Eric
I walk into my kitchen, the cool tile hitting my bare feet and my cock bouncing heavy against my thigh.
When I’m home, I barely wear anything. I cover just enough to keep the husbands of my female neighbors appeased: sweatpants.
My fingers collect beads of water between them as I drag them through my hair. After our little encounter with Kara in the shower earlier, I needed a second shower just to cool down.
I grab a cutting board out from beneath my sink and place it onto my stainless steel countertop…and seeing the steel reminds me of Kara’s fingers gripping the hot and cold water dials in ecstasy just a few hours ago while I pumped her full of my cum.
Christ. I don’t usually stay in long enough to notice them, but today was quite the exception. Every gasp, every moan, every aching detail of ever delicious moment is still fresh in my filthy mind.
I fuck a lot of women. And I mean a lot of women.
Chase can vouch for me. He’s fucked half of them, too. Shit, we’ve fucked them together plenty of times.
But this Kara chick is just something else. I don’t know if it’s her wit or her looks or the adorable way she acts like she can resist me, but I’m hooked. Already.
The way she makes everything an obstacle for me really turns me on. It makes it an accomplishment when I get there.
Normally, girls are throwing themselves at my cock. Literally.
But I had to actually get through hours before fucking Kara. She didn’t even initiate it. She was prepared to walk out of that gym with a wet cunt and not even a peek at the monster between my legs.
Shit, I can’t remember the last time I had to make a move to get someone on my cock.
But fuck am I glad she did hop on it. Fucking Kara was phenomenal.
An entire day of sexual frustration, and finally my hard, throbbing dick was granted release. Kind of like how when you haven’t eaten anything all day, and you get those first few bites of your meal, they just taste better.
Kara Gilmore. I could eat that woman right up.
I pull a pot out from my lower cabinets and fill it with water. As I wait for it to boil, I chop up some broccoli and set it in a bowl, ready to chuck it in when the water’s at temp.
I walk over to my refrigerator and grab a package of chicken tenderloin, which I start cubing. I stare at my spices once it’s all cut to my preference and then decide I’m feeling an Italian-style dish tonight.
I throw some oregano, salt, pepper, basil, and parsley onto the chicken and drizzle some olive oil onto it.
I’m a good cook, so it’s going to be fucking delicious. I could afford a personal chef, but there’s something more rewarding about doing it myself.
Besides, I’m starving. I probably waited too long to eat. But considering why, I’m not too bent out of shape.
Kara satisfied a different kind of appetite.
It’s important when you work out as much as I do to have a schedule for your nourishment. And ninety nine percent of the time, I can follow it.
But when a tasty treat like Kara shows up in my day, I don’t mind deviating once in a while. And she made it worth it.
I wonder if Kara ended up getting some actual food. God damn, I hope she isn’t one of those girls that just eats one meal a day. Especially after the workout we gave her.
I grab some garlic and chop it up to go in with the chicken. I heat a pan and toss it all in together.
As I move the chicken and garlic around in the pan, I have my other hand on my phone. Multitasking when I’m doing something so simple isn’t a problem. I’m flipping through social media, trying to figure out the best way to get people looking at the Protein Plus shakes.
All through my feed, there’s tons of advertisements and hashtags about the upcoming Miss Sexy Universe pageant. That cock-eyed bitch Camille is everywhere. I know that winning the pageant, she’s the guaranteed spokesperson for the competition this year, but if I could stop seeing her nipples pressing through the fabric of that stupid “Shake ‘Em Ups” logo tank top, I would be able to breathe easier.
As I scroll, I see sponsored ad after sponsored ad. I get that I follow strictly fitness related posts, but I would pay money to never see that failed protein shake pyramid scheme ever again.
Shake ‘Em Ups. Disgusting fucking product, stupid fucking name.
The fact that a few months after the competition last year, Shake ‘Em Ups went bankrupt should be a sign to someone―if not everyone―that their entire company is bullshit. But nope. Fuck.
At least I got my personal vengeance out by revenge-fucking Camille. Wasn’t even difficult. I just needed to stand in her vicinity, and the bitch threw herself right at me.
I can still remember the way she went even more cock-eyed with my cock in her mouth.
Oh, Eric! she cooed after. Your cum is soooo yummy! Gimme more, pretty please? I’d do ANYTHING for more!
Christ. Maybe I need a girl to enter in the Miss Sexy Universe pageant. That’d get some good exposure for Protein Plus.
I look over to my stovetop and see that the water is finally boiling. I toss in my broccoli for a couple of minutes and set my phone down on the counter to finish the chicken.
I pop open a jar of organic tomato sauce and pour it over the chicken and garlic, stirring it around. My broccoli looks done about the time I finish it so I strain it and shock it in some cold water over at the sink before I pour it in with the rest of the dish.
I grab some rice I prepped from the fridge and heat it up and pour that in too.
Voila. Dinner. I’ve got my protein, my veggies, and a starch.
A well-balanced meal, perfect for after a long day of working out with my best friend and a hot chick.
I throw a good portion into a bowl and grab a fork. I make my way over to my couch and sit with my food. Back to my marketing plan. We’re so far in development that I need to start advertising as soon as possible.
As my thumb pushes Shake ‘Em Ups up and out of my view, a picture that has been reposted by a page called “Fitness Junkies” catches my eye. Not because it has anything to do with my strategy, but because I know exactly who’s in it.
Kara. Why would Fitness Junkies have Kara on their featured posts? I’m too curious.
Repost after repost, I trace the picture back as far as I can, which lands me to Kara’s personal account. She has over a million followers.
What the shit?
As I peruse her public photos, I can’t even believe it’s the same girl. The rest of her pictures are at least two years old.
She’s still hot as hell in them, but I don’t recognize her. With that much internet fame, I feel like I’m supposed to.
Her curves back then were as phenomenal then as they are now. Anyone would be lucky to fuck her at any size. I can fucking say that with a smile.
But my curiosity is piqued. I scroll even further into her gallery.
My god, this girl used to be a plus-sized model. No fucking wonder people follow the fuck out of her.
I take a heaping spoonful of my dinner. Goddamn, that’s good. See, just like I said.
When you’ve been starving all day, that first bite tastes so much better than it would have had you not waited for it.
I wonder what made Kara decide to lose all of that weight. Seriously, she’d be perfect at any size. She’s got such a gorgeous face and such delectable proportions…more of her just means that there’d be more of her to love.
She’s gorgeous now, too, of course—and with a little training, she’ll look even healthier. But the world isn’t always kind to women with curves like that, no matter how fucking stunning they are.
It takes me a second to realize it, but I’m actually fucking worrying about this girl. I’m the kind of man who usually pumps and dumps, but Kara has me all concerned about her well-being and shit. Probably because, judging by the way she was trying to lift today before Chase and I came along, it’s obvious that someone needs to take care of this girl.
It’s not just me being over-protective, though. I’ve never been so intrigued by someone, especially someone I just met. And now I have all of this empathy for her, and I want to get in her head.
Huh. I genuinely want to help this girl be happy.
And I think I have a good start to how I can do that.
I return to my feed, littered with Miss Sexy Universe ads.
I think Chase and I can mold her into our model. We can sponsor her with Protein Plus, enter her into the competition, and make her the face of our brand.
She has the model strut, she has the looks, and she definitely has the right backstory to melt hearts in our name. We’ll just need to get her on board.
And with a little convincing, I think we can have that in the bag, too. I take another heaping bite of my food and wash it down with a full glass of water.
I pull up my text conversations and find Chase’s thread.
I have a plan, I send him.
He responds, not even a minute later, What else is new?
I reply, It’s for Protein Plus. The plan is Kara.
Kara? he asks. Shower-fuck Kara?
Exactly. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s going to be our face in the Miss Sexy Universe pageant. And we’re going to win, hands down, I explain.
Fucking genius, bro. When are we telling her?
Tomorrow. Before we start our workout. I know exactly how we’ll ask..
Sweet. Fucking awesome, he sends back.
I can’t wait to see the look on Kara’s face when we give her our idea.
In fact, if I have anything to say about it, she’s going to take it just fine.