SQUELCH!

That's the sound that Stacy's pussy makes as my hard fucking cock drills her over the sofa she was sitting on.

Her grey skirt is bunched together and hiked around her waist. I already tore the panties off of her before you even got here.

"Oh my God, Mason," Stacy shrieks as I pull her hair back and slap her ass like a fucking pirate. She's on her fucking knees and her hands are holding onto the sofa cushions for dear life. Her blouse is unbuttoned and her bra is unclasped so her tits are hanging free.

I don't really know much about this girl. What I do know is that her name is Stacy Sawyer. She's an anchor for MarketWatch Journal, the pre-eminent financial news organization in the world. And up until maybe twenty minutes ago, she was finishing up yet another standard and pretty boring interview.

Oh, right. Where are my own fucking manners. Let me introduce myself, as long as you don't mind me talking to you with my cock up some slut. I mean, I already know your name. No, don't roll your eyes at me. I know who's reading me and who's not. And no, I'm not going to say your name out loud just to prove to you that I fucking know it.

In fact, you know what? I'm going to call you Gorgeous from now on. You got that, Gorgeous?

Anyways, so who the fuck am I to take such liberties with you?

I'm Mason Kane, billionaire CEO and founder of the investment bank Kane Price.

That's right.

That CEO that you see pictured on the cover of TIME Magazine saying that he's going to change Wall Street.

The CEO they made the movie about. Where they called me the King of New York. Funny how that name fucking stuck. Everyone seems to know it.

You probably saw the movie, but you're probably rolling your eyes at the over-the-top lifestyle that I live in. Everything I have around me is larger than life. My personal fortune stands just shy of $30 billion dollars. Sure, a good solid 85% of it is tied to the performance of the stock in the company I started—the investment bank and private equity shop known as Kane Price.

That's right. I started Kane Price with nothing. Built it up to a massive, globe-girdling corporation that today employs over 300,000 people all around the world with offices and operations in over 180 countries.

The Mason Kane that you see on the cover of People Magazine. Yeah, they love taking pictures of me, trying to figure out which fucking slut I'm currently banging, or if I'm doing more than one at the same time. I mean, they've covered me with everyone, from that one chick that won the fucking Oscar for Best Picture, to the first female Senator from Hawaii, to those billionaire twins, to even a pop singer. I mean the fuck list goes on and on.

Sure, the press inevitably find out about the women. Hell, the women are the ones that go to the fucking media. . After they get told by my assistant that I'd received their messages and would call them back when I was free, and they never hear from me. They go running to the newspaper and the press goes on to report to the nation how I made yet another one of America's Sweethearts cry because she missed my cock.

Yeah, just to make sure you have the right Mason Kane, I'm the one with the gigantic 12-inch cock. The one that Playboy called the foot-long gift from God to all women of the planet. Swinging between my legs, its the first thing people glance at when they know who I am, and are meeting me for the first time.

Seriously, I shit you not. People I've never met before—male and female—will shake my hand as per protocol and their eyes will try to pass briefly over my crotch. But they'll notice the bulge, and how it continues, and they'll forget all the rules about staring and their eyes will go wide.

The women at least will start trying automatically to get me out of my fucking clothes. Some of them succeed; I mean they say a fuck a day keeps the doctor away, right? Not that I really need a doctor, to be quite perfectly honest. I'm like the pinnacle of human evolution.

I stand fucking 6' 3" tall. I've got broad fucking shoulders and a cut fucking body with defined pecs and a set of 8-pack abs that ripple with enough power to make any man feel inadequate. My eyes are cobalt blue and they penetrate deep into your soul when I look at you.

But you're not noticing all of this if we're in a room together.

Just like Stacy, you'd be salivating as I took off my shirt and showed you my ripped body. Your eyes would look over my defined pecs and 8-pack abs. Seriously, you probably haven't seen that many guys with an 8-pack of abs. Those guys that they have on the covers of other books don't have 8-packs. You gotta train hard to get it. And that's what I do. My body is a temple for fucking.

Yeah, Gorgeous, your panties would be fucking wet and you'd be taking them off.

In fact, why don't you just take my fucking advice and take your panties off right now?

I fucking guarantee you that it will save you the effort later. You won't have to do laundry on another pair.

You might want to also go somewhere a bit more quiet so you can fucking read; you know what I mean?

Get that fucking vibrator out and get ready, because this shit is about to get real. My 8-pack abs are about to start caressing your body as I start fucking kissing your neck.

The party is about to start, so fucking feed your family and go get in bed.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Although, I don't think I need to warn you.

I know you'd have a bit more class than Stacy did during our interview.

All during the interview, Stacy made no secret of the fact that she was in fucking heat. She wanted to shuck herself on my flagpole.

"So you really are bullish on the market then?" she purred during the interview and I remember fucking smiling. I mean, it wasn't hard to figure out what she wanted all throughout the interview; her eyes were already undressing me the moment I walked in. Sure, it was a boring interview to watch for the viewer, but for me, watching her cross and uncross her fucking legs got me hard. And Stacy could see it. She watched as my cock came to life, began to twitch, and then started to bulge on my trouser leg. She smiled as she asked me, "And what are your predictions about banking stocks in the next quarter?" as she gave me a fucking lascivious stare.

"Very, very hard to keep from rising right now," I remember telling her and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt we were gonna fuck. That's why as soon as she said, "Great, thank you for sitting down with me today, Mr. Kane," I wasn't surprised to see her order the cameraman—who was the only person in the room aside from us—to go get the makeup artist without a second to spare.

Now I'm fucking making her moan like a whore as I pound her pussy mercilessly with my 12-inch cock. I can feel her squirming and her walls closing around me, and that's the cue that she's having an orgasm.

"I'm cumming!" she yells breathlessly, her eyes closed and her face contorted in this fury of fucking lust. "Oh, God. I'm cumming!"

Her entire body is fucking trembling. It's fucking amazing what my cock is able to do to women.

But you know what, Gorgeous? I'm not really into this bitch that much. I mean, sure, she looks okay. She doesn't have the tightest pussy. Her body is giving up. She's not really even much of a fucking nice person. She ordered around people before our interview like she was some kind of fucking princess. And of course, she's just fucking me because she's horny. But she's probably going to go to 21 afterwards and tell all her broadcast journalist news friends that she fucked Mason Kane.

And then she's going to go home to her fucking husband who lives in Connecticut and kiss her kids on the mouth a few hours after she used it to give me a lick-smacking, dirty-as-fuck blowjob.

So yeah, I don't have much respect for her at all.

In fact, I slap her on the ass, hard.

This makes her body tremble even more and probably intensifies the orgasm.

I can feel her pussy milking my cock and I know I'm not going to last much longer.

Fuck, I wish we'd left the camera on. At least that way I'd have something to watch later on in my office.

I glance toward the camera and see it staring at me.

Hey, one fucking second. Is the red light on the camera supposed to be on?

That's exactly when the door bursts open.

"Guys, we're somehow still live and rolling!" the cameraman shouts.

Stacy is in the throes of the last of her orgasm and all she does is whimper. I don't even know if she realizes what's happening.

But I have a fucking reputation to protect. I can't be like that guy, what's his name? Lance Anders? The intern at the White House who almost started World War III by fucking the President's daughter in the Oval Office.

I have a fucking Board of Directors who will flip the fuck out as well as fucking shareholders who'll just roll their eyes and wonder if I've gone off the deep end.

"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.