afterwards demonstrated that the offense had been forgotten.
Her Master was
an extraordinary man.
She ran her
finger across her lips, remembering how they’d stretched to accommodate his
cock, much like her pussy had stretched to accommodate the plastic beast
earlier. She couldn’t believe he’d accepted her gift, allowing her to ease his
need. Yes, her Master was an amazing man. She couldn’t wait to have his cock
again—in any way he wanted.
Her cell phone
rang, startling her out of her erotic memories and back into the real world. She
glanced at the caller ID. The senior editor—her boss—returning her call.
“Hi, George,”
she said. “Thanks for getting back to me so soon.”
“No problem. You
saw the email?”
“Yes, I did. I
want that story. You can’t let someone else have it.”
“I know you’re
passionate about the subject, that’s why I sent it to you before anyone else. I
want someone on this ASAP.”
“I’m in,” she
said. “Someone has to put a stop to these athletes using steroids. Too many
kids look up to them as role models.” Cold, hard rage raced through her system.
“They don’t know how dangerous these drugs are.”
“Hey,” he said. “You
don’t have to convince me. I’m on your side.”
“I know. Sorry.
It’s just that I….” Memories flooded through her and her throat tightened.
“You’re a good
friend to keep after this,” he said. “Most people would have let it go a long
time ago.”
“I can’t. Danny
was like a brother to me. He did something stupid that cost him his life.
Exposing steroid use among elite athletes brings attention to the problem and
might convince another teenager of the danger. Save a life.”
“Preaching to
the choir here,” George said. “Take your time on this one. I think I might be
able to get you an interview with Martin McCree. I’ve got a call in to his
lawyer.”
“That would be
fabulous. Let me know. In the meantime, I’ll get started on the research right
away.” She paused and swallowed, “And thanks. I owe you one.”
This was the
story she’d been waiting for. It had been ten years since her cousin Danny
committed suicide. She had no doubt his abrupt withdrawal from steroids was to
blame. If only he’d never used them or, at the very least, had understood what
they really did to his body, maybe he would be alive today.
Excited to have
something to do besides obsess over the previous night, and anticipate tomorrow
night, she set to work on her new project.
* * *
Jason sang along
with the radio all the way to the stadium. He hummed in the locker room and
whistled in the dugout.
“Hey, man.”
Stevens slapped him on the back. “You’re in a good mood.”
“Yeah, I am,” he
said, realizing he meant it. For the first time since Stacey left him, he was
happy. Really. Truly. Happy. And he owed it to Carrie. She was everything he
wanted in a sub. Her body was a work of art, and her mind equal to it. She’d
surprised him with her anger. He chuckled to himself, remembering his anxiety
upon discovering she was unhappy with his decision to punish her.
She’d been
right. He hadn’t been clear, and he couldn’t blame her for that, but when he
pointed out the error of her ways, she’d accepted his punishment with a level
of submission that humbled him. And if he was any judge, she’d enjoyed it. He
couldn’t wait to be with her again. Tomorrow’s game was in the afternoon, so he’d
booked the Dungeon room for early evening, expecting to use it, and his sub,
into the wee hours of the morning.
But first, he needed
to get through two games. He was ready. His body was primed for action. It was
a feeling he was familiar with, but one that had been elusive this season.
He strode to the
plate with more confidence than he’d felt in weeks.
The first pitch
came in low and inside. Jason checked his swing and rolled his shoulders to
release the tension building there. Last season, pitchers worked
Her Master was
an extraordinary man.
She ran her
finger across her lips, remembering how they’d stretched to accommodate his
cock, much like her pussy had stretched to accommodate the plastic beast
earlier. She couldn’t believe he’d accepted her gift, allowing her to ease his
need. Yes, her Master was an amazing man. She couldn’t wait to have his cock
again—in any way he wanted.
Her cell phone
rang, startling her out of her erotic memories and back into the real world. She
glanced at the caller ID. The senior editor—her boss—returning her call.
“Hi, George,”
she said. “Thanks for getting back to me so soon.”
“No problem. You
saw the email?”
“Yes, I did. I
want that story. You can’t let someone else have it.”
“I know you’re
passionate about the subject, that’s why I sent it to you before anyone else. I
want someone on this ASAP.”
“I’m in,” she
said. “Someone has to put a stop to these athletes using steroids. Too many
kids look up to them as role models.” Cold, hard rage raced through her system.
“They don’t know how dangerous these drugs are.”
“Hey,” he said. “You
don’t have to convince me. I’m on your side.”
“I know. Sorry.
It’s just that I….” Memories flooded through her and her throat tightened.
“You’re a good
friend to keep after this,” he said. “Most people would have let it go a long
time ago.”
“I can’t. Danny
was like a brother to me. He did something stupid that cost him his life.
Exposing steroid use among elite athletes brings attention to the problem and
might convince another teenager of the danger. Save a life.”
“Preaching to
the choir here,” George said. “Take your time on this one. I think I might be
able to get you an interview with Martin McCree. I’ve got a call in to his
lawyer.”
“That would be
fabulous. Let me know. In the meantime, I’ll get started on the research right
away.” She paused and swallowed, “And thanks. I owe you one.”
This was the
story she’d been waiting for. It had been ten years since her cousin Danny
committed suicide. She had no doubt his abrupt withdrawal from steroids was to
blame. If only he’d never used them or, at the very least, had understood what
they really did to his body, maybe he would be alive today.
Excited to have
something to do besides obsess over the previous night, and anticipate tomorrow
night, she set to work on her new project.
* * *
Jason sang along
with the radio all the way to the stadium. He hummed in the locker room and
whistled in the dugout.
“Hey, man.”
Stevens slapped him on the back. “You’re in a good mood.”
“Yeah, I am,” he
said, realizing he meant it. For the first time since Stacey left him, he was
happy. Really. Truly. Happy. And he owed it to Carrie. She was everything he
wanted in a sub. Her body was a work of art, and her mind equal to it. She’d
surprised him with her anger. He chuckled to himself, remembering his anxiety
upon discovering she was unhappy with his decision to punish her.
She’d been
right. He hadn’t been clear, and he couldn’t blame her for that, but when he
pointed out the error of her ways, she’d accepted his punishment with a level
of submission that humbled him. And if he was any judge, she’d enjoyed it. He
couldn’t wait to be with her again. Tomorrow’s game was in the afternoon, so he’d
booked the Dungeon room for early evening, expecting to use it, and his sub,
into the wee hours of the morning.
But first, he needed
to get through two games. He was ready. His body was primed for action. It was
a feeling he was familiar with, but one that had been elusive this season.
He strode to the
plate with more confidence than he’d felt in weeks.
The first pitch
came in low and inside. Jason checked his swing and rolled his shoulders to
release the tension building there. Last season, pitchers worked
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