Chapter 6: Madison joins in the fun
The humid air in the Rogers Centre studio crackled with spilled champagne and disbelief. Madison Shipman, blonde hair plastered to her flushed temples, leaned back against the cluttered anchor desk, her eyes locked on the monitor playing Hazel’s ecstatic scream as Springer slammed into her, her own hand buried deep beneath the waistband of her tailored slacks, fingers working furiously against the slick heat beneath the thin silk of her underwear. Across the desk, Jamie Campbell’s jaw hung slack, forgotten stats sheets crumpled in his fist, while Joe Siddall stared, mesmerized, at the rhythmic bulge of Madison’s forearm beneath the desk, the wet sounds from her hidden fingers audible over the thumping bass bleeding from the locker room feed and the sticky pop of Jamie finally uncorking another cold bottle of Moët.
"Christ, Maddie," Siddall breathed, his voice thick, eyes darting between the raw carnality on screen and Madison’s closed eyes, her head thrown back against the plexiglass backdrop showing the empty diamond, her breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps that mirrored Hazel’s own. "You’re… you’re really…" He trailed off, unable to articulate the sheer, shocking immediacy of it, the studio lights glinting off the champagne dripping down Madison’s throat onto her blouse, plastering the fabric to her hardened nipple.
Campbell finally tore his gaze from the monitor, blinking rapidly as if surfacing from deep water, landing on Madison’s trembling form. "Ship," he managed, his usual smooth delivery shattered, "the feed… it’s… they’re…" He gestured helplessly towards the screen where Kirk was now lifting Hazel’s limp legs, Vlad positioning himself behind her with grim determination. "Shouldn’t we… cut it?"
Madison’s eyes snapped open, blazing with a fierce, almost feral intensity, her fingers still pumping relentlessly. "Cut it?" she rasped, her voice raw, a bead of sweat tracing the line of her jaw. "Are you fucking insane, Jamie?" She jerked her chin towards the monitor where Hazel, covered in glistening streaks, arched violently as Vlad entered her. "Look at her! Look at that!" A low moan escaped her own lips, her hips lifting slightly off the desk edge, grinding against her own hand. "She’s… she’s feeling it. Every fucking inch. God…" Her breath hitched, her gaze locked back on Hazel’s contorted face. "She’s winning."
Siddall watched, transfixed, as Madison’s free hand fumbled blindly on the desk, knocking over a plastic cup of lukewarm beer. She didn’t notice, her fingers closing instead around the neck of the champagne bottle Jamie had opened. Without looking, she lifted it, tilting it clumsily. The pale gold liquid cascaded down, not into a glass, but over her own chest, soaking the already transparent blouse, the cold shock making her gasp, her back arching sharply. The champagne streamed down her stomach, pooling in the waistband of her slacks where her other hand still worked frantically beneath the fabric. "Fuck… yes…" she hissed, the liquid mixing with her own sweat, tracing paths over her skin visible through the soaked silk.
Campbell watched the champagne darken the fabric clinging to her big tits the outline of her frantic fingers beneath her waistband unmistakable. He swallowed hard, a flush creeping up his own neck. Siddall just stared, his knuckles white where he gripped the edge of his chair. The locker room audio roared – Hazel’s guttural cries, the slap of flesh, the team’s drunken shouts – filling the small studio, drowning out the canned stadium music piped in earlier. Madison’s moans intertwined with Hazel’s, a desperate counterpoint. Siddall’s gaze dropped to the monitor showing Pete’s shaky camerawork zooming in on Vlad’s thick cock pistoning into Hazel’s ravaged body, then flicked back to Madison’s champagne-slicked chest, the frantic movement under her desk. He shifted uncomfortably, the fabric of his own trousers suddenly tight.
"Winning?" Siddall echoed, his voice strained, almost cracking. He gestured vaguely at the screen where Vlad was grunting, driving Hazel’s face into the sticky tabletop. "That looks like… like she’s getting destroyed, Maddie."
Madison laughed, a sharp, breathless sound devoid of humor. Her eyes were glazed, fixed on Hazel’s spread legs, the obscene stretch. "Destroyed?" She shook her head, champagne droplets flying. "No, Joe. Owned. Utterly fucking owned." Her fingers dug deeper, her knuckles straining against the wet silk. "She wanted this. Look at her face!" On screen, Hazel managed to turn her head, her cheek pressed against the table, her eyes finding Pete’s lens. Even blurred, exhausted, they burned with a terrifying, defiant triumph. Madison gasped, her body tensing, her thighs clamping around her hidden hand. "She took them… all of them… made them hers… with that… that fucking mouth…" Her words dissolved into a choked cry as her hips bucked violently against the desk edge. Her head slammed back against the plexiglass backdrop with a dull thud, her entire body rigid, trembling, a low, sustained groan tearing from her throat that echoed Hazel’s own ragged scream as Vlad finally came inside her.
For a long moment, the only sounds were Madison’s shuddering breaths, the relentless thump of the locker room music, and the faint, wet squelch from beneath her desk as her fingers slowed but didn’t stop. Champagne dripped steadily from the edge of the desk onto the floor. Siddall couldn’t look away from her, the flush deepening on his cheeks. Campbell stared at his own hands, clenched on the desk, knuckles white. The monitor flickered – Pete was panning across the wreckage: Hazel collapsed, breathing raggedly, covered in fluids, players staggering past, grinning. Madison slowly pulled her hand free from her slacks, glistening fingers trembling visibly in the studio lights before she wiped them carelessly on her soaked blouse, leaving a darker, slicker patch. She took a deep, shaky breath, pushing damp hair from her face, her gaze still locked on Hazel’s exhausted, blissful smile.
"See?" Madison whispered, her voice hoarse but strangely calm, a faint, satisfied smile touching her own lips as she watched Hazel weakly lift a hand, middle finger extended towards the camera lens before it dropped limply back to the table. "Total fucking victory."
Madison pushed off the desk, her soaked blouse clinging coldly, nipples pushing through the fabric, her legs trembling slightly but her stride purposeful as she headed for the studio door, ignoring Siddall’s choked gasp and Campbell’s frantic scramble to follow. "I'm going down there," she announced, her voice raw but decisive, yanking the door open towards the elevator bank and the echoing chaos below. "Right fucking now."
Siddall lunged halfway out of his chair, knocking over the empty champagne bottle. "Maddie, you can't—" he started, panic sharpening his voice, but the studio door slammed shut behind her, cutting him off as the elevator chime dinged faintly down the hall.
The heavy scent of spilled beer and stale sweat hit Madison like a physical wall as she strode down the service corridor, her damp blouse clinging coldly to her skin under the harsh fluorescent lights. Two massive security guards, their uniforms straining, blocked the locker room doors, eyes glued to the live feed on their phones – Vlad’s thick cock sliding obscenely from Hazel’s body – their knuckles white where they gripped their belts, visibly hard beneath the dark fabric.
Madison stopped inches from them, breathing hard, her gaze dropping pointedly to the prominent bulges tenting their pants. "Look," she said, her voice low and rough, her hand already sliding, palm flat, up the rigid outline of the nearest guard’s erection, feeling it twitch violently beneath her touch. "I need in that room." The other guard inhaled sharply, unable to tear his eyes from his phone or her hand as it rubbed firm, slow circles over his colleague's cock. "Is there anything," she murmured, locking eyes with the first guard whose breath hitched audibly, "I can do... anything... to change your minds?" With a fluid motion that brooked no argument, Madison dropped to her knees on the cold concrete floor between them, her hands settling on their thighs, thumbs pressing into the hot, straining denim covering their cocks. "I bet," she said, looking up, eyes blazing with challenge, her fingers already working at the nearest belt buckle, "if I drain your cocks with my mouth... I can convince you." Both guards froze, mouths slack, no words emerging, only ragged, desperate breaths filling the humid air beside the muffled roar of the orgy beyond the door.
The thick heat of the first guard’s cock sprang free against her cheek as she tore open his zipper, already turning her head, mouth open wide for the second guard’s throbbing length before the first drop of pre-come could even bead at its swollen tip. Her head bobbed in a furious, efficient rhythm, one hand pumping the slick shaft not currently filling her throat, switching focus every few seconds, tasting salt and denim as she worked them towards release with single-minded purpose—the door, just inches away, vibrating with the raw sound of Hazel’s cries.
Her mouth never paused its work as she pulled back just enough to rasp around the girth filling her, "Gonna swallow every hot fucking drop from both your balls down my throat," before immediately taking the other guard's cock deep again, gagging slightly as she pushed it to the back of her palate, her lips smeared wet, her eyes burning with fierce, urgent need fixed on the security panel beside them.
One guard, hips jerking uncontrollably, panted, "Yeah? Take it deeper, slut, suck that fucking cock like you mean it," his rough hand shoving her head down harder onto his shaft. Madison moaned around the thickness, gagging as the head hit her throat, her mind racing – God, I fucking love sucking cock almost as much as getting fucked.
She pulled her mouth off just long enough to slick her index finger with spit before shoving it hard up the first guard’s asshole as she swallowed his cock back down to the root. "Fuck! Jesus!" he roared, hips bucking wildly against her invading finger and sucking mouth, his knees buckling as she worked him toward explosive release.
The first guard erupted violently down her throat, thick ropes of hot cum pumping into her as she swallowed frantically, her throat working around the pulsing shaft. Before she could catch her breath, the second guard shoved his own cock deep into her gaping, spit-slicked mouth, thrusting hard against her tonsils as he roared, "Take it all, you hungry fucking cunt!" and unloaded, his salty flood mixing with his partner's spend already coating her tongue and throat.
Both guards crumpled to the concrete, knees buckling as their spent bodies slumped against the vibrating locker room door, panting like broken engines. Madison surged upright, wiping the glistening mess from her chin with the back of her hand while a dark, triumphant laugh bubbled in her throat—Blowjobs: My goddamn superpower—before she coolly plucked the plastic keycard from the nearest guard’s slack uniform pocket and swiped it past the reader with a sharp, decisive beep.