The Cock Star & The Cuckquean Ch. 01

As she rose off the ground, Ava absorbed the panoramic view of the unfolding situation. More than just a mere crowd, news trucks with satellite dishes lined the beachfront roadway. Traffic was beginning to clog the streets. Her smartphone was vibrating constantly with urgent texts from Samson's publicist. Ava urgently pecked out a warning to him. The fallout from the stunt was going to trend internationally in a matter of minutes.

A few minutes later, Samson's iPhone made a shrill noise. He carried several of them for different purposes but this was the "red phone." If it sounded, he read the message immediately. Anaïs could not read the text but Samson was on his feet in a flash. "Time to go," he told brusquely, tossing the blonde a brunette wig. "Wear this," he warned Anaïs as she put on her sunglasses. "We may be photographed."

A boisterous cheer greeted Samson when he exited the tent. Anaïs was in tow but most of the crowd fixated on him. After all, he was the star of his show. A hundred cameras zoomed in on his bulging speedo. His erection had subsided a bit but it still looked massive even by his stallion-hung standards. The footage might not make it past the censors on the major networks but it would end up all over the Internet.

His attendants had assembled a fairly effective cordon around their canopy. Sawhorses and police tape lined the perimeter as if they were inside some crime scene. Anaïs marveled at his phalanx of bodyguards. Their numbers had swelled from six to twelve. Samson had about twenty on call but he rarely deployed so many. He was a porn star, not a prime minister.

Samson lifted Anaïs into the rescue basket. "Ladies first," he smiled with a lewd but chivalrous wink. She did not mind the attention terribly. In fact, Anaïs sort of enjoyed the attention. Samson recently put out a hit song called "You Only Live Once." It had been written for the lucky female fan that got to walk on the wild side with the world-class cocksman:

Don't think about the morning When we've got all night Ain't no sin so wrong When it feels so right

When you get on board Enjoy the ride Free your mind And let my love come inside

Anaïs felt giddy. How many times would she get photographed with an international sex icon? Even though she wore a wig, Anaïs hoped she looked good for the cameras. The pulley began to turn, lifting the basket off the ground. Suddenly, the rope hit a literal snag. The motor sputtered out and left the basket and its female cargo dangling about six feet off the ground. Samson swore under his breath. This would be the first and last time he attempted an evacuation by helicopter. "What are we going to do?" asked Anaïs as the basket swung to and fro. This was a bit more of an adventure than she bargained for. The crowd was going crazy. At that very moment, several gossip websites were covering the entire fiasco on live streaming video.

Samson sized up the situation. The basket was basically an open cage with barred sides. The celebrity strongman grabbed a pair of bars and hoisted himself off the ground. Suddenly, the crowd broke through the perimeter. Just before they reached his dangling feet, the helicopter ascended another twenty feet off the ground. Samson did not have a fear of heights but he knew the stakes had been raised considerably. Falling would result in a serious injury. And there was no room to cower inside the rescue basket with Anaïs. And the fucking pulley was stuck anyway.

Samson climbed about the bars like a jungle gym. He had to think fast. The steel cord of the pulley looked to be about 90 feet in length. Back home in his private gymnasium, he climbed a 55-foot rope without using his legs after his weightlifting session. Samson adhered to his exercise regimen almost as religiously as fucking. The rope was hard work but routine. Samson certainly could have climbed higher if he had more rope. Of course, he could not grab the pulley while hanging from the side of the rescue basket. It was out of reach. Before he even had calculated the risk, he raised his torso above the lip of the basket until he was at eye-level with Anaïs. Samson then released one hand off the edge of the basket and grabbed for the pulley. He had just a split second before he would lose the grip of his other hand. But he caught it. He grabbed the steel cord with the same casual skill that Tarzan might have grabbed a vine. Samson then climbed it hand-over-hand without using his legs. Thankfully, he could maintain an iron grip on the rope.

An excited murmur sounded from below but Samson had not yet revealed his deus ex machina. "Get between my legs," he commanded her. She looked at him with dismay. Was he crazy? "No! Not that," he laughed. "That can wait." Anaïs' shock reverted to confusion. "Just don't go anywhere," he explained before realizing that order did not make a lot of sense either.

This was a situation that required actions, not words.

Samson shimmied down the cable towards Anaïs. Just out of her reach, he swung his legs into the rescue basket and caught her thin waist between his thighs. She squirmed a bit but did not struggle. He then wrapped his legs around her waist, locked them at the ankles, and lifted her entire body out of the basket. The celebrity strongman then began to climb upward with Anaïs. Samson felt as though his arms would be torn out of their sockets. He was grasping more than 120 pounds of dead weight between his legs. An adrenalized jolt of fear rattled his body. Would he drop Anaïs? She probably would fall to her death. Or he could save his dignity. Samson would cling to the cable until weakness overtook him and they would both fall to their death.

Samson thought he heard laughter from below. It could have been his imagination but the idea stuck with him. His fame was as divisive as it was universal. Millions of playa-haters had been rooting for his comeuppance. Even figures like Paris Hilton or Kim Kardashian had fewer detractors and critics than Samson. His injury and humiliation would feed the world's appetite for schadenfreude as nothing else in modern history. It would truly break the Internet.

The muscular playboy broke a sweat for the first time in a long while. His daily exercise regimen had been designed to maintain his physique. Acquiring his physique had involved a great deal more endurance and willpower. The endless hours of training separated the average tough guy from a championship bodybuilder. But, at the core of his being, he still possessed that same indomitable will that elevated a one-time strip club bouncer into the world's first male erotic superstar.

Fear began to transform into defiance. With two furious hand-over-hand hoists, Samson ascended the cable. The pain was unbearable, the potential defeat even more so. His arms, his shoulders, even the palms of his hands burned with agony. Yet that same ferocious fire fortified his strength. Samson would rise above or he would die trying.

An eternity passed. Samson had not looked up and down before he began his ascent. He feared the distance would dishearten him. However, the buzzing of the helicopter grew louder and the laughter had vanished. Samson looked down on impulse. Fire trucks and police cars had driven onto the sand. The faces in the crowd were all tilted upward toward him. They were enthralled, fixed upon his every movement with absolute fascination.

Samson could hear the girls in the helicopter cheering him on. Anaïs had remained surprisingly calm in the scissor grip of his thighs throughout their ascent. She sensed their strength and assented to his control. In fact, the girl had become such an enthusiastic partner during the high-wire act that she had begun to snap pictures of the chaos below on her smartphone. Samson could not help but wonder how much the photos would sell for.

The journey was almost over...