"Cause I give the best blowjob in the business!"
The shock rippled through the gathered press even the pretty tall blonde behind the dozen microphones looked a little shocked at what she had just said. Caroline Wozniacki was the current female world number one tennis player. She had just lost in the second round of another grand slam and now she was trying to answer the same tired, repetitive questions that she had answered since she became the top ranking player.
The question that warranted her shocking answer was the most common question that she had been asked ever since she became world number one, "Why exactly are you rated the worlds best?" She had become bored with the question and so as a joke she had made the quip hoping that the journalists could actually sense her sarcasm. Yet the shocked reaction told her that the journalists had believed what she had just said.
"Wait a second, I was just joking... I'm world number one cause I'm the best player on the circuit and well the stats don't lie." she forced herself to smile though in reality she was trying to work out how much she would get fined if she left midway through the press conference.
The same person spoke up again, "But you're not!" he was now standing up pointing his pencil at the annoyed looking Caroline, "I mean come on; you can't believe you're better than the William's sisters or Sharapova. They win grand slams yet all you win is competitions no one knows or even cares about." Several times Caroline had tried to interrupt him but failed as he carried on pointing his pen and arguing. "Just take a look around; I think anyone in this room could beat you!" the laughter rung out around the room as the man grinned inanely, pleased with his put down.
His shit eating grin riled Caroline, she had been called rubbish lots of time, she had been told that she would get her ass handed to her by pretty much every woman on the circuit, but saying an overweight journalist could beat her was one step too far. With anger etched on her face she stood up too and threw down her challenge. "If any of you dickheads can beat me then I'll gladly fuck you!" she glared into the eyes of the journalist who had dropped his gaze in astonishment.
"You hear me! I'll fuck your fucking brains out if you can beat me. Best of three games for everyone with a press pass then we'll see what you have to say after I kick your asses." storming from the room she left the journalists shouting for more questions.
Five minutes later an embarrassed looking woman walked out to face the frenzied crowd who quickly calmed down. "Hello, I'm a representative of Miss. Wozniacki. She would like me to say that she is deadly serious about this offer and she will post more details on her website very soon. That is all!" As she turned to leave, the journalists scrambled for their smart phones and laptops searching for her website hoping for something to appear but there was nothing there.
Quickly the journalists agreed to keep quiet about the situation, not wanting to draw any attention to their once in a lifetime opportunity. Fifteen minutes later and they had set up practice partners, booked every single court available, and decided who would be challenging Caroline first.
The people of Wimbledon had heard of tennis fever hitting the capital, but having queues of middle aged men waiting by every court was something totally different. Though even more unusual were their screams of frustration when they missed a shot or hit the ball out of play. Having watched hours upon hours of professional tennis, the journalists naturally thought that some of it would have sunk in. Yet even with continuous practice they weren't getting any better. By nightfall most of them had given up and headed back to their hotel rooms, their bodies aching from the unexpected workout. Those that stayed were now reaching John McEnroe anger levels, smashing their racquets to the ground in a fit of rage.
There was one however who was still on the practice court. He had only come out when all the courts were free, giving him the freedom and privacy he craved. His name was Craig Masters, an amateur journalist for a free local paper who had been given a press pass for the day from a close friend in the media department. In his mid-twenties, Craig was an ex semi pro tennis player who had fallen into the trap of gambling. Winning a regional tennis tournament at the age of twelve, he was offered the chance to join a prestigious Spanish tennis academy, a chance that he willingly took. It was whilst he was playing lower ranking European tournaments that he first started to gamble. Shooting up the youth rankings and beating several players in the top 100 senior rankings only fuelled Craig's gambling problem. He found himself placing bigger bets, which more often than not he lost, sending him deeper into debt.
He was riding high on his latest victory over a top twenty seed when the loan sharks caught up with him, demanding their money back. Unable to find £20,000 in seven days, Craig was forced to become one of their players. They would place a bet on when he would lose a game, how many unforced errors he would make or how many double faults he would serve. He would get a share of the profits of the bets with the majority of his share going to paying off his debt. He really should have felt ashamed, but the thrill of throwing a game just added to his adrenaline rush.
Being in the pay of criminal gangs should have taught him the error of his ways but instead he carried on gambling. Once more he found himself living in a dream, anything he wanted the gang gave to him yet, unbeknownst to him; the tennis association was starting to catch onto his irregular tennis matches and began the process of police involvement.
When Craig first found out about the investigation it had already been going on for three months, he should have curved his spending, and quit throwing matches, but arrogantly he believed he was indispensable to the academy and therefore untouchable to whatever they could throw at him.
The reality of the situation was rather different than Craig thought. The loan shark gang Craig had become involved with were under police investigation and once they had gathered enough evidence they made their arrests. Craig was arrested on suspicion of match fixing and found himself spending a week in prison. Luckily for him the police couldn't find a direct link between him and the gang, all of his instructions were given to him by a middle man and money handed over to him via casino chips. Luckily for Craig he was left alone by the media due to several high ranking Russian and Eastern European players also involved with betting irregularities. Despite being released without charge, the tennis association quietened his involvement and banned him from participation in any tennis events.
Forgotten, disgraced and penniless he headed home, gratefully taking a job his father managed procure for him working for the local newspaper in the sports section. With his parents help and constant supervision he managed to stop gambling and despite his their worries, he carried on playing tennis. Re-joining his old club, Craig helped them win the county's league for the first time in their history. Now four years later at the age of twenty six he found himself at Wimbledon sitting in a press conference gazing at Caroline Wozniacki as she tried to explain why she had failed to win yet another grand slam.
Craig smiled to himself when he heard a journalist asked her about why she was world number one. He had been waiting for the question to appear and just like clock work it did, pulling out his pad he readied his pencil for her answer. Caroline's answer began to sink in as Craig reread what he had written.
"Cause I give the best blowjob in the business!"
He knew it was a joke but it still amazed him that she would even say something like that, especially to a room full of sex starved middle aged journalists. Clearing his head of thoughts of Caroline on her knees with his cock stuffed in her mouth, Craig distantly heard the same journalist ask her again about the top seed position.
Once more he readied himself for a proper answer, yet once more her answer left him stunned.
"If any of you dickheads can beat me then I'll gladly fuck you!"
Subconsciously he wrote down exactly what she said before watching her storm out followed shortly by the appearance of her assistant. After the assistant had given Caroline's instructions, the journalist who had questioned Caroline stood up
"Listen guys, I know what you're all thinking but we need to decide who gets to go first. Now as we all have press numbers we'll put them in a hat and then pick them out at random." The room quickly agreed.
Somebody went around and collected all of the numbers while another prepared to pull numbers. Once everybody's number was placed in the hat, the journalists, with a collective deep intake of breath, waited for their number to be called out. There were only three people in the room when Craig started to get worried that his number wasn't actually in the hat after all. Finally the last number was called, double checking that it matched his, he let out a huge sigh of relief and trying to keep calm he walked from the room.
When he had first joined the other journalists Craig had kept his head down in fear that some of them would have recognised him yet as the days passed they rarely looked at him let alone speak to him. It did help that he wasn't important enough to have his name on his press pass and he had gained fifteen pounds of weight since his playing days. With all of the practice courts in use Craig made his way to a weed infested council tennis court, getting out his racquet and balls he soon felt at home and he began running his drills.
Whilst Craig slammed down another serve, Caroline was across the other side of the city trying to work out a way to get out of the whole thing. She had been furious as she left the press room but now she was safe in her hotel room the realisation of what she had just said was starting to set in. Pacing around the room Caroline had thought of backing out, covering her tracks by claiming it was all a joke that got carried away. It was only when her assistant reminded her that a room full of journalists with phones, camera and microphones had heard exactly what she had said. Her assistant also mentioned that if Caroline retracted the deal, her comments would be online and nobody needed to explain to her the implications of that happening. That would be a career ending mistake.
Seeing her in distress, her assistant and coach encouraged her to go out on the balcony in her suite and check out her competition practicing on the courts on the grounds of the hotel. They reassured her that none of the journalists would be able to beat her, and by beating them, she would be able to shut them up once and for all. As she stood on the balcony overlooking the middle aged men sweat profusely as they missed shot after shot she felt great. Laughing, she headed back up to her room and left a message on her website telling the journalists to meet her on the hotel courts at 11am the next morning. Happily she fell asleep looking forward to the next day.
The next morning she was up early, after relaxing in the shower, she had some breakfast followed by a massage before heading down to the courts with a spring in her step. She was wearing the same outfit from the tournament, a tight white dress that was cut low down on her chest and finished high up on her legs. Underneath she also wore her white lycra shorts to protect her modesty, she was ready for action and judging from the gaggle of journalists already assembled she wasn't the only one.
"Wow what a turnout! All right, before you come on the court you need to sign this piece of paper. It has your name and address on top of it so make sure that it is yours and then you can sign it. It's just a reminder to not tell anyone about this or I will sue you and the address part is for my friends who will pay you a little visit if you decide to talk!" She smiled at the men as she pulled her racquet from her bag.
"My assistant will hand them out to you and once you sign it we can begin," she pointed at the first person lined up, "You! You're up."
Jogging onto the pitch she stretched briefly before flicking a coin and calling out heads. She had won the toss and chose to serve as she watched the first person slowly walked over to the opposite end of the court with the racquet trembling in his hands.
Ten minutes later, and without scoring a point, the journalist grumpily stalked off the court. One after one the journalists took their place, a look of eager anticipation their faces before they were soundly beaten.
Craig finally got down to the courts just after midday when there were only three journalists left, signing the document he talked to one of the men and found out that Caroline had only lost six points all day and only due to unforced errors.
Finally it was just him, Caroline, and her assistant left on the court. Taking his place opposite Caroline he admired her tight body wrapped in her skin hugging dress. He took another look at her perky chest and noticed that she hadn't even broken a sweat. From watching the previous match he could see that Caroline was getting cocky, trying trick shots, drop shots and lobs, or making the rallies last for as long as possible just for her amusement. Craig had actually been in the same position as Caroline before, he had toyed with a opponent until finally the other guy had threw his rack over the net and stalked off the court shouting obscenities as he left.
Closing his eyes he muttered a silent prayer as Caroline flicked the coin shouting out heads as she did. It seemed that someone had heard him as he won the toss. Picking up two balls he suddenly became very self aware of his small gut that protruded from his top. Shoving one of the balls into his pocket he watched as Caroline tried to bounce the ball on the frame of her racquet. "I'll serve first then," he yelled over to her as he took his place on the base line and bounced the ball twice before looking over at Caroline making sure she was ready.
He stopped for a second as he watched her bend over, swaying from side to side waiting for his serve. From his angle he could see down her dress and now he realised why all the other guys had failed to land a serve, the view was just too distracting. Trying to rid himself of the image he threw the ball in the air and swung his racquet, connecting with the ball. It was his trademark body serve; the ball was aimed directly at her and coming in fast. Shrieking in panic she fell to the floor letting the ball sail over her.
"Fifteen love," he shouted over at her as she picked herself up looking at him in amazement.
Smack the serve hit the far line and spun away from her outstretched racquet, "30 love," quickly he moved to the other side. Waiting for Caroline to get prepared he threw up the ball and hit the ball straight down the line "40 love and that's game Mr. Masters!"
Each of his first serves went in though they weren't as fast as his the first serve they were very accurate and with lots of spin. Of course it helped that each time he let the racquet swing Caroline flinched putting her at an immediate disadvantage.
Hitting the spare ball in his pocket over to Caroline he called out to her, "One love to Mr. Masters, Miss. Wozniacki to serve!" His cheerful voice irritated Caroline and she tried to come up with a witty response but nothing came.
Picking up three balls she forced two into her shorts before bouncing the other, she took a deep breath to ready herself as she looked over at the man smirking on the other side of the net. As the ball was thrown in the air Craig only had a split second to decide whether to go to the left or right. Making up his mind he launched himself to the left managing to get his racquet on the ball, sending it back to Caroline who coolly dispatched her return straight at him hitting him square in the chest.
The smarting in his chest was now starting to spread as he made his way to the other half of his court. He was now fuming and that proved to be his undoing as she aced him, with his mind elsewhere he didn't even notice as the ball zoomed past.
Thinking back over the first two serves, Craig tried to remember anything that Caroline had done that he could qualify as a weakness. When he played against opposition there was always a tick or a tale that gave him the advantage. Sometimes it was that they were young and inexperienced, other times they just weren't any good, but there was always something.
The only thing that stuck in his mind was that she brushed her hair behind the ear on the same side that she was going to send the ball. He only had two serves to go on but it was better than nothing. Readying himself he watched her brush her hair behind her left ear, feigning to her right he moved to her left and returned her serve down the line for a winner. With Craig celebrating wildly, Caroline heard the voices in her head telling her that she might not actually win this match. Looking over the net she saw him hold up three fingers signifying how many points left he needed to win.
The realisation that she could soon loose the match and her clothes to this man was making her mouth dry and her heart race. Desperately, she tried to think of a game plan but nothing was coming to mind, she couldn't remember the last time she had been so nervous during a match. Avoiding his gaze she pulled out a ball from her shorts and brushed her hair behind her left ear before bouncing it on the floor.
It seemed that all her confidence had seeped from her and gone across the net to Craig. His confidence was now sky high, he was even tempted to try and toy with her. But he couldn't wait any longer, the quicker he won the quicker he would be able to get his reward from her.
Noting that she had brushed her hair behind her right ear he readied himself to receive the serve when she brushed her hair back three more times. As he wondered exactly what the sign was supposed to mean, Caroline was going through her service motion leaving him with no time to move.
The ball came steaming down straight at Craig and quickly he raised his racquet to protect his pride. The ball hit the frame and sailed over her head as she charged towards the net ready for a volley. The ball landed inside the baseline on Caroline's side, bringing the score to 30 all and Craig didn't wait to make sure that she knew about it.
He could almost taste the victory; he was playing for every single journalist whom she had beaten. He just couldn't lose and as he watched her serve sail wide he knew that there was someone looking favourably down on him. Her second serve came towards him a lot slower, and with a lot more spin on it. The ball hit the floor and hovered slightly in the air just begging Craig to hit it, slamming the ball across the court. She managed to return it down the line knowing that he couldn't reach it. At the last second he decided to dive. Slamming into the floor he felt his racquet vibrate in his hand as the ball struck the strings and flew into the empty court.
"Thirty, Forty!" His whooping voice rung in Caroline's ears as she watched him pick himself up. "One more point and you're all mine!" He laughed as he skipped back to the base line.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to relax herself before throwing the ball to the air and swinging her racquet. She kept her eyes on the ball though soon she wished she hadn't as the ball bounced out.
As Caroline dropped her head in despair Craig couldn't help but rub it in. "Out!" He yelled loudly, "Second serve Miss. Wozniacki!"