Queen of FUTA: Chapter 3

It figures that a network executive would have a fancy office. The whole building is fancy: it has this neat white and red design with super modern art and fountains everywhere. All the people on these important floors are well-dressed.

Everything about it makes you nervous, even after all the cameras that FUTA involved.

You’re wearing a special outfit: a soccer jersey and shorts with tall socks and sneakers. It’s branded for FUTA instead of Pink Team. FUTA’s uniforms are cut to be a bit more flattering than normal ones. They’re a little more form-fitting and the shorts are a bit shorter than usual. The jerseys are sleeveless. You got used to this on the field, but wearing it in this building feels a little odd.

An assistant leads you and Annette to a gigantic corner office that’s bathed in sunlight. The woman inside wears classy slacks and a blouse with an expensive, silk scarf. She looks very put together and professional, but still relaxed. Her hair is dark in a business updo, and she has a mouthwateringly perfect tan. Her hips are wide and she has thick thighs and a bit of a belly under that blouse. She’s younger than Annette, and she looks thrilled to see you.

“Annette of FUTA,” she says with a grin, shaking Annette’s hand. Then she beams at you. “And Riley. In the flesh,” she adds, her eyes traveling up and down your frame. “My name is Tess. Sit down. I’ve been looking forward to this. Let’s hear it.”

She takes you to some chairs that are away from her glass desk. You sit beside Annette, across from this woman.

“Nothing to hear,” Annette says, patting your leg reassuringly and matching Tess’ gaze. “I already sent you my proposal, Tess. I don’t know why you need us here in person.”

“I want to hear it from you,” the executive replies good-naturedly. “Do you want something to drink?”

“No. I think FUTA brings a lot of potential to network. Our biggest challenge is that there’s too much action. Every week of FUTA generates a solid four hours of material. We can utilize that content optimally by dividing it by…” You sit there as Annette goes on, talking about different markets and stuff that you don’t really understand or care about.

“What do you think, Riley?” Tess asks.

“Huh? Oh, I don’t know,” you say, blushing. “I just play soccer, you know?”

“That’s not true,” Tess tells you, wagging her finger. “You’re an inspiration, Riley. Seeing you onscreen, your raw athleticism and…” She trails off, her eyes straying down toward your shorts. “…the diversity that you represent is so powerful. It’s more than soccer. You’re a role model. You stand for something.”

“I do?”

“She’s so humble,” Tess murmurs to Annette.

“Sometimes,” Annette replies dryly, patting your leg again.

They wrap up their conversation after about twenty minutes, and Tess walks you both to the elevator.

“Riley, it was so wonderful to meet you,” she says, offering her hand again. You shake it, embarrassed. You have fans now, but you are not used to it. You didn’t think you had fans like her.

“Thanks. I mean, thanks for inviting us,” you say awkwardly.

“My pleasure,” she replies.

Annette has a car and driver. You both sit in the back as you’re driven away from the Network building. Annette lets out a long sigh and removes the clip from her glossy, blonde hair to let it down.

“Of course we’re still in suspense,” she tells you tiredly. “But I don’t think she’s doing it on purpose. She can’t just offer us a deal. She has to run it past her board first. But she wants FUTA. Everyone wins if we do this.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” you tell her.

“You look cute in that.”

You blush. “She seemed a little flirty.”

“She asked for you personally. She’s a fan. Anyway, I’m sorry about the plane,” Annette says, giving you an apologetic look. “Maybe that was a bit much. I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable.”

“I….” You don’t know what to say. You feel your face heating up.

Annette snorts. “That’s what I thought. I knew you’d like that flight attendant.” You did like her. You liked her so much in her tight, sexy pantyhose and uniform that you feel disappointed that all you got from her was a boob job. “So you liked it.”

You nod, embarrassed.

“Tell me the truth,” she says, leaning close and rubbing your leg. “Did you want to see what she had under that skirt? Because I did.”

Oh. Annette is… she’s in one of those moods.

( Q o F )

You’re used to nice hotel rooms by now. Annette always stays in the presidential suite or the honeymoon suite. You hope the walls are thick as Annette’s nude form tumbles backward onto the silk sheets. She’s a lot of things, but she’s not quiet.

She gasps and moans as you climb on top of her, your massive erection dragging across her skin and leaving a trail of precum as you squeeze her breast with your hand. You were going to eat her out, but from the frenzied way that she clutches at your body, it’s obvious that she doesn’t have patience for that.

You lie down on top of her, guiding your cock with your hand. She bites your shoulder as you enter her, then shrieks, her impeccably manicured nails dragging across your back.

You get up on your knees, deep inside her, and lift her hips off the bed. She arches her back and yanks at the sheets, her breasts bouncing. There’s no such thing as quiet, gentle sex with Annette. You ignore her **** pleas and demands. Faster! Slower! Right there! Technique doesn’t matter much with your monster cock, and she cums twice before you’re even close, but she doesn’t slow down.

Finally, flat on top of her with her nails digging into your buttocks and her legs in the air, you fill her with your load, your faces pressed together as you both breathe hoarsely.

You roll off her, your softening cock slapping against your thigh and drooling more cum.

Annette smiles over at you adoringly. “See?” she says contentedly. “Why you’re so popular?”

You stare at the ceiling. “Does Tess know that we do this?”

“Want to take a selfie and send it to her? Right now?” Annette teases, wrapping her arms around you.

“Stop it,” you say, hugging her back.