Game of Throbs Complete Series (Books 1-3)

by Piquette Fontaine

  “It’s okay. That was good for a first try. Try to think of it as…as though you are trying to touch a waterfall without disrupting the flow of water. You just want the slightest touch to feel the essence of it.”

  Marion nodded and tried again. This time, Richard drifted away and was replaced by John. She remained focused and when John lowered his hand to meet hers, she remained calm and enjoyed the feeling of him oozing through her. A thousand pinpricks tingled over her palm and she shivered as the sensation moved down her wrist and her arm. She closed her eyes in sweet bliss as John moved through her, sharply plunging through flesh and bone to reach the deepest depths of her soul. It was so overwhelming and she could only withstand it for a short while before she had to tell John to stop. She took a few moments to breathe deeply and catch her breath, and then finished off the remaining water in the glass by her bed. When she opened her eyes she could tell that John was grinning. He and Richard floated over her while she lay there submissively and realized that a whole new world was opening up to her.

  Without saying a word, Marion began to unbutton her blouse and exposed her soft, supple flesh to the air. The fabric fell away. It was the first time she been naked with men but her passion provided her with courage, and soon enough her panties were being slipped over her ankles, revealing her moist pussy. She drew her hands and they lingered over her burning mound, and she stroked and teased herself before bringing her slick fingers up. She curled her body around, her soft curves moving like the flowing of a stream as John and Richard descended upon her. They drifted either side, both of them crackling with supernatural energy. Marion gulped as she felt the pulses throb through her and then she held out her hand to put her new skills to the test.

  She stretched out her hands and touched them both. The phantoms flickered but she felt them connect with her and the three of them became entwined on a plane that transcended mere physicality. The ghosts flashed and shimmered and Marion’s body jolted with the shocks of pleasure that shot through her like lightning bolts. Sharp moans leapt out of her lips and her eyes snapped shut at the intensity of it all. Her hands drew back and fell to the sheets while the ghosts came down and smothered her. She felt them all over her stomach, her breasts, her whole body was alive as if being enveloped in an orgasmic cocoon. John and Richard swam around her body, in between her breasts and around the back of her neck. She felt them spark against her lips and her mouth searched for something to lock onto. Her hair crackled with static electricity and she felt her arms being gently pushed up to rest against her head. A cool sensation trickled down her sides and her hips swayed along with them.

  Marion gasped as she felt the ghosts reached down from her head to her thighs and then slowly encroach to her inner thigh. Richard was on her right and John on the left and they moved in tandem, slowly, teasingly, tantalizingly getting ever closer to her sweetest, most intimate area. She moaned with anguish as the spectral forces teased her clit and then erupted within her, reaching deep inside, for they were filling up her whole body with their strange and fantastical energy.

  Her eyes shot open as the sensations exploded within her. Everything was vivid and intensified, as if she had become somehow hypersensitive to the world. Everywhere she looked was a sea of blue haze and in amongst it all were John and Richard’s bright, white eyes that led to a heavenly realm of unbridled pleasure. She writhed under their influence, the two of them made her shudder and her skin was soaked in a sheen of sweat. Her gasps became more frantic, more hurried, her chest heaved and her heart pounded in her chest and the ghosts were so deep within her that she could almost feel them cradle her heart in their supernatural glow. But down in between thighs they throbbed and pulsed against the lips of her pussy. Her legs twisted against the sheets as the ghosts stimulated her and rippled inside. They pressed their spirit forms against her breasts and she felt the weight of them against her, both of them, surrounding her, binding her to the bed, and she responded with a willing body and a willing mind. She stuck out her tongue and tasted their sweet aura, it was a strange sensation at first because her mouth wanted to swallow but there was nothing there, and then suddenly it was filled with the cool sensation, like a bubble expanding against her lips. She felt a pressure against her head and sucked gently, allowing it to flow and coat her cheeks and jaw and ripple down her neck. And then, it all boiled up inside her with the fury of a fire. It started at her pussy and flooded through the rest of her body. She clenched the bed sheets as an intense orgasmic force thundered through her, buffeting her body against the spectral forms of John and Richard. The room was filled with their haunting gasps of pleasure as they saw Marion wince and writhe in sweet ecstasy and then her scream spilt the air as her skin became flushed and her mind cracked and then she lay there, raw and spent as the ghosts remained by her side, caressing her with their spirit forms as she caught her breath.

  And for the first time Marion didn’t miss London, she didn’t miss her parents, and she thought that perhaps she would begin to like life in the country after all. Whatever mysteries remained about the house were of no concern to Marion for she craved pleasure, and she was determined not to make whatever mistakes her mother had made.

  THE END

  I’m With The Band

  Chapter 1

  I guess it's true what they always say- never mate your heroes.

  Oh wait... The expression is never meet your heroes? Damn... Well, I suppose abiding by that rule in the first place would have kept me from having to do with the fallout from breaking the second one, too. Well, it's too late now I suppose. But I can tell you from experience, getting to know your idol as a lover, rather than just as a fan, can be a sticky situation to find yourself wandering into.

  And in particular, when it's more than just the one idol you find yourself getting to know...

  But, I should back up quite a bit to begin with.

  I suppose there's no point, in setting all this up for you, in denying the fact that I was just the least bit star struck. That, honestly, was about the understatement of the century. I was in college at the time, twenty years old, and my side of my roommate and I's dorm room was plastered from top to bottom with memorabilia, all of it featuring my favorite band and number one obsession, “Spyyyke.”

  “Spyyyke” consisted of only three members, despite producing a massive, overwhelming sound that was capable of selling out entire stadiums full of people- it had the sonic range of an orchestra, for consisting of no more than just three guys and their expertise at their instruments and vocals. There was Blake Savage, the group's hard rocking lead singer, known for his bad boy persona and his crazy personal life (I mean, hell, the man's name was fucking Blake Savage... How much more of a badass could you get than that?) Then there was Bobby Warren, the group's bass player and keyboardist, depending on the song. He was essential for what they did, and incredibly talented. But for some reason, of the trio, Bobby had always given off something of a lackluster air... Like, he was pretty easy to forget about in light of the two men with whom he shared the stage, and girls like myself didn't swoon over him to the same extent to which they may have done for the other two.

  Which brings me, finally, to the third member of the group, the one for whom I harbored such a consuming, crippling fascination.

  Adam Hart...

  Blonde, sexy, and sublime in every way, Adam was the band's drummer and lyricist, as well as, of late, sharer of the role of vocalist.

  And he plagued my every waking thought as though I'd known him personally for years...

  Originally, Spyyyke had had its origins as something of a hard rock band. They played it hard and loud, and Blake Savage in particular was known for his guitar shredding skills, his hard, extended solos (not the only thing about him that was hard and extended, as future events will attest) and for the first half of their existence the band had built up a reputation for evoking sheer awe from their audience. Melting their faces as the music burst in their eardrums, and offering thrills
unlike any that other bands could even dream of providing by comparison. They were three all-powerful gods (or two and a half, depending on just how you felt about Bobby) with Blake as the head of the triumvirate, shaping the band's public image, and giving them their reputation for going overboard, in the best and most eccentric of ways.

  But then, during the making of their third solo album, something happened that changed the way they operated forever and launched them into superstardom even greater than that which they'd already

  achieved.

  Adam, after having penned a song that was incredibly personal and significant to him, was given permission to sing it on the album, and even play the guitar himself- so that that was all the song was, really, just Adam, his words, his voice, and his guitar. It was totally out of line with the intense, bone-rattling stuff that the group typically put out, far more mellow and emotional, so that the spotlight typically hogged by Blake was split and Adam shone along with him, for the first time ever.

  Their audience, myself included, went absolutely nuts for the revelation that was Adam Hart...

  The track was released as a single, and quickly became their first ever number one hit, beating out even their most popular track up to that point in time, the much beloved “Scream for your Tears,” as sung by Blake Savage.

  Needless to say, the band's management took very big notice of the audience's acquired taste for the band's drummer, and the character of Spyyyke's music began to change drastically.

  Spyyyke had released three additional albums together since Adam's breakthrough hit. Adam went from singing a mere track on an album to singing three on their fourth LP, then four on their fifth LP, and six on their most recent offering- half of the entire track list. Plus, the twelfth song on that album was a rock instrumental, so by this point Adam had overtaken Blake in terms of vocal presence, even though Blake, for all intents and purposes, was still considered the lead singer.

  The character of their music, for the most part, did not change a great deal. There were still only about one or two “soft” or “acoustic” songs per album, whereas Adam's other offerings were the traditional hard rock of Spyyyke with his own voice adapted to be more intense and high energy- he was an incredibly versatile performer.

  From that point onward, and thanks largely to Adam, the band proceeded to take the world absolutely by storm, selling out concerts, playing massive gigs and churning out records faster than the public could consume them. Adam, clearly taking note of his momentum in the public eye (as it would be impossible not to do) took it upon himself to branch out some, and inbetween tours and studio time with Spyyyke he set out recording two of his own solo albums. The first album, “Adam's Apple,” was praised as a breakthrough debut, and I'd practically worn out my vinyl copy of it from so much repeat listening. I also had a poster of the cover hanging up on my wall, featuring Adam, completely naked in a Garden of Eden like setting, sinking his teeth into an apple, the juices dripping down along his bare chest.

  God, did that image ever give me one hell of a lady boner, if you'll pardon my saying so...

  After “Adam's Apple,” a second, more electronic-based solo album “Hart Throb” was released, and opinions on this stylistic change were somewhat divided. Many critics came up with snobby, pretentious ways of saying that they thought Mr. Hart should stick to the genre he was familiar with, and I suppose depending on why you listened to him and Spyyyke to begin with, that may have been a valid criticism.

  But I, like most of Spyyyke's adoring public, loved this new and unique album, which cemented Adam in the mainstream, and showed us all new sides of him that we might never have imagined otherwise.

  In my eyes, at least, that sexy, passionate stud could do no wrong, and before I even noticed it I was beginning to swoon for my celebrity crush, falling head over heels in love with a man whom I'd never even met before.

  I imagined the two of us getting married, having kids together. Him, writing beautiful, passionate love songs about me, making my heart flutter with every syllable he spoke. And of course, I know now, as I probably would have known then had I stopped to think about it for a second, that such fantasies were not particular to me, but that rather the entire female sex dreamt of having his babies, being the one that he was singing about in those sweet, romantic ballads of his.

  I guess, really, we all kind of missed the point of his music in that regard, but I'll digress about that for now.

  Suffice it to say, I would have given just about anything to be with this man after having spent so much time dreaming about him, fantasizing about just looking into his crystal blue eyes, having him lean in to kiss me...

  It probably didn't help having my entire wall decorated with his visage, dozens of Adam Harts peering down at me with his sexy smile, making my panties wet and my head spin, driving me to distraction...

  God, was I a mess...

  I was a more or less rational person. I studied hard, did well in school. I previously might have scoffed at someone for getting as swept up as I seemed to be by a celebrity crush, and yet here I was, in spite of myself and all my sensibilities. Getting swept up in foolish notions, allowing my mind to run wild with impossibilities that, despite knowing they were idiotic, I couldn't help but cling to hope for all the same.

  I may have been letting my emotions get the better of me, but I wasn't stupid.

  I knew that it was all just a matter of the heart (or the Hart, I should say) and that for all practical purposes I should live my life under the assumption that my path would never cross with that of the man I swooned over, in any real way. I didn't send him girlish fan letters, I didn't try to scheme for ways that I could meet him, or anything like that.

  That is, until one day, the opportunity to get to see him face to face presented itself to me, and the temptation was far too great for me to avoid giving in.

  And so my story began...

  I was in my dorm room one day, studying for finals, trying to cram as much information into my pretty little head as would possibly fit in so short a time frame. I was having trouble concentrating, so I had the radio on to help me focus, giving me something to tap my foot in time to, and to keep me motivated.

  It was helping, until I let out a shriek of pleasure at the sound of a Spyyyke song beginning to play on the station, particularly one featuring none other than my beloved Adam Hart as the vocalist. I reached over and cranked the volume up to a degree that would surely have disturbed my roommate had she been present then, and I begin to drum in the air with my pencil, keeping time to the drumming of the Hart (and ha, just then that play on words came into my head... That he was a drummer, beating, and his name was Hart. Like Hart-beat... God, that would make a great title for a solo album.)

  Anyway, I let myself loose for a few minutes in my state of enthusiasm for the music, needing a break anyway, and thinking that perhaps getting all of this pent up excitement out of me might help me regain the focus that I needed.

  But things didn't quite turn out that way, because as soon as the last sweet sounds of Adam's voice faded into radio static and the stations bumper was played, a cool female voice began to speak, and what it had to say grabbed my attention hard, and refused to let go.

  “Alright all you Spyyyke fans, listen up. We're giving away a free V.I.P. ticket to go and see them perform next week in concert, as well as go backstage after the show to meet the band themselves in person. All you have to do is be the tenth caller to our station, with the answer to this trivia question: Before founding the band Spyyyke, what was lead singer and guitarist Blake Savage's real, given name at birth?”

  Holy hell...

  My entire being seemed to light up with enthusiasm, and my heart was beating so fast I thought it might burst through the front of my blouse.

  I knew this...

  This was my chance... My chance to meet my hero, the man I'd idolized, whose posters I had up on my wall in abundance. This was the chance to make my dreams come true...

/>   I scrambled for my phone, dropping it on the floor in my enthusiasm, cursing my own clumsiness. I hurried to pick it back up again, and opened up the contact list on my phone. I had this station's number on my phone, because I'd occasionally called in to request they play Spyyyke songs in the past while I was studying or working on things. I found it on the list and immediately hit the call button, bouncing up and down in my seat as I listened to the thing ringing, my teeth sinking painfully into my lower lip as I waited with bated breath for the impossible to be made real.

  And then it happened...

  The woman picked up.

  “Hello, this is z105, your variety station. Congratulations on being the fifth caller!” I was overjoyed at having gotten through, but immediately I realized that calling in with the radio still on was resulting in a loud screech from my stereo, audible over the airwaves. I rushed over to switch it off, panting with relief as once again the signal became clear.

  “I'm sorry about that,” I quickly apologized, and the host simply laughed it off.

  “Could we get your name, sweetheart?” she asked.

  “Yeah, it's Dua- oops- I mean, Mackenzie Miller...” god damn me, I was so nervous that I was giving them the wrong name at the wrong time.