Leveling Up Ch. 38-48

His eyes stare vacantly at one of the glass display cases, mouth remains down turned, and he releases a heavy sigh. "I am," he responds with a wince. "Sorry, I've been to a lot of parties through my career. At this point, I'd rather just keep to myself. I come in here sometimes. Replay my glory days. Wonder if it was all worth it."

"You've got to be kidding," my wife disbelieves, leans forward, locks her bright and glossy eyes on him, and skims her fingertips across the line of her jaw. "Day after day you play before a live audience of over sixty thousand people. That's not counting the millions who watch your games at home on their TVs. Everywhere I go I see people wearing your jersey. You've climbed about as high as anyone could ever dream!"

A weak smile spreads over Buck Johnson's face as he looks at some pictures of his younger self early in his football career. "Well, it was one hell of a run, that's for sure," he recalls, releases a shallow sigh, and closes his eyes. "I just wonder if in the end it was worth that contract I signed. And I'm not talking about the one with the NFL."

Wendy blinks, tilts her head to the side, and raises her eyebrows. "A contract?" she asks, slightly parts her lips, and leans forward.

"The Ruby Red Lounge," he says, shakes his head, scrapes ice against his glass, and stares down at the scotch. "Never mind, forget you heard me say that. I've had a few drinks. It's no place for someone like you. A beautiful young woman."

"Bucky, it breaks my heart to see you all mopey like this," my wife pleads. "So many weekends I spent cheering for you. Celebrating every perfect throw." My wife hesitates as she feels the urge inside of her cause her neck-hair to bristle and her body to shiver. "With those... huge biceps of yours."

Buck Johnson stares firmly at my wife's big tits as they spill out the top of her elegant dress, a smile slowly builds on his face, and he wets his lips. "Maybe you're right," he admits, chuckles, and sips scotch. "Why get stuck in the past or fear the future when you can always focus on just living in the present. You ever seen a Super Bowl ring? I have one of mine in my bedroom here. I could... show you?"

Indulging my perverted fantasy. It had been fun at first. But things keep getting worse and worse. I've almost died multiple times. Our whole family's lives, including our unborn son, have been in danger. We've been humiliated, and made into masochists. All to serve some demonic purpose. She thinks of me fucking Daphne Daniels, bragging to paparazzi, showering in attention and he cheeks flush, teeth clench and face pinches together. She would likely never have another opportunity to fuck Buck Johnson, the Central City Rocket. My wife's nose wrinkles, lips press together into a slight grimace, and she tilts her head from side to side.

46. Central City McMansion - Lavish Living Room

"Where is he!?" a male voice shouts before unleashing a guttural roar. "The playboy who stupidly thought it was a smart idea to take advantage of my drunk and innocent wife!" My eyes focus in on the yelling to a cleanshaven man whose body appears to be the size of a Volkswagen. His neck cords, nostrils flare and he wears a black polo shirt over khakis. I recognize him of course. Troy Daniels.

I set down the Strawberry drink I had been sipping on before stepping forward. "No need to raise your voice!" I yell. "Trust me, this is a misunderstanding! You don't believe everything that the tabloids report, do you!? Journalism! Is there really any other profession? One that's more full of scumbags and liars!?"

People gather around, stare, and photographs snap.

"Unlike you, Mr. Honesty!" Troy yells, pinches his face together, and seethes. "The misunderstanding isn't with me. It's you who is stupid! You thought you could do as you did. Without me crushing you into a lumpy red paste! Sorry, but any man who takes advantage of my wife. He is going to pay the harshest price!"

"You're making a mistake!" I warn, scratch at my arm, blink, and swallow. "I-I have raw infernal power running through my veins! You may be way bigger than I. But you're still a mere mortal." I paste on a smile while remaining unnaturally still.

Troy chortles as he stretches his arms and legs. "You think you're the only one here whose been there!?" he asks through smug laughter. "The Ruby Red Lounge. You're hardly the only one here. To have that sort of power!" He bum-rushes and slams his much larger body against mine.

My eyes see stars as my body flies across the room before striking against the bottom of a leather sofa with enough force for it to flip over. Damn, my back feels like shit. What the fuck is the Ruby Red Lounge? I see a beer bottle on the table in front of me, grab it, chuck it with all the strength I can muster, it rapidly rotates as it careens towards his face like a buzzsaw, he dodges as it whooshes by, and it cuts upwards until striking a glass chandelier, explodes into a cloud of yellow mist, and fills the room with the sound of shattering glass rain. Fuck, I missed. He's way stronger than I. But he's used to the football field. Next time he rushes, I'll kick his ankle. At his weight and speed, he'll crash like the Hindenburg.

He lunges, sweats, cords his neck, growls, and moves fast. My mouth smirks, right foot twitches and lips moisten. His huge body approaches, my foot swings, slams hard against his left ankle, bones crack, I wince, gasp, whimper and he grabs my body and carries me like a ragdoll now traveling at his speed. The wall approaches quick and he doesn't slow down and only accelerates. We smash through the wall, it explodes in a white cloud of plaster, my head throbs and he chucks my body which slams repeatedly against the hard wooden ground.

My lower back throbs, right foot seethes, hands push up against the ground, eyes flutter open slowly, legs stand weakly, mouth retches up blood against the sleek wood floor, and I survey. We're in a... bowling alley now? Never did I know that a perk of being the 1% was apparently personal bowling lanes.Bowling Alone indeed.

Troy, his black shirt stained white by dust and plaster, chuckles loudly. "Listen faggot," he taunts. "You think you're better than me? With your fancy suit? I have no idea. How rich you are. I do know though. The things I saw." His eyes fill with tears and his body tremors. "Growing up in that trailer park. The w-way..." He sniffles and his head vibrates. "The way he disrespected mom, cheated on her, and treated me like shit! Like he was better than us. You really think after all the success I've had, I'm just going to let you play me like that?! Not this time. You're going to be the one humiliated."

I taste iron and spit more blood on to the bowling lane. Fuck, sounds like he's a headcase. My back seethes and I wince. Maybe I can get through to him psychologically. "Look, I'm sorry!" I yell. "I don't want to fight you! All men deserve respect, dignity, and sometimes forgiveness. We don't have to use violence. There's a perfectly good bowling alley here! You and I should settle things in the lanes. As athletes, not savages!"

His knuckles crack, face reddens, and the veins on his neck become engorged. He blitzkriegs towards me. I turn white and try to run but soon feel his leathery thick hands on my muscular shoulders. My body lifts from the ground as he positions my body horizontal to the hard wood. He faces the lanes, runs forward, tosses me down lane, my body flies forward, skids against the slick wooden floor, streaks red blood stains as it slides, my head smashes into bowling pins with a crash, and my head throbs and aches.

"Strike!" a robotic voice sounds followed by whirring and flashing lights.

"You think I'm ever going to be able to look at my wife the same way again!?"He snarls as he sticks three fingers from his right hand into a black bowling ball. He steps forward and effortlessly hurls the bowling ball with ease. It flies towards me and I duck and narrowly dodge the ball as it whooshes next to my head, crashes into the headboard above the gutter and pins, and eventually lands in some unknown location with a distant thud.

He doesn't hesitate and already he's got another ball in his hand and he hurls it. It's too quick for me to move, my hands grab it, catch it, but it's still so fast my hands painfully slam into my gut and cause me to tumble over into the next lane. I hear a thud followed by a steady rumble, roll over suddenly, and narrowly avoid another spinning ball which instead crashes into bowling pins. I stand up, wince in pain and continue to hold on to the bowling ball. As he tosses another of his own at me once again, I violently thrust mine in front of me, it sharply clanks, and his ball goes flying straight back at him, hits him slow but hard square in the stomach, and causes him to fall over on to the ground.

"Got the fucker," I say, drop the heavy ball with a loud thud, taste more iron, spit, and rub my aching back. "Goddamn, I need an ibuprofen!" I look towards the hole he created from the living room and see a crowd of people gathered around watching. I could get the fuck out of here. I look back over at Troy Daniels splayed on the ground. Fuck. I sigh and walk over to Troy. I extend my hand to him. "Here, let me help you up."

He grabs my hand, lifts himself up off the ground and then grapples me. "This isn't over by a longshot, faggot!" he yells as he rushes once again crashing through yet another wall, headfirst meaning my head went first, and before the white plaster cloud dissipates he chucks my limp body to where I collide against some sturdy object, back seethes, and I collapse before several hard clunky objects begin to shower on top of my already aching head.

As I climb out from the debris I realize the objects are books. We're now in some sort of grand library with shelves stacked fifteen feet high full of all sorts of tomes. I stand, bleed, and wince from the current state of my back. My eyes focus on him across the room smirking at me, rotating his right hand while his left hand grips his right wrist. Fuck. Maybe if I can get one of these book shelves to fall onto him. I climb up a nearby shelf until I'm on top of it.

"Get down here faggot, fight like a man!" Troy Daniels demands as he begins picking books up off the ground and hurling them at me. "You fucking cowardly little bitch!"

A whoosh sounds as a book slams against the wall right next to my face. I shimmy towards him. A book hits my ankle, it cracks, I fall, grab the edge of the top of the bookshelf and dangle. Another tome strikes my bruised back and I howl in pain. "Fuck!!" I scream. The shelf begins to tip over. "No, no no!" I breath quick and shallow, sweat, and quickly pull myself up enough to jump and grab on to the next shelf just as the one I had been hanging on loudly crashes to the ground. I quickly pull up, dodge another thrown book, and shimmy as fast as I can. I reach the bookshelf closest to him, grab the back of it, pull it forward, and then climb it as it falls, riding the back of it.

He screams and it crushes him.

I rub my back as I climb off the tall book shelf.

"Troy Daniels" I say, spit blood and smirk. "Like the true intellectual kind of guy he was. In the end, crushed under the weight of all that knowledge."

As I search for the exit my neck hair bristles and my arms cover in goose bumps. Looking back to where he was crushed I see a red glowing pentagram accompanied by a sort of disembodied chanting in a language I do not understand or recognize. There is an explosion underneath the book shelf that fell on Troy, the stand goes flying across the room, it rains burnt pieces of paper, and Troy stands up with singed clothing, bruised and bloodied, his eyes glowing red, and he charges me yet again.

My jaw drops and eyes bulge as he grabs me and drives me through yet another wall, my mouth tastes bitter, chalky, and dry plaster and this time when he throws me, my body lands in fluid with a splash. I look down and see blood leaking out of me into the water. We're in some sort of in-door swimming pool. A huge splash sounds next to me and I feel strong hands grab my neck and pull my head down underneath. My chest and shoulders struggle but his grip is iron-strong. My breath holds and lungs beg for air. I feel myself drifting in and out of consciousness as my body is deprived of essential oxygen.

47. Central City McMansion - Buck Johnson's Bedroom

My wife's clothing. The expensive dress. Her bra and panties. Even her wedding ring are neatly stacked on Buck Johnson's dresser. She sits wearing only one of his oversized NFL Jerseys. Her hand raises and she stares at it on her ring finger. One of Johnson's many Super Bowl championship rings.

"Feel better now that we're dressed a little more relaxed?" Buck asks, wearing only a bathrobe, as he enters the bedroom from the lavatory. His eyes study my wife, his chest puffs out, and a relaxed smile slowly builds onto his face. "It's always great. Seeing women wearing my jersey. Especially when they're married." He chuckles, unties the robe, and lets it fall to his feet. He wears nothing behind it except for a skimpy jock strap underneath which his hard cock strains.

My wife's lips go wet, her heart beats, eyes stare at his muscular chest, and her bare butt scoots off the bed. She saunters over to him and fondles his right biceps with her feminine hands. "You're so rich and famous Bucky," she compliments. "There are so many women I'm sure who've fantasized about them. Your big muscles. The way you throw the football. So accurate and precise. I can't be the only woman to wonder. Is it just the football that you're so well aimed with? Of course, I may be one of the few who gets to find out. That makes me special right? Doesn't? Quality over quantity."

"If you say so buttercup," he says and rubs his own hands against her arms and shoulders. He nuzzles the top of her head. "Do you want to find out? I could put these big muscles to use. Treat that small body of yours as my pigskin. Carry it to the end zone in a running play. Score a touchdown."

"Uh-huh, yes Bucky, please," my wife requests as she continues to rub him with her moist hands. "Manhandle me like a football. I don't mind it a little rough. Just avoid my stomach please."

He chuckles, grabs each side of my wife's body with his strong arms, lifts her off the ground, carries her, careens towards the bed, and slams her body down on its back against the soft comforter. He then climbs the bed, crawls over my wife's body, and begins tickling her armpits.

My wife giggles, thrashes back and forth against the bed, jiggles her fat loose tits around underneath the oversized jersey and twinkles her eyes at him. "Be careful Bucky," she cautions. "That little jock strap is barely holding it. That big hard cock of yours. It keeps hitting my thigh. It could slip out easy and without any panties on underneath this jersey... it might go straight inside my married vagina."

"We wouldn't want that, now would we?" Buck responds in a mocking tone, winks, and smiles at her. Like a quarterback escaping the chaos of a failed rush, his hard penis slips straight out of the skimpy jock strap he is wearing, passes the flimsy defensive line that is the material of my wife's skimpy jersey, and marches straight inside the endzone of my wife's warm, wet, and undefended pussy. A moan escapes out of the relaxed smile on his face as he mounts Wendy and pushes his cock deep inside of her shivering body.

"Your precision," Wendy remarks before gasping. "It really is on another level." She closes her eyes as the taller, larger man above mounted on top of her smaller body slams his pelvis against hers and causes his large penis to slam again and again against the warm walls of her wet musty insides.

Her body goes limp and she allows the bigger quarterback to slam his hard cock in and out of her. The room grows humid and musky and filled with a repetitive rhythmic thumping. His hands grabs at and squeeze my wife's fat rocking tits through the loose fabric of his name emblazoned jersey.

"Oh yes Bucky, fuck my married pussy," my wife pleads, body shivers, and lips part to release a moan. Her eyes close, mouth gasps, and she blissfully orgasms as the Central City Rocket drills into her soaking wet pussy with precision scratching the itch inside her body like a seasoned and experienced pro.

Buck's muscles tighten, eyes stare alert at my Wendy's sweat covered face, jaw sets, and chest thrusts out. He slams his fat prick in out of my wife's soaking wet and throbbing vagina. A gasp escapes out his mouth and his eyes close as he clenches his hips, smashes his pelvis against hers, and fills my wife with thick globs of precision delivered mancream. As he rolls off of her, my wife scoops up some of his cum out of her drenched pussy and licks the salty substance off her wet fingers. "That felt so amazing, Bucky!" she praises.

48. Central City McMansion - Indoor Swimming Pool

My eyes blink and I see I am underwater. I feel the hands holding my shoulders down. My ears begin to pound, pulse elevates, adrenaline surges, and bubbles spittle out of the left corner of my mouth. I tried to be nice to this bastard. No more. I thrust my elbow into his bloated stomach expecting not much of an impact through the dense and heavy water only for it to slam into him causing him to fall back. My head surfaces and breaths rapidly. When I look down at the water I see my eyes glowing red in the reflection. I know what this means. I'm sorry I banged your wife but you're fucked, jackass.

I leap from the water, far higher and further than I ought to be able to, and my feet land on the tiled outskirts surrounding the indoor pool with a thud. My eyes focus on a control panel while my hands examine it. This pool has wave capabilities. The knob twists as I throttle it until it reaches its highest setting. I click another button and the entire pool lights up in vibrant rotating colors. Green to red to yellow to orange to blue. Can I still acquire electric power? Even when my wife doesn't have an electrode strapped to her vagina while another man fucks her up the ass? There's another panel for security cameras which my right hand crushes easily. I grab up the electrical wires and sure enough as my left hovers above as electrical currents begin to gather around it alongside the occasional cracks and zaps.

Troy looks at the electric currents gathering around me, widens his eyes, clenches and unclenches his fists, tremors, visibly sweats, and his skin flushes. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he mutters as he tries to swim away only for a huge wave to crash against him. He does all he can to swim against the continuous waves but his huge body size becomes a liability.

I laugh hysterically as more and more electricity gathers around me. "Looks like you're not so fast in water, jackass!" I mock. Something inside me urges me to go further. Terrify this person and humiliate them. They're disrespect is unacceptable. "I tried to be nice. You were going to kill me by drowning. I don't care anymore. Yes, I fucked your sleazy wife!" I laugh manically. "Now I'm hungry. That's the one thing this party is missing. Barbecue. How about some smoked linemen?" Electricity sizzles and pops all around me.

Troy, breathing hard, sees another huge wave rushing towards him. Pushing his right shoulder forward, he thrusts against it causing a huge splash. He looks back and sees sizzling white-blue electrical currents gathering around my body. With all he can muster, he pushes forward, smashing against wave after wave with his enormous body.

As the electrical storm grows around me, my eyes focus on Troy Daniels. He's nearly to the end of the other side of the pool. But it's too late. I chuckle before tossing all the gathered electricity straight into the center of the pool with a huge thunderous boom.