Maria and the Mad Dog, Pt. IV Preview
Will Mike "Mad Dog" Maddox lift the trophy and get revenge on his rival? The final book reveals the final battles of Syracuse's playoff run.
One of my most fun to write and most exciting books to read in my opinion is Maria and the Mad Dog: A Femdom Football Romance. What started as a light-hearted femdom parody of the Taylor x Travis relationship has morphed into something much bigger. I have expanded it and brought in new characters. I have made the rivalry between pro football owners Tom Grammell III, Jimmy Jones, and Lord Muskington become a much bigger part of the story.
Now I have been working passionately on the conclusion of the story, the book that portrays the playoff clashes—and the scheming between the owners intensifying. While I might still need a couple of days to complete Maria and the Mad Dog, Part IV (The Playoffs), I thought I would share a 900-word preview.
If you enjoy what you read, you can start the series with Book 1, which contains Parts I & II, and read Part III, both of which are available on Kindle Unlimited. Purchase via my Amazon affiliate links:
Book 1: Maria and the Mad Dog: The Turnaround
Book 2: Maria and the Mad Dog: The Playoff Push
PREFACE
Maria and Rhonda lounged on the couch. They had gotten a room at Chicago’s finest hotel with a view of Lake Michigan after meeting at the club. Both women were fully naked. Mike, also naked, knelt on the floor in the middle of the room. Mike’s blood vessels pulsing electrical sensation he felt before a game was about to begin, when he would sit in a quiet corner of the locker room—quiet to him because he could automatically block any distraction out (he didn’t need noise-canceling headphones, you couldn’t wear them out onto the field). Everything slowed down.
He saw Maria reach down, almost in slow motion, and drag her hand across her pussy, rubbing her throbbing clitoris. He watched as Rhonda watched, as she shifted her eyes—her hungry, impatient eyes-toward’s Maria’s garden of pleasure. Rhonda was enjoying the show and wanted to get involved herself.
She reached her hand towards Maria, touched Maria’s hand. They communicated without speaking. Rhonda asked, “May I?” Maria answered without hesitation, “You may. Oh, hell ya, you may.”
Rhonda began stroking Maria, slowly at first, then Maria took ahold of her wrist and sped her up. Maria closed her eyes. She sunk deep into the couch, almost falling into the couch itself, being enveloped by a soft material within the cushions, as if it was a cloud. The couch and the room and all the worldly furnishings of the room disappeared, and a warm, moist, soft sensation was felt at Maria’s most intimate place, a sensation that came in waves and shot drug-like bursts of pleasure through Maria’s entire body at regular intervals.
Of course, that was all happening in Maria’s mind. From Mike’s perspective, he could see very clearly that Maria was still with him in the room and that Rhonda was devouring her pussy with the shameless abandon of the veteran offensive linemen devouring ribs at the all-you can eat buffet the rookies had to pay for.
Maria came without a care in the world. She flooded Rhonda's face with her juices. Rhonda drank it all up. She lay there in Maria's lap, licking and twisting her hips restlessly.
Rhonda was aching to experience her own satisfaction.
“Mike. Lay down here.” Maria pointed him to directly underneath the spot Rhonda was sitting.
Rhonda positioned herself over Mike’s face. Her beautiful vulva, with its lips open, with her clit engorged and throbbing, delectable in all of its glory, came down on Mike's face. Mike got to it, licking what was on top of him, and Rhonda descended on Maria’s pussy for round two. Rhonda ignored the man, the football player, star of the team she hated, the item, underneath her. She focused all her attention on the pop star, Maria the Dominatrix Diva, singer of thirteen Billboard Hot 100 chart-topping number one hits, most of which were about being a playgirl and using men for her pleasure.
Chapter 1: Wild Card Week
1
“Congrats on making the playoffs,” the low, raspy voice said to Tom Grammell III over the phone line. “Are you going to finish the job?”
It was Dai Lo, head of the Red Turbans triad, to make sure Tom paid off his debts.
“Of course I intend to keep winning. I’m the owner of the Red Foxes, after all.”
“That’s not how you seemed to think about your job before I got to you.”
“You must have misunderstood me. Could you not call me on this line, though? You know it’s illegal what we’re discussing.”
“Are you scared you're being tapped?”
Wiretapped? Who knew what kind of power Football Commissioner Gary Rodgers might have! He wouldn’t put it past the monarch.
“Can we continue this conversation on a more secure line? Maybe on Signal?”
Dai Lo: Mike was absent from practice on Monday. Is he playing?
Tom: I don’t know. He’s injured. That’s up to him and Coach Thompson.
Dai Lo: He’d better play.
Tom: If he’s healthy, he’ll play.
Dai Lo: Make sure he’s healthy. You say how bad the defense was without him.
Tom: I’m sorry. I’ll try.
Dai Lo: If not, you’d better pray.
Tom: [typing]
[deleted]
Tom: [typing]
Tom: Why’d you bet so much money on my team if you don’t think we can win?
Dai Lo: I don’t explain myself. Just win.
Tom: Of course.
2
The Red Foxes were prepping for their first playoff game in over a decade. Mike’s ankle was still hurting like shit. He’d been able to come in on the final drive and make a daring stop to seal the victory and clinch their playoff appearance. But now, his shin and ankle and everything was swelling.
On Tuesday, Mike went to the team doctor.
“Think I can play this week?”
“In five days? Your ankle is the size of a grapefruit! I’d be surprised if you could make it back before the America Bowl-- that is, if we could make it...”
“I’ve got to play. Everybody is counting on me.”
My team. My fans. My Mistress.
My ability to have sex this offseason...
“I know you got roughed up last week, but it looks worse than at the end of the game. What happened to it?”
“Oh, you know, just swelling, right?”
Yeah, that and holding up the weight of a couple of women the night after the game.
The doctor poked and prodded.
“Couldn’t you get me knocked up on painkillers?”
“Even if I had enough painkillers to make you comfortable on the field, you still wouldn’t be physically able to run or cut.”
