Chapter 3: Executive Privilege
Stephanie’s entrance was a silent claiming, the glass door swinging open to admit her and the distant pulse of the crowd. Her fingers tightened in Cameron’s hair, a sharp pull that forced his gaze downward, her trimmed blond curls glistening with her own anticipation just inches from his mouth. “You don’t get to watch,” she stated, her voice cool and commanding as she guided him forward, “you get to taste.” A low, approving laugh from Rhea echoed off the tiles as she watched, while Bayley’s knowing smile spread, her hands already moving to Stephanie’s hips to steady her. His tongue met her soaked flesh, the flavor musky and stark, and her ensuing groan was swallowed by the steam and the sudden, hungry descent of Bayley’s mouth onto her own.
She tasted of expensive perfume and salt, and he worked his tongue deeper into her, trying to find a rhythm. “Slower,” she commanded, her thighs tightening against his ears, and when he obeyed she sighed, “Good boy.” Her hand left his hair only to deliver a sharp, stinging slap to his ass, the crack echoing off the marble. “Now make me come,” Stephanie demanded, grinding her swollen clit against his mouth with a ruthless, steady pressure. She fucked his face with shallow, insistent thrusts, her head thrown back against Bayley’s shoulder, one hand anchored in Rhea’s dark hair.
Rhea’s mouth found the tense line of Stephanie’s neck, sucking a dark bloom onto her skin before whispering, “My turn with him.” She released her grip on Stephanie’s hair and shoved Cameron back, his shoulders hitting the slick tiles as she straddled his face, her thick thighs framing his vision. “You’re gonna taste her on me,” she growled, lowering her dripping cunt onto his mouth, her own musky heat mixing with the sharp, lingering tang of Stephanie’s arousal. Cameron’s tongue dove into her, and Rhea cursed, a raw, grating sound as her hips began a savage rhythm against his jaw. “Fuck yeah, just like that,” she moaned, her hands braced against the wall, her body a taut arch of pleasure above him.
He grabbed her hips, his fingers digging into the dense muscle, and shoved her off his mouth. “My turn,” he growled, the words a guttural command that seemed to startle even him. He spun her around, her back slamming against the wet tiles with a heavy, wet slap.
Her wide eyes held surprise, then a flicker of fierce approval. “You think you can—”, she started, but he cut her off by hooking his hands under her knees, spreading her wide and lifting her hips. He drove into her in one brutal, unbroken stroke, her tight channel gripping him like a furious fist. “Fuck!” Rhea screamed, her head cracking back against the wall, her facade of control shattering into a raw, open-mouthed gasp.
He set a punishing pace immediately, each thrust a deliberate, deep conquest. The slick slap of their bodies joined the symphony of the shower, a wet, rhythmic counterpoint to her ragged curses. “Is that all you’ve got?” she challenged, her nails scraping down his slick back, but her voice trembled.
“No,” he grunted, hammering deeper, angling his hips to grind against her with every plunge. He watched her composure unravel, her mouth going slack, her eyes losing focus. “Who’s taking it now?” he demanded, his voice rough with effort and a newfound, dominant hunger.
She couldn’t answer, only a choked gasp escaping as one of her legs hooked over his arm, surrendering to the rhythm. Bayley and Stephanie watched from the steamy periphery, their hands roaming each other’s bodies, their own arousal plain. “Look at her go,” Stephanie murmured, her own breath quickening as Cameron pounded into Rhea with a relentless, piston-like force that made the shower stall tremble.
Rhea’s release was a silent, shuddering convulsion, her body clamping around him in pulsing waves as she bit down on his shoulder to muffle a broken scream. He rode it out, driving through each tight clench until she went slack against the tiles, her breath hot and ragged on his neck. With a final, deep thrust, he pulled out, glistening and spent, turning his gaze to Bayley who watched with dark, hungry eyes. “Your turn,” he said, the words not a question but a statement worn smooth by his recent authority.
Bayley’s bubbly grin was gone, replaced by a look of pure, predatory anticipation. “Think you’ve got anything left?” she challenged, stepping closer so the hot spray cascaded over them both. He answered by closing the distance, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss that tasted of sweat and steam and Rhea, his hands sliding down to grasp her ample ass.
He lifted her with ease, her legs wrapping around his waist as he guided himself to her entrance. “Fuck me like you mean it,” she whispered against his lips, her usual cheer buried under a layer of raw need. He pushed inside, her wet heat enveloping him, and she gasped, a sharp, delighted sound lost in the hiss of water.
He braced her against the shower wall, finding a rhythm that was less frantic than with Rhea but just as deep, each measured stroke drawing a low moan from her throat. “God, yes,” she chanted, her nails digging into his biceps, her head lolling back. “Just like that.” He watched her face, the playful mask completely dissolved into something unraveled and beautifully wanton.
He fucked her with a focused, driven intensity, the confidence from dominating Rhea fueling every movement. “You’re so damn tight,” he grunted, angling his hips to grind against her with every plunge. She met each thrust, her hips rolling in a slick, perfect counter-rhythm, her breath coming in hot, panting bursts against his cheek.
The sound of their bodies meeting was a wet, rhythmic slap, a private drumbeat underscored by Stephanie’s soft, encouraging murmurs and Rhea’s exhausted, satisfied sighs from the floor. “Come for me, Bayley,” he demanded, his voice rough with strain and desire. Her only reply was a broken cry as her climax ripped through her, her inner muscles fluttering around him in frantic, milking pulses that pulled him over the edge with her.
He held her there, pinned and shuddering, until the last tremor faded from her thighs. With a slow withdrawal that made her gasp, he turned her roughly, pressing her flushed face and hands flat against the cold, wet tile. He spat into his palm, slicking himself, then pressed his thick head against her tight, untouched rim.
“Oh fuck, Cameron,” Bayley breathed, her knuckles whitening against the wall, her earlier challenge now a raw invitation. He pushed in with a relentless, steady pressure, the incredible tightness making his vision blur, and she cried out, a sharp mixture of pain and profound pleasure that echoed off the marble. “Yes, yes, just like that, ruin me,” she chanted, pushing back against him, her ample ass accepting every brutal, claiming inch until he was buried to the hilt.
He set a savage rhythm immediately, each deep, pounding thrust jolting her whole body forward, the wet slap of flesh a counterbeat to her ragged moans. His hands gripped the plush swell of her hips, fingers digging in to steer her, to own the pace completely as he fucked her ass with a single-minded intensity that left them both breathless. Her cries fragmented, becoming wordless, guttural sounds of surrender that only fueled his drive, the shower spray cooling the sweat on his back as he hammered into her.
When his gaze finally tore from the mesmerizing sight of her taking him, it found Stephanie. She stood perfectly still by the glass, one hand absently stroking her throat, her eyes holding a beastly, unvarnished hunger. She watched him own Bayley, watched the complete physical domination, and her lower lip quivered with a delight so stark it was akin to fear. He knew, with a shock of absolute certainty, that her earlier command had been a pretense; what she truly wanted was to be broken next.
He finished with Bayley in three final, driving strokes, his release punching out of him with a hoarse shout as he collapsed against her slick back. After a moment of shared, heaving breaths, he pulled out and turned. Stephanie didn’t speak, didn’t move, but her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow flutters, her blue eyes wide and fixed on him, waiting.
Stephanie finally moved, a fluid, predatory step that closed the distance between them. “You’re not done,” she stated, her voice a low, resonant command that brooked no argument as her manicured hand wrapped around his spent, sticky cock. “You made them come,” she continued, her thumb swiping over his sensitive head, making him twitch, “now you’re going to fucking work for mine.” She guided him backward with surprising force until his legs hit the plush, low sofa beside the wet bar, the cold leather a shock against his skin.
“Down,” she ordered, pushing on his shoulders until he knelt on the expensive rug. She stood over him, the apex of her thighs level with his mouth, the scent of her arousal, sharp and musky, cutting through the lavender steam. “Don’t you dare use your hands,” she instructed, spreading her glistening lips with her own fingers to expose her swollen clit, “just that clever tongue.” He obeyed, leaning forward to lap at her, the taste complex and powerfully intimate. A shudder ran through her, a crack in her corporate armor, and her free hand fisted in his hair, holding him in place as she began to move against his mouth.
“Harder,” she gasped, her hips making small, urgent circles, “suck it, yes, right fucking there.” Her commands were punctuated by soft, sharp cries that seemed to surprise even her. He locked his arms behind his back, focusing solely on the flick and press of his tongue, feeling her thighs begin to tremble. “God, don’t stop, I’m so close,” she moaned, her voice unraveling into a high, desperate whine, her polished persona dissolving completely under his ministrations.
Her climax hit like a seismic event, a violent, shuddering release that arched her back and drew a raw, screaming curse from her lips. She ground herself against his face, riding the waves until she was spent, then slowly sagged onto the sofa beside him, her chest heaving. For a long moment, the only sound was the hiss of the steam vent and their labored breathing. Then, with a tired, satisfied smile that reached her eyes for the first time all night, she looked at the two wrestlers watching from the shower doorway. “Your turn,” Stephanie sighed, gesturing weakly toward Cameron, “he’s all yours again.”
Rhea’s eyes, dark and still glazed from her own release, sharpened instantly. “Fuck yes,” she rasped, pushing off the shower doorframe. Bayley was already moving, her hand wrapping around Cameron’s bicep to haul him up from the rug.
He stood on unsteady legs, his body humming with exhaustion and a deep, satiated ache. The air felt cool now against his flushed skin, a stark contrast to the furnace inside him. He looked at Rhea’s hungry expression, then at Bayley’s eager grin, and felt a fresh, stubborn surge of will.
“Still think you can handle it?” Rhea challenged, her voice a low taunt as she stalked toward him. He met her halfway, his hand snapping out to encircle the back of her neck, not rough but implacable. “I’m just getting started,” he said, his voice gravelly with use.
He guided her down onto the leather sofa, her body sprawling back with a soft thud. Without ceremony, he hooked her legs over his shoulders, exposing her utterly, and drove his tongue into her cunt with a focused, relentless rhythm. She cried out, her hands flying to his hair, not to guide but to cling. “Right there, god, don’t you fucking stop,” she begged, her hips bucking against his face, her earlier dominance shattered into this raw, vocal need.
He fucked her with his mouth until her thighs trembled, then pulled back, his own arousal painfully renewed. “Turn over,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for debate. She moved quickly, getting on her hands and knees, presenting herself to him with a ragged, expectant gasp. He spat into his palm, slicked himself, and pushed into her from behind in one deep, claiming stroke.
She screamed into the leather, a sound of pure, unfiltered pleasure. He set a brutal, pistoning pace, each thrust driving her forward, the sofa creaking in protest. “You take it so fucking good,” he grunted, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. “Now come for me.” The order, coupled with the precise angle of his thrusts, made her shatter instantly, her inner walls clamping around him in violent, fluttering pulses.
He rode out her climax, then pulled out, glistening and hard. His gaze locked onto Bayley, who was watching with parted lips, one hand working between her own legs. “You’re next,” he said, the words simple and absolute. She simply nodded, her playful smirk gone, replaced by a look of awed surrender.
He guided her onto the cool marble floor, away from the damp sofa. “Hands and knees,” he instructed, his voice leaving no room for her usual playfulness.CC
She complied without a word, the wet ends of her hair brushing the polished marble. The cool floor was a stark contrast to the heat radiating from her skin, from all of them. He positioned himself behind her, one hand spreading her wide, the other guiding himself slowly into her warmth, already slick from before.
She arched her back with a sharp inhale, a perfect curve of muscle and submission. “God, you feel…” she started, but her words dissolved into a moan as he began to move. He set a deep, measured rhythm, each thrust a deliberate claiming that echoed in the spacious room.
“Look at her,” Rhea’s voice cut through the humid air, closer now. She was crouching beside them, her eyes fixed where their bodies joined. Her hand reached out, not to him, but to trace the sweat-slicked line of Bayley’s spine. “Absolutely fucking gone.”
Bayley could only nod, her forehead resting on her crossed arms, her breaths puffing against the stone. “So good,” she managed to whisper, the words fraying at the edges. Cameron’s pace quickened, spurred by the raw approval in Rhea’s gaze and the tightening of Bayley around him.
A shudder built deep within her, telegraphing through the tense cords of her thighs. “I’m there,” she warned, her voice a strained thread. He drove into her, hard and final, as the climax ripped through her with a soundless, trembling intensity.
He held himself there, embedded in her pulsing heat, until the last tremor subsided. As he withdrew, Rhea’s hand closed around him, her grip firm and purposeful. “My turn again,” she stated, her voice thick. “But not here.” She pulled him toward the plush, oversized sofa, a dark look in her eyes that promised no respite.
She pulled him toward the plush, oversized sofa, a dark look in her eyes that promised no respite. “Right here,” Rhea commanded, her voice scraped raw from screaming, as she backed onto the leather and laid back. “And don’t be gentle.” He followed her down, his body covering hers, but there was no submission in his motion—only a harnessed, relentless power that made the sofa creak in protest. He entered her in one deep, claiming stroke, and her breath hitched, her head pressing back into the cushion. “Fuck, yes,” she grunted, her hands gripping his shoulders, not to guide him but to hold on.
He established a brutal, driving rhythm, each thrust a focused and intense correction to the exhaustion tugging at his muscles. The leather grew slick beneath them, a testament to their shared sweat. “You’re gonna feel this tomorrow,” he growled against the damp skin of her neck, his hips a piston of concentrated intent. Rhea’s response was a fractured series of curses, her legs locking around his back, her heels digging into his ass to pull him deeper still. She came with a sharp, guttural cry, her body bowing under his, and he followed seconds after, spilling into her with a final, shuddering push.
He pulled out, turning his head, his gaze finding Stephanie where she watched from the arm of a chair. Her chin was propped on her hand, a half-empty champagne flute dangling from her fingers, her expression one of rapt, calculated hunger. “My turn, I believe,” she said, her CEO voice layered over something far more primal. He crossed the room, the champagne flute clicking onto glass as she stood to meet him.
“Hands on the bar,” he said, his voice leaving no room for debate. She turned, bending over the polished wet bar with a sleek, deliberate motion, her back a graceful arch. He positioned himself behind her, one hand spreading her, the other guiding himself first into her tight, virgin ass. She gasped, a sharp, shocked sound that melted into a low moan as he pressed inexorably inward, breaching her slowly, completely. “Oh god, finally,” she breathed, her knuckles white where they gripped the bar’s edge.
He fucked her there with a hard, intense pace, the slapping sounds echoing off the marble, each thrust a consummation of the power she had silently begged for all night. Her composure shattered into grateful, ragged sobs of pleasure. When he finished, he withdrew, stepping back to look at the three exhausted women sprawled in the lavish room. Bayley was a languid curve on the floor, Rhea a spent force on the sofa, Stephanie a trembling mess against the bar.
Cameron could see the night was over. He found his discarded clothes, pulled them on over his sticky skin, and grabbed his bag from the corner where it had sat forgotten since the shower. Making his way out, the silence of the executive suite broken only by their slow, sated breathing, he thought to himself that he had given them the best sex of their lives. The heavy door shut behind him with a soft, final click, muting the arena’s distant hum. Who next, he wondered, the faces of other WWE female wrestlers flashing through his mind as he walked down the empty, polished hall.