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I grab Monica’s thong and use it to wipe my cock clean. It’s all gooey when I’m done and Monica looks at me in shock. Fuck, she’s not going to want to wear this.
I shrug and open the window to the limo and wrap the thong around the condom, creating a bullet and chuck it out with force. Probably should have put it in a bag or something because I see it splatter over the windshield of a police car. Whatever. They got some of Colt Stackford’s cum on their windshield. They could scrape it off and sell it on eBay, that shit is so fucking valuable.
But there must have been someone in the car because the police car opens on the driver’s side as the limo turns the corner. The last thing I see looking out the window is a uniformed police officer picking up the condom that’s now leaking cum and splattered on his windshield and looking my way as he makes a face. I laugh.
Too bad we’ve turned the corner. Oh yeah, and too bad I’m fucking untouchable.
“Stop the car,” I tell the driver, putting on my boxer briefs and jeans.
“Where are you going?” Monica asks me as I put on my clothes. She’s still naked.
I look at her. “It’s not me, babe,” I say, using the same lines as with every other woman who’s been to the back of the limo before her. “I gotta go, and I can’t have you come with me.”
She looks at me and realizes this is where she gets off.
What?
Don’t look at me like that. I’m not putting her in danger. The subway is right there. The bus too. It’s a nice part of town.
“Okay,” she says hesitantly. I watch her put on her clothes and I make sure she does it fast because all of a sudden I see the cum-car cop rounding the corner and begin walking towards the limo.
“I only got a minute, babe,” I tell her. “And then you got to get out, no matter what you’re wearing.”
Not wanting to be naked on the street, she puts as much of her jeans as possible and slips her jersey back on. She can’t find her bra, but I don’t offer to help her.
“Call me, okay?” she says as she leans for the kiss and I instead move and open the door on my side for her, moving away with the agility of a cat and using her momentum to propel her outside.
“You got it, Monica,” I say smoothly, giving her my million-dollar smile.
“Mona,” she says. “My name is Mona and do you even have my number?”
But I can’t hear her. My door’s closed and I’m drinking some 200-year-old scotch as the car starts up again speeding towards the SportsNation studios. Alcohol. That’s what the doctor ordered after you fuck a slut.
The last thing I see is cum-car cop running up to Monica/Mona. But the limo has already left them in the dust.
Oh well.
I walk through the SportsNation studio with my bottle of scotch. I don’t fucking care as people stop to stare at me. I’m Colt Stackford, QB1 of the Dallas fucking Devils. We’ve had an undefeated first 3 games and today we crushed the Toronto Trojans like a foot crushes a bug.
I walk up to where they’re going to be filming me and pause as a hair and makeup person touches up my face. Some tiny Indian chick. Yeah, I’d fuck her too, although it looks like she has a mustache. But she doesn’t spend much time on me - most likely because I’m already fucking handsome. With my sculpted jaw, broad fucking shoulders, and made for GQ face.
“You ready?” the host, Jessica McSwain asks me as I sit down. I nod. “You can’t have the bottle, Colt,” she says arching her eyebrows.
I shrug and put it down on the floor underneath the table. Camera’s won’t pick it up.
Jessica fucking McSwain. Now there is a hot piece of ass that I’d tap if given half the chance. But she’s already married and if that’s one thing I won’t do, it’s break up a happy marriage. Broken or sad marriage? Fuck yeah. Happy marriage? No.
The lights dim and then come back on and in less than a minute we’re live.
“Hello, and welcome to SportsNation Highlights,” Jessica starts, talking into the camera. “I’m joined by a few guests tonight as we recap this epic day in sports history. Let’s go to my first guest – the starting Quarterback for the Dallas Devils - Colt Stackford.”
I can see the camera swing to me as I say hello.
“Colt,” Jessica says addressing me in a professional manner. “Super job today on the field. Absolutely outstanding and thanks for being here.”
I nod. It’s the same line over and over that these anchors have when they’re trying to kiss your ass.
“What can you tell us about your performance today?” she asks.
