DISCLAIMER: this story is a work of fiction and does not in any way reflect the actions or thoughts of Carrie Underwood. It is written for the enjoyment of those who read erotic material and I do not make any money from writing it.
Any resemblances with real persons are purely coincidental.
Written as a request.
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The fat man on the taxiway was sweating profusely as he dragged two big suitcases over the asphalt to the assembly belt that led into the luggage store of the neighboring airplane.
Brandon Hughes let out a bored sigh and leaned his head against the frame of the little window next to his seat. The plane was overdue to start, but the captain made no attempt to do so, meaning they were stuck at the LA Airport for almost forty-five minutes now! The whole predicament would be much easier if the California summer sun hadn't heated up the whole plane and temperatures reached apocalyptical degrees.
Brandon had asked a bypassing stewardess a couple of minutes ago for the reason of their delay and she had explained to him that they had to wait because a flight from the inner parts of the country had a delay, but they would be here any minute.
Brandon had grumbled a little, but he had kept enough coolness to realize that this wasn't the stewardess' fault, so he leant back and tried to relax. After all, the comfort of the first-class seat helped to ease the discomfort of the situation a little...
After watching the hypnotic waddle of the stout airport helper for a couple of minutes Brandon turned his attention down to the slip of paper on the small table in front of him. The corners of the letter were worn out from being folded and unfolded so often and the ink had faded a little at the kink folds.
Tiredly Brandon wiped the sweat of his brow and recalled for the thousandth time how he ended up here.
-
It had been four weeks ago. Brandon and his guys had watched the local football-derby in his yard, amiably arguing which team had the bigger balls and would take away the victory until Brandon's friend Marco had enough.
"Fine, Brandon," he had shot, his voice slightly raised to stand out over the little fights of the rest of the gang, "You want to tell me that those deadbeats will able to win? Nah man, I bet you five bucks that by half-time we'll be in lead with at least double your points! Deal?"
"No deal, buddy" Jason had replied smirking, "You know I don't bet for money..."
"You're such a pussy, dude!" Marco had exclaimed and the whole gang had laughed.
Brandon had turned red. Bets around here were never about the wager, they were about fun! But in the previous discussion Brandon had had a pretty big mouth... If he didn't want to lose his face he had to think of something... fast! The problem was: his team wasn't very good this season and chances were high that Marco would be right. So the art was to find a small wager that would be good enough for his friends to accept it.
"Listen," he had spoken up, "How about this? You know how they always do those stupid commercials during half-time, where you have to call to participate in some stupid contests? Whoever loses has to participate! And just in case he wins, he'll have to take whatever he wins and use it!"
Your buddies looked at Marco, interested. After thinking about your idea for a second he answered: "Okay, what the hell... I won't lose anyway!" The two of them shook hands, then turned their attention back to the screen as the game began.
Turned out Marco was right. Brandon's team had caught a ridiculously bad day and when the break came they were back with 7 to 21. The whole group, even the supporters of your team, cheered as Marco handed you his cell, then everyone watched the TV, waiting for the commercial.
"Shit, Brandon," Marco grinned and playfully shoved your shoulder, "I hope it's anal beads!"
"Shut the hell up, man!" he retorted, but couldn't help but smile.
Then the spot started. The screen faded to black. Slowly, some guitar-sounds began to play out of the speakers, soon followed by the voice of a girl. She sang a country-song and Brandon had heard her before, but he couldn't place who she was. Usually, if a country-song starts playing on the radio he changed the channel. It was simply not his taste.
After a few lines the song decreased to a background-music and some over-excited announcer-dude jubilated from my speakers, "You always wanted to meet Carrie Underwood? Here is your chance: Experience a personal guiding by the star through the privacy of her trailer before enjoying her concert in the first row! A day you will never forget! Call 00-4815162342!"
The numbers were blended in on the bottom of the screen, then a gorgeous blonde came into view. She wore hot-pants and a light blue vest, had a killer-body and angelic face and was smiling widely as she pointed towards the camera and exclaimed: "I wanna meet YOU!"
Then the spot was over and was replaced by a Ford-commercial.
Marco nudged him on the shoulder, "Dude, you heard the lady! She wants to meet you!"
As everyone laughed he shook his head, dialed the number and fulfilled his part of the agreement. It could have been worse after all...
A few minutes later everyone was focused on the game again. The bet was completely forgotten...
-
That was until two weeks later a Lady called and told him he won the prize. Brandon was so irritated; the woman had to explain to him what the prize was about until he remembered the game-night. His team had been crushed, so he had drowned his anger in a gallon of tequila. The events of the night were a slur in his memory; he even had to check the newspaper to recall the result.
But after all, Brandon thought, this wasn't so bad... A totally paid for two-day-trip to the concert, watching a smoking hot chick show off her body in tight clothes from a front row seat and get some private time with her beforehand while being led around in her private trailer.
Yeah, this prize was definitely by far better than anal beads!
-
Yawning Brandon folded the winning-coupon down to coaster-size and shoved it back into the breast-pocket of his sweaty shirt, then he took a swig of the cool corona, which the cute, brunette stewardess had served him as a refreshment.
He rested his head in his hand and let his gaze once again linger to the whale-man who struggled with the heavy luggage out there in the burning sun. Misery was so much easier to bear if you could watch someone who caught a fate worse than your own!