by Emme Rollins
There were always plenty of women surrounding the band whenever we were on tour. My band mates – Tyler Mason, Steve Cousins and Alex Madison – always had plenty of chicks who were willing to put out. They didn’t have to work as hard as I did, having made their mark in the rock industry already. I mean, those guys are music legends.
But now I too have made my mark. The ‘hate’ comments on our Facebook page had gone down to a hardcore group of people who had nothing better to do. I had acquired a lot of fans on my own as evidenced by the growing number of my unofficial fan sites and Twitter followers, which are numbering in the millions.
The night we were nominated for a Grammy, I decided to celebrate.
We were in New York.
I was raking in the cash. For a boy who grew up in a trailer park, I had never thought I would amass so much money in my entire life. And at my age! With what I had, if I didn’t fritter it away on sex, drugs and rock and roll, I could retire happy.
I remember those nights when I was five years old, and my single mother was out of work. I remember how hard she had to forage for money to feed us and buy us clothes – all five of us kids. I remember her making eyes at the guy who owned the used car lot in our little town so that he would give her a job as a temp. I also remember her sleeping with him behind his wife’s back.
I don’t ever want to go back to that sort of life again.
So instead of trusting myself to invest that money, I hired a financial planner and let him handle the lot. I allowed myself the liberty to buy a penthouse, however, and a Lamborghini – which was something I’d always wanted.
Now I could reap the fruits of my labor.
Back to that night.
“Hey, bro,” Tyler said as he raised a bottle of Heineken to me. We were in the dressing room. We had just finished taping a segment with Leno. “You gay?”
“Huh?” I said.
“It’s just that we never see you with the ladies. All we have to do is strut outside and they’ll be lining up, bending over and grabbing their ankles. All that’s left to us is to pull down their panties and fuck them.”
That is true, not to mention crude, though I had never gone for that type of woman.
“I’m not gay,” I said haughtily. “In case you’d forgotten, there was that waitress in Ibiza.”
“Yeah, which you fucked for all of ten minutes.”
Well, I did fuck her, at least. Strange to think that in high school, I was considered quite the stud for a while.
“And there was that yoga instructor in Denver,” I argued.
“Never saw you fuck her,” Steve countered.
“I was up in the hotel room with her all night.”
“You could have been passed out.”
I fumed. The others were grinning at me. This was all good-natured teasing, but there was an undercurrent there that I could detect. They were all goading me on.
You have to prove yourself to us all over again, kid. In a different way now.
That was the trouble with being so much younger than the guys. It was like they were a tribe. They didn’t just accept you because you worked hard and won American Rock Star on your own merit. (OK, I got second place.) You were always the rookie, the one who drew the short straw, the new kid on the block.
Alex got up.
“Let’s go,” he said. He was the oldest of the band members – the one who founded Red Velvet, and therefore, the de facto leader.
The others uncurled themselves and followed.
Steve shot me a backward glance. “You coming?”
“Where are we going?”
He winked. “You’ll see.”
*
After evading the fans, who had gathered outside the studio to scream and throw panties at us, we drove off in our black van with the tinted windows. Stan, our driver, took us to downtown Soho, where a long line was forming outside a club.
The van avoided the queue and took us to the back, where a man was waiting at a nondescript door.
Stan wound down the window.
“All clear?” he asked the man.
“All clear.”
Stan looked back at Alex.
“All clear, boss.”
At thirty-six years of age, Alex was still pretty fit. He clambered to the door and beckoned to the rest of us. “What’re you waiting for? A flashing tit invitation.”
That mightn’t be a bad idea, I thought. To be honest, I had been coasting on adrenaline for the past four years now, and I was feeling pretty drained. A night of relaxation with the guys wasn’t too spooky a notion.
We went in through the back door unnoticed. Once inside, the man who was waiting for us ushered us right upstairs.
We entered a dimly lit room.
“VIP passes only,” the man explained.
The room was filled with divans and couches and water beds which look really comfortable. A small bar lined with bottles and glasses decked one corner. Several guys were lounging around on these plush surfaces, surrounded by girls on a ratio of one to three.
The girls were all scantily clad in micro-bikinis and micro-thongs. Frankly, nothing was left to the imagination. Nipples were bared. Ass cracks were revealed. Crotches were teased. The girls were all young, pretty, smiling with white teeth and dimpled cheeks. The unoccupied ones made a beeline to us immediately.
“Hi there, handsome,” said a brunette who sidled up to me. She wore a bandeau type of bikini which glowed a bright yellow in the light. Her areolas peeked out of the bands. She immediately draped her arms around my neck. “I saw you on TV.”
“Yeah, you are that American Idol guy,” said a redhead. Her breasts were as round as apples and her nipples were covered in green pasties in the shape of stars.
Semantics, but I wasn’t going to go into detail.
“You’re gorgeous.”
The brunette’s hand slipped to my crotch. I wore a sleeveless black shirt with snaps for buttons and black tight pants, my hallmark. I supposed I must have looked pretty good. My arms were muscled and toned from working out at the gym with a personal trainer six times a week to get that romance book cover look. I never looked so good in my life than when I was working to the bone.
Tyler and Steve were watching me handle myself. Their hands were full too . . . literally. Full of boobs and asses.
I wasn’t sure I liked being on display, but I had something to prove tonight.
“If you buy me a drink,” the brunette said, “I’ll let you grope me.”
“You can buy me a drink too,” the redhead said.
They were both all over me now. Their hands were sliding, slipping, probing my body everywhere. I could feel a tightness in my jeans, which were really tight to begin with.
“How much is the drink?” I asked.
“It’s on the house,” said the bartender called, smiling.
“In that case, I’m buying,” I said.
“Great,” said the brunette.
“Great,” echoed the redhead.
They both dragged me to the bar where the bartender plunked down three shots of Jim Beams before us.
“I don’t like Jim Beam,” I said.
“Oh, don’t be a wuss,” the brunette said. She picked up her glass and downed her drink in one gulp. Then she held mine up to my lips. “Drink it, baby.”
I could feel Alex’s eyes on me, judging me.
“Sure thing,” I said. I took the glass from her and downed the Jim Beam in one scorching swallow as well. I ended up spluttering a little.
The girls laughed delightedly.
“Have another,” the bartender said, sliding another three glasses towards us. It was as though they appeared by magic.
I took another drink. My head was beginning to spin. My mind was a cloud and I was becoming majorly relaxed.
My arms went round both girls. They were tiny compared to my six foot two frame. They eagerly held on to me.
The redhead licked her lips.
“Now, Kurt
Taylor, how would you like to do it? What do you say to a little public exhibitionism?”
I was surprised she even knew the term, but then, she probably knew a lot of terms I didn’t. As a newly minted rock star, I was pretty green around the edges when it came to the party scene.
The girls pushed me against the wall. Alex, Steve and Tyler had their own respective admirers who were undressing them even as their lascivious eyes darted over to appraise what I was doing now and again.
The brunette went down on her knees. Her eyes were full and alluring as they flashed me a molten look of desire. She unzipped my fly. I was wearing decent underwear, thank goodness. (Sometimes, I didn’t.)
She slipped my already hard cock out of my underwear. I could feel my band mates’ eyes on it. Naturally, they had already seen it when we were pissing together in common restrooms, especially when we were on tour. But they had never seen it hard before.
Now they were assessing my size and girth in the penis comparison thing we men sometimes do. I did not fall short, thank goodness. I didn’t have a humungous cock, but neither was I on the average side (or size) of things. The brunette and redhead seemed to think so too at the way they were enthusiastically cooing over it.
“Ooooh, what a nice schlong you have.”
“It makes me just want to lick it.”
The brunette did this. Still fastening her eyes on my face, she coquettishly took my cock in her mouth as though it were a giant lollipop. The pleasure shot into my groin and balls instantly, and I let out a groan. It had been so long since I had a blowjob. She was an expert, and she took me fully into her mouth and deep-throated me. My crown hit the back of her throat, and another spasm of pleasure burst within me.
It was all I could do to hold back my cum. I leaned back against the wall and tipped my head backward to savor the exquisite sensations.
Meanwhile, the redhead was unbuttoning the snaps in front of my black shirt. My skin was revealed in what must be a tantalizing display of pecs and well-formed muscles. I was proud of my body. I worked hard at maintaining it. Since my stage acts and music videos frequently required me to take off my shirt, or at least show off a good portion of my shoulders and arms, I made pretty damned sure that there was no ounce of spare fat on my frame. I ate right, consulted a dietician, and worked hard at keeping lean.
So I had nothing to be ashamed of when she finally peeled off my shirt. Several heads turned to admire my body. The brunette worked her clever mouth up and down my length – sucking, nibbling and alternately licking my diamond hard flesh. Her hands groped my balls and caressed them so that delightful tingles exploded within them, sending a fresh wave of pre-cum into the tip of my dick.
“Ohhhhh,” I moaned.
The redhead started to kiss me. Her breath was heady with liquor and cigarette smoke. My pre-cum started to leak into the brunette’s mouth. She swiveled her tongue around my uncircumcised head and dipped the tip of it into my little slit. I clenched my buttocks and growled with pleasure.
Hands fondled me everywhere – my torso, my abs, my buttocks. The brunette slid down my pants and underwear, and I paused momentarily to step out of them. The whole room was punctuated with the sounds of groans and moans coming from the now mostly naked men.
The brunette took off her top respectively, revealing jiggling breasts which were respectful in size. My hands groped these. I reached out to squeeze the redhead’s pasty-plastered tits as well. All the breasts felt plump and nice in my grasp. It had been so long since I held a nice couple of tits in my palms.
The brunette took her mouth off my saliva-covered cock.
“Come,” she said, getting up from her knees.
Both girls led me to an empty water bed. Tyler was on the divan beside this, already occupied with having his cock sucked by two enthusiastic blondes who had already shed all their clothes. They clambered all over him.
I flopped onto the water bed. The mattress immediately bounced me up like a trampoline. I couldn’t help laughing.
The girls laughed along with me. They threw themselves onto the bed beside me and we all bounced up together and fell down again in a shaky tangle of naked limbs and quivering tits and genitals. The girls shed the last vestiges of their underwear, revealing pubic mounds that were cleanly shaven without a shred of hair left on their glistening skins. Their pussies were red, moist and very inviting.
My cock was harder than hard. It was so hard that its veins were practically straining on the top of my shaft.
The redhead mounted me. I wish she could have left some of her pubic hair behind so that I could tell if she was a real redhead. Some part of my already fevered brain wanted to see what everyone else was doing. The air was certainly smoky with pheromones and the red heat of desire, which is palpable to everyone either watching or engaged in it.
“Wait,” I said to the redhead. “I need a condom.”
“Of course. I have one for you.”
The brunette was moving her groin to my head while the redhead sheathed my cock with a condom that appeared miraculously out of seeming nowhere. Then I realized that the beds and couches and walls had little nooks in which such accoutrements could be stored, along with the corresponding tubes of lube and other sensory enhancing pleasures.
Once my cock was nicely covered, the brunette moved on top of it.
“Wait,” I said, holding her hips. “I don’t know your name.”
I was trying not to have anonymous sex.
“Does it matter?” she said. Probably a fair question under the circumstances. Her pupils were very dark and a sexual flush had spread all the way from her face down to her neck and chest.
“Yes.”
“What would you like it to be?”
This was going to be difficult. “What’s your real name?”
“Tiza.”
“OK, Tiza. I’m Kurt.”
“We know,” the brunette said. “And I’m Bambi.”
None of them which were their real names, I assumed.
Now that we were all properly introduced, I felt better about fucking the two of them.
Tiza covered my cock with her warm, not-too-tight pussy. I let out a cry going in. It felt so good after such a long time. My flesh felt encumbered and squeezed in the best way possible. I was imploding with the collective sensation of it all. My mind went blank, and I saw spots dance in my eyes. When I opened them again, Tiza was rocking above my hips, smiling down at me.
Bambi was at my head. She raised her hips and lowered her pussy to my mouth. So Tiza was effectively fucking me while Bambi curved her hips to let me lick her clit. I performed the latter with relish. It had been some time since I had gone down on a woman, and so I reveled in the taste of her juices, which were copiously flowing onto my lips and mouth and chin.
God, she tasted and felt so good with my tongue. At the same time, Tiza pounded her hips against mine, Up, down. Seesawing motions. The sensory overload was too much. I bucked and lifted my hips so that my cock could grind deeper and deeper into her. Bambi pressed her pussy onto my mouth, and I inserted my tongue as deep as it could go inside her.
I came before I knew it.
I exploded. My semen shot into the condom, deep inside Tiza’s snug little vagina. A volcanic rush filled my head. Colors swam and my entire pelvic area flowed with little starbursts of pleasure. Waves after waves of ecstasy crescendoed through me, rendering my limbs weak and my body hollow – until I was aching and shuddering and spent.
God, that was good. I should do this more often. And I wasn’t exactly having anonymous sex. Strike One in my favor.
I didn’t know if Tiza came too, because the man who greeted us at the back entrance came in. My mind was still in a blur when I distinctly heard his voice saying:
“It’s a raid! The cops are here!”
Shit, I immediately thought. Vice!
Everyone in the room was scrambling to pluck their cocks out of wet orifices and their mouths from genitals. Alex, Steve and Tyler r
ushed to pick their scattered clothes up. Everyone was in a frenzy of dressing. I pitied the girls. They weren’t dressed up that much in the first place and they certainly weren’t going to pass as nuns with those micro-nano outfits and nipple pasties they were flaunting.
“Come on, Kurt,” Steve hissed. “Let’s get out of here.”
Right.
You would think that was the defining moment – when we got caught, correct? Well, not really.
I wasn’t that lucky.
KURT
I quickly found my discarded pants, and had difficulty getting into them because they were so tight. My shirt was a more difficult prospect to find, but I finally spotted it being stepped on by someone who was rushing to buckle his belt. I retrieved it in that pandemonium of stomping feet and hiked adrenaline.
I was finally half-dressed when Tyler grabbed my arm and whirled me out of the door.
“Cops mean publicity,” he explained. “Not all publicity is good publicity, especially when you are nommed for a Grammy.”
Right. Wouldn’t want to sway the voters in any way.
We came up by stairs and so we tumbled down those stairs again.
“Where’s Stan?” asked Alex.
“Probably gone to take a piss,” replied someone else.
“We can’t wait,” Alex declared. “Where are the keys to the van?”
We didn’t even know where the van was parked.
The man who had greeted us handed me a car key. “Here, take my car. You can return it tomorrow.”
I grabbed it without further preamble. “Where’s your car?”
“It’s the white BMW in the back.”
It was my turn to take charge and say to the guys, “OK, come on. Let’s go.”
We ran into the back alley, where the white BMW – a seven-series, no less – sat waiting for us like a getaway car after a bank robbery. Our forlorn black van was parked a little distance away. I hopped into the driver’s seat and the rest of the band got into the other seats.
“I’ll return it tomorrow,” I said to the man in as low a voice as I could muster to be heard.
He waved me away and darted back into the back of the building.