The Stephanie Saga Part 2: Blackmail
by Adam

Paul Heyman marched cockily down the hall to Stephanie McMahon's office. It
had only been two days since their threesome with his client, Brock Lesnar,
but with Steph's signature on the dotted line of the document in his hand,
it would be a few hours until his brilliant plan ran its course. He could
not believe his luck; one of the sexiest and bustiest women in
sports-entertainment history would be his personal fucktoy. Oh sure, Brock
Lesnar would be involved as well, but he held his client on a leash. If
Lesnar dared to cross him, he would make sure that Lesnar would be a jobber
on Heat and in dark matches before Monday Night Raw. Without knocking,
Heyman barged into his boss's office for the second time in less than a
week, his famous "My shit don't stink" grin on his face.

"I'm really busy, Paul, so please get the hell out of my office and set up
an appointment with my secretary."

"Miss McMahon," the former ECW-owner began in mock sincerity, "I'm very
sorry to interrupt you, but you see, you signed a document the other day
stating that you will perform any sexual favor that myself or my client
deems necessary. Any hot, sweaty, steamy desire of ours has to be fulfilled
by your mouth. Or your...*other* parts."

"WHAT?!" Stephanie couldn't believe the dribble coming out of her employee's
mouth, and the audacity he had to spew such filth from his vile mouth. "Paul,
I'm going to call security and have you removed immediately. I don't care if
you take Lesnar with you; this bullshit is going to stop, and it's going to
stop now. You work for ME, at least, you did until 2 minutes ago, that is."

"But Miss McMahon, I guess you didn't read the fineprint of the contract you
signed after I pleasured you the day before last. You are my fucktoy. Firing
me will accomplish nothing, since Mr. Bischoff and I have been in contract
negotiations since my client and I signed as exclusive Smackdown! property.
And besides...you wouldn't want for *this* to be broadcast over the internet,
would you?"

Heyman handed Stephanie a videotape. She got out of her leather chair, and
walked over to the television set in the corner of her office. As she
squatted down to push the tape into the VCR, Heyman couldn't help but stare
at her large round ass through the fabric of her decidedly slutty miniskirt.
His eyes trailed down from her magnificent rump to her long, toned legs. She
was wearing black stockings today, along with knee-high black leather boots.
His hard-on became more and more apparent as his eyes traveled up and down
the lower half of her seemingly perfect body. He had lusted after every woman
in the business from Beulah and Kimona to Trish and Torrie Wilson, but there
was something about Stephanie that made him want her more than any of the
others. It wasn't just her mammoth jugs, her gorgeous dark hair; not he
pouty lips or silky-smooth skin; not even her coltishly long legs or wide
ass. It was something about *her*--her personality, her aura, her
genosaisqua--whatever it was, he wanted her. And he would have her.

All these thoughts ran through his mind in a matter of seconds, which was
just enough time for the snow to clear on the second-rate videotape. Then
the picture became clearer. Stephanie's jaw dropped as she saw an overhead
view of her giving Heyman a sloppy blowjob while The Next Big Thing licked
her hot cunt. Stephanie turned around to face Heyman, her own face a mask
of angry disbelief and irate horror.

"Whatever you're trying Heyman, it isn't funny, and I do not appreciate it.
You don't know who you're dealing with. I am Stephanie McMahon. I am--"

"You are," Paul Heyman cut off her long-winded soliloquy before it could
get too far underway "the woman who signed the document that lies in front
of your desk, stating that you will pleasure Brock Lesnar and myself from
now on. Oh, sure, you can choose to punish us, or to try to destroy the
documents, or simply refuse them...but if you do, then the tape hits the
net. So, it's up to you. You can either swallow your pride and my dick, or
you can say goodbye to the business you were brought up in. The choice is
yours, Stephanie."

Tears welled in Stephanie's soft blue eyes and spilled down her cheeks,
causing her mascara to run. Heyman silently chuckled at the sight. He had
her where he wanted her. She might not be in the right position yet, but
her will was broken, and he was in the mood for a quicky...

"What do you want me to do, Paul?" Stephanie silently admitted defeat to
herself, and began to pull her tight top over her head, allowing her black
lace bra to become visible to the slimeball in her office.

"That's much better, Stephanie. See, we can work and talk like two reasonable
businesspeople and work out a mutually beneficial agreement. As for what I
*want,* I want you. And only you. I want to touch and rub every part of your
body. I want you to pleasure every fantasy that I can come up with, starting
with the part of you I've always liked best. You know what I want, so get to
work."

Stephanie knew what he wanted. Crawling on her hands and knees over to him,
she unsipped his fly, letting his small cock spring out. She placed a kiss
on the tip, before licking the tip of the shaft in a circular motion. She
backed up and undid her bra before lying flat on her back. She pushed her
large mounds together and began to lick all over the melons. She then spit
on them a few times, making them very slick. They looked even more appetizing
covered in her saliva than they did dry. Grabbing his knees, she pulled the
former Paul E. Dangerously down on top of her, letting his penis land between
her twin peaks.

"Ooooh, oooh yessss!" Heyman slithered, as his pecker felt the great combined
sensation of Stephanie's large, warm breasts and her cool wet spit. She
pushed her heaving breasts together and allowed him to hump the fuckhole. He
slid back and forth between her big tits, his balls filling with semen from
the sensation of rubbing against her soft chest and stomach.

"Aaaah, Oooh, Oooh, yes, yess, yesssss! That's so good Steph, sooo damned
goooood!" He grunted as he worked back and forth. As he felt an orgasm
building, he stopped. A single drop of pre-cum fell between her luscious
mounds. Before she could ask him what was wrong, His hands wrapped themselves
in her hair and yanked her off of the ground. He led her over to her desk and
let go of her hair with one hand before using it to knock her papers off of
her desk. He bent her over it, and pulled her miniskirt down to her ankles,
exposing that she had on no underwear.

"You see, Steph, I told you I wanted to be pleasured by the part of you like
most. Not your tits, great though they may be. Your sweet, sweet ass is what
I dream about at night in my lonely hotel beds, Stephanie. Since you failed
to do what I wanted, I'm going to have to punish you."

*Oh, man,* he thought, *saying that to her is almost as hot as actually doing
it.*

With that, he brought his right hand down hard on her ass, making both cheeks
jiggle from the impact. The thought of punishing her had made his cock squirm
uncomfortably. He'd be lucky not to blow his load while smacking her
marvellous backside. Stephanie writhed and squirmed, trying to get away from
Paul Heyman as his right hand slapped her backside again. Using his left
forearm, he kept her body wedged against the desk, not allowing her to move;
exercising his power and authority over her. His right hand pistoned back and
forth, laying heavy smack after heavy smack across her red bottom. Finally,
as silent tears ran down her face, he stopped. Before she could thank him for
stopping, she knew why he had stopped, and her blood turned cold. Her
beautiful, big asscheeks were suddenly pried apart, giving him a glance at
her puckered brown anal ring.

Heyman's cock leapt and jerked at the beautiful sight before him. He wanted
so badly to get on his knees behind her and hold onto her stockinged legs; to
run his hands up and down her long legs while eating out her asshole; to rim
her and force his tongue into her tightest fuckhole...but there was no time
for that. He had other business to attend to, and he knew that she was bound
to have an appointment sooner or later, so better safe than sorry. *This is
it,* he thought.

With her bountiful ass spread open, Heyman lunged forward in one sharp
movement, burying his prick all the way to the hilt in Steph's seldom-used
anus. She cried out in hysterical pain as he bored his member into her. He
started to pull out, and then shoved back in all the way again. His hands
latched onto her hips and rubbed her thighs in a circular motion as he
pounded in and out of her pucker.

"Nooo! Please, no more, no more! Noooo! Ouch! Ohhh, it hurts, please, no
more!" The Billion Dollar Princess wailed, but it was to no avail. Heyman
was living out most male wrestling fans' fantasies, and had no compassion
for her. She was his fuckslave. Forever. He continued his rough, hard rhythm,
slamming in and out of her backside, before stopping midthrust to readjust
his legs, pushing them against the back of her legs and widening his and her
stance, giving him better balance. Her hands gripped the edge of the desk,
her knuckles white from squeezing so hard. Heyman reached one hand under her
and used it to latch onto one massive tit, tweaking the hard nipple as he
felt his orgasm building. He was almost ready to explode, but he didn't know
where to shoot his load. He wanted her to swallow his man-gravy again, but
also wanted to paint her large ass white with his seed. He continued sawing
in and out of her rectum, eliiting more and more moans of pain and pleas for
mercy from the young filly. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of
bliss, he hit his orgasm, shooting the first spurt of semen inside her ass,
where it caused a fiery burning sensation. He pulled out in time to shoot
another three squirts of his hot cum onto her pale, round buttcheeks. Heyman
sighed and moaned as he zipped his pants. As he opened the door to leave, he
turned back at the naked babe, who had collapsed on the desk.

"Miss McMahon, I know you'll miss me tomorrow, but I have a business meeting
to attend to. Don't worry though. My client Brock Lesnar has assured me that
he'd be more than happy to take care of you after Smackdown! And Steph--
thanks. The pleasure is all mine and Brock's."

With that, Heyman left, slamming the officedoor shut, and leaving Stephanie
McMahon in tears as she contemplated how to escape her horrible fate.

To Be Continued?