Divas in Dubai Pt. 01

'Erin Brook,' said Spenser, 'not that scandal-monger!'

'Erin's a lovely person,' Trish replied. 'Okay, so maybe you need to get to know her, but when you do you'd have her onside every time. And her exclusive will be fronting it tomorrow, complete with photos of all my colourful bruises.'

'Without permission from WWE,' Abrahams exploded.

'Shameful,' echoed Spenser.

'Read my contract, gentlemen,' said Trish. 'Read it and weep. I have certain freedoms and I am well within my rights.'

The Commissioner held up another restraining hand. 'Ease off, boys,' he said. Then, fixing Trish with his sternest glare: 'What's Ms Brook writing, pray?'

'She's been shadowing me since Tuesday,' said Trish. 'It's been a thoughts and minds thing. Lots of female bonding and what have you. She had accreditation for the fight but hasn't put in a report yet. And she's not going to. She's going for the week-long story, warts and all, instead.'

Clearly more aware of the ins and outs of Trish's contract than the hired help, the Commissioner nodded. 'She's doing personal feelings, eh; that sort of an angle?'

'Yes she is. And specifically she's going to go for the bad luck aspect. That flash of leg you guys had just now will be high priority in the morning. And her pictures look worse, too. She got me red and brown, not black and blue.'

'Outrageous,' went Spenser.

'Shut up,' said the Commissioner. Then, still staring into Trish's eyes: 'Is that the all of it?'

'Yes. I've seen her article and nobody with half a brain could argue with it, not even Abrahams. All of us come out as honest and me as goddamn unlucky.'

'Can we see this article in advance?' said Abrahams snottily.

'No. Erin doesn't let anyone see her work in advance. She only showed it to me to make sure she'd got my emotions right.'

'Can we speak to her, then?'

'Sorry, she's on her way back east today.'

'Not hanging around for your conference tomorrow?' asked the Commissioner.

'I'm seeing her off from the airport,' Trish told him. 'I'll brief her about today's developments on the way. And don't worry; she'll see them as positive. They fit in with what we hoped.'

'Outrageous,' Spenser repeated, possibly because he liked the sound of his own voice.

'Shut up,' the Commissioner said again. Then, in conciliatory tones to Trish: 'Ms Brook won't spill any beans before those conferences, will she? About the forthcoming schedule, I mean.'

'No,' said Trish. 'I'll tell her but it'll be clear what she can say and when.'

'Do you trust her?'

'I trust her with my life.'

'And you're seeing her off, with every other reporter in the world on your heels?'

'Trust me, Commissioner, none of them will come within a mile of Erin.'

'How are you getting to the airport?'

'We're going by executive cab.'

'No you are not.' The Commissioner snapped his fingers 'Spenser, arrange door-to-door transport for these young ladies. I want them taken care of every inch of the way.'

Chapter Four

Trish was surprised but not upset by their "transport". It was a green Bentley driven by Fred; and Fred wasn't just another boss of the security officers' team; he was their go-to man when trouble was afoot.

Not that he was going to get too much grief from Erin and Trish. If anything Erin was more in lust with the guy than Trish was. Gigantic, black and handsome beyond belief, it was impossible not to return his smile.

Or to imagine what he was like inside his boxers. If he was gigantic everywhere else, what in the world would he be like down there?

Being business-like, Trish filled Erin in on the latest from the Commissioner. Contrary to what she had said in her meeting, Erin had already submitted her "human interest" report. Now, hearing the update, she agreed that the latest news was no news at all and nothing like a scoop.

Erin spent the rest of the journey leering at Fred. Protected by an internal screen, unaware of her interest at first, Fred drove like the professional he was, eyes flickering in all directions, ever-alert for crap motorists and evil terrorists alike. Then she slid open the partition and started to chat him up.

Eyes still flickering everywhere, he answered politely, somehow resisting her outrageous flirting.

'Yes, ma'am,' he'd reply. 'That is correct, ma'am.'

Trish laughed to herself. The Bentley was fitted with satellite TV but watching these two was more entertaining by far.

'Hey,' said Erin as they bypassed the short-stay parking areas, 'where we going?'

'Got you VIP Miss Brook,' Fred replied promptly, 'right up to the sliding doors.'

'I like this Californian way of life,' retorted Erin. 'At JFK I consider myself lucky if they slide me down the baggage chute.'

VIP status or not, counter-terrorist measures involved lots of automatic weapons and not much of a waiting time. Sliding the internal partition shut again, Trish kissed Erin farewell and told her she would miss her in bed.

Erin laughed. 'Don't get sentimental and do me a favour: fuck that bodyguard for me. And if he's any good, give him my number for next time he's in New York.'

'Really, Erin, I thought you'd be dreaming of me.'

'I will be. But I'll be dreaming of him too. Make sure you fuck him as hard as I would. And see you in Dubai.'

*****

Ten minutes away from the airport Trish asked Fred to pull over. He swiftly found a place to stop and stared at her as she transferred into the front passenger seat.

'I was lonely back there,' she said. 'I want to talk.'

The distance between Sacramento airport and the hotel was maybe ten miles; not much if it was compared to the hike between LAX and LA.

At least it wasn't in theory.

In practice it took forever. Perhaps it was a bad traffic day or perhaps Trish was recalling LA from behind rose-tinted specs. Either way she didn't mind. Talking to Fred was great, even if their pace was less than a snail's.

And the way he insisted on calling her "Miss Trisha"!

Was she dampening her panties or what!!

Trish's initial attempts to get personal were no more successful than Erin's. Fred politely kept the conversation general, chatting about colleagues but never being less than respectful.

Then, as the traffic flow ground to a halt yet again, he excused himself to make a call hands-free on the internal net.

'Craig here,' a voice instantly replied.

'It's me,' said Fred. 'I'm off duty and won't make today's debrief, so you're it. Okay?'

'No problem,' said Craig. 'Anything you want to include?'

'Just the same-old; you know how it is. Assuming nothing's gone down while I've been away.'

'Been more peaceful without you,' said Craig, laughing.

'What's it like out front?'

'Same as always . . . there are ten million lookie-loos and a few reporters; can't tell 'em apart.'

'Is the service entrance clear?'

'Mike's on it, so it will be.'

'Tell him we'll be there in twenty minutes. I'm looking for a fast entry, all right?'

'I'll let him know. See you tomorrow.'

Trish had another look at Fred, seeing his ever-vigilant eyes and the set of his jaw.

Off-duty and me under Erin's instructions, she thought. Why not! Why not indeed!!

*****

Privately Fred had reservations about Trish. Women tended to be attracted to him per se and, as a resolutely single man, he'd had many liaisons; many, many liaisons. Taking care to keep things friendly and never ever "serious", he'd shagged beautiful ladies of all colours and persuasions. A whole week rarely went by without a new conquest.

But he didn't shag divas. Back in the day an army sergeant had once given valuable advice.

"Don't screw the crew" he'd said.

In a female-free unit Fred had wondered about that but later, de-mobbed and working in a multi-sex environment, he'd seen the sense in it.

Too many colleagues had put it where they shouldn't, and not all of them had survived to tell the tale.

Working in the WWE Universe was something else altogether. Those divas were all beyond being merely beautiful, into goddess class. And they weren't all shy and retiring. A lot of them liked the sight of him and made the fact obvious. As a defence he'd mastered the art of a polite reply and never taken up even the blatant invitations.

Declining opportunities was, of course, a regrettable habit. But afterwards he'd always been able to congratulate himself on his resolve.

Well, nearly always.

Trish was something else, though. She had billions of supporters because in the ring she had it all: the looks; the body; long blonde hair and the ultimate in-your-face attitude. It was fair to say that the camera loved her and so did most of the viewers.

Outside the ring was a different story. Her personality was infinitely bigger than the one seen on screens all over the world. It was also a much nicer personality. She didn't seem to have any ego at all and, whilst no shrinking violet, wasn't overly confrontational. In fact she was considerate and thoughtful and very intelligent.

And her sexual allure was massively undersold by TV. Seen for real he was at least ten times as alluring as the TV image.

Trish had never made a move on Fred before. He'd been grateful for that because he wasn't sure if his resolve would pass the test.

Still polite and professional, he briefed her as they approached the hotel. Trish knew the score.

'Not a word to Joe Public until after my press conference,' she repeated dutifully. 'Out of the car and in through the service entrance, eyes straight ahead.' Then, grinning: 'I hope you're going to check under my bed before you leave me alone. There might be transmitters hidden in case I talk in my sleep.'

'Yes ma'am,' said Fred. 'Okay, here goes.'

As an operation it was a bit of a non-event. The guy on the gate was expecting them and raised the barrier to let the Bentley into the hotel grounds. Ten seconds later Fred pulled up near a side door guarded by a large black guy. The guy opened the car door for her and Trish went inside the building.

'Nice work, Mike.' Fred tossed the car keys to his colleague. 'Have somebody park my wheels for me, will you?'

'Dave's on it,' said Mike, passing the keys to an equally large white guy.

'Nice one Dave.' Fred glanced around, noting the complete absence of civilians in that part of the grounds before following his ward into the hotel.

Trish was at the end of a short corridor, outside the elevator. Fred tapped a code into a panel on the wall and the elevator doors slid open.

'Is it the top floor, ma'am?' he asked, as if he didn't know exactly where she was based.

'Why yes it is, kind sir.' She smiled at him. 'I'm going all the way.'

Chapter Five

'You're off duty, right?'

Fred nodded. They were in the plush corridor outside the door of Trish's lavish suite. His mouth was dry for some reason. He didn't do nerves, so it couldn't be them. Besides, there was nothing to be nervous about, was there? Maybe he'd gone too long without a drink of water.

'You'll still check under my bed, though,' Trish went on, 'won't you? I can't have somebody from the National Enquirer listening in to my dreams.'

Trish's bed was roughly the size of a tennis court. Fred knew that all the rooms from the twentieth floor up had been swept for bugs but, ever-obliging, he went through the motions of checking out the usual places . . . finding nothing, of course. When he went back into the living room Trish was waiting with glasses of white wine.

'You're off duty, so why not,' she said cheerfully.

Fred was more a bottle of Bud sort of a guy, but it would have been rude to refuse. Taking a glass he sat on the leather settee and had a sip, thinking it would at least get rid of that dryness.

The settee was a big one but Trish sat right next to him, almost touching close. Before he knew it she'd launched into a series of short anecdotes about her childhood. And she was amusing about it, if a little offbeat. In her anecdotes she was foolhardy, precocious and her come-uppance was a matter of course.

Fred was fascinated listening to her. Most of the divas' life stories were very well documented but didn't include trivia like this. He couldn't imagine anyone else confiding at so personal a level.

Or ever admitting they were due come-uppance.

'Now tell me about you,' she said finally. 'No, let me get more wine then tell me about you.'

She returned carrying a bottle with a label written in French. Fred couldn't help but notice that her glass was still full while his was empty.

'There you go,' she said, after giving him a refill, 'now tell me.'

'Not much to tell.' Fred shrugged. 'I had a happy home and went in the Army. Now I'm out.'

'Dearie me, Fred; you're not much of a storyteller, are you?'

'Like I said, Miss Trisha, there's not much to tell.'

'I like the way you call me that.' Trish chuckled. 'You are the only person in the whole world who does. It makes it seem special. Do you have a special name, Fred?'

'I'm always Fred.'

'You do surprise me.' She chuckled some more. 'What's it short for, Frederick or Alfred?'

'It's Fred, period.'

'What did your mom call you when you were little? I'll bet it was Freddie.'

'I don't remember so far back,' Fred lied.

'Well I'm going to call you Freddie when we're off duty together. Do you want to see my bruises, Freddie?'

She was on her feet and removing her top cross-handed before he could blink. For the last half hour he'd been trying to avoid looking at her tits. Now they were practically out in the open and had a gravity all of their own.

'I said my bruises, Freddie,' Trish chided, 'not my titties.'

Her bra was white and of the type that supported underneath while exposing as much as decently possible. Or should that be as much as indecently possible?

Defying that gravity Fred tore his eyes away and winced as she raised her arm to exhibit one very long bruise.

'That looks painful.'

'It is painful. And it goes all the way down to my knee,' she said. 'Erin tried to kiss it better but that didn't entirely work.'

There wasn't much she could have said about Erin that would have surprised Fred. Doing the job he did he was aware that several divas had same-sex liaisons, even though they were nominally "straight". He reckoned such behaviour was quite understandable. They were, after all, beautiful women whose careers had been made by clashing bodies with each other. Way he saw it they all had to like making physical contact with other females otherwise they wouldn't be in the business in the first place.

The image of Erin kissing Trish wasn't a bad one, however.

'You're looking at my titties again, Freddie. Do you want me to get them out for you?'

Without waiting for an answer she unhooked her bra and casually threw it aside. Fred gaped at the sight. Along with the rest of the known universe he'd known she had a very generous chest, but . . .

Well, she was stupendous.

'I'm afraid it's quid pro quo time,' she continued, taking his glass from him and putting it on a nearby table.

Then quicker than the human eye, she had his pants unfastened.

'You've got to help me here,' she said calmly. 'Ease up a moment.'

Fred looked at her tits again and that steely resolve of his crumpled. He stood up and Trish pulled his pants and boxers down as one, leaving them around his ankles.

'Now sit,' she commanded, kneeling before him.

Fred sat and she crowded in, taking his dick in her hand and laughing delightedly.

'It's in proportion to the rest of you,' she exclaimed. 'I'd rather hoped that would be the case.'

Falling silent for once, she stroked the length of him, making him gasp. Delicate as she was, if he got any harder there was a danger she might snap it off.

'Beautiful,' she said eventually, taking a firm grip at the top of his shaft, just below his helmet.

Fred stared down at her, watching her tits bob as she pulled on him, doing his best not to groan like a love-struck girl. A couple of dozen gentle jerks and she slid her hand lower, not stopping until her pinkie was up against his balls. Then she started pulling again, more purposefully now, as if pace-setting for a marathon.

And then she brought her mouth into play, licking and kissing the top of his shaft; licking around and under his glans. There was a small trickle of pre-cum running from him and she mopped it up with that unbelievable tongue of hers.

He did actually groan when she at last took him in her mouth. He simply couldn't help it. She was so, so good. Varying the depth; sometimes taking him in all the way up to her still busily pumping hand, sometimes only sucking on his helmet. And sometimes she opted for in-between, not once using her teeth and not for one second lowering the intensity.

It was a master-class of a blowjob and he almost wailed when she stopped before he was done. But she wasn't quitting, no she was switching from hand and mouth to tits; Fred couldn't complain about that.

Trish's cleavage was like a wide valley. Pressing her breasts together around him she grinned.

'Stay still and leave it to me, big boy.'

Fred obeyed her and marvelled at the sight and sensations. By now Trish was clammy with sweat and not particularly lubricated. In other words, when she moved the skin on his dick went with her tits a way before slipping and catching again. The feeling was mind-blowing.

And wasn't she putting her all into it! He was keeping still but she was gleefully bouncing up and down, holding herself tight for him, blonde hair flying wild and free.

All too soon he felt the familiar pressure building and panic gripped him. Trish was fully in control of his aim and, aimed as he was, he was in danger of spurting into her face. That would be sordid in the extreme, as if she was some tawdry porn actress.

'Trish,' he warned breathlessly, 'I'm gonna . . .'

'That's rather the point,' she replied, accelerating on him.

Fred tried to hold it off to no avail.

'Trish,' he squealed, and came.

And Trish was prepared. Taking the first squirt directly under the chin she had him in her mouth by the next blast . . . and the third and fourth.

She kept sucking him after he'd finished, her hand working low down again, devouring every last drop she could extract and keeping him hard.

As if he could flop in the vicinity of those tits! Right then he suspected he might stay hard forever.

'That was fun,' said Trish, reaching for the nearest wine glass and draining it.

Fred stared at her. Her neck and the top of her tits were wet and gleaming. As she got to her feet a thin stream ran down her cleavage and he realized it was cum, not sweat. Trish must have realized as well but didn't seem too concerned.

'That broke the ice very nicely,' she said, extending her hand to pull him up. 'We've been properly introduced now, Freddie, so let's go fuck.'

Chapter Six

The next few minutes simply didn't exist in Fred's memory. There was a great blank between the leather settee and Trish's centre court bed. Looking back he supposed he must have kicked away his pants and boxers before taking her hand and being led half-dressed into the bedroom.

Where the rest of their clothes went was anyone's guess.

Anyway, there they suddenly were, naked on top of the bedsheets, kissing passionately, Trish's breath smelling vaguely of salty cum and his hands groping her tits.

'Fuck me,' she demanded.

Fred obligingly moved down her body. She caught hold of him by his muscular arms.

'I said fuck me,' she said.

'First things first,' he replied. 'If I'm doing a job, I do it correctly.'

She laughed and let go. He brushed his tongue all the way up her slit, noting how wet she was at the bottom and sparing her clit not at all.

'Oh yes,' she endorsed.

Fred really got off on licking pussies. He'd had a lot of practice and could see that Trish's was as ripe as a fresh peach. She was up for it as he was, even if she was a girl in a hurry. Consequently he stayed focused on her clit and used two fingers on her vagina.