(Backstory continued from "#8")



Is it wrong I stiffen right back to pounding penile power still up inside Nicole at the thought of collecting my beneficiary block of a nigh 60k? I can't help believing so, especially given the fact I was suffering from justifiable post-nut guilt not a moment ago. Still...it's no easy task to deny the urge of coital pleasure, moreso when it's wrapped around your bareback dick. I feel her flex and tighten around my shaft the moment I've uttered the words "holy shit".

"Again?" She holds both sides of my face with her soft hands and aggressively kisses me, grinding and spreading her wetness against me. I grab her right ass cheek through her dress with my left hand and place my right over the small of her back, encouraging her to continue. So much more fuckin' slippery now with my first load coating her warm interior.

I stop her after a minute of sexual intensity. "Let's get in the back, my legs are cramping up here."

Like giddy kids finding far too much pleasure in bein' naughty, she excitedly and easily scrambles over the seats with my awkardly half-pants ass and thick frame finding it difficult to squeeze through onto the folded down passenger row and rear of the vehicle.

She maneuvers herself with head, neck and shoulders craned against the rear door, shoving a curiously convenient wadded up sweater beneath her ass, dress drawn up to her underarms, titties pulled free from bottom-bordering lowered bra, legs up and spread exposing entry. Feeling like the king, despite the cramped quarters I end up ignoring in a horny fever, I discover new areas of upper thigh cramping and smaller back aches to achieve a rhythm and rubbing of clit to climax, not unlike a desperate race to beat paralysis to the finish line.

She pulls me down to lay half of my heavy frame atop her own gotta-be-no-more-than-100-slightly-plus-pounds body beside her, comically wedged between her and the left wheel well. On top of being incredibly uncomfortable in this position, I'm too amped up (despite the usual energy drain of orgasm) thinking about receiving fifty-nine thousand dollars and imagining all I could accomplish to wanna remain statically cuddling with even this girl I love so much. And I do love you Nicole, I think to myself, but if this keeps up I'm gettin' caught and I'll be spendin' all that money on rod reattachment surgery.

I spend the next few minutes with her anyway, working my way through the dropping of hints as softly as possible, anxiety rising with each passing second I don't have the balls to come out and exclaim I need to leave. Eventually her tone evolves to irritation as she catches on, though she concedes that she has to be getting on her way as well.

As she climbs back to the front seats I wipe my cock with the sweater and re-clothe myself, sweating in the now noticeably extremely warm interior temperature. A moment later Nicole is raising the rear door to allow my easy exit.

I believe I manage to salvage what annoyance or hurt feelings I may have caused with a few sweet words, an apology and a hug. We kiss one final time and I'm on my way to my '96 Plymouth Breeze while her Blazer roars to life. As she departs I don't realize this will be the last time I see her in person.

Anything of the sort is the furthest thing from my mind however, I'm already dialing my brother's number to get details on this alleged money comin' to us.

He educates me on what needs to be done, what papers need to be filed, the securing of a death certificate, a notary, a bank account and a 30 day waiting period just to receive notification if more info is needed or prompt payout via electronic transfer can take place.

By the following week I've opened a new Bank of America account and am told the most I can swiftly and legally receive in chunk is exactly $49,999 and 99 cents. I'll have to file to transfer the remaining $9,000 and 1 cent separately. My brother and I file same day.

By late September we're told more info is needed. I'm also notified of the importance of paying income tax which I find disrespectfully attached to a death beneficiary sum. I tell the man from Mutual on the phone that I'll take care of the taxes myself and chuckle on hang up exclaiming:

"Fuck taxes!"

By the third week in October my money is incoming...more than 4 month's worth of what I would earn in the ring while employed by a large promotion, unlike the indy shitstain I currently perform for, about to land in my lap en masse.

I remember the day before it arrived, picking up Carl's Jr. drive thru with Holly in her Aries, infidelity forgotten, ordering two celebratory milk shakes to top it all off, feeding her a whipped cream spackled maraschino cherry and telling her "This is gonna be our life from now on, baby, whipped cream."

I was intent on making the most of this blessing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


"Time's Up"







-Sunday April 16 2017, 11:11 PM EST-
-Central Park, New York City-


The horse pulling the buggy whinnies, snapping me from my musings and I return my attention to the night scenery of Central Park.

My visit began earlier in the evening, awaiting the promo responses from Random and Roman, while the sun was still up, attempting to identify any and all possibly recognizable locations seen in "The Muppets Take Manhattan" when Ms. Piggy was spying on Kermit/rolling after a purse snatcher. One thing lead to another and I found myself hours later wrestling to remove the tune "Saying Goodbye" from my head. Sunuvabitchin' earworm...

By the time I'd accomplished bidding dasvidaniya to "Saying Goodbye" I was in a sullen mood and decided to hire a late night horse and buggy ride.

Not five minutes into the ride, amidst the clip-clop of shoed equine canter, I get the feeling I'm being watched...followed by a buzzing sound within close proximity. I spin in my seat suddenly face to lens with a drone hovering a mere two feet up and away keeping perfect pace. I use my phone's flashlight app to illuminate the drone and I spot the XWF logo on the underside along with a permanent message inscribed and encircling the camera that I strain to read:

-What Privacy...Bitch-

I can't help but smile. I deactivate the flaslight.

Huh...fuck _me_ there really _are_ XWF drones. Guy operatin' this thing must be joggin' somewhere nearby to keep up. Impressive...he definitely works harder for his dollars than my own opponents do, good for him. Nice not to have to rely on my phone to promo now that I think about it.

I motion for the drone to frame me from a front angle so as to address the audience more comfortably. The operator complies.

......................................................................


"Well shit, fancy meeting _you_ all here."

The horse driver looks over his shoulder at me in confusion, regards my line of sight, spies the drone and returns his attention to the route before him.

"I apologize to the XWF fans out there expecting an eventful knockdown drag out back and forth betwixt Random, Roman and I. Apparently Wulfrun's too busy ballin' sloppy drunk hookers. As for _Random_, well...when you can't be bothered to define yourself with such small details as age, height, weight, hometown, personality, appearance, race, gender and sexual orientation you can't expect effort or consistency, lest that consistency pertain to suckin' ass as one of the unfunniest shitbird schmucks in the promotion. Except that one picture you drew of Cadryn, Random, I gotta admit that was about as amusing as it can get. Don't I deserve a dumbass demeaning doodle too, dickhead? With all the recent clowns made on my proud facial mane acting as a spooge-sponge I've been expecting a nice stick figure rendition of moi with a cut and paste Caedus head and cumshots covering my cool chin blowout. No? Maybe some other form of gay gut-shot? I'm expecting _something_ from you and Roman, Random, though as Shade has proven, I've been wrong before in assuming an opponent's piss and vinegar levels. And, as seems to be swiftly becoming the norm for a match with Caedus, I can only hypothesize that if one or both of you _do_ in fact film some sorta semantic sass-back, it's only natural to further predict the respondents to ammo up based on a counter-assault to my opening salvo. Again I have to work with little to nothing from the feeble and frightened frantically plotting probable flanking 'fuck you' maneuvers. Lame.

Whatcha gonna claim, Random? That you and massa Cady neither know each other nor ever spend time in one another's presence outside the ring? Might I guess you'll be hitting me with questions meant to make me look foolish? Maybe, for example, though undoubtedly much less cogent comin' from your head, 'How could you ever know it was me with Cadryn even if we _did_ pal around, Jim? My appearance is random!' An excellent challenge, chump, if you manage to levy it, and I'd be retorting that I've seen Cady backstage addressing Rip Taylor, Alf, Anne Ramsey, Ralph Wiggum, Johnny-5, a giraffe and a talkin', floatin' fuckin' bowl of cottage cheese on a lettuce leaf, each time rolling his eyes in response to a stupid joke, muttering, 'Shut the fuck up, Random' so nuts to your imagined argument, ass. Jesus Christ...to condemn you it seems I must traipse into becomin' you. I think our combined crazy ain't any good for this plane of existence, kinda akin to crossin' the streams. I'll hafta keep an eye out for tears in the fabric of reality while I'm tearin' the fabric of your rectal flesh in half to access your random length of intestine and recapture my TV title via lasso with your asshole. I wonder if your voracious cock-cravin' pucker might latch on like an octopus sucker? A stinky suction cup. Sick. On second thought maybe I'll just rip your head off and use that to try and knock the belt loose like usin' a football to free a frisbee from a tree. Guess I'll hafta play it by ear.

God I hate you, Random. Can't you fight back? Can't you rise to the occasion? Can't you do somethin' interesting or useful for the people like chug gasoline and swallow a lit match or gargle with nitroglycerin? You don't wanna blow up in the XWF? Hell, if you're gonna stick around and dookie up the place you owe it to _yourself_ to be the best ten car pile-up possible, otherwise what's the point? Am I right? You obviously and for damn sure ain't gonna accomplish shit _else_ around here, homo, but please...go right ahead and hit me with one o' your slightly less laugh worthy than documentary seal clubbin' footage epics and look like an ass anyway instead of killing yourself. Fine. Be a spoiled sport. So _fucking_ selfish.

Roman, tell Random to end his own- Wait, what the fuck am I requesting anything from _you_ for? You ain't had the balls to join in either...least not yet. And even though you have a mildly kickass name, judgin' from your gabbin' game, should you choose to address your shitty situation, I'd wager it'll serve you about as well as Austin's positioning did for Austin takin' Owen's jumpin' piledriver, Sid's leap of faith at the Sin ppv or Lesnar's infamous shooting star press incident and I won't be inchin' over to help you snatch the V either, cocksucker, I'll be clampin' on, exploiting the regs of our No DQ atmosphere, 'accidentally' snappin' your neck and finishin' the fuckin' job before I batter Random's brains to such a FURTHER damaged degree he spends the rest of his life dancin', shimmyin' and shakin' like Marty motherfuckin' McFly."

I summon the drone to close in with two furling and unfurlings of the index finger. It does so-

-and I snatch it from the sides, carefully avoiding the quad spinning blades, pulling it in for a close-up.

"Cornholin' cowardly queer cunts...the fuck you think is gonna happen tomorrow night in the Garden if the two o' you can't even sac up from the spineless safety o' your lil' hidey-holes? I show no mercy in the ring, no matter the match. I treat a simple singles contest like life and death..._this_ shit's a goddamn Triple Threat with my _TV Title_ on the line. I didn't carry the gold this far to let two ass fair weather fighters saunter on in like a couple o' bow-legged lazy limpdick desperados and take it before I've finished with it. Fuck that and fuck both of _you_. I'm Jim Caedus and I'm a camper-killaholic. Don't struggle...it just makes it worse."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I release the drone and it soars to safety.

BVVVVVT

I check my phone notification marked at 11:20 PM...Random just posted. I look to the drone-

"Hey get back here-"

-but it disappears into the night sky, engulfed in ebony.

"Goddammit...I knew that lil' twink bitch was gonna pull this, I called it. He IS from Cadryn's camp after all."

I pull up the video and view, I remain deadpan throughout. Once the vignette concludes I shake my head in disappointment.

". Let's see if Roman rubs one out as well..."