BEEP. BEEP.

The familiar sound of the robotic camera marks the opening of the scene, displaying a dim hallway.

Slowly, the cambot moves down the hallway, floating through the air and bouncing off of the walls gently. Eventually, the sounds of passion can be heard from an open doorway from whence light pours into the hallway carpet like a glowing puddle.

Along with the gasps of pleasure and the squeaking springs of a mattress, there is a distinct sound of metal hitting metal.

Just the slightest little ping, as of a needle hitting a cymbal, for instance.

Tink

Tink Tink

Tink Tink Tink Tink

As the moans and squeaks come closer together and the hovering cambot moves closer to the open doorway, the speed of the metallic sounds speeds up.

TinkTinkTinkTinkTinkTink

Finally, the cambot rounds the corner of the doorway and there, in all of his glory, is “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane. Well, the back of him, anyway.

The muscles in Loverboy’s back are gleaming knots of writhing flesh above what appears to be a black leather strap just over his hips as he hammers his thankfully sheet-covered pelvis forward with aggression.

Two slender, tanned legs extend up on either side of the pistoning Loverboy, and the clear sounds of Roxy Cotton being pleasured are heard.

Loverboy leans in and hits the home stretch, slamming away at his gorgeous fiancée hard enough to send the blond wig sitting on the corner of the queen-sized bed bouncing to the floor.

“Oh, baby, you ready?”

“Yes baby, please, give me all of it!”

Loverboy pops up a little and Roxy’s legs move down, sliding under as she lifts herself into a sitting position, squeezing her ample cleavage together, her hands gripping the purple lace of her bra, in front of Loverboy as he works toward finishing himself.

“Here I go baby… get ready for the main event!”

And all at once, Loverboy freezes in place. Every muscle in his body tenses as he throws his bald head backward, locked in ecstasy as he ices Roxy cupcake.

After what seems like forever, Loverboy collapses in a heap next to his bronze goddess as she wipes the heavy helping of man chowder with her hands, sucking some off of her long fingers.

It’s only after Loverboy rolls onto his back next to Roxy that we see the source of the metallic sound, the real identity of the black leather belt around Loverboy’s waist – the XWF Federweight Championship belt, which had apparently been hitting Roxy’s dangling navel piercing during the bout of lovemaking.

“Oh, damn, baby… that was intense. You feel good?”

Loverboy asks Roxy as he folds his hands behind his head and closes his eyes with a smile.

“Yeah babe, great as always… but we really need to talk about you wearing that belt while we fuck. I know it’s important to you to always have it on, but seriously…”

Roxy leans over Loverboy on one elbow and gestures to her midriff, where, shockingly, a perfect outline of Sid Feder’s face has been imprinted into her tanned and toned flesh. The sheen of Loverboy’s drying ejaculate adds an artistic flair.

“Babe, really… I feel like an etch-a-sketch between having a face squeezed into my skin and how violently you shake me when we screw.”

Roxy waits for a response, but the only thing that emanates from the smiling lips of Loverboy is a soft buzzing snore.

Still rubbing her flat belly, Roxy gives up trying to communicate with her man and flops down onto her own pillow. After a moment, her hand slides below the cover of the sheet, and a low electric buzz starts humming from between her legs as she closes her eyes and leans into the satin pillowcase.

The cambot moves back into the hallway.






Later, though how long later is debatable, the cambot once again wakes up from its suspended sleep mode with an electronic

BEEP. BEEP.

A light on top of it flashes, signifying a low battery charge.

Floating again down the hallway, the cambot flies into the bedroom of Roxy and “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane, who are both asleep and looking content, like two rock n’ roll angels.

With a little urgency, the cambot bumps into the snoring face of Loverboy, seemingly in an attempt to rouse him. No luck. With the energy-drained robot’s efforts going to no avail on Loverboy, it floats to the other side of the bed trying to wake Roxy.

Just as the cambot gets over the buxom blonde’s face, its gyroscopes fail and it falls right onto her nose and mouth with a squishy thud.

“OW! What the fuck?”

Roxy pops up with a start, her flaxen hair a mess of strands coursing over an immense bosom. She sees the fading light of the cambot and grabs the machine, staring down into its camera lens for a moment before nudging Loverboy hard in the ribs.

“Vinnie! Wake up!”

“Ughhrrfgg?”

Loverboy barely enunciates from his half-slumber. The XWF megastar rolls away from Roxy, letting out a resounding fart that lifts the sheets from his body.

“Uh! Vinnie! Wake the FUCK up!”

Roxy slaps the palm of her hand hard across Loverboy’s bald head, but he merely over again, onto his back, with barely a muffled word.

“Jesus Christ…”

Roxy gives up using brute force and pops her head beneath the sheet, disappearing beneath a mound of satin which begins to move up and down over Loverboy’s groin.

Eventually, Loverboy’s eyes flutter open and he sees what’s happening. With a grin, he lets out a second gaseous emission.

Roxy’s head immediately rips free of the sheets and she sits facing him, angry, as he begins to laugh at her in his cackling, juvenile manner.

“Got you, baby!”

Loverboy loses his breath with laughter as Roxy’s face melts from anger to a reluctant smile. She grabs her pillow and swats at him with it, then drops the dying cambot in Loverboy’s lap.

“You left your toy turned on, Vinnie. Now the battery’s going dead.”

“What? You didn’t plug it in?”

“No, I didn’t plug it in. Why would I plug it in?”

“Well, because you used it last? For your weird YouTube channel?”

“It’s not WEIRD, Vinnie, it’s a channel for camgirls learning the business! And I meant why would I plug it in when it should be free range? I feel bad leaving the thing tethered to the wall while we spend hours in here… oh my god!”

“What?”

“Do you think it saw us?”

“Well, yeah, probably! That thing reacts to sound and I had you whimpering like a sad puppy while I was slamming you before, dude!”

Loverboy sits up against the headboard, gripping the edges of the Federweight faceplate with both hands as he resumes talking.

“How’s that stomach doing, by the way?”

Roxy looks down at herself and laughs. With a fingernail, she pulls away a thin sheet of dried baby batter much in the same way a kindergartener peels Elmer’s glue from his hand.

After a second, Roxy pulls an entire Sid Feder replica face from her midsection and holds it up for Loverboy to see.

“Well, Vinnie, I don’t know… how does it look like it’s doing?”

She shakes the rice paper-thin membrane over Loveboy’s head until he brushes it aside and rolls away, grabbing the cambot and hopping out of the bed, now wearing a pair of white boxers with comically oversized pink hearts adorning them.

“Okay, alright, I’ll start taking the belt off when we fool around… but I’m putting it back on when I go to sleep!”

“Fine. Deal.”

“Oh shit, Roxy, what time is it? The LED display on cammy is dead!”

“Cammy?”

“The bot!”

“It’s like six p.m., Vinnie. We were out for a bit.”

“Fuck! I had a phone interview with Pagoda!”

“A phone interview? Why not just go up to the L.A. office and meet him there? You can pick me up some wine and get us dinner and a Redbox.”

“No can do, angel… Pagoda’s a weird dude. He doesn’t want anyone seeing him in person. Don’t ask, okay? I have no idea why. Now… where’s my cell?”

“In the kitchen…”

Loverboy runs out of the bedroom wearing nothing but the Federweight belt and his obnoxious boxers. Roxy goes back to sleep. The cambot slowly dies.

BEEP. BEep....






“Hey dude!”

“Mister Lane! I think we were scheduled for four?”

“Yeah man, sorry. I had, uh, things to do. Anyway… can we make this short and sweet, man? I’ve got some training to do before SVU comes on. My DVR is full.”

“That’s fine, we’ll skip the pleasantries then. When we spoke before, your career was perhaps I a bit of a rut, if I remember correctly. Since then, you’ve seemingly turned things around. Your alliance with Kirk MacClay is something to be reckoned with, forcing Tigris out of the picture, and is now holding its own against Heyman and his crew – no easy feat. Not to mention your own personal accomplishments, becoming the number one contender to the Universal Title, winning the new Federweight belt, etc. To what do you owe your good fortune?”

“Good question, Pagoda! Damn, you got good at this!”

“Thank you.”

“Look man, I’ve been telling everyone from day one in the XWF that I was going to make it to the top. I told you and everyone else that I’d make an impact and I’d someday wear the Universal Championship. Now I’m only a step or two away from that destiny being fulfilled. I joined up with MacClay because when I scratch his back, he scratches mine. I helped him gain a foothold in the XWF management committee, I gave him massive power on Madness, and he got me guaranteed into the title picture – but make no mistake about it, dude, I only got what I had coming to me. I only got what I deserved. I won the matches, you know? I did the time, I took the bumps, I did the work.

When MacClay needed a top level star to legitimize the Underground, it was me he came to. And he asked for my approval on every other member… well, until Frodo. That was unexpected.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“Frodo’s a jackass. He’s an annoying little bastard who rapes people. How would you feel about having to share ring time with a guy like that? But he learned the best lesson of his life to date after getting knocked off his pedestal on more than one occasion by yours truly – if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”

“The two of you could make quite the impact on the tag team title picture, MacClay could be on to something.”

“I make an impact on every picture I decide to involve myself in, dude. I don’t need a midget to win me championships. I won three belts on my own, two would be a cake walk. Besides, I’ve already shown Justin Sane that his win last month was a fluke… his mime-painted partner can’t be much different, they have enough in common that they may have been separated at birth. If I feel like being the tag team champions, I will be. For now, I’m just looking at what’s right in front of me. Unfortunately, that means Peter Gilmour.”

“Let’s talk about Peter, then. You already gave him a bit of a verbal beating… he didn’t sound shaken by your words though. In his recent promo, shot right down the road in Hollywood, h sounded confident.”

“That’s Peter for you. Peter “no sell” Gilmour. In this business, you put people over and they put you over. Peter just puts himself over. If it isn’t Peter on top, it’s bullshit. If things don’t go his way, someone cheated. I can sympathize to a point – Tommy Gunn did interfere in his match with Mastermind, for instance – but there comes a time that you have to take responsibility for your own actions. Whether those actions are wins or losses, we’re defined by them. My actions are wins. My actions have me in a spot that Peter has found himself in before. Peter’s been the top contender for the top title… but it was always as a joke by his “good friend” John Madison. Madison treats Peter like a pity project and Pete eats it up. He thinks he earned things like that contendership or the lunchbox or even the fake crown he wore for months, but in reality it’s just the administration laughing at him.

No. I earned the spot, and I’ll do what Peter never has been able to do. I’ll take the Universal Title home with me.”

“As far as this weekend goes though? You’re defending Madness against the Warfare crew, and have a tables match with Peter.”

“Yeah, and? The outcome will be what it always is. Like when I had my hand raised against Team Tigris, or when I had my hand raised against Fernando and Sawyer. On Saturday, I won’t even have to worry about Peter’s legendary recuperative skills. See, Pete thinks being able to absorb all the punishment he did against the Three Kings means he won’t go down easy in this match… but Pete, dude, I don’t have to pin you. I don’t even have to beat you down, although I will anyway. All I have to do is put your husky ass through a table. If you watch your ass and stop trying to drag my name through the mud, claiming I didn’t do enough to keep the Trios and such, then maybe I’ll go easy on you during the team match later in the night. I’ll pin Swagmire instead, maybe. If not? Well, then I guess Pete gets to look like a jackass twice in one night. A new record.”

“Speaking of the Trios – talk about the bad blood there.”

“What’s to say, dude? The world saw it. Peter can try to push the blame onto Morbid if he wants – they have heat between them and probably always will, especially since Morbid took Pete’s dick away. But to try and say I didn’t help him? Dude. I GAVE him the belt. He did NOTHING to earn it. I came in on my day off and I handed Peter Gilmour a title, one that I went to hell and back to win, and he claims I didn’t do enough to hold onto it for HIM? That’s about the most disrespectful shit I’ve ever heard, man, and I’ve been in the ring with Pest.”

“So is it safe to say you’re ready for Shove It?”

“Couldn’t be readier dude. I’m gonna make the immortal Peter Gilmour get a little closer to god.”

“That will do just fine. Thank you for your time. Good luck this weekend.”

“Yeah, good luck to you too… I guess? Just make sure my name’s right on top of the next set of rankings, where it belongs!”

“Right. Goodbye, Mister Lane.”