by Abby Angel
"Guys, we're live!" the cameraman yells.
To demonstrate, he holds up a tablet that shows that the camera must have somehow come on after he turned it off and for whatever reason begun to broadcast from our studio. So while we thought we were done, we were actually being broadcast. And because the cameraman wasn't here, he couldn't turn it off.
Fuck.
But Stacy's pussy walls keep milking me, and while I somehow understand the situation I'm in and how this is really not good, the bigger part of me is fucking shuddering in pre-orgasm. My eyes roll back into my head.
But I'm a stronger man than that. I can't make a complete fucking ass of myself on national television.
Even though a portion of my brain is telling me to shut the fuck up, I pull out of Stacy. There's a popping noise as I leave her pussy. Fuck, I really did a number on it, stretching that shit out.
"No!" Stacy says, and her hand darts back instinctively toward my cock.
It's just the angle of our bodies in that when her hand grasps my cock and begins to jerk me, she pulls off my condom.
I shudder at her hand as it goes up and down my shaft.
The cameraman is shrieking, but I'm only fucking human.
I close my eyes and feel my nuts explode.
A split second later my cock blows up.
Pleasure sears my body, travelling up my spine and I'm stuck in a seizure of ecstasy as I literally feel rope after rope of cum shoot out of my cock.
I groan loudly as massive spurts of semen leave my cock and arc out in the air. I can feel my body relax and my muscles basically give way.
It's all I can do to stay standing.
After the last couple of spasms wrack my body, I slowly open my eyes, still feeling Stacy's hand milking my monster cock.
What the fuck is wrong with her? Does she just not care that she's facing a nation with her tits hanging out and her pussy all stretched out as she milks the last drops of my cum.
Speaking of which, I raise my head and look over toward the cameraman.
He's in a state of shock. I don't know why. I mean, I can understand if he were just amazed at the size of my cock. It's still probably a good 11 inches even though it's getting soft.
But he's not facing me. His eyes are not on my cock.
No, I realize with fucking alarm that he's looking at the camera.
The wide lens that was pointing at me...
How else do I fucking say this? It's covered.
With cum.
I shot so hard and so fast and didn't see where I was aiming.
I completely covered the camera.
My cum is coating the lens.
It's dripping off onto the floor.
Fuck.
I just came over the entire nation.
Yeah, this is going to be a great way to start the day.
MarketWatch Journal Flash Update
The financial world was stunned yesterday as the King of Wall Street was caught without his clothes.
Literally.
In what amounted to a stunning display of personal hubris and poor luck, a camera that had been switched on began to automatically broadcast during a live segment of the Corporate Broadcasting Company's financial news show, Market Pulse.
This minor glitch, while embarrassing but understandable to network executives as it overrode the current broadcast of the news program was further exacerbated by the fact that it caught Mason Kane, CEO of one of Wall Street's most powerful investment banks, in an intimate moment with his interviewer, Stacy Sawyer.
The two proceeded to continue unknown that they were being broadcast to millions of viewers across the nation and culminated in perhaps one of the greatest and most watched episodes of the storied financial news show.
Retribution against the network however was fast and swift.
Despite the fact that the network apologized profusely as network executives went on the air and detailed exactly how their system had broken down—the cameraman who had taped the live interview had left the room on an errand and had not been present to switch the camera off completely—politicians and government officials on both sides of the aisle condemned the network and Mr. Kane for what they termed "lewd and lascivious conduct that defiles the sanctity of the public airwaves."
In a rare show of bipartisan agreement, members of Congress condemned the Kane Price investment bank that is run by Mason Kane and threatened it with Congressional hearings.
In a simultaneous move, the FCC announced that it was temporarily suspending the Corporate Broadcasting Company's transmission licenses and levying a fine with an amount that's still being determined.
Industry executives cautioned that such a fine could deal a crushing blow to the CBC, which has struggled to stay relevant in recent years with the advent of online media. The FCC under the current administration has taken a tougher stance after several instances where viewers have been subjected to a larger frequency of on-air or very public sex acts.
"There's something going on in our culture where everyone starts to think it's okay to take off their clothes and begin rutting like rabbits," an FCC spokesman said. "What you do in the privacy of your own home is fine, but there's no need to broadcast it to 180 million viewers who just want to see if it's going to rain tomorrow."
The increased government oversight of Kane Price and of Mr. Kane places him in a precarious situation. The beleaguered CEO may face questions about his ability to lead the company from his Board of Directors and from general shareholders. In recent months, a string of lower than expected quarterly profits has even caused many Wall Street insiders to wonder if he still deserves the moniker, 'King of Wall Street'. Kane Price shares were down this morning on heavy trading by about 3%.
Stay tuned to MarketWatch Journal for all late breaking financial news as it affects your portfolio.
Becca
“I don’t mean to brag, but I have other women I could be seeing now. What can I say? Women love me, you know?”
Right, of course. Sigh. I could be doing something more productive right now, like working on the latest financial folders from what seems like everyone at Kane Price piling up in my inbox, but no. I have to put up with Robert, an obnoxious banker hell bent on proving to me how macho he is. What’s wrong with men nowadays? Why can’t they act naturally around women? Why do they have to put on a show? And a terrible one, at that.
“Well, you were the one inviting me,” I point out, looking at him with a bored expression on my face. It’s true; after weeks of insisting day and night, I finally relented on going on a date with him. Tall, broad shoulders, and a square jaw, Robert is actually a good looking guy. And, since I’ve been going without sex for God knows how long, I finally gave up on trying to resist his advances. I mean, I have urges, you know? And since I’ve started my internship at Mason Kane, these urges have been unattended to for too long. I just didn’t expect him to act like an asshole once I agreed to go out with him.
“Yeah, you are hot enough,” he says off-handedly. Hot enough? What the hell does he mean by that? And who the hell says something like that to a woman during a date? Jesus Christ, this is going worse than I expected.
You know, I had a feeling that something like this would happen. After putting on my favorite skimpy, tight, black dress, I sat in front of my bedroom mirror and I didn’t like the look I saw on my face. It wasn’t an eager or anxious one, no the expression on my face was one of reluctance and boredom. The kind of face someone would have while doing a chore nobody really wants to do. I should have picked up my cellphone then and there, and called the whole thing off. But no, I went through the motions—lipstick, blush, eyeliner—and got ready for someone who, it turns out, doesn’t even deserve five minutes of my time. Story of my life.
“Hey, listen, it’s already late,” I start, looking down at my wrist and realizing that I’m not wearing a watch. Still, I push through. “I think it’s best I get going.” For the first time since we got to the bar, his fa
cade of overconfidence starts to crumble. He frowns, a line of confusion on his forehead, and tries a hesitant smile.
“But you haven’t even finished your drink…” he stammers, looking down at the half-full glass of red wine sitting in front of me. “I, uh, we can go somewhere else.”
“No, it’s fine. I just remembered I have some work I left unfinished, and I really should get around to it,” I continue, putting on one polite smile. I know that, by now, he has probably seen through my lies. But, hey, what the hell? He’s the reason I’m lying, anyway.
I’m about to get up from my seat when Robert reaches across the table and grabs me by the forearm. “Hey, listen, Becca. Stay a little longer… It’ll be fun, I promise,” he starts, looking at me with wide eyes. If I was uncomfortable before, now I’m way beyond that.
“I suggest you let go of the lady,” someone says from behind us, and I look back over my shoulder at a man in his late thirties. He’s wearing all black, even his shirt and tie are black, and his suit clings to his body as if he came into the world dressed just like that. Classy, but at the same time, elegant and modern.
His hair is groomed with a kind of perfect carelessness, and his full lips form a serious but relaxed line as he stares down Robert. Even though his blue eyes are two orbs of veiled threat right now, I can see the gentleness they hide in them. His high cheekbones give him the flair of royalty, and I can’t help but imagine that he’s the right kind of man born in the wrong age. A man with eyes like his… he could be a King in another life. He isn’t a king, but of one thing I’m sure: a man like him must leave a trail of broken hearts behind him wherever he goes. Oh, also, his name is Mason Kane, and he’s my boss.
Now, he probably doesn’t even know who I am; I’m just one more girl in his army or interns, but I know who he is. I mean, who doesn’t know who Mason Kane is? I’ve just never been this close to him.
“Mind your own business,” Robert tells Mason, springing up to his feet and letting go of my forearm.
“Or what?” Mason tells him with a smirk, leaning against the counter and grabbing his glass of whisky. He takes the glass to his lips and, throwing his head back, downs the whole thing at once and goes to staring at Robert with one eyebrow raised.
“I…” Robert starts to stammer, balling his hands into fists and looking from me to the stranger and then back to me. “I…” he continues, his brain seemingly shutting down as he doesn’t seem to find any words inside his pretty—but empty—head. “Fuck it. I’m outta here,” he finally blurts out, pursing his lips and turning on his heels. “Call me, anytime,” he does his final Hail Mary pass at me, looking over his shoulder before bolting out of the bar as if his jacket was on fire. Good riddance.
Sighing loudly, I sit back down on my seat and take a gulp out of my red wine. Finally, peace. Who knew that being alone could be better than being on a date? The answer flashes through my mind as I look at the man by the counter, Mason Kane. He’s already facing forward, drinking another glass of whisky as if the whole situation between me, Robert, and him never happened. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m already going up to my feet; with the glass of wine in my hand, I walk up to the counter and sit down on the stool next to him.
“Thank you,” I say, running my tongue over my dry lips. He glances at me, not even bothering to turn his body, and waves with his own glass.
“No problem,” he responds with a smile, and then turns forward as if I’m not here, eager to find out more about him. Yes, I said it; he intrigues me. Sure, he looks almost old enough to be my father, and he’s also my boss, but it’s not like I’m doing anything wrong here… Besides, even though he’s probably in his late thirties, early forties, he doesn’t look anything like his age. Oh, no, he looks like one of those Hollywood stars that don’t ever seem to age. And there’s something about him, an aura of… power? Dominance? I don’t know, but I wouldn’t mind finding out.
“Becca,” I introduce myself, extending my hand toward him. He glances at me again, his eyes slowly going down from my face to my hand. He doesn’t recognize me from the office, it seems, but a soft smile appears on his lips and he finally reaches for my hand with his own, giving me a gentle handshake.
“Mason,” he tells me, a spark flickering behind his eyes. “So, Becca,” he continues, turning his whole body toward me, “what’s a girl like you doing with a guy like that?” My heart starts galloping inside my chest as I realize that I finally have his attention. Smiling, I drink the rest of my wine while I ponder my next words.
“Waiting for someone better to come along,” I say, my smile turning into a veiled grin. I really don’t know why I’m trying so hard to flirt with him; I just know that I have to do it.
“I see. Well,” he smiles politely once more, grabbing his whisky and finishing it, “good luck with that.” Shit, he’s really playing hard to get. Either that or I’m too young for him and he doesn’t see me like a real woman, one with whom he’d like to… Christ, what am I saying? Am I really thinking of unbuttoning that shirt of his and seeing what’s underneath it? Am I really this desperate to find out the taste of his lips? Yes… Yes, I am. I mean, I’m having a drink with Mason Kane, the King of Wall Street, for God’s sake!
“How about you? On a date with a bottle of whisky?” I ask him, hoping to God that I’m not overstepping. I don’t why he’s sitting here by himself, but I really don’t want to ruin this.
“You got me,” he replies, raising both his hands in the air as if I was pointing a gun at him. “Sometimes a good scotch helps ease a troubled mind.”
“And what’s troubling you?”
“Nothing you would care about… Unless you also know how to ease a troubled mind, that is,” he says, smiling quizzically. We lock eyes, and I already feel my body temperature rising. Not only that, but between my thighs… Well, let’s just say that ‘dry’ wouldn’t be a term I’d use to describe the state I’m in right now.
“Maybe I know of a way to make you relax…” I hear myself saying, my heart thrashing inside of my chest. I can’t believe that I’m really saying this. What’s gotten into me?
“As long as it doesn’t involve yoga,” he tells me, that grin still dancing on his lips. “You look like the kind of girl who’d do yoga.” I blush at his words, even though there’s barely a hint of wickedness to them. Yet, I can’t stop myself from thinking that he’s imagining me in tight yoga pants and bending over…
“I do yoga, yeah,” I grin back at him. “But that’s not what I have in mind right now…”
“A special kind of yoga then?” he smirks, fully committed to the verbal spar I’ve pulled us both into.
“A very special kind of yoga,” I continue, feeling more and more comfortable with this back-and-forth conversation. It’s just words, right? Of course, the moment this thought goes through my head, he gets up from his stool and leans into me.
“Show me,” he whispers into my ear, placing one hand on top of my knee and slowly sliding his fingers underneath the hemline of my dress. I gasp and almost stop breathing as, with his eyes still locked on mine, he runs his fingers all the way up my leg, only stopping when he finds my soaked thong.
“Yes,” that’s all I manage to say, suddenly feeling dizzy. What the hell is wrong with me? I don’t think I have ever felt this horny in my entire life! When he grabs me by the hand, it feels as if I’m floating; I get up from the stool and let him guide me. He walks through the crowded bar easily, everyone letting him through, and I follow after him in a daze. He goes all the way to the restroom and, stopping in front of the double doors, he looks me in the eye, mischievousness all over his face.
“Feeling adventurous?” he asks me, and I don’t even need to think of an answer.
“More than ever,” I respond, squeezing his hand in mine and walking past him toward the ladies restroom. I step inside, look around and, confident that the place is empty, I pull him in. Moving quickly, I step inside one of the stalls and, still pulling on him, slam
the door shut and turn to face him. I’m breathing so hard my lungs might just collapse anytime now, and my heart feels more and more like dynamite about to go off.
Smiling, he tucks a stray lock of hair over my ear and, lust burning in his eyes, takes one step toward me. Not wasting any time, he pushes me back against the wall, his hands on my hips. With his body pressed against mine, he leans and lays his lips on mine. My eyelids droop as I feel the touch of his mouth, and a gentle warmness spreads all over my body.
“I never… I never did anything like this,” I pant, pulling back from his kiss and looking into his eyes. It’s true; I've never done anything quite like this. Sure, I’m not an innocent maiden saving herself for marriage, but I have never been with a man after only five minutes and half a drink.
“I know,” he tells me with a wicked grin. The look in his eyes tells me that he figured me out the moment he saw me for the first time, and that makes me want him even more. Placing both my hands on his face, I pull him into me and we kiss again; I push my tongue against his lips and, forcing them to part, I slide it inside his mouth. As we kiss, our tongues locked into a frenzied embrace, his hands go around my waist and he squeezes my ass gently.
I grow wetter with each passing second, the closeness of his body shutting out all rational thoughts and leaving only the steady pulse of desire. I take my hands to his waist and, grabbing at his shirt, I pull and untuck it. Going straight for the collar of his shirt, my eager fingers get to work and I start to unbutton it, baring his chest. I feel the hard edges of his muscles against my fingers as I go, and my heart tightens up inside my chest; he’s more ripped than guys far younger than him. Trust me, I know: I’ve dated jocks and college athletes, and all of them pale in comparison to the man in front of me.
“Like what you see?” he whispers against my ear, his long fingers hooking themselves on the hem of my dress. Pursing my lips, I look down at his chest and nod. His pectorals are so defined they look like something out of a magazine cover, and they lead the way to a perfect wall of abs… And when I say perfect, I really mean it. Forget about a six-pack, Mason has eight perfect squares of muscle covering his stomach.
