by Abby Angel
I’m fucking serious. You can’t tell what a powerful fucking force of nature I am. My six feet and three inches of all muscle and sinew. I’m built like a fucking Greek god. In fact, I take it back. Greek gods are built like me. My piercing blue eyes. My golden hair. My fucking 8 pack abs. My defined chest.
Yeah, if you were standing right next to me like Celeste was, you’d be so fucking drippy at that moment that you’d be out of your mind. You’d be in heat, rubbing up against me, wanting me to fuck you.
And once I put you in my limo, you’d be like Celeste, attacking me hungrily. Wanting a taste of my power. Wanting to be next to an alpha male that destroyed all those that attempted to fuck with him.
Because I may be an asshole, baby, but I push all your fucking buttons so well that your clit will literally throb when I’m around you. You’ll be burning up inside and squirming and feeling your pussy lips puff up until my thick 12 inch cock goes inside you. That’s when you’ll sigh. As I put my giant mushroom head inside of you and push into your canal.
But wait till the rest of the 11 other inches goes in. You’ll fucking lose all grip on reality. Kinda like what happened to Celeste. You’ll moan and scream and talk in fucking numbers. You’ll be possessed by lust as I fucking grab your ass cheeks and smack them as I lick, suck and bite your nipples.
You won’t care who sees you as we fuck. And it won’t matter either, because we’ll be in my limo.
And you’ll cum so fucking hard. By the eighth or ninth time, you’ll be in this zoned out state of mind where you’re half blacked out and just drooling at the copious amounts of pleasure going through your body. Your nerve endings will be on fire as wave after wave of orgasm pounds you into a state of catatonic submission.
That’s when I’ll cum all over you. Like Celeste, you’ll coo and moan as my cum covers your face and tits. I’ll groan as I unload a quart of cum onto you, and you’ll fucking enjoy it, because you’re already in love with me, baby.
You won’t even mind as I use your thong to wipe off my cock before tossing it to you.
You won’t know what happens as the limo stops at a corner and I ask you to put your clothes on.
You’ll just follow directions as you put on your damp panties and wipe yourself off as best as you can. But I’ll only give you five minutes to get yourself together.
If you’re like Celeste, who’s taking forever, you’ll be out on the street while putting on your bra as the limo speeds off.
No offense intended to her, but I can’t wait around for some girl to get ready who I’ve already fucked and I’m never gonna see again.
What?
Don’t fucking look at me like that. I never told her I was going to be her boyfriend. I told her that her boyfriend or whatever she wanted to call him was a piece of shit loser and she could do better fucking me. And she did do better. I didn’t fucking lie.
I never said there was going to be any relationship. Or that I was gonna fucking grow old with her or anything like that. Whatever you imagined on your own is on you.
Besides, I don’t just go around fucking women all day. I need to be at the MarketWatch Journal studios.
They want my opinion on the fucking markets. I am a billionaire CEO of a major Wall Street firm, after all. With four years of Harvard undergrad and 2 years of Yale MBA behind me, I’m perfectly poised to educate the everyday investor why we should take large amounts of debt to fuel buyouts of companies and then use the companies own earnings to pay the debt off.
Yeah, they call me a shark for a reason.
I make it messy wherever I go. And listen, the limo has stopped and I’m walking into the MarketWatch studios, so you need to make a choice.
You wanna follow me into this story, you better be prepared for anything. You better be ready to put it all on the line because by the time you’re done, your heart is gonna be beating hard, your skin is gonna be flushed and you’re going to be panting from the orgasm.
Make sure you got your vibe or your partner or your B.O.B. or whatever you use to get yourself off because you’re going to fucking need it.
Don’t read this shit in public. You will absolutely not be able to hide it. I’m fucking serious, baby.
Instead, find a quiet corner, take your panties off, get yourself nice and lubricated, and, if you decide to come inside and flip the page, prepare yourself to go on a fucking wild ride into depravity and lust.
Don’t say I didn’t fucking warn you.
2
Lucas
There are a lot of things you should probably know about me, but let’s just focus on the most important one: I fucking hate Ares Strong.
Ares represents the epitome of arrogance, always behaving as if he’s a god among mortals. Even though he has the name to prove it, he’s everything but a god, despite what the easy women who always seem to surround him whisper into his ear. And, despite his fat net worth, he has the finesse of an angry elephant when it comes to business. Anyone can play in the big leagues as long as they’re willing to incur obscene amounts of debt.
“Took you long enough,” I tell him as he strolls inside the studio, flashing one carefree smile at our host, a slender brunette in her early thirties.
“Unlike you,” he replies, unbuttoning his Armani jacket and settling in his seat, “I have shit to do. I don’t sit on my ass all day long, you know?”
“Keep telling yourself that, Ares,” I grunt, looking away from him. The producer is barking his orders at the cameramen and, once everyone has assumed their positions, he holds his open hand right above his head.
“Goin’ live in five,” he shouts out, and then starts lowering his fingers one by one, counting down the seconds. I cross my legs and lean back against my seat, looking at the host as she looks into the camera trained on her with a polite smile. She takes a deep breath when there’s only one finger still up in the producer’s hand, and then she gives a slight nod toward the camera, as if she was greeting an old friend.
“Good evening, glad you tuned in for another Market Watch Journal. Joining us today, we have two financial titans known for their acute business savvy: Ares Strong, CEO and founder of Strong Capital, and Lucas Blake, CEO of the celebrated investment firm, Carter Jeffries.”
“Good evening,” I nod at her, but Ares just leans back in his seat and grins, almost as if he’s too important for casual greetings.
“Gentleman, as I’m sure you’re aware, the public’s opinion of big-capital has hit an all-time low. Still, your companies seem to thrive despite public opinion and a frail market.”
“Well, the market is only frail for those not capable of navigating the current financial landscape, Samantha,” Ares starts in his usual confident tone, treating each word of his like gospel. He’s making eye contact with our host and, judging by the smirk on his face, he’s already thinking of a way to sneak into her panties. “Strong Capital has done that very well, which proves the market is not as bad as it might seem for untrained eyes.”
“Still, it’s a fact that some of the biggest companies are employing downsizing strategies,” Samantha replies, looking away from Ares as her cheeks suddenly grow flush. Jesus, is anyone here a professional?
“Downsizing doesn’t mean that the market is doing badly. It’s just a … fine-tuning of the whole process, I’d say.” I join the fray now, trying to steer everything back to normalcy. If I don’t put the brakes on this thing, Ares might jump on top of the desk and hump the hosts’ leg like a rabid dog.
“Here we go,” Ares says under his breath, a smirk on his lips.
“Did you say something?” I ask, turning to him and staring him down.
“No, not all,” he dismisses me off-handedly, waving one hand into the air. “Carry on, I know you’re more than eager to bore us with your business acumen, Mr. Fire-Everyone.”
Respect and politeness—two marks of civilization that Ares has never heard of. Sure, people might call me Lucas ‘The Chainsaw’ Blake because of my aggressiv
e stance once I take over a company. Some people, like Ares, enjoy portraying me as a ruthless businessman who lives for firing people and ruining lives. What they don’t seem to understand is that reducing costs, which unfortunately often translates as the need to fire some people, is what allows some companies to survive and live to fight another day.
“That’s pretty funny, Ares. If it weren’t for the massive loans Strong Capital has incurred, I bet you wouldn’t even be sitting here with me. Do you even know how to run a business? Or is floating debt all you have ever learned?”
“Pfft,” he scoffs, now visibly annoyed. I guess even he doesn’t like when people take jabs at his credentials. “That’s pretty rich, coming from Mr. Spreadsheet himself. Chipping away at the numbers and firing everyone your spreadsheet tells you to. If that’s better than what I do, I guess your moral compass is pretty fucked up, buddy.”
“Please, Mr. Strong, remember we’re live and we have to maintain a standard of language that --”
I don’t even let the host finish chastising Ares. I just cut her short, boiling blood fueling the anger inside of me. Ares used to call me Mr. Spreadsheet back when we both studied at Harvard, and I can’t look back to these times without feeling a stab of guilt and rage flooding me.
“You think you’re better than everyone else, don’t you?” I say, lowering my voice until it almost becomes a growl. My fingernails are digging deep into the palm of my hands, both of them balled into fists.
“At the very least I’m better than you,” he chuckles, fiddling with the Rolex on his wrist.
“Gentleman, I, ah, would like for us to go back to the topic at --”
“Better than me?” I repeat his words, arching one eyebrow. “I knew you were arrogant, but I never thought you’d be delusional.”
“Just because you were a teacher’s pet at Harvard doesn’t mean you know everything, Lucas. There’s a real world outside of these walls, you know?” he says, casually waving his hand around.
“I see that all those women you sleep around with have finally destroyed whatever intelligence you had. Tell me, outside of whisky and pussy, how do you even find the time to run your company? Do you have your interns do it?”
“At least I don’t live and die by a fucking spreadsheet,” he growls, his grin giving way to a scowl. “And why the fuck are you even talking about my love life, Lucas? Is that envy I’m sensing?”
Samantha is now looking straight at the producer, a desperate look on her face. She has two billionaires on set verbally jabbing at each other, all of it happening live, while they use curses for commas. Still, I can’t stop myself.
“Envy?” I growl, my voice sneaking out between my gritted teeth. I’m standing up now and, not a heartbeat later, Ares stands up as well. He’s as tall as I am, and our eyes are on the same level, electricity crackling in the air around us. “I don’t envy you. I pity you!”
“Yeah? Why don’t you pity this!” he growls right back, swinging one fist at me. I try to step out of the way, but he’s too fast; his hand collapses against the side of my face, and I feel the metallic taste of blood over my tongue.
If that’s how he wants it, I can play that game too.
Turning around on my heels, I dive under his next punch and, cocking my arm, I connect my fist with his stomach. He bends over slightly and takes two steps back, a murderous look on his face.
“Motherfucker,” he hisses, and then just charges straight at me like a bull. He hits me across the waist with one shoulder and we both fly back against the host’s table. I hear the glass crack under my back and, just one second later, the table shatters into a million pieces and we both collapse onto the floor as Samantha jumps back with a yelp.
The whole production crew rushes toward us and it takes almost ten grown men to split us up. By the time they’re done, there’s blood dripping down out of Ares’ nose and, judging by the coppery taste in my mouth, I’d say I’m not in a better state than he is.
“Shut it down, shut it down!” I hear the producer shout into his earpiece, a desperate look on his face. I wipe the blood from my mouth with the back of my hand and let out a heavy sigh.
A brawl on live national TV.
Just perfect.
3
MarketWatch Journal
All the money news you can pay for…at your fingertips.
This Plane’s Got No More Fuel
In hindsight, many believe that the writing was basically on the wall this entire time. After a lengthy and protracted public relations nightmare, Union Airlines today signaled that it was going to be putting itself up for sale on the auction block. Commenting through a spokesperson, the CEO of Union Airlines, Daphne Kane, stated, “While we are no doubt disappointed in this outcome, we believe that looking for a potential benefactor at this stage is the clearest and most obvious choice if our jobs are to protect both the airline and the thousands of people that work for it.”
Critics were quick to point out that Ms. Kane was seemingly copping out of a promise she had made upon taking control of the beleaguered airline. Supporters rejected this claim, and pointed out that a sale of Union Airlines was never off the table.
The airline has encountered a massive drop in sales in the current fiscal year. It attempted to shutter newer routes in favor of existing and more profitable routes, but seat reservations dropped across the last seven months as the airline struggled to shrug off a viral video of a passenger being forcibly removed from their seat by airline security personnel.
Ever since the Internet video sensation, Union Airlines has changed its fee structure in an effort to lure more of the customers that it had lost. It began to give generous perks. It employed a small army of public relations wizards to remake its image. It even sponsored a variety of events designed to tie itself to the good work in the community that it was doing.
But Daphne Kane refused to do one thing that many critics today are saying may have saved the airline.
She refused to apologize.
Her supporters contend that she had nothing to apologize for. She was brought in as CEO two months after the horrific cell phone video showing the bloodied and beaten face of a priest as he was dragged off an airplane by private security.
“I wasn’t here, and I’m not apologizing,” Daphne would famously say during her press conference upon the announcement that she was leading the airline after its current CEO resigned unexpectedly. She went on to repeat the statement over and over again and it soon passed into the public consciousness. Daphne Kane did not apologize for her actions.
Ms. Kane has been a wonder in the corporate world ever since she began her career. Known for being able to turn companies around quickly, Ms. Kane believed she would've exited Union Airlines in less than five months after taking the job.
Now, more than one year later, she is offering a different path for the company from the one she had initially sought toward.
“This isn’t a defeat, she commented through her spokesperson, but a re-evaluation of our priorities as a company. I’m committed to ensuring the best possible partner for Union Airlines and working in whatever capacity the owners will have me in upon finding a successful fit. After that, I look forward to the next stage in my career.”
One thing is true to all observers based on the figurative rabbit that Daphne Kane has pulled out of her hat.
Union Airlines may be down, but it's far from out. And any potential buyer would do well to keep that in mind.
4
Daphne
There are few things better in life than waking up next to a willing man. And, of course, whenever I wake up next to a man he’s always willing.
“Good morning,” he whispers lazily, rolling to his side so that he’s facing me. He moves toward me as if he’s going to kiss me, but I stop him by placing my hand on his chest and keeping him at bay. My hand then slides down over his stomach, and I only stop when I find his hard cock.
“Good morning,” I finally tell him with a
wicked grin, kicking the sheets back and letting my eyes wander down to his cock. He’s big (well, I’ve had bigger, but it’s not like I’m making comparisons right now) and he’s ready, so I use my free hand to push on him and force him to roll to his back again.
“You’re an eager one, aren’t you?” he whispers, trying to play it off as if he’s smoothness made into flesh. I’m not in the mood to be charmed right now though; I just want to have some fun before I squeeze myself into a tight dress and head out ready to take over the world.
“I’m always eager,” I shoot back, and then climb on top of his body, straddling him. He rests his hands on my ass, squeezing my cheeks, and then looks at my naked breasts hungrily. He cranes his neck, reaching for my right nipple with his parted lips, and then sucks it inside his mouth. I let out a heavy sigh and, at the same time, start rubbing the tip of his cock up and down the length of my wet pussy.
“That’s it, babe,” he pants, his voice growing heavier by the second, but I just ignore his small talk. I need a cock right now, not silky words. Raising my hips slightly, I fit the tip of his cock between my inner lips and lower myself slowly, my eyelids drooping as his cock slides inside my pussy. “Oh, that’s so good, babe,” he continues, thrusting upward.
I lean into him and he smiles, parting his lips as if I’m about to kiss him. Instead of kissing him, though, I just dig my fingernails deep into his pectorals and start swaying my hips back and forth, building a rhythm as I feel a sweet warmness spreading under my skin.
“So good, babe,” he repeats, and I can’t help but get slightly annoyed; if he refuses to shut up, why does he insist on repeating the same thing over and over again? “So good, so --” he continues, but I shut him up real quick by driving my fingernails deep into his flesh, hard enough to draw blood. A harsh groan replaces his words, and his cock quickly pulses inside of me.
