by Alexis Angel
Kara
Print ads are a breeze, even if they’re not quite as cool and pleasant as the breezes blowing in from the Pacific today.
It’s just me and Fred, the photographer for this session. He claps after every new barrage of shots he takes. Then he watches the photos appear on his monitor.
“Okay, Kara, I’d like to try one more outfit. What do you think about that?”
I rest my hand under my chin, tilt my head slightly and look up the sky.
“Hmm.”
“Are you thinking about it, Kara?”
“Oh, I’m thinking about it.”
“And what are you thinking about it?”
“Hmm. I’m thinking...fuck no.”
Fred drops the light meter he’s holding like I just fucking electrified it with my answer.
“Okay, we’ve probably got enough. Good work today.” Fred’s trying to hide the sadness in his voice. He’s really into promotional materials, I suppose.
“You get any good shots, Fred?”
Even after the not-so-hard work of a Protein Plus photo shoot, Chase’s voice is like music to my ears.
“Yeah, we’ve got enough for today.” Fred still doesn’t sound convinced.
“You get to work in fucking Hawaii, Fred. On the beach. Give it a rest.”
Eric’s voice is also music to my ears—a different genre, but I still like how it sounds.
“Thanks. I keep forgetting.” Fred has all his shit packed up in no time flat, knowing it’s time to leave me alone on the beach with my men.
“New swimsuit?” Eric’s eyes are glued to my powder blue halter top bikini.
“One of many. This entire wardrobe is mine.” My eyes go wide, and I throw an evil laugh into the island air. “Mine!”
“I’m glad you’re getting some fringe benefits from this gig,” Chase states with a smirk, walking to me with a highball glass full of beautiful orange magic.
“Fuck yes!”
“Are you saying fuck yes to the fringe benefits?” Chase questions, his sexy smile growing wider.
“If you bringing me my new favorite cocktail is a fringe benefit, then, fuck yes.”
Chase smoothly slips the glass into my hands. “Sure, that can be one.”
I hold the glass tightly with both hands as I meet Chase’s lips in a post-photo shoot kiss in the ocean air.
I enjoy the first sip of my Mai Tai just before Eric reaches me for another dynamite fucking kiss against the backdrop of a motherfucking Hawaiian sunset.
And then, to ensure that yet another perfect moment lasts just a little bit longer, I wrap my lips around the cocktail straw and take in a nice, long draw of rum-based paradise.
“You’re really enjoying that fucking fringe benefit.” Eric’s got his own stunning, teasing smile on his face. “Now I know why you turned down all those top-paying commercial modeling gigs in New York and Hollywood—no Mai Tais included.”
“True, but I’m also not driving to fucking Hollywood. Have you seen the traffic on the 101? I’ll take a flight halfway across the ocean any goddamn day.”
“But Milan’s too far?” Chase joins in on the action.
“It’s too far, and it’s no Hawaii,” I answer, getting a bit more serious.
“For what that runway modeling contract offered, you could’ve retired afterwards and probably bought Oprah’s house in Maui.” Eric sidles next to me and slips his arm around my shoulders as he speaks.
On my other side, Chase nimbly drapes his arm around my back.
“Oh, they weren’t offering Oprah money. That would be a different story.”
We all start ambling sedately along the sand, staying close to the gently crashing ocean waves.
“It would probably be a different story for anyone,” ponders Chase. “Even for us.”
“I do not fucking think so,” Eric blazes back at him. “We don’t need any other kind of money. We’ve got the perfect thing right where we are now.”
I agree, but I don’t even need to say it. We’ve got the perfect thing going for us, right here on this beach, and in Hawaii.
Thinking about that, I take another sip of my Mai Tai.
“And this drink is the only thing that can improve on perfection.” Okay, I do say that one out loud. “Well, maybe except for a couple of other things.”
And hell yes, I said that out loud, too. Eric and Chase look at one another.
They know exactly what I’m talking about, but I can tell from their little smiles that they’re going to play it coy and have some fun. Hey, we’re enjoying perfection, and there’s no fucking rush.
“A couple of other things that are better than a Mai Tai?” Chase is hamming it up big time, like I’ve never seen him before. And I fucking love it.
“What things could those be?” Eric’s playing right along, and my amusement’s turning into other feelings—like the feeling of starting to get fucking wet at the thought of those two magnificent cocks that are already oh so close to me, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.
“Like other drinks, maybe?” continues Chase.
“I think you may be onto something,” I reply.
“But...what other drinks could those be? Something popular around here maybe, something that suits Hawaii, one would think.” Chase is drawing this out, but I know where it’s leading, and I’m going to get wetter than the fucking ocean before we get there.
“Like a Sex on the Beach, perhaps?” asks Eric.
“Oh, maybe.” Yeah, I’m just trying not to drool on the sand. “That could be it.”
“It does suit Hawaii,” Chase imparts, “but would it, as Kara puts it, improve on perfection?”
“I’ll field that one,” I offer. “Yes. Yes, it would. But it’s already perfect. I mean right here, right now, Hawaii, modeling for Protein Plus—I wouldn’t trade this for Hollywood, New York, Milan, Oprah money or anything else in the fucking world.”
I let that sink in as we stroll quietly along the beach, the sunset painting the sky in front of us.
After a few lovely minutes, Eric speaks up.
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think anybody could do a better job than you’re doing with it.”
“Anyone, huh?” I inquire.
“No one could do what you do,” Chase asserts, “just like nobody could do what Holly-Anne does.”
That’s the right thing to say, especially since Holly-Anne’s going to be one of my bridesmaids in three days.
You read that right. I’m fucking marrying these guys—both of them.
In three days.
Yeah, I can hardly fucking believe it either.
We’re doing it here in Hawaii, in a small ceremony right here on this beach that I’m walking on with my fiancée and my other fiancée. No, it won’t be a legal marriage, but we can still have a ceremony.
“And just like no one can do what Miss Japan or Miss Ireland does.” That’s also the right thing for Chase to say, since they’re also my bridesmaids.
“Speaking of perfection, they’re all working out fucking perfect for Protein Plus.” Eric’s genuinely happy with the decision to bring them aboard as models.
“I know it’s working out perfect for them, too,” I say, “because as far as modeling goes, this is the way to do it—thousands of fucking miles from the horrid, stressful bullshit that comes with it anywhere else.”
“That’s another reason I’m glad there’s still a Protein Plus. It’s a good thing we finally smoothed out that goddamn formula so women aren’t going batshit for us anymore.”
“That’s all well and good for them,” I said with a mischievous grin. “But it must be too late for me because, baby, I’m batshit. I’m as batshit for you both as ever.”
“You know, I could go for that drink now,” Chase declares. “Sex on the Beach, maybe.”
“I like where your head’s at,” Eric agrees. “Thoughts, Kara?”
The air’s getting cooler as the sun sets, but I’m suddenly starting to get
really fucking hot.
It’s probably from anticipating Sex on the Beach...you know, the drink.
“That sounds splendi―”
My fucking phone, tucked deep inside my canvas tote with my swimsuits for the photo shoot, starts beeping.
“One minute—then I want to hear more about this sex on the beach idea,” I announce, breaking away from Chase and Eric’s arms.
As much as I wanted to spend every minute with them, I knew I need to take the call, since it might be one of my bridesmaids.
I carefully put down my drink and trot away from the ocean, leaving Eric and Chase to talk about whatever they talk about if I’m not around.
By the time I get far away enough for some privacy, my phone’s no longer doing its beeping thing. I still need to check it. I mean, I trotted all the way out here.
I dig out my phone, expecting to see a text from Holly-Anne with some question about the ceremony. Instead, I’m greeted with one of my old modeling photos, just like the ones all over my fucking dressing room at the pageant.
It takes a moment to realize what the hell happened, that someone texted me the photo. I also realize that there’s a message attached to it.
It’s from Evian, because of course it fucking is.
Hi, Kara, I’m sorry to bother you, but a client of mine is expanding a plus-size brand and launching a new campaign. They would like to use this photo, with your permission of course.
There’s nothing malicious there—it’s all business. I look at the photo, which was not something I expected to look at today, or ever again.
That’s me in the photo, though. Granted, it’s not the happiest me there is, nor the happiest time in my life. But it’s me there, and if that photo didn’t exist, and that time in my life never happened, I wouldn’t be where I am right now.
And, as we’ve established, right here, right now is pretty fucking great—perfect, in fact.
Permission granted.
I send the text and drop my phone back into my tote where it belongs. Chase and Eric sense when I’m walking back towards them, stopping their conversation to watch me.
It’s perfect. But, apart from a Mai Tai, I know of at least one way to improve on perfection—sex on the beach.
And no, I’m not talking about the fucking drink.
Head Hunter
By Alexis Angel
Copyright 2017 by Naughty Angel Publishing
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.
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Alexis Angel
Carter
Fuck yeah.
I lean my head back on the leather seat in my hotel penthouse and grin like the cocky bastard I am. I don’t even know this girl’s name—I just met her tonight, but she’s going down on me like this is her last chance to ever suck a cock. Resting my hand on the back of her head, I push her down even further, making her take my huge cock all the way down her throat.
When she gags a little, I ease up and let myself enjoy the wet slurping sounds she makes while she drags her tongue up and down my shaft, and then circles it around my thick head.
It’s a decent blowjob. I’ve had better. I’ve had worse. In fact, I’ve had fucking thousands of blowjobs. Bitches line up to blow me. Makes my job as easy as it gets because I get paid to get head.
Well, kind of.
Allow me to explain. I’m Carter Blaine, star of the hit show Head Hunter. That should say it all, but just in case you haven’t heard of me, let me give you the details.
I’m twenty-six years old and the world’s oldest alpha male virgin. That’s right. This twelve-inch cock that’s currently being sucked and licked has never been inside a woman. Not in the way that counts. I mean, don’t get me wrong; I get off on the regular. Like daily. Like I said, the ladies line up to get this cock in their mouths. Or in their asses.
But technically, I’m still a virgin. Oral and anal sex don’t count. What counts is that my cock has never been inside a woman’s pussy.
Why the fuck would I do that? A good question, especially considering the media has crowned me as one of the sexiest billionaires in the world. I can have any woman I want. I do get any woman I want. But let me tell you something. People love the idea that I’m waiting until I meet the woman I’m going to marry to have sex. They love it so much that I’m one of the richest young billionaires in the country. I have my own reality show empire.
Head Hunter is one of the most watched shows for the fifth year running. For the past five years I’ve made a fortune marketing myself as a virgin … and not just any virgin. Remember, I’m one of the hottest alpha billionaires on the planet. Getting some pussy isn’t a problem. But here’s the thing. If I stay a virgin, I make serious bank. To the tune of ten million dollars per episode that I don’t give it up. But it’s become a bit of a joke.
Like I said, women line up to get a piece of me because each one is determined to be the one to make me give in. Each one thinks she has a magic pussy or some bullshit like that. But the joke’s on them because I have an iron will. And each and every one of them can’t resist me. By the end of every show, I’m getting head, and getting ass. Basically getting off.
Every. Fucking. Time.
Why the fuck would I actually fuck someone when I can get head and make a cool ten mil? Yeah. I wouldn’t.
“Uh…mmm…oh,” the chick moans as she bobs her head up and down on my cock. She’s doing a pretty good job, so I return the favor and reach under her skirt and slide my fingers inside her soaking pussy. She clenches around me and comes immediately.
See? That’s how fucking horny I make these women. One touch from me and they explode.
She sucks me even faster, pumping her hand up and down my shaft in time with her head, and I feel my balls tighten. Yanking her up off my cock, I shoot jet after hot jet of cum all over her face, and she looks like she loves every fucking second of it.
I smirk. This won’t make it onto the actual show due to censorship, but you better believe there'll be some leaks on the web. It’s all part of the marketing. We make sure people can’t get enough of this. And that keeps them tuning in week after week.
Pushing the girl aside and leaving her to clean herself up, I tuck my cock away and stand up, walking across my hotel room to pour myself a drink. I don’t even bother to look back at her. She’ll be out of here in the next few minutes, having failed at what she came here for and making me ten million richer in the process. The sooner the better. We’re moving out of here tonight.
The next season of the show is filming in New York City.
Glancing back at the girl, I see that she’s headed to the restroom, so I decide to make a break for it. I’m not in the mood for having to deal with the brush off. They don’t always get clingy, but occasionally they do. I’m always like, what the fuck? They know what they signed up for. I shake my head. There are always the few that seem to think they’re different or special or some shit.
Come on, really? They come on a show where the whole idea is for me to convince them to blow me but they think they might be The One?
I head out of the penthouse, rolling my eyes at the idea, then knock on the door across the hall where the control room is and walk in without waiting for an answer.
“Hey, man,” Chase calls out. He’s the head of filming. “Nice job with the cum shot.”
I should feel weird that all these cameras were on me while I was getting my dick sucked, but I’m used to it.
Instead, I just smirk and jerk my head once. “I’m headed out but I just wanted to make sure you knew I didn’t have sex with her at any point tonight. Check the camera crew that followed me if you need to verify.” I turn, ready to leave, and then add, “I expect the
next ten million in my account tomorrow morning.”
“You know it, man,” Chase says, shaking his head in awe like he always does. “I don’t know how you do this week after week.”
I laugh. “What, get head?”
He nods. “That too, but I mean how you still convince them that’s what they want to do after all this time.”
Shrugging my shoulders, I wink. “It's what they want to do. What can I say?”
“One of these days you’re going to find someone you want for more than just some head.”
I look at him like he’s crazy. This shit is way too lucrative to even think about having sex with someone. I’m the fucking Head Hunter. “Yeah right, dude. I’ve got it made. What else could I possibly want?”
Chase laughs, but he still looks skeptical. Whatever.
Time to head out. “Let’s go, man. Time to hit up the Big Apple.”
Ashley
“Oh, baby,” the guy groans, “you’re so fucking sexy.”
I bend at the waist and make sure he has a perfect view of my ass in my black lace lingerie, rolling my eyes as I do so. This guy may think I’m hot, but he's so fucking not.
He smacks my ass, making me jump, and I decide right then and there that there’s no way I’m sleeping with him. Not that I mind having my ass slapped. But this guy is so not doing it for me.
I turn around and straddle him, schooling my expression into one of desperate lust as I rub my pussy against the cock tenting his over-priced designer suit pants.
“I’m gonna fuck you so good. Better than you’ve ever been fucked before,” he says, panting as he swipes a hand across his sweaty brow.
Um. No.
It takes everything I have not to wrinkle my nose in disgust. I highly doubt he could even get me off, much less give me the best fuck of my life. I mean, the guy’s packing a decent size cock from what I can tell, but he’s sweating like a damn pig, his bald head shining in the light I have on above us in the hotel room.
Instead, I bite my lip and lean in, shoving my tits in his face as I grip the sides of his head and force him to look up at me. “Tell me how,” I say in a low, breathy voice that makes his cock twitch.