeding money to something that I was hoping could be Super Bowl worthy this year.
But all that wouldn’t happen if I couldn’t get out of bed.
“Did you sleep good, baby?” Barry asks, and I come out of my self-reflection.
Fuck. I’m late for work. But I need to fuck.
“No time for talk, hon,” I say, putting him to his back and straddling him.
I’m naked and I can see his eyes go wide as he sees my tits waving in front of his face. I take his cock in my hands and start stroking it. It’s still soft, but I can take care of that.
Bad boys think they can handle any woman. But they can’t handle me. I’m the one thing that a bad boy alpha male can’t handle.
I’m a bad fucking girl.
He’s getting hard, but I have a schedule. I also have an itch I need to scratch before my day.
I slip down and kiss his chest, licking the erect nipples on his hard pecs.
God, I love pecs. And broad shoulders. And 6 packs. 8 packs are even better
I kiss all the way down his body and run my tongue up and down Barry’s shaft. I take the tip of his cock in my mouth and watch his eyes roll back in his head.
When I met him yesterday at the bar, Barry was your typical alpha male. He thought he was bad. He told me about his motorcycle. He angled himself so I could see his profile. His massive body. He told me how he was a CEO for some financial services firm.
Then he asked me what I did.
I told him I owned a football team.
That’s when he realized who and what I was.
By the time we fucked, he knew who was boss.
Barry’s hard now. It didn't take too long at all. Just a quick simple few licks up and down his shaft as my hands cupped his balls. I run my tongue up and down the tip of his cock before taking the head in my mouth.
“Oh fuck, Julianna,” he moans as I lift my face and move my body up, coming up to him and angling my pussy on top of his dick.
Julianna. Not ‘baby’ or ‘babe’.
Damn right, he better call me by my name. Tell me who’s boss now, bitch. I slide his dick into me and gasp. It fills me up and he moans out loud. I’m silent and I start pumping myself on him. Fuck, it feels good to fuck.
I love sex. I love having sex. And I love loving to have sex. As long as someone isn’t trying to steal someone else’s significant other, I think people should have as much sex as they want. And God help any man that tries to tell me that I need to be pure and virginal because that’s a woman’s place in society. Fucking men have been going around fucking everything forever. No one calls them sluts. No one shames them. I swear whenever someone ever tries that with me, I destroy them. It’s happened before. It’ll happen again.
Barry takes his hands and grabs my ass. Good. I like my ass getting squeezed. I bite my lip and shuck myself on his pole a few more times. I bring my hand to my breast and start twisting my left nipple.
God, that’s good. I close my eyes and focus on the pleasure, taking one of Barry’s hands and placing it on my other breast.
Barry’s breathing heavy, but I’m about there. I speed up my thrusts on Barry.
Barry tries to get up and get me on my back, but I open my eyes and make sure my hand pushes him back down.
“No way, hon,” I tell him. “I’m late for work this morning already. So, me first.”
The look of resigned defeat in his eyes does something for me. I don’t know what. This normal alpha male. Made submissive by my body. My pussy taming his cock. He’s never going to look at another girl the same way. But I’ll be done with him after this morning.
Just his subservient eyes are enough to push me over the edge. I close my eyes as my orgasm washes over me. I feel the tightening of my pussy as it clenches around his cock and the explosions go off across my body. I’m hot and then I’m cold and all of a sudden I’m floating in a sea of bliss. It crests over me and I feel tiny pinpricks of fire from every pore until my mind goes completely blank.
When I open my eyes, I’m breathing heaving and a trickle of sweat is coursing down by boobs. I look at him and give a few final up and down strokes with my body before getting off of him. He’s lying there, looking at me.
I get out of bed and walk to the shower.
“Hey,” he calls out. “What about me?”
> Crap. This is the part I always hate. Not because of what I’m about to say. But because he’s going to be so damn childish about it.
I turn around.
“Sorry, hon,” I say, trying to act sympathetic. “I have an early morning meeting; can you take care of it yourself?”
“You what?” he asks, incredulous.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m in a rush, but if your feelings are hurt, I can say I have a headache, or whatever,” I reply, not really talking to him anymore but walking to the intercom next to my bed. I push it and the building concierge comes on the speaker. Because I live in the penthouse, I have a dedicated concierge downstairs in reception. That’s luxury in New York City for you.
“Sammy,” I say into the speaker, “Can you please call me an Uber? Maybe have it here in ten minutes?” I ask.
“Sure thing, Ms. H!” Sammy says into the speaker.
I hang up and turn to Barry. He’s looking at me like I smacked him with a dead fish.
“The car’s on its way,” I tell him. “I’ll give you a call when I’m free, okay?”
I head to bed quickly and give him a quick kiss on the lips.
“It was nice to meet you, Barry,” I say and get off the bed heading to the shower.
The last thing I hear as I walk into my shower is Barry saying, as if in a daze, “It’s Bill.”
Fuck. I should have gone with my gut. But I shrug.
Plenty of fish in the sea.
* * *
An hour later my limo pulls up to the Meadowlands stadium and offices of the New York Nailers. It’s 8 am. I’m half an hour late and not happy.
For one, I usually spend the first half hour of the day from 7:30 am to 8 am centering myself for the day ahead.
But the bigger reason is that I’m going to have a meeting at 8 am with the head coach for the Nailers. Coach Karl.
The man who replaced my father.
That’s right. My father who gave thirty years of his life coaching the New York Nailers in some capacity or another. Who started from the bottom and eventually became Head Coach. And at the twilight of his career who was replaced by his best friend, Karl Stoffer. Who died watching his team going to the Super Bowl that same year. The same coach who never had a Super Bowl title and then built the greatest team in his career only to see his dreams snatched away from him.
