Bang (Hard Rock Harlots Book 5)

by Kendall Grey

  Beth nods and hands her a small cloth bag.

  “When is this going to end?” I ask.

  Lizzie laughs. “What do you mean? Us? We end when I say we do. Not a second sooner.” The cruel glint in her eye assures me she’s confident I’ll obey, and she’s right. I have no choice but to do as she says until I get enough dirt to expose her for the psycho she is. If I can just keep her talking …

  She claps her hands loudly. “Chop, chop. Get busy.”

  A foul taste fills my mouth.

  I slowly unwind the towel and let it fall to the floor. Once positioned as she directed, I wait. Fabric rustles behind me, followed by the sound of a box opening and the pump of a bottle. My butt cheeks clench at the coolness dusting my skin and the fear of the unknown.

  Lizzie and Beth exchange quiet words on the other side of the room. I sneak a peek. Naked Beth nods slowly, glances at me, and I readjust my view away from them.

  The mattress dips on either side of me.

  “We’re gonna take good care of you,” Lizzie says. Warm fingers trace the rungs of my spine from my tailbone to my neck. “Relax.”

  The command sets me so far on edge, I’m about to fall off the blade of the knife I’m standing on. Feet lacerated by distrust and lies, I’m fresh out of balance.

  Two pairs of hands manipulate my flesh into believing I’m being honored and cared for as promised. The welcome pleasure of deep tissue massage tempts my back muscles into submitting. Giving her my body is one thing, but I know better than to fall into Lizzie’s trap. My mind, willful as it is, remains my own. Nothing she can say or do will change that.

  Breaths rise and fall behind me. Neither of them speak, but one set of hands retreats.

  “Spread your legs,” Lizzie says. She wrangles my left ankle and pushes it to the back of my thigh. Something tight and rubbery snags my skin and tightens with a quick pull. She stretches the tie and binds my left wrist to my ankle. My heart picks up from a steady jog to a panicked sprint.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  A slap to my left butt cheek is the only answer I get.

  She ties the right side similarly. I’m stuck like a rocking chair, facedown, ass and pussy exposed. My head tells me to hock up a “capybara” and spit it out, but my newly awakened need for giving away free samples of control like niblets of Chinese fast food at the mall puts a damper on good sense.

  I don’t want to enjoy this. I really don’t.

  But if I can maintain it, my trademark resilience that Lizzie’s so fond of is sure to keep her on my hook.

  “I think she’s ready.” A smile laces Lizzie’s voice.

  I struggle against the rubber straps. Fear and wild desire mix into a strange cocktail simultaneously destroying and rejuvenating my blood as it surges wildly.

  Lizzie swings around and sits near my head. I plead with my eyes for her to stop or go or … something. I’m so out of control, I don’t even know what I want.

  She strokes my chin and stares into my eyes. “Be still, pet. You’ll enjoy it more if you take it slow.”

  Beth parts my ass cheeks, exposing both holes to the suddenly too-hot air. Something about the size of a finger penetrates my hole. I flinch. “What the hell are you doing?”

  A firm hand pushes my hips down, and the finger probes deeper.

  Here’s where my head and heart fall into direct conflict. An undeniable need to buck and fight overcomes me. I expressly told Lizzie before that I don’t do ass play. She violated my trust even though Beth is the one doing the actual violating. On the other hand, now that she’s already in, my curious mind is dying to experience this new potential pleasure.

  I wrestle with my conscience as I try to figure out what the hell they actually want.

  “If you fight, it’ll hurt,” Beth soothes. Her grip on my ass isn’t harsh like Lizzie’s usually is. She assumes control without stealing it. A benevolent Domme?

  I should tell her to stop. Use the safe word.

  Like the cease-and-desist order to dial Lizzie’s phone number, my refusal to capybara my way out of this situation is a product of my need to hold something over her head. If I bite down on that word, I keep the power. Spitting it out gives everything to her. Spitting it out means defeat.

  She may have brought me out of my shell and opened a door to a new world of orgasms and submission and sexual deviance I’d never dreamed of, but I won’t let Lizzie break me.

  Resilience.

  Damn right, I’m resilient, bitch.

  Eyes focused on me with chilling detachment, Lizzie says, “Fill ’er up.”

  Beth’s gentle hand pulls my cheeks wider, and she screws the tip of a dildo just inside my back hole. Clenching my teeth, I jerk and twist.

  No. This isn’t what I expected. This isn’t what I want. It’s all wrong. Lizzie orchestrated this whole scene to put me in my place. To punish me for Letty’s “crimes” against her.

  “You fucking bitch,” I spit.

  She laughs and smacks my speared ass. “Where’s your safe word, Jillian? You can play it any time, you know.”

  So, it’s come down to calling my bluff.

  Beth leans over my back. “You okay, J-Frost?”

  J-Frost? What the fuck am I, a submissive rapper whose stone-cold attitude smites my fear of being anally penetrated?

  Lids shuttered tightly against the oncoming storm, I focus on the end goal of exposing Lizzie for the monster she is instead of the discomfort and humiliation threatening to overtake me.

  I can beat her. I have to. For the band.

  “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Lizzie goads.

  When I don’t answer, she looks over my shoulder to Beth. “Fuck her. Hard.”

  Beth pushes the dildo past the threshold. The pain is sharp, devastating. I hiss an inhale between my teeth.

  As my top half collapses onto the comforter, my body admits defeat, but my brain doesn’t. I mentally turn off the power switch to my modesty and pride.

  Stay frosty, J-Frost. Don’t give Lizzie the pleasure of believing she broke you. Push through this and hope she screws up loud enough for the voice recorder to catch her.

  On her knees, Beth shifts weight between my legs, dipping the mattress a little left, then a little right. Using a strap-on to commit anal sabotage, she invades me with a slow, deep drive. I clamp my jaw tightly to hold the agony at bay.

  “Thatta girl.” Lizzie grins. “You’re such a trooper. Part of the reason I love you.” She leans up toward Beth. The smacks of kisses interspersed with skin slaps fill the air in a steady rhythm. I refuse to add the bark of protest poised on the tip of my tongue to their twisted ballad.

  You can end this any time, I coach myself. The submissive has the power. The submissive controls everything.

  Beth pulls the dildo out and eases it in again. Lizzie breaks free of her lips, uses my back as a prop for her elbow, and manipulates the silicone dick, roughing my ass with it. Despite the lockdown on my mouth, a whimper escapes.

  “Yes, that’s what I wanted to hear,” Lizzie declares. She spits on the thrusting dildo and fucks me harder. “Give me your pain, Jillian. Hand your body over to me.”

  Go fuck yourself.

  I grit my teeth as she makes a meal of my ass. The only way past this is through it. I close my eyes, hug the agony to my chest, and keep it all for myself. Agony is the only thing I have that Lizzie wants, and I’ll be damned if she’s getting it.

  The pain is mine. I own it. I’m saving it as backup fuel for later when I find enough dirt on Lizzie to put her career down.

  Pound, pound, pound.

  Slap, slap, slap.

  Mine, mine, mine.

  An hour later, Lizzie and Beth give up and crumple to the bed on either side of me, exhausted. They got their orgasms, but I refused them mine.

  My breasts are black and blue. My backside is utterly defiled. And I’m the last woman standing.

  Beaten, but not broken.

  Beth loos
ens my bonds. My wrists, ankles, hips, and back hurt so much from being stuck in that awful, hog-tied position, I’m barely able to move.

  Once circulation returns to my extremities, I limp to the bathroom. My torso looks like a fucking war zone. My ass is covered in blue and purple splotches. Not surprisingly, I’m bleeding back there too. In the shower, I run hot water over a washcloth and gingerly press it to the spot.

  I wash all signs of Lizzie and Beth from my body and hair, dry off, and dress. I leave the bloody cloth on the vanity for Lizzie to find in the morning and exit the bathroom.

  The Torture Twins appear to be passed out on the bed. I quietly shove my possessions into my overnight bag, retrieve the phone from the drawer, and make for the door. They can have this fucking room. I’m going home to my bunk where I belong.

  “Stay Frosty,” I mumble on my way out, and top the words off with a proud, resilient, and unbroken middle finger.

  Roar

  Two days later, after a kick-ass show in Denver, we arrive in Cheyenne.

  Toombs and I shared this morning’s coffee in silence. He’s been quiet since we left the Armstrong Suites, which is fine by me. I’m not interested in talking either. But knowing he’s there if I need him is enough to keep my head above water.

  The single cup of joe I sank, however, was not nearly enough. A caffeine headache threatens to kick my ass, and my ass has been kicked quite sufficiently of late, thank you very much. I’ve been at Lizzie’s side every free minute, waiting for her to flub up and give my voice recorder the happy ending it so rightly deserves.

  Still shooting blanks.

  I’m not sure how many more emotional beatings I can endure from her. Or the other pain in my ass who snuck onto the Banging Betties’ bus last night with Shades.

  Letty stumbles down the aisle from the bathroom, flaming red hair a disheveled mess, tank top hiked up to reveal her flat stomach. She folds her arms over her chest and stares at me expectantly.

  Speak of the devil.

  Those two idiots are lucky the security guys didn’t catch them in Lizzie’s bunk.

  Correction. I’m lucky the security guys didn’t catch them.

  Letty snatches a donut from the bag I was about to put away. I clean up the ketchup dollops, spilled sugar, and empty chip wrappers one of these slobs left in the kitchen area. She sits on the edge of her bunk. I pour my coffee.

  “What were you doing in Lizzie’s bunk last night, Letty?” I ask.

  She coughs. Powdered sugar flies from her mouth. “Spying on you. What else?”

  I nod.

  “You have nothing to say? I thought you were gonna ‘shut me up.’” She air-quotes.

  She’s got me there. Richard followed me onto the bus when I was looking for my cigarettes. We had a heart-to-heart about keeping a short leash on Letty. Apparently, Letty’s ignited Lizzie’s ire (again), which personally, I’m all for, but professionally, I can’t condone.

  I swear, it’s like refereeing a fucking playground.

  I opt for distraction and change the subject. “Megamusic TV sent a documentary crew to follow the bands on this tour.”

  “Yeah, I saw them yesterday. Also noticed that Anna chick has her tongue so firmly implanted in Lizzie’s asshole, she’ll need a pair of pliers and a gallon of lube to remove it. Your point?” She finishes off her donut. My butt cheeks clench at the mention of assholes, pliers, and lube.

  “My point is you need to be on your best behavior when they come knocking.”

  She laughs harshly as barely contained fury ignites her expression. “Because your buddy Dick doesn’t like it when I upset his little princess? Fuck him. Fuck her. And fuck you.”

  A wave of desperation churns my stomach.

  Goddammit, I can’t afford to pull any more punches with her. Lizzie is this close to kicking us off the tour.

  Ultimatum level: unlocked.

  God help us all.

  “Listen to me and listen good.” I square my shoulders and barge well past the boundaries of her personal space. “You do not want to tangle with him, her, and especially not me. I’ve put up with your attitude on this bus for almost a year. I’ve held your hand through the rough times. I’ve kicked your ass when you deserved it. I pushed you to the top when you wanted to quit. You fuck this up now, and you can find yourself a new manager. I’m sick of cleaning up your messes, Letty.”

  “Messes? I make the messes around here? Who’s banging the Betty over on that tour bus?” She stabs an accusing finger at the pink gas guzzler through the window. “Who sold us out so she could suck that Betty’s dick, huh? What’s the allure, Jillian? She must be giving you some goooood head to get you to turn against your own band.

  “I got an idea. Since you’re doing so much for them, how about you go over there and join their little Cult of the Inept and Shameless? Then you can have your Betty 24/7 and you’ll never have to put up with my sucky attitude again.”

  She might as well have slapped me like Lizzie’s so fond of doing. Except a slap from Letty hurts a hell of a lot more than one from Lizzie.

  “Don’t. Tempt. Me,” I bite out, livid and dazed from the sting.

  Jinx rushes over, eyes round and brows lifted. “Whoa. What’s going on?”

  “Why don’t you ask her?” Letty seethes.

  Someone knocks on the door. The tension between Letty and me stretches to the breaking point.

  “Documentary crew …?” Toombs calls from the front of the bus.

  “Yeah, let them in.” Jaw clenched, I inhale a deep breath as Anna DeVille—the reporter from Megamusic—and her cameraman climb aboard. I quickly pat down my hair and smooth my suit.

  Letty’s eyes blaze. With a pissy grunt, she turns on her heel and nods Jinx toward the couches in the rear. I put on a smile I don’t feel and join the documentary crew. After a quick round of introductions, I step aside and let Anna set up to interview Rax and Toombs.

  She’s low-key with her questions, throwing softballs, dancing around the music stuff, and focusing mostly on the tour, which makes sense. You’d think she’d want to get more insight into what makes the band tick. We are second billing, after all. She’s spent hours following Banging Betties around—I’ve silently thanked her for it numerous times, as she’s often my out for ditching Lizzie—but with Rax and Toombs, she’s … detached. Usually, women can’t keep their tongues in their mouths around the boys.

  I’d guess she was a lesbian, but my antennae aren’t twitching.

  Whatever.

  Eliza and Gabrielle’s arrival interrupts the interview. Eliza waves at Shades, who just got out of the shower at the ass-end of the bus. He pulls a shirt on, kisses Letty, and joins his ex and daughter. Well, possible daughter.

  “Hey, you got time for an interview later?” I ask him.

  “Sure. Catch me in a bit,” he agrees on his way down the stairs. “We’re just taking a quick walk.”

  “Okay.”

  My phone buzzes in my pocket. Text from our driver, Freddie. There’s a parking glitch with the venue. We may have to move the bus to a more distant spot, which will be a huge pain for the roadies. Nope. Fuck that. I reply, I’ll be there shortly.

  Anna wraps her interview with the guys.

  “We’re gonna go hang with DomMob.” Rax jerks a thumb toward the door. “They got a PlayStation.”

  “Rax wants to get his ass kicked in Call of Duty again,” Toombs clarifies.

  Rax shakes his head. “Fuck you, man.”

  “Be back in time for dinner,” I say. “Wouldn’t want you boys playing on an empty stomach tonight.”

  “Sure, Mom,” Rax tosses behind him as he and Toombs skip down the stairs after Shades, Eliza, and Gabrielle.

  Anna turns to me with a huge smile. “I’m excited to talk to Letty and Jinx about smashing female rocker stereotypes.”

  Ah, now I get why she seemed so lackluster with the guys. Hardcore feminist. Or maybe my gaydar is jammed. It would totally explain her constant fawning o
ver Banging Betties. I relax my stiff shoulders.

  “I’m sure they’ll be happy to fill your ears with their opinions,” I say. “Jinx? Letty?” I call to the back. “Can you come here, please? Anna has some questions for you.”

  Letty and Jinx take their time swaggering up the aisle. My hands itch for a cigarette.

  “Anna wants to get your perspective on the tour and other stuff for the documentary. She’s especially interested in women’s roles in rock music. Jinx, you wanna go first?”

  Jinx glances to Letty. “Uh, okay.” She sits on the couch. Anna slides in beside her.

  Another text from Freddie: U coming? They r waiting.

  Shit.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” I say, fingers curling around the box of cigarettes in my jacket pocket. “Back in about an hour.”

  I make eye contact with Letty and will her to behave. She lifts her chin at me.

  She’s not going to behave.

  On my way to the bus after the show, I inhale the crisp November breeze and pull my jacket tighter around my shoulders. I haven’t seen Lizzie much today. She’s been as chilly as tonight’s air since I left her and Beth in my room at the Armstrong Suites. Fine by me.

  I only wish I could’ve caught her on the voice recorder doing more than pushing me around in bed. I listened to the playback, and there’s not much I could use other than her harsh tone of voice. Sharing the recording would probably make me look worse than her.

  It’s been hard looking in the mirror after I let her abuse me. Violate me. The only dignity I retained from the awful encounter was denying her the triumph of forcing me to use my safe word.

  I’m still in control.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. Again. What the hell is it this time? The screen blows up with social media notifications. Like, our usual number times a hundred.

  With a sinking feeling, I stop in the middle of the parking lot and open Facebook. Killer Buzz Float’s page is overrun with comments on a video about Letty.

  “No,” I whisper as I scan the page. “No, no, no, this can’t be …”

  But it is. Boy, oh boy, it is.