Seven Deadly Sinners

by Dark Angel

  “That’s so hot,” I say and continue to fuck her mouth, hard.

  She makes eye contact with me while she wraps her hand around the end of my shaft. I love when she looks at me like that. When I can see her eyes while she takes me in her mouth. She’s sucking harder. But then she stops. She’s moving her hand up and down my cock. I tip my head back, close my eyes and moan. It feels so good the way she’s touching me. Her hands are small, soft, and warm, and I love how they feel around my cock. I feel her tongue flick across the tip of my cock and my body involuntarily jerks forward.

  I grab her head and pull it back.

  “I want to come in your pussy,” I tell her and her eyes light up.

  She lies back on the bed, her head on the pillow and her legs spread for me. I climb between her legs and stick my cock up to her hole. I start to rub it up and down on her clit. I’m trying to tease her, but it feels more like torture for myself. I move my cock to her hole and thrust. I’m inside and it feels overwhelming.

  “You’re so tight. I love fucking your tight pussy,” I moan and start to thrust harder and harder in and out of her.

  “Fuck my pussy with your hard cock,” she says, and my cock twitches. I love when she talks dirty to me. I want to fucking come so hard inside of her. “I want you to fill this pussy up with your sweet, hot fucking cum.”

  “Oh, God,” I moan.

  I grab onto the bed on either side of her and start to move my cock in and out of her faster and harder. I’m ready to fill her sweet pussy with my cum.

  “Are you gonna come for me?” she asks. The moan-y pitch of her voice is so hot.

  “Fuck yeah,” I say. Then, I lean up and place her legs on each of my shoulders. I can control how deep I get when I do this. I start to thrust hard and deep into her wet hole. Going just a little harder than I normally have. “Oh fuck I’m so deep.”

  “Uh. Huh,” she moans for me. It feels so fucking good. The way my cock is getting after her pussy.

  Her body is tensing beneath me again. I know she’s about to come and I can’t believe she’s going to come again. She’s so good in bed and I love how easy it is for me to make her come.

  “Oh my God! I’m coming!” she cries out.

  I keep going, not wanting to stop. I’m getting on the edge of my own orgasm. I want to fucking come inside of her tight little pussy. I want to fill her up and watch her fucking play with it and eat it. The thought makes me suck air through my teeth. It’s so hot.

  “Ohhh OH OH,” she moans as her orgasm continues to rip through her body.

  I keep going. Slowing down to readjust her legs, but I pick the pace back up right away. I’m getting so fucking close. I’m ready to blow my hot load inside of her.

  “Wait,” she says.

  I pull out of her and stop. I’m looking at her wondering why she wanted me to stop.

  “I want to swallow your cum,” she says.

  OH FUCK.

  “You naughty, naughty, girl,” I tell her.

  She sits up and grabs my cock and puts it up to her mouth. I’m ready to fucking come in her mouth. To fill it up and watch her fucking eat it. She’s sucking hard and moving her hand up and down at the same time. It’s a combination of sensations and it’s driving me crazy. I can feel myself getting closer and closer to my orgasm. I feel her lightly drag her teeth along my cock. It’s such an intense feeling when she does that. It makes it a little rough, but it doesn’t hurt because she does it lightly.

  “Oh fuck. I’m gonna come in your fucking mouth,” I say and place my hands on her head and start to fuck her mouth hard. She sucks hard with each and every thrust. All of the muscles in my body are tensing up and I’m about to come. I look down at her and make eye contact with her right as I start to come.

  “UHHH,” I moan loudly. The pleasure is running through my entire body. My eyes close and I’m soaking up the amazing feeling. My cum is shooting into her mouth and it’s so fucking hot. I grab her and pull her up. I take her head and place her mouth on mine.

  She hasn’t swallowed yet and I’m tasting the saltiness of my cum. It’s moving back and forth between our mouths. I fucking love it. It’s so taboo and so fucking hot. I pull back and my cock twitches as I watch her throat move as she swallows my cum.

  “Mmm. I love the taste of your cum,” she says.

  “I love you,” I say.

  “I love you too," she says.

  The crew is clapping and cheering once again and I’m pulled back to where we are. This whole time I was so into the way we were fucking that I forgot about everyone else. I was having a wonderful time with my soon-to-be-wife.

  “I can’t wait to fuck you like that every day for the rest of our lives,” I tell her.

  I wrap my arms around her and our lips meet for another kiss.

  TV Roundup!

  Chase: Hello again folks and welcome to another delicious dose of TV Roundup! Your source for all the news, gossip, and speculation on today's top TV hits! I'm your host, Chase Worthington.

  Nadia: And I'm your co-host, Nadia Moore.

  Chase: Well, that’s all, folks. Another season of Manhattan Reign has finished and we’re all waiting for the next season. I gotta say, what a fucking rollercoaster.

  Nadia: Absolutely, Chase. Probably my favorite season to date. And I don’t know if it’s like a rollercoaster. I always get sick every time I go to Eight Flags because of the roller coasters.

  Chase: Oh wait, babe. You can’t talk about Eight Flags like that on TV. They might sue us.

  Nadia: Oh right…

  Chase: You know what though?

  Nadia: What? I’m sorry, I wasn’t meaning to talk about Eight Flags like—

  Chase: No. I mean, fuck it. Say whatever the fuck you want, okay? The FCC has a fucking problem with that, they know where I fucking live.

  Nadia: Ooh. Did someone learn something from Kane Parker?

  Chase: What a season, right?

  Nadia: You said it babe. And of course, all anyone is talking about is the new girl on the block who’s not so new and has really been around the blocks a bit.

  Chase: All that “Daddy” this and “Daddy” that. There sure was a lot of cum flying out this episode.

  Nadia: That’s right audience. Chase came a whole bunch. And it was all in my mouth because I don’t want to get pregnant yet.

  Chase: And tonight's episode had the wildest twist of all, I mean, our actors and our characters kind of meld on the screen and we can't tell who's who!

  Nadia: And that's been a huge part of the appeal of Manhattan Reign.

  Chase: The on air proposal. I mean, just wow.

  Nadia: The episode was more than perfect because none of us saw it coming—

  Chase: I saw you coming when Kane got down on one knee—

  Nadia: Anything Kane gets down on gets me wet!

  Chase: Did you like the on air proposal?

  Nadia: I thought it was one of the sweetest things I’ve ever seen.

  Chase: Well, Nadia. Let me get down on one knee.

  Nadia: Oh my God, Chase! What are you doing?!

  Chase: Nadia Moore, it’s been my absolute pleasure to spend my entire TV Land life with you. Will you do me the honor of saying you’ll be my wife in front of the largest audience we’ll have in a long time?

  Nadia: YES!!!!!

  Chase: You’ve made me the happiest man on Earth.

  Nadia: And somehow, you’ve gotten my panties even wetter than they were watching the show.

  Chase: We should go celebrate our own Manhattan Reign, what you say?

  Nadia: Just add me calling you "daddy" and I think that's the recipe for a perfect night…and tonight’s episode was amazing. Every girl loves a good proposal, but audience, I gotta sign off now. The season is over. Everyone is happy.

  Chase: Now as you can imagine, we have my own happily ever after to take care of, thanks to our latest episode of...

  VOICEOVER: Manhattan Reign!

  Hit & Run
/>   Four hands. Two sets of lips. And two huge…egos.

  Can you find love with two hot alpha males at the same time?

  Even if they both hate each other?

  Hunter and Logan have been rivals in the ring forever.

  But now instead of titles, they’re fighting over something else.

  Me.

  I love them both.

  Together they blow my mind in a way that no one man has ever done.

  They fill my life with their love.

  But that’s not all they're filling.

  Will we find our HEA?

  Or be torn apart?

  I don’t know.

  But it’s going to be fun finding out.

  Just don’t blame us if you run out of batteries…

  Hunter

  The ring goes off somewhere and it’s like it sets off something in my body that I can’t even control. Fuck the Russian standing across from me, he’s dead already. There’s nothing that can save him now. He had at least three months to back the fuck off—to not challenge my World Heavyweight title. But he didn’t. Fueled by fucking pride or whatever the hell, the motherfucker thought he could take me.

  That false pride and expectation that he's going to make it out of this fight standing up vanishes from his fucking eyes in less than two seconds. I’m not fucking lying to you. I see it. His eyes go dull. It happens right about the time that my arm swings up in a fierce uppercut that would normally just defy the laws of biology and physics. See, you’re not supposed to be hurtling straight for your fucking opponent and able to maintain such strong control over your limbs. You’re also not supposed to be lacing them with so much power that they throw the other person’s head back and send him reeling.

  It’s probably been three, maybe four seconds I shit you not. I mean, the fight is on Pay Per View. You probably saw the fucking purse for this. $89 million dollars. This is bigger than anything else. Pacquiao and Mayweather? This is nothing. This is bigger than the biggest. If the Russian loses, you can be sure he’s not boxing again after this.

  And if he beats me? You gotta believe that he would have fucking killed me. That’s how big the stakes are. That’s how focused I am on winning. I've never fucking lost in my life. I've never fucking given up. I’m a fucking winner.

  The Russian tries to stagger back but my feet have already taken me the five paces to get all up in his fucking face and I land another haymaker straight into his temple.

  I hear a crunch and I resist the desire to let it distract me. Everything here is a fucking distraction. From the crowds who are cheering to the fucking whores who are waiting on the front seats, ready to suck the winner’s cock till he explodes. The fucking hustlers taking bets. The promoters counting their money. The photographers and journalists hanging on every single action. It’s all a distraction from the absolutely critical few seconds that exist on this fight.

  I’ve known guys who get in the fucking ring and swear that time stands still. They say that the moment they leave their fucking mental bubble in the ring, they know they fucking lost. That it’s all a test to see who leaves their fucking zen state first. You gotta keep pummeling the guy over and over until they realize the world around them and get fucking distracted. Because once they realize the world is out there, that’s fucking it. Their heads are outta the fucking game and you fucking won.

  Don’t fucking look at me like that. I mean, sure go ahead and look as I deliver three quick jabs to the stomach of the Russian, which makes him bowl over and then one last uppercut literally shoots his body off into the fucking air. He lands on his back and he ain’t moving.

  I stay focused as the ref starts calling the count.

  Right, if you’re looking at me now and wanting to know who the fuck I am, I think you can take a guess. The Hunter Bradley Vs. Vladimir Gorbachev fight has been promoted for a while now.

  And that’s fucking right in case you just clenched your thighs together. I’m Hunter Bradley. That 6 foot 3 inch specimen of fucking man with the fucking sinewy and sculpted muscles. With the lean face and the mysterious fucking eyes. With the 12-inch cock that swings between my legs like a fucking foot long trouser snake.

  That’s right, I'm the Hunter Bradley. The bad boy boxer of the sports world. Breaking faces in the fucking ring. And breaking hearts outside.

  The ref is holding up my arm. Shit, it’s already been ten seconds. I must've lost fucking count. Guess you could say I got distracted talking to a fucking pretty lady.

  That’s you, darlin’.

  But you know that, don’t ya? You know that if you were standing next to the ring right now, it’d be you that I get down from the ring to kiss.

  I mean, don’t look at me like that, like I don’t fucking care. The whole fucking fight lasted less than 45 seconds. In tomorrow’s newspaper they’re going to say that the fight was over before it really even began. That I had administered my famous Hunter’s ‘Spring For The Kill’.

  Whatever.

  All I care about is that I won. Everything else is just stupid fucking bullshit.

  As it is, there is no one waiting for me and I make my way toward my changing room. They gave me a pretty nice studio to get ready in and I need to fucking get away from all the fucking cameras and media circus that’s enveloping the MGM Grand right now.

  It’s not just that I don’t care much for the media circus.

  I just loathe it.

  To be completely fucking honest, I need to be as far away from that crowd right now as possible. The media and the preening is good, when it’s needed. But I just fucking won. What else do they need me there for, ya know?

  I’m happy to see you’re coming with me though as I make my way through the corridors toward my room, decorated with a giant star on the door. I can fucking see it. So fucking close.

  “Hey Hunter,” a sultry voice says from outside my field of vision. I turn my head and see perhaps the most fucking dangerous thing in the world right now—a hot woman after a boxing match. After a boxing match that I just won.

  Where I prepared by focusing on nothing else. Where I gave up fucking.

  Guess what I’m thinking of fucking doing to her right now.

  That’s right.

  I don’t even have to fucking say it.

  She seems familiar, I think to myself as she saunters over to me. Maybe I fucked her before?

  “Thirty three seconds against the big Russian and you knocked him out,” she purrs. I can smell her. I lick my lips. I can almost taste that sweet pussy in my mouth. I want to ravage this woman. She scrapes her nails across my chest.

  “Do you think you could last more than thirty three seconds with me?” There’s lasciviousness in the question and my eyes glint. She gives me a look of pure lechery and my hand reaches over and grabs her by the ass.

  I squeeze her ass cheek and she sighs loudly, coming close to me.

  I can smell her. She’s wet. Horny.

  They all are when they meet me.

  I push her into my dressing room and kick the door closed with my foot.

  She doesn’t even need words for what I’m about to do to her.

  Natalie

  “Just one article, Ed, that’s all I’m asking for.”

  “Natalie,” he says, taking a long puff from his cigarette, “we’ve already been through this. People don’t care about that kind of stuff, and we’re in this business to sell newspapers. Last time I checked, we weren’t doing it to change the world.”

  “I know that,” I protest meekly, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. I watch as Ed exhales the smoke out through his nostrils, finishing his cigarette and then crushing it on the overflowing ashtray sitting on his desk. “But I think that good journalism can help the Gazette sell some --”

  “No,” he grumbles, reaching for the red carton next to his keyboard and fishing out another cigarette. Perching it up on the corner of his mouth, he lights it up and takes a long drag, the smell of it making me wince.
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br />   “But --”

  “I said no,” he repeats, resting one hand over his shirt, his overgrown belly stretching the fabric thin. Turning his attention to his laptop screen, he waves one hand at me dismissively, and I know that this meeting is over.

  Sighing, I turn on my heels and start making my way toward the door when he calls my name. “Hang on,” he mutters in that hoarse voice of his, a product of decades of smoking like an industrial chimney. “Maybe there’s something you can do.”

  “Really?”

  “Maybe. Don’t get your hopes too high, kid, I still ain’t taking you out of the sports department.” Flicking the burning ash on the tip of his cigarette, most of it landing over the documents covering his computer’s keyboard, he then looks at me as if he’s sizing me up. “Can you handle something more longform than news articles?”

  “Longform?” I ask him, not really sure what he’s talking about. Most of my days are spent writing short and snappy news articles (most of which don’t even end up on the print version of the newspaper, they just make it online), and the word longform has really made me perk up my ears.

  “Yes,” he nods impatiently, leaning back. His chair creaks as he pushes his weight against the back rest and, for a moment, I almost think he’s going to fall back. He doesn’t, of course; he just keeps on staring at me with his beady eyes, his gaze cutting through the constant cloud of cigarette smoke that covers his office.

  “Well, uh… What do you have in mind? I can handle longform,” I assure him, even though I have no idea what kind of job he’s thinking of. Either way, it has to be better than writing all those fluff pieces about athletes on vacation.

  “How familiar are you with Hunter?” he asks me after a long silence, finishing his cigarette and burying it in his ashtray.

  “The boxer? He just defended his title last night and --”

  “I know who he is,” he growls impatiently, looking at his carton of cigarettes as if he’s thinking of going for another one; he decides against it, though, and just drums his fingertips against the surface of his desk. “What I’m asking you is, can you handle an article on him?”