"I'm really glad you're here," Aaron said as he surveyed the scene at the hotel bar.
"You kidding me?" Anthony said. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."
Aaron was grateful that there had been no awkwardness between them since that night in his kitchen. In fact, to his relief, Anthony hadn't mentioned it again. It were almost as if it had never happened.
"How's she doing?" Anthony asked.
"Nervous," Aaron replied, "but I think she's okay. She's up in our room, sleeping. She has a big day ahead of her tomorrow. She's meeting with wardrobe in the morning, and then the media team in the afternoon. And tomorrow night are the preliminaries."
"That's wicked important," Anthony said. "You get a bad seed in this tournament, and it's a tough fight to the top."
Aaron merely nodded his head, and took another sip of beer.
"How are
you
doing?" Anthony asked.
"I'm nervous for her," Aaron replied. "She's worked so hard for this, and I'm so proud of her. I know she'll do well."
"I gotta give you props, man. I don't know how you do it. What's it like to watch your wife suck all those cocks?"
Anthony paused for a moment. He was embarrassed to admit how it really made him feel, and he knew his friend wouldn't understand.
"Honestly, it's become almost normal now. At first, it wasn't easy to watch, but I've grown used to it. Like I told Rochelle at the beginning, it's really no different than watching someone participate in a hotdog eating contest."
Anthony burst into laughter, and his beer nearly spurted from his nose.
"You didn't fucking say that, did you?"
Aaron nodded his head, and then broke into laughter as well. The absurdity of his analogy, as well as the entire situation they found themselves in, suddenly overcame him. He finished off the last of his beer.
"I'm gonna call it a night," he announced, and gave Anthony a slap on the back. "I'll let you pick up the tab."
"Hey, thanks, man," Anthony responded.
***
Aaron eased himself beneath the sheets as quietly and softly as possible. He heard the sound of halting breath from the other side of the bed.
"You awake?" he asked softly.
"Yeah," came the quiet response.
"It's late," he said, wrapping his arm around her. "You need to rest."
"I know," she said.
"Are you okay?"
There was a long pause.
"I don't think I can do it," she muttered.
"The tournament?" he asked. "Of course you can. Honey, you've come too far to quit."
"I'm not going to quit," she stated. "But there's no way I can win it."
"Why do you say that?"
"I just can't, Aaron. Those other girls have way more experience, and I'm way out of my league."
"How do you know that?"
"I read their bios online. And I saw them walking around in the lobby earlier today. You should've seen the way they looked at me. I don't belong here."
"Of course you do. Don't be ridiculous. You're better than all of them, and you'll prove that this week."
"I'm not here to prove anything," she protested. "I just want to make it to the end and leave here with enough money to help our family."
"You can do it, honey. I believe in you. Mai Lin believes in you. The Minotti people believe in you. You just have to believe in yourself. That's all that matters."
She held his arms and pulled him toward her.
"Now get some sleep," he said. "You have a big day tomorrow."
***
Rochelle wasn't happy with the outfit the Minotti people had selected for her. She was late for her interview in the conference room on the bottom floor of the hotel, but she was still standing in front of the full-length mirror in her hotel room, examining herself from every angle.
"I look absolutely ridiculous," she said.
"Well, the top shows plenty of cleavage," Aaron offered. "That's a good thing."
"The top is the worst part of it!" she countered. She fidgeted with her breasts in an attempt to squeeze them into the frilly green bustier.
"I look like a fucking German beer wench!" she shouted. She turned from side to side, and her short skirt flowed as she swayed. The outfit was accented by a pair of thigh-high white stockings and clunky high heels.
"We need to go," he said. "You're already late."
She expelled a deep sigh, and stormed out of the room, with Aaron trailing behind. As soon as she entered the media room, a team of assistants swarmed around her. One fitted her with a microphone, another fixed her hair, and yet another had the audacity to adjust her breasts. She nearly slapped the man. As soon as she was seated, the interview began.
"So, tell us about yourself," the interviewer began. Rochelle wore a phony smile and looked into the camera.
"Well, my name is Molly, and I'm from Apple Valley, Minnesota. I have three children and a loving husband of twenty-three years."
In the days leading up to the tournament, she had been meeting with a consultant from the Minotti group, who coached her on media relations. She had been given a script, which she was told to memorize. The goal was to portray her as a Midwestern soccer mom, which was a unique resume for a contestant in the NCC's. The Minotti people thought that this character would resonate with the audience and lend some much-needed credibility to the tournament.
Rochelle continued to answer questions precisely as she had been coached. At the conclusion of the interview, she politely thanked the interviewer for his time, and attempted to flee from the room as quickly as possible. On the way out, she crossed paths with a stunning red-haired woman. She was statuesque and thin, and had massive breasts that were out of proportion with the rest of her body and strained against the material of her sparkling red top.
The woman looked at Michelle with disdain, and gave her a phony smile.
"Nice outfit," she said with a smirk.
Rochelle found her husband standing by the door, and scurried from the room, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone else. All she wanted to do was get back to her room, remove those ridiculous clothes, and crawl back into bed.
***
The sound of retching echoed off the walls of the bathroom, and Aaron debated whether he should enter the lady's room and ensure that his wife was okay. Moments later, she emerged, looking tired and frazzled.
"I'm okay," she said, before he had a chance to ask.
They had arrived at the event facility hours before. It appeared to be a large, abandoned warehouse in the middle of the desert, roughly thirty minutes away from the hotel. The event organizers had erected makeshift bleachers in the main section of the warehouse, which surrounded a large, square platform. The "backstage" area included a locker room, several changing rooms, bathroom facilities, and a section for the media.
As the preliminary round was merely used to determine the seeds for the tournament bracket, only a handful of spectators surrounded the platform. One at a time, the contestants were called to the stage. Five blindfolded men, all wearing earphones, were escorted onto the stage, and one at a time, three of them were sucked off by the contestant, with the other two serving as options for switches.
Rochelle awaited her turn, wringing her hands and pacing back and forth. She continued to tug at her costume, which she reluctantly put back on her body after shedding it earlier that afternoon. When she arrived at the facility, she was surprised to see all of the other contestants wearing casual clothing. Evidently, the costumes were not necessary for the preliminary round. As if she didn't feel uncomfortable and self-conscious enough, this mistake only added to the queasy feeling in her belly.
"Molly Mounds, please come to the stage," a voice bellowed over the sound system.
"Good luck," Aaron said, and gave her a sweet kiss.
She wasn't used to wearing such high heels, and she imagined herself tripping on the way to the stage. It would simply be the grand conclusion to a humiliating day. As she ascended the steps onto the platform, she felt light-headed, and for a moment she feared she would pass out. There were two kneeling pads in the center of the stage: one blue, and one red. She could feel the thumping of her heart in her chest as she lowered herself to the blue cushion, which was attached to the base of the platform.
As she took her position, she could hear murmurs and laughter from the audience surrounding her. She was so distracted, she didn't even notice that the procession of naked men had entered the stage until one was standing directly in front of her. His limp dick dangled in front of her face. From the first impression, it was difficult to believe that it would grow to regulation size. She was startled by the ringing of a bell.
"Go! Go!" Mai Lin shouted from the corner of the stage, and Rochelle snapped out of her daze. She inhaled the cock in front of her and worked her mouth and tongue over it. It seemed as though several minutes had passed, and he wasn't yet fully aroused. Panic set in. She had forgotten to count in her head. She had forgotten everything.
She swirled her tongue around the tip of his cock and, at last, it hardened in her mouth. She continued swirling, and added a pumping motion with her hand. Within moments, a stream of warm fluid hit the back of her throat. She withdrew, and spit it out onto her ugly blouse as another spurt splashed against her chin.
"Point!" a voice yelled from her right. She hadn't even noticed the referee, who was wearing a traditional black-and-white striped shirt.
The man in front of her was quickly whisked away and replaced by another naked man. Rochelle engulfed his cock so quickly that it seemed to startle him. Again, it seemed that it took him longer than usual to become hard. This time, she remembered to count in her head. By the time she reached thirty-five, he had become hard enough. She furiously worked her mouth over his shaft, but she could tell that he wasn't close to cumming, and a jolt of panic returned.
