Chapter 4: Chapter 4
Schneider’s groan ripped from his chest, low and guttural, a tremor shaking his frame as he pulled his thick cock from Hazel’s mouth just as the first thick rope of hot cum splattered across her cheekbone. Her gasp was cut short as another pulse hit her forehead, then her lips, the salty tang sharp on her tongue while the third burst painted sticky streaks through her damp hair and onto the swell of her left breast, warm and thick.
Max watched, jaw clenched, his own release building like a pressure cooker; with a final, shuddering thrust that made the vinyl protest beneath their weight, he drove deep and groaned, "Fuck, Hazel!", his cock pulsing jets of semen across her stomach and lower ribs, the warmth stark against her skin slick with sweat and champagne. "Made a fuckin' mess of you," he panted, a rough chuckle escaping him as he pulled away slowly, leaving her painted in their combined release.
The locker room door banged open again, cutting through the music and the players' shouts. Pete, the cameraman, stumbled back in, eyes wide above the viewfinder already pressed to his face, the red recording light blinking furiously. "Holy shit, guys!" he yelled over the din, his voice a mix of disbelief and professional glee. "Heard the party got real interesting! Keep goin', for fuck's sake, this is gold! Hazy, babe, look at the lens!" The camera whirred as it focused on her face, sticky with Schneider’s cum, hair plastered, eyes glazed but defiant, her heaving chest and Max’s spend cooling on her skin captured in sharp, unforgiving detail.
Pete's thumb jabbed the streaming icon on his rig, broadcasting Hazel's glistening, cum-streaked defiance and the locker room chaos live to millions "Smile for the fans, sweetheart!" he yelled, the camera lens swallowing her raw, exposed hunger as players roared approval behind the feed.
Pete loved this; he’d always fantasized about seeing her sexy thick naked body, knowing her off-air attitude was pure fire, but even this raw, messy display shocked him with its intensity. "Fuck you filming for, Pete, you goddamn perv?" Hazel rasped, her voice thick and raw, one sticky hand instinctively trying to shield her face from the lens while the other braced herself against the champagne-slick table cum glistening on her skin.
A champagne-wet hand thrust a microphone toward her face, fingers slick against the plastic grip. Hazel grabbed it, pushing herself up onto her elbows on the sticky vinyl table, cum streaking her cheeks and matting her hair, and rasped into the mic with defiant, breathless glee, "This is Hazel Mae reporting live from the Blue Jays World Series celebration where I am getting fucked six ways to Sunday by some huge cocks!" Pete grinned behind the camera, shifting his stance as his own pants tightened painfully, loving her filthy mouth. "They're filling my cunt and my mouth," she gasped, arching her back slightly, "and I'm sure my ass soon!"
Vlad’s massive shadow fell over her, a grin splitting his face as he tilted a cold, dripping bottle of champagne over her, its golden fizz cascading down her cum-slicked stomach and between her thighs. "Oh, Vladdy brought the good stuff, Pete!" she laughed, the fizzy liquid mixing with Max’s spend on her skin, her eyes locked on the camera lens as she licked Schneider’s drying release from her upper lip while Vlad’s gaze lingered hungrily. "You missed Springer pounding this pussy raw," she rasped, gesturing vaguely behind her with the sticky microphone towards the sticky vinyl table, "and Kirk unloading straight down my throat—but hey, this champagne feels almost as good—whoa!" The bottle’s neck nudged insistently against her inner thigh as Vlad poured another icy stream, his eyes fixed on the path the liquid took towards her core, the fizz bubbling on her sensitive skin. "Almost as good as vodka, right, Pete?" she winked breathlessly into the camera, her body shimmering wetly under the harsh locker room lights as Vlad’s thick fingers trailed through the sticky mess on her stomach.
Her breath hitched as Vlad was handed another full champagne bottle and suddenly jammed the cold, dripping champagne bottle neck hard against her asshole, the glass pressing insistently past the tight ring of muscle. "Champagne enema time," Vlad announced with a dark chuckle, tilting the bottle higher as the fizzy liquid surged inside her, "gotta clean you out and get this perfect little hole ready for our fucking cocks."
"Push it in deeper, Vladdy!" Hazel gasped, her fingers digging into the backs of her knees, pulling her legs impossibly wide, the champagne fizzing cold and sharp inside her. "Yeah, stretch me out wide open for your cock—fuck, maybe even two of them can fit in there now!" The bottle tilted further, the cold glass pressing deeper as Vlad grinned down at her exposed, vulnerable form on the champagne-wet vinyl, the locker room chaos a muffled roar around them.
The camera lens swallowed the intimate violation, cold glass sliding deeper as Vlad began a slow, deliberate rhythm, pumping the bottle in and out of her tight hole. Hazel’s back arched off the wet vinyl, a ragged gasp escaping her sticky lips before she locked eyes with Pete’s lens and rasped, "Zoom in tight, Pete—show them how fucking wide Vladdy’s stretching me open for his cock, how deep this bottle’s fucking my ass!"
The champagne gushed wetly inside her, cold trails fizzing against tender flesh as Vlad worked the bottle deeper, its thick neck stretching her impossibly wide. Pete revelled in the perfect shot, the lens pulled tight on Hazel’s face contorted in pure ecstasy, her sticky lips parting in a ragged cry: "Fuck yes, Vladdy, shove it all the way in—show everyone how much this nasty asshole loves it!"
Vlad jammed the thick bottle neck deep inside her, cold glass scraping tender flesh as Hazel’s entire body seized, tremors wracking her frame. A guttural scream ripped from her throat, raw and primal, echoing off the locker room tiles as her climax tore through her, legs shaking violently against the vinyl.
Vlad ripped the slick bottle free with a wet pop and grinned over his shoulder at where Hoffman leaned against a locker, silently stroking himself. "Eh, Jeffy!" Vlad boomed, his accent thick, "The closer gets first ass fuck!" Hoffman pushed off the wall, his usual quiet intensity replaced by raw hunger, and stepped up without a word, lining his thick cockhead against Hazel’s glistening, stretched hole before driving deep into her ass in one brutal thrust.
Hoffman didn't waste a single second, pistoning into her stretched asshole with brutal, fast strokes, the wet slap of his hips against her skin echoing sharply. "Fuck me harder, Hoff!" Hazel screamed, her voice ragged but fierce, her sticky face turned towards the camera, "Shove that closer cock deep—I want every single one of you fucking my ass raw next, stuffing my cunt, filling my dirty slut mouth until I choke!"
Kirk appeared beside the massage table, his thick fingers finding her slick, swollen clit with practiced ease, rubbing tight, fast circles just as Hoffman’s cock pistoned deeper into her ass. He leaned down, sinking his teeth hard into her right nipple with a sharp, possessive growl, the sudden sting cutting through the intense pressure building low in her belly, forcing a raw, shuddering cry from her throat as Pete’s camera caught her twisted expression of pain and ecstasy, sticky lips pulled back over her teeth in a desperate smile aimed straight at the lens.
Pete shoved the lens even closer to her sticky, cum-streaked face, shouting over the wet slap of skin and Hoffman’s grunts, "Hazel! What do you wanna tell the millions watching this live right now, huh?" Hazel arched violently against Kirk’s biting mouth and Hoffman’s relentless thrusts into her ass, gasping straight into the camera, "That I’m the luckiest fucking slut in Toronto getting gangbanged by World Series champs!"