The BBW and the Rock Star
The BBW and the Rock Star
Midpoint
The BBW and the Rock Star
Shameless Malloy
Copyright 2012 by Shameless Malloy
Smashwords Edition
He couldn't remember the blonde's name as he stared down at her buttocks, each thrust of his pelvis producing a small ripple across the flesh of her ass. He thrust harder and nodded in satisfaction as she murmured with pain. The blond, whatever her name was, didn't like it anally. It was obvious from the way she grunted in pain and tried to squirm away. She was only doing it because he was Stan Cherry, lead singer of Slut Girl, and their record was currently at the top of the charts. She was one of hundreds of groupies that his assistant, Candy, sorted through each night after the show to find just the right one that Stan would like.
Candy had impeccable taste in women she though Stan would like, but she’d missed something with the blond. She had a tattoo of a little butterfly across the small of her back. He couldn’t help but laugh. He hated the so called tramp stamps, and would have to remind Candy later to remember that next time she picked him out a new toy. The little butterfly looked stupid, he thought, and he wondered what it would look like when the woman was in her sixties.
“That tattoo is fucking stupid,” Stan told her, thrusting harder and laughing when she squirmed away in disgust. So fucking the great Stan Cherry isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, is it?
“What?”
“Your tattoo. It’s fucking stupid. What would make a woman get a tattoo like that there anyway?” he asked, never missing a beat and pushing as hard as he could. He wondered how many times the girl had taken it in the ass before. Did she give it up for her boyfriend after she sucked his dick? The woman didn’t respond and with the next power thrust screamed out in pain.
"You like that, don't you?" He asked the woman and she shook her head furiously in agreement, trying to hide the pain and discomfort she was obviously feeling. He grinned even more.
"Yes Stan..." she groaned through clenched teeth. "Fuck me harder."
He did, but it was as much a lie as the woman saying she was enjoying it. Truth was, he was bored. He'd worked so long and hard to get to where he was in life, playing every dive club he could find, spending more time on the road than not, and sacrificing his relationships with his family and friends in the process, that he should be enjoying the rewards. He finally had groupies. There were gorgeous women, like the blond, who would part their legs for him at a whisper. He'd dated super models and actresses, had extravagant homes and cars. He'd been a bad boy in every way an up and coming rocker could be. He had it all, the best of everything, and all his childhood dreams had finally come true. He should be happy.
But he wasn't. He was bored. Sure, he could make her take it in the ass and laugh at her discomfort, maybe make fun of her stupid tramp stamp, but what was in it for him? A few minutes of fun? The pleasure of seeing he discomfort? He didn’t even know her name. He cared nothing for the woman at all.
He pulled out of her with a flourish and stepped off the bed, his head wobbly from all the booze and drugs. The blond didn’t look all that attractive when he looked back at her.
"Is everything okay, Stan?"
"Get out," he ordered.
"What?"
"Just get the fuck out," he told her softly.
“I don’t understand.”
“What’s your name?” he asked, not even hinting at embarrassment over not knowing it.
“Sandra,” the woman answered hesitantly.
“Look, Sandra. It was fun, okay. I fucked you in the ass and well...” he stammered, trying to find something interesting to say. “It’s just that, well... you’re boring. This is all boring. Do you know how many women just like you’ve I’ve fucked in the ass just to watch them squirm? Or had them lick my toes... I even had one girl lick another girl’s ass while I watched. It’s boring, though. All so damn boring.”
The woman’s expression turned from shocked bewilderment to rage. “You think just because you’re Stan Cherry you can just treat someone this way?”
Stan shrugged and watched the angry girl scoop up her clothes and head towards the door. “Yeah, pretty much. Oh, and your tramp stamp sucks. I hate those things. What is it, anyway? Like a big advertisement screaming out to fuck you in the ass? How do butterflies translate to ass fucking?”
"You were a lousy fuck anyway," the woman spat as she slammed the door behind her.
Stan laughed out loud. He was sure the incident would be on the gossip blogs by the next morning. He could see the head lines. 'Stan Cherry can't get it up!' 'Is Stan Cherry Gay?' It wouldn't matter. When you were the lead singer of a band as popular as Slut Girl, girls willing to do whatever he wanted were a dime a dozen. And like they said, even bad press was press. He’d sell another million records and it would all be good.
He lay in the bed staring at the ceiling. Was this all there was to it? Fame and fortune were... boring?
There was a knock at his door. "Stan? Are you all right in there?"
"Come on in, Candy," he replied and turned so he could watch as his personal assistant entered.
He was struck, as he always was, at just how big the girl was. It didn't matter how much she did for him, how she kept his chaotic life in order, how she put up with his temper tantrums, or just how she was always there to talk to, he always came back to her size. She was fairly tall for a woman, bumping up against six feet, but weighed in somewhere north of three hundred pounds. She had flaming red hair and sin the color of ivory. She was smart and funny and if she hadn't been so big Stan would have been all over her. She dropped a duffel bag she was carrying into one of the room’s many chairs and then took in the scene of the destroyed hotel room.
"That ought to be in the papers in the morning," Candy said as she came in, assessing the room. "And this is going to cost you."
Stan ignored her comment. “You don’t remember the conversation about tramp stamps? I hate tramp stamps. I thought you weren’t going to send any more up that had them?”
The room was a mess. There were empty booze containers strewn about, stacks of empty pizza boxes, and enough discarded clothes to cover a football team. The bed sheets were in shreds and someone had attempted to build a camp fire with the destroyed pieces of the end tables. She was right, of course. It was going to cost him. It was going to cost more, however, to try and keep yet another drunken rage from the tabloids. He vaguely remembered the start of the party the night before, after the show, but how he'd ended up fucking the blond in the ass this morning, bored out of his mind, was beyond him. He was missing the time in between.
“So you seriously want me to inspect each and every bimbo that we pick out to come party in your room? For a tramp stamp?”
Stan shrugged.
“What do you think the papers would say if they got a hold of that?”
"Fuck the papers," Stan spat. "They'll just make up the same shit anyway. Might as well give them something to write about."
"Sure," Candy began, "yet another rock star trashing yet another hotel room. Yet another rock star with stupid taste in women. No one's heard that one before. You're rapidly becoming a past tense. I fully expect to read the story, some day, where you've drunk yourself to death."
Stan spread his hands wide and grinned sheepishly. "Who, me?"
"Yes you," Candy began as she bent and started cleaning up around him. She stopped and stared at him for a moment, concerned and serious look on her face. "Really Stan, is this what you want with your life?"
Stand shrugged. "I'm bored, Candy. None of this thrills me anymore, not like in the beginning. I have everything I ever
wanted and now," he paused, staring at her, "I'm just bored."
"That's why you're bored," Candy told him, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You're the boss now. The big cheese. You have everything you want but none of it is satisfying. Any of those girls at a concert would be happy to come back here with you and let you do whatever you wanted to them, just like that one. And now that you can have everything you want, you don't want any of it."
Stan sat up in the bed, his nakedness bothering neither him nor Candy. "And, oh wise one, just what do you suggest?"
She smiled. "Oh, I wouldn’t suggest anything, Stan. Even if I did have something to suggest, you couldn’t handle it anyway.”
The way she batted her bright blue eyes and smiled at him peaked his interest. He'd, on occasion, thought about having sex with his assistant. What managerial type hadn't thought about banging a subordinate. But it would, as it always did, ruin their relationship. Candy was just too valuable in her position. She took care of him and not in just finding tramp stamp free women for his nightly binges. Sure, he was a rock star, but someone had to take care of the business of it all. Besides, she was a big girl. What would they say about him in the papers if he were with a big girl. He’d be the laughing stock of the tabloids.
"I'm sorry, Candy," he began, trying to figure out a way to let her down easy, "but you and I couldn't work. We work together and... well."
Candy laughed loudly, "Oh Stan... you think I want to have sex with you? Do you think I’m one of these fawning little bitches that wants you to fuck them in the ass just so I can go tell my friends that I fucked Stan Cherry?”
"That's not what you were about to suggest?" he asked, perplexed. Everyone wanted to have sex with him. He was Stan Cherry, after all. He was sure even the roadies wanted to fuck him.
"Oh no. Not in the least," she cooed, somewhat seductively. "Or at least not in the way you fuck. I don't want to have sex with you. I want to punish you.”
“I’m sorry?” he said, unable to pull his eyes from the very low cut shirt exposing her mountains of fleshy boobs. How come I’ve never noticed they were that big before. Those have to be the biggest tits I’ve ever seen, he thought.
"You heard me. I want to beat you senseless for all the things you've done to these poor little girls. You're not a good guy, Stan. Not at all. You've been nothing but a spoiled little brat since I've worked for you." Candy stood, coming around to the side of the bed, nearer to where Stan was. As he watched, speechless, she pulled a pillow out of its case and then proceeded to pull the the case in half, splitting it at the seams. "You are a bad little boy, aren't you Stan?"
Stan didn't know how to respond. He'd played these games with women before, letting them thing they were in charge of him, but it wasn't really his style. "Candy, please. Stop this before you embarrass yourself. You don't want to do this. We work together... it just wouldn't be right."
He told her no, but he was pretty sure he wanted her to continue. Just what was going on here? He watched, mesmerized, as she worked at tying his arm to the bedpost. She moved slowly, methodically and, when she bent over him, he was again exposed to the grandiose view down her shirt. His flaccid penis stirred and he felt the deep grumblings of an erection. He hoped she wouldn’t stop, despite his words.
She didn't pout at the verbal rejection an she didn't stop. Instead she took his hand, ever so gently, and tied one end of the pillow case around it. "I appreciate that you want to spare my feelings. The feeling, however, is not mutual." She then roughly pushed his hand back, to the bed frame, and finished tying his arm to the bed.
"What are you doing?" Stan asked, part of him wanting to know what was going to happen if he let her. His skin tingled at her touch and his erection grew. That it was there, out front and easy to see was only slightly embarrassing. Candy had seen him naked more times than he could remember.
"You like to be in control, Stan, right?" She asked as she stood, walking towards the other side of the bed. "You like the little girls to tell you that they like it in the ass, right? Even when they don’t? You liked to be a bit sadistic.”
Fear mixed with anticipation and he wondered what she was going to do next. Was she really angry at him or was she playing? They’d joked and played around for years. Their easy going relationship was one of the reasons he liked working with her so much. But there was something dark and angry in her voice along with a sort of playfulness he hadn’t heard before.
She grinned at him and knelt at his waist and then surprised him by taking the tip of his cock in her hand, fondling it. "This is what you caused all that drama with, huh? This is always the head you think with, isn’t it Stan?”
Stan didn't know how to respond, but his dick did and started to rise to her touch.
"Oh," she squealed with glee. "I guess you do like fat girls."
Stan was quiet as she stroked his cock, slowly, up and down. The erection was the strongest he’d felt in a long time. She reached over with her other hand and cupped his balls, lightly rolling them around. He buried his head, backwards, in the pillow and couldn’t help himself from moaning out loud.
“I know you like the super skinny, super model types. Or, I know you think you like those. And why wouldn’t you, Stan? They follow you around like lost little puppy dogs and let you do absolutely anything you want to them. You’re Stan Cherry, right? God of rock and roll?”
Candy stroked faster and Stan felt himself on the verge of coming. She had an intense way with her meaty hand and was able to grip most of his cock at once.
“Suck it Candy,” he ordered. “Get down there and suck my dick.”
She laughed and then squeezed his cock so hard that he was about to scream. He was unable to reach down and stop her with his arms tied to the bedpost. She stared at it, watching as the blood filled tip turned purple. She then thumped it with her hand and let go. Stand hollered.
“What the hell, Candy?”
Her laugh was deep and rich and he was more than a little uncomfortable, tied to the bed and at her mercy.
“I’m not sucking your dick Stan, not now anyway. Maybe later after we figured out if you can obey like a good little boy or not.”
“What are you talking about?”
Wordlessly she reached up and slapped him hard across the face. He screamed out once more. “What the fuck, Candy?”
“You will speak only when spoken to,” she began. “You will answer only with yes ma’am or no ma’am.”
Candy has flipped completely out, he thought. “Candy... what are you doing? What’s going on here?”
There was another slap across his face, stinging like fire. “Stan, do you speak English?”
He gulped, fearing another slap.
“Answer me.”
“Yes ma’am,” he said meekly, the tone of his own voice unfamiliar to him.
“Good. Then if you speak and understand English you can follow simple directions, yes?”
“Yes ma’am,” he answered and was pleased when she smiled in return.
“Good,” she replied as she began to stroke his cock again. “This can go two ways. You can be a good boy and be rewarded or you can be a bad boy and be punished. I personally prefer to punish you, but I’ll let the decision rest with you.”
“I’ll be a good boy, I promise,” he moaned, the erection building again. How did she do that with her fingers, he wondered. The pleasure was instantly replaced by pain as she squeezed his cock again and then, once more, thumped the head of his dick.
“I told you to speak when you’re spoken to,” she ordered. “Do you understand that one, simple rule?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Okay,” she said as she stood and walked to the duffel bag she’d left in the chair. She turned and faced him, unbuttoning the front of her blouse, slowly, methodically, letting it finally fall away to show her large breast in their full glory. They way they dipped down, sagging a bit, seemed all together natural to him and so completely like the assembly line boob j
obs he was used to. Her skin was pail and very soft, her nipples large and engorged. He wanted to bury his face in there and smell her. She let her pants fall next, exposing her rotund belly and he was quite pleased to see that she was not only not wearing panties, but that there was not a ounce of pubic hair on her large, puffy pussy. She stood before him, imperfect and not what society said should be attractive in the least, and he couldn’t help himself. He wanted her badly.
He remained quiet as she opened the duffel bag and began removing objects. First were thigh high red leather boots that she casually set neatly on the floor beside her. She then pulled out a red leather miniskirt that Stan imagined was a couple of sizes too small. Next came the bra, also red, supple leather, followed by an assortment of whips, hand cuffs, and other scary looking devices.
She looked up at him, naked in the chair, and grinned sheepishly, “I can see you like this.”
He was slightly embarrassed that he had no control over the throbbing erection that was a window into his sole. He was excited. Seeing her form, honest and naked and with out the pretense of clothing or any of the other trappings of what modern society thought was beautiful, was exhilarating. She wasn’t what his friends would have thought of as perfect, but she was, in ever sense of the word.
“You want me to put these clothes on, don’t you? And come over there to you, maybe take that thick cock in my mouth and swirl it around for a little bit? I bet you’d like to bend me over this chair, right now, and fuck me raw, wouldn’t you?” Her voice was soft and sultry, yet another tone he’d never heard from his personal assistant before. She was exactly right. Seeing her like that, with her breast sagging and the large nipples pointing at the ground, the unbridled flab around her mid-section, the gloriously large ass... all he wanted at that particular moment was to have her under him, slamming into her, and making her scream.
“Yes, god damn it,” he swore. “Fuck me.”
The BBW and the Rock Star Page 1