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Single TV Dad
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Having fun is why I do this. And, I’m just having fun in the next few hundred pages, doing what I do with a wink and a nod. It’s supposed to bring out some emotions and give you a chance to forget about your cares for a little bit. That’s all I’m looking to do.
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“Oh, Kane,” the girl—no clue what her name is—moans, her voice echoing off the walls of my dressing room. “You’re so hot. Fuck me harder.”
I smile and do as she wishes. It’s not the first time I’ve heard the request. And I always deliver. Far be it to deny any woman who asks the full force of my cock.
“Uh— oh— fuck—” she bites out with each thrust of my hips. I pound into her harder and harder. “It’s— true— oh god— what they— say.”
Damn straight it is. I’m not the lead of the hottest drama on cable for nothing. And yeah, this cable network has no problem with full frontal nudity. And neither do I. Because it was all me in every single shot, baby. No stunt double dicks for me. I’m blessed with a twelve-inch cock, and I want the whole world to know it.
Now that my show is number one week after week, they do. And all the women want to say they slept with the star of Manhattan Reign.
And when a sexy little extra who looks like she’s barely legal asks for an autograph, who am I to refuse? No, I give them one better. I take them right back to my dressing room and fuck their brains out. Something I’m apparently doing a good job of now because this one has become incoherent with her pleas and moans, her eyes rolling back in her head like she’s been propelled straight into another universe.
Just as she starts coming all over my cock, I grab her by the hips and flip her around, flinging her over the arm of my sofa until her ass is straight up in the air, then I slam into her again, causing her orgasm to intensify.
I know what’s going to happen when she leaves here. Girls like this don’t come on my show to be an extra just for the fun of it. They come on here to see what kind of story they can leave with. Well, I’m going to give her one. She’s going to be singing my praises for weeks to come. I’ll make certain of it.
Her cries become louder, and the next thing I know, my spine tingles and my balls tighten, and I know I’m about to explode all over this girl.
Just as I’m about to let go, there’s a knock on the door.
The banging on the other side of the door has nothing on the banging going on inside, but it still makes me growl in frustration. This damn production assistant has interrupted me getting it on in my dressing room one too many times. I think he might get off on it a little. Hell, he probably stood outside the door listening for a while before he even knocked. It wouldn’t surprise me if he walked in here right now at full mast.
What can I say? I have that kind of appeal. Women love me. Men love me. But more than anyone, the young girls love me. Thanks in no small part to my role on the show. I’m the father figure. The silver fox—minus the silver. The producers love to pair me with all the hottest young actresses. It definitely keeps ratings up, no doubt about it.
I can’t complain. I have a string of women lining up for me every day of the week, and I make sure to satisfy as many of them as I can. I’m in and out of the tabloids as often as I’m on the cover of some magazine or another declaring me the sexiest man alive.
The fame’s great—especially the women it brings—and I love what I do on Manhattan Reign, but I do hope this season will get me a nod on the awards circuit. I’m not just a hot body and a chiseled jaw with a smoldering gaze and panty-melting smile. I actually have some talent. A lot, if I’m being honest. I come by it naturally. My father is an Oscar winning film star—but I’d like to prove that I’m talented in my own right.
“Kane,” the production assistant calls through the door again when I don’t answer. What the fuck does he expect me to do? Stop railing the hot girl bent over my sofa? “You’re needed out here. Like five minutes ago. You’re needed for the audition this morning.”
I groan. I totally forgot. Hot women and their even hotter pussies tend to do that to me. “Give me five, dude,” I call back, then turn my attention back to the pussy currently convulsing around my throbbing cock.
“Kane,” the woman wails as I send her into orbit with her third or fourth orgasm—or is it fifth? I’ve lost count.
Then I give in to my own need as I pull out and hot jets shoot from my cock, stream after creamy white stream of cum spraying all over her back. I grin in satisfaction. A naked woman’s back never looks better than it does covered in my cum.