AllFreeNovel
Share Us
1
Gisele
I sit back in my chair in Ashley’s office, trying to figure out why we’re watching a video of Stone Slayer. I mean, not that he isn’t totally hot—God, with no shirt on, I can’t help but drool over him, just like every other female in America—but seriously, shouldn’t Ashley be writing an article?
Shouldn’t I be writing an article?
We watch Stone dance around the stage, abs rippling, and finally, I break. “Okay, spill the beans. Why are we watching this?”
“Have you not seen the news?” Ashley asks, tapping the spacebar on her keyboard to stop the YouTube video.
“News? What news?”
I’d certainly heard a lot about politicians and the national debt and the fact that we have an opioid crisis on our hands, but unless Stone Slayer is high on opioids, which really wouldn’t be surprising, actually, I can’t see how any of that would relate to his latest concert at the Barclay’s Arena.
“Ohhhhh … just you wait,” she says with a gleeful smile. “You have to be the only person in all of New York City who hasn’t watched this video about seventeen times already this morning.”
“Seventeen times?” I scoff. “He’s hot, sure, but unless he’s going to take his cock out and start waving it at the crowd, I just don’t see why people would be that obses—”
Which is when, I shit you not, Stone pulls his cock out and starts waving it around.
He
did
not!
I stare in shock at the screen, my eyes taking in every detail. Holy fuck, he has a nice cock. I mean, I know I shouldn’t be staring, but c’mon, he’s literally waving it around for the whole world to see! It’s not like I forced him to do that.
So, why not admire it while he has it out on display?
Long—oh god, so long, a foot?—and fucking meaty. I don’t know who could even get that into their vagina. Are there vaginas that are that big? It seems … impossible.
Right in the middle of a particularly sexy grind toward the camera, right when I feel my panties practically drown in a puddle of pussy juices, Stone gets dragged off the stage by men in jackets with “SECURITY” in gold letters emblazoned on the back, which is why Ashley hits the space bar again, freezing the frame just as Stone is facing right toward the camera, mouth open …
And cock hanging out. Giant cock hanging out.
I’m still staring, I’m not ashamed to admit.
“So he’s your next interviewee,” Ashley says into the sudden silence.
“What?!” I holler, whipping my head around so fast to stare at her, I’m sure I’ve given myself whiplash. If I have to submit a workman’s comp claim, I’m going to blame it all on Ashley.
“You need to meet him over at the W hotel in…” Ashley checks h
er iPhone for the time, “thirty minutes. I figured I should give you enough time to get over there and write down some questions before the interview starts, although I imagine ‘What the fuck were you thinking?’ is going to be at the top of that list.”
I stare at the computer, Stone’s face frozen into a yell, and then … I can’t help myself; my eyes flick down to his cock again.
I think there are stallions with smaller cocks than he has. Not, mind you, that I’ve been spending a lot of time around stallions or anything, but shhhhiiitttttt…
Ashley pats me on the shoulder, jostling me from my thoughts. “Okay, now you need to go to your desk and start writing questions out,” she finally says, when I don’t move.
“Right. Of course.”
I drag my eyes away from the frozen Stone on the screen, and hurry to my desk, whipping out a pad and pen. I do my best thinking with a pad of paper in front of me, as old school as that is. I start scribbling down questions as quickly as they come to me. Whatever this jackass thinks he has gotten away with, no matter what kind of a softball interview he thinks he’s going to get from a Blush reporter, he’s really going to regret this move when I’m done with him.
My shock over seeing his cock is gone. I’m no longer hot and bothered and wondering what it’d be like to wrap my lips around that monstrous cock—okay, whom am I kidding? I’ll go to my deathbed with that image in my head—but no! I'm now pissed.
I mean, my god, there were probably children in that audience. There are for sure children who have watched the video since it went viral. He may have enough money to buy his way out of legal trouble, but he doesn’t have enough money to buy his way into a softball interview. If he wants someone to play nice with him, he picked the wrong reporter to be interviewed by.
Whatever caused his severe lack in judgment—whether it was alcohol or drugs—he's going to regret it when I'm done with him.
2
Stone
I sit back on the couch of my hotel room at the W, and sip some morning coffee. Man, what a night. I hadn’t watched the tapes of the performance at Barclay’s yet, but just based on how my body feels, I'm pretty damn sure I must’ve knocked it out of the park.
I hear a knock on the door. “Come in!” I call out, hoping it’s room service with my vegetarian omelet. I'm starving.
I hear the key reader register in the door, and then the door opening.
“Hey Stone,” Frances says, peering around the corner of the door at me.
“Hi,” I say, cocking my head at her weird behavior. She’s normally bouncy and happy and cheerful. She’s certainly not normally hiding behind doors.
“Have you seen the morning news yet?” she asks nervously, sidestepping into the room and closing the door behind her, shoving her thick glasses up her nose.
“No. Why? What’s up?”
I reach for the remote and she hollers, “It’s okay!” I freeze, my hand over the remote, and just stare at her. To say that this is unusual is … the understatement of the century.
“I … uh … well, I have the video on my laptop. I don’t know why you did that, Stone, but we need to clean this up, and quick.” She pulls her laptop bag off her shoulder and begins riffling through it for her laptop.
Oh fuck.
Why I did what? I want to ask.
But I can’t.
So I just stare at her, waiting for her to produce the video, the evidence of whatever it was that I did this time, dread coiling in my stomach. For her to be acting like this, it can’t be good.
I was on stage, at a concert. Surely I couldn’t have done anything too horrible, right?
But if that were true, why is Frances acting like I murdered someone?
With shaking hands, she finally gets the laptop set up, and then swivels the screen toward me.
“Last night, Stone Slayer gave an … unusual concert performance,” the morning show host says with an awkward yet somehow gleeful smile. “I think our editing team has cleaned this up to the point that we can show a clip of it on our show. Let’s watch.”
