by Tia Siren
“Okay, this is the band Olivia, the waitress, told us about. The all-girl group. The Flakes. At the very least, maybe they’ll be worth a blow job in the limo after the show.”
“It’s scary how much we think alike,” I said with a heavy sigh. I leaned forward in my chair with my elbows on my knees and waited for the stage lights to come up.
Rusty appeared at the mic under a spotlight. The crowd hooped and hollered at him.
“Okay, you bastards, calm down,” he said, waving his hands in the air. He had used a little card that contained a brief bio to introduce each group. He held the card with the Flakes’ intro up to the light and squinted at it.
“Our next group consists of three young ladies from right here in NYC. You’ve seen them here before on open mic nights. They’re gonna do an original song called…” He glanced over his shoulder at the lead singer, who was still in the shadows. “Is this right? Okay… They’re gonna do an original song called ‘Fuck Your List.’ Give it up for the Flakes!”
The stage lights came up to reveal a skinny goth girl who screamed heroin addict on drums and a chubby redhead with pierced everything on bass. My eyes locked onto the lead singer. I felt the breath catch in my chest. I smiled. The lead singer was Olivia, our waitress. She glanced up at me for a moment, our eyes locking, and then waited for the drummer to count them off.
“One, two, three, four…”
As the song started, a hard-driving punk beat that made the crowd go wild, I glanced over at Drew. He was looking back at me. Both our mouths were hanging open.
“We’ve been had,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Fuck Your List?” he cackled, his hands sweeping through the air. He had to shout so I could hear him over the song. “I think this song’s dedicated to you, Mr. Bohannon.”
I nodded in agreement and focused all of my attention on Olivia. She was really into it, singing and jumping up and down as she hammered out the chords on the cheap guitar strapped low at her hips. Her big tits bounced at her chest. She was practically screaming the words, like a young Courtney Love, but I could tell she had a good voice. I had an ear for music. I could spot a real singer from a mile away. Sadly, most of the singers on the charts today would sound like shit if their voices weren’t run through a harmonizer. Not Olivia Poole. This girl had a set of pipes inside those magnificent tits. I wanted to press my ear to her tits and hear more.
I licked my lips like a hungry wolf and grinned at the words booming from Olivia’s sweet lips. For a moment, I felt an odd sensation in my chest. Then I realized my cell was buzzing in my inside jacket pocket, making my hard nipple tingle.
Olivia was killing it onstage.
“YOU’RE GONNA BE PISSED…
BUT I DON’T WANNA BE KISSED…
SO FUCK YOUR LIST…
FUCK YOUR LIST!”
She had the crowd chanting along with her now.
“FUCK YOUR LIST! FUCK YOUR LIST!”
I tugged the phone out of my pocket and read the text message from Katie Berry, a BEG pop singer whose last album hit number one on the Billboard and bought me a new beach house in Malibu.
I smiled as I read the text. In town 1 night… Cum mark me off your list…
“I have to go,” I said, leaning into Drew so he could hear me over the pounding beat of the music. I nodded at the Flakes, specifically Olivia, who had the crowd eating out of her hand. “Give her my card and have her come in tomorrow to talk about recording a demo.”
“Wait, there’s one more band,” Drew shouted, tugging at my sleeve. “Where the fuck are you going?”
“Got a fire that needs putting out,” I said, wiggling my phone at him. The talent monkeys were all looking at me with fear in their eyes. I leaned over the table and smiled.
“Don’t worry, boys, your jobs are safe for now,” I said. I leaned down to whisper in Drew’s ear. “You pick the winner. These idiots wouldn’t know a star if it fell out of the sky and hit them in the fucking head.”
“Do you want me to pick her?” Drew asked, his Botoxed forehead slick even though his eyes were frowning. I shook my head.
“Pick the best band,” I said. “Just give my card to her.”
CHAPTER SEVEN: Olivia
“Second fucking place? Seriously? Give me a motherfucking break!”
Mona had been raving for nearly two hours, ever since that mohawk motherfucker and his group of heavy metal assholes took the top prize at the battle of the bands. Turned out, the entire group had mohawks, all different colors. I guess that was their thing. They were lucky Mona didn’t hold them all down and take her scissors to them.
I was as shocked as she was, because I thought we’d killed it, but killing it with one song didn’t mean we had what it took to make it big in the long term. Who knew, maybe Cain Bohannon didn’t like the song I’d written about him. Maybe he had taken it as a personal insult or something. Fuck. Sometimes my brilliance got in the way of my common sense. Whatever.
Or maybe Cain hadn’t been involved in picking the winner. When I looked up after our set, he was already gone. So maybe Blondie and the other BEG guys just liked the mohawk motherfuckers the best and crowned them the winners. At least we got second place, which was five-hundred bucks to split three ways.
Mona tore off her ripped denim jacket the minute she kicked in the apartment door and threw her drumsticks across the room.
I held up my hands to try to calm her down. “Mona, it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not fucking okay,” she said. I’d never seen Mona so upset. She had even cried a little on the subway, something I’d never seen her do. Her black mascara had streaked down her cheeks.
“We’ll get another shot,” I said.
“No, we won’t.”
“Yes, we will,” I said, putting my hands on her shoulders and giving her a shake. “You’re drunk and it’s late. Just go to bed. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
She heaved a sigh that seemed to take all the air of her, like a balloon going limp in my hands. I pulled her into a hug and kissed her damp cheek.
“Go to bed, honey,” I said. “Tomorrow is another day.”
“Okay, sorry. I just hate that pink mohawk motherfucker,” she said, wiping her nose on the back or her hand.
“I know. Me too.” I pushed her toward her bedroom door. “Go to bed.” She stumbled into her room and I closed the door.
Ordinarily, I would have been pissed and crying right along with her, but something told me we hadn’t really lost, at least not yet. I went into the bathroom and closed the door. Even though we’d only done one song, I was mentally and physically exhausted. My body ached because I’d been twisted in a bundle of nerves all night, starting the moment I saw Cain walk in the door.
I turned on the water in the tub as hot as I could stand it and sprinkled in some bath salts. It was almost two in the morning, but a good hot soak would do me good. I lit several candles and turned out the light. I set my phone and earbuds on a towel next to the tub and then bent down and opened the door under the sink. I took out Mona’s Magic Box and set it next to my phone.
I stripped off my clothes and dropped them on the floor. I smiled at the mutilated T-shirt because I thought it might have been our good luck charm, but it hadn’t worked out that way. At least it got Cain to notice me, which was a pretty good consolation prize. Performing always made me horny as hell. And I had a really, really vivid imagination. Cain Bohannon would be its star for a long time to come.
I slid my panties down my legs and took off my bra, letting my big boobs bounce free. My panties were damp, and I knew it wasn’t from sweat. I could smell my tangy juices soaking the crotch. My scent just made my juices start to flow again.
The business card I’d slipped inside my bra drifted to the floor. I picked up the card and stepped into the bath. The water was hot, but it felt wonderful as I lowered my body into the tub.
“Ahh…” I sighed as little beads of sweat flushed over my face. I brought the
card closer to my eyes so I could read it in the candlelight. “Now why would you want to talk to me, Cain Bohannon, Founder & CEO, Bohannon Entertainment Group?”
Cain’s gay, blond assistant had slipped me the card as he was leaving the club. They’d already proclaimed the mohawk motherfuckers (hmm, that was a great name for a band) the winners, so Mona, Des, and I had been sulking at the bar. I thought Blondie was going to give us the old “good job, ladies” routine. Instead he pulled me aside and slipped me the card.
“Come to the office tomorrow at two,” he said. “Alone. Cain wants you to meet with A&R to discuss doing a demo of your song.”
“What’s A&R?” I asked suspiciously. I’d already had a few shots, so my brain wasn’t operating at full throttle. “Is that like S&M? If so, I’m not into that shit. I mean, not much…”
“A&R? Really? Artists and repertoire,” he said, giving me a look that said I should have known the meaning if I was serious about my music. He rolled his eyes when the term didn’t connect with me. He pointed to the three guys who were waiting for him at the door.
He said, “Those idiots that were sitting up there were from A&R. They’re responsible for scouting fresh talent and nurturing it during the recording process.”
“Okay…” I blinked at the card and then frowned at him. “I don’t understand. Why do you want me to come alone?” I gave him a stony look. “If this is just some way to get me in the sack, you can forget it.”
“Darling, if I got you in the sack, I wouldn’t know what to do with you,” he said with a smile. “Mr. Bohannon liked your song. More so, he liked the way you sang it. He wants you to meet with his A&R people to see if they think you should cut a demo.”
“A demo?”
He sighed. “Yes, darling, a demo.” He tapped a finger to the card. “Be there at two and come without your scary friends.”
“Um…okay.”
He kissed me on both cheeks like we were old pals and flitted out the door. I stared at the card for a moment, debating whether to tell Mona and Des about it. I decided to wait and see where the meeting might lead. I hated to disappoint them again, so I slid the card inside my bra for safekeeping.
I set the card on the towel and slipped in my earbuds and tapped the music player on my phone. I was a punk rocker on stage, but now, at this moment, I needed something soothing. I chose Josh Groban’s first album. As Josh’s deep, golden voice softly filled my ears, I closed my eyes and let my imagination manifest Cain Bohannon.
I could still feel his eyes on my breasts and his fingers on my hand. I covered my eyes with a wet towel and let my hands slide down to my breasts. In my mind, they were his hands, soft and warm on my skin. I cupped my breasts and massaged them for a minute. They were so happy to be out of that damned pushup bra. If tits could sigh, mine would.
I imagined that it was Cain’s hands kneading my flesh between his fingers. My nipples grew plump at the thought of him. His fingers rolled over my nipples for a moment, and then he squeezed my nipples so hard that it made me moan.
My left hand remained on my breast as my right hand slid down my stomach and over my freshly shaved cunt. My clit was long and plump, aching to be touched by his fingers, his tongue. Like I said, playing onstage always made me horny as hell. I often dreamed I was onstage naked, playing to a crowd and masturbating with a dildo-shaped microphone.
For now, my fingers would do the trick… Then I would open Mona’s Magic Box...
I swirled my fingers over my clit, imagining it was Cain’s tongue making me so wet that I could feel the water between my legs growing hotter. The breath caught in my throat as I quickened the pace of my fingers, sliding up and down, back and forth. I could feel the orgasm rumbling from deep inside me, building, making me shudder.
My left hand drifted down to assist. I placed two fingers beside my clit and pulled back the hood to reveal the tiny nub of my clit hiding there. I rolled the ball under my finger, sending shock waves shooting through my body. My nipples grew thick and hard beneath the water. The hot juices flowed from within me like a hot spring bubbling from the ground.
I reached for Mona’s Magic Box, which was what she called the black-lacquered box that held the twelve-inch long, black rubber dildo we called Maximus. The rule was either of us could bring Maximus out to play, just as long as we remembered to put him in the dishwasher afterward for a good cleaning.
Ah, the lives of horny, single girls in New York City.
Bet you never saw that on Sex in the City.
I picked up Maximus and gave him a good soaping up. Then I rubbed him between my breasts and over my nipples, then trailed him down to my waiting pussy hole.
I slid two fingers down to spread my lips. I turned Maximus over in my hand and brought his round, knobby head to my hole and swirled it around.
“Mmmm…” I held my breath and slid Maximus in as far as he would go. My pussy molded around him. I opened my mouth to breathe as Maximus, now Cain Bohannon’s cock in my mind, slid in and out, in and out… The two fingers moved back to my clit. I rolled my clit from side to side as Cain’s cock slid in and out, quicker now, in and out.
I imagined Cain was on top of me now, pummeling his big cock into my aching box. I could hear our flesh slapping together. I could feel his balls hitting my ass each time he thrust fully into me.
The orgasm came in a great shuddering wave. Cain shoved his cock deep inside my pussy as far as it would go and held it there as my body tensed and shuddered and my hot juices flowed into the water.
My left hand came up to squeeze my breast as my pussy milked the dildo, still pretending it was Cain’s cock deep inside. When it was over, I let Maximus slide out of my cunt and drift in the tub between my legs. I gave my breasts one more good squeeze and then opened my eyes.
I gave Josh Groban a satisfied sigh and turned off the music.
Maybe I needed to start a fuck list of my own.
It would include just one name: Cain Bohannon.
CHAPTER EIGHT: Cain
“So…” Drew said, strolling into my office with his hands spread and eyebrows arched. “How was Katie Berry? Was she list-worthy?”
I had been sitting behind my desk with the chair turned toward the wall of windows, meditating as I looked out over the city far below. I swiveled to face him and made a sour face.
“You know, she was not great,” I said, shaking my head.
Drew huffed. “Really? But she’s so fucking hot.”
“Hot onstage, but cold as a fish in the sack,” I said sadly. “She just laid there, like a vegetable. It was kind of…boring.”
“Wow. Who knew?”
“Not me,” I said, throwing my hands in the air. “Oh well, at least I can mark her off the list and make room for someone else.”
“Someone like Olivia Poole,” he said with a grin as he plopped down in the chair on the other side of my desk. “I gave her your card. She’s coming in at two to meet with A&R.”
“I think I’ll meet with her instead of those idiots,” I said. I leaned back with my hands behind my head and gave him a smile. “What did she say when you asked her to come in?”
He pooched out his lips in thought. “Well, let’s see, she didn’t know what the fuck A&R was. She thought it was some form of S&M. She said if you were asking her to come in just to bang her, you could forget it.”
I blinked at him. “She said that? Why would she think I was asking her here so I could bang her?”
“Your reputation precedes you, my lord,” he said with a grin. He crossed his long legs and drummed his manicured fingers on his knee. “Is that why you want her to come in? I mean, by your rules she is not famous enough to be on your list. And you don’t seriously give a woman the time of day if she’s not on your list.”
I began to slowly rock as I pondered his question. Why did I want her to come in?
Was it because I liked the song she’d written about me? Not especially.
Was it because I liked her singing
and thought there might be something there worth developing? Yes, possibly.
Or was it because I was mesmerized by her angelic face and smoking hot body and was thinking about adding a “might someday be famous” category to the list?
Again, nothing was set in stone.
I’d created the goddamn list.
I could do whatever the fuck I wanted to with it.
It was a little odd that I had never been tempted to bend my rules before, but one must be fluid in this age of bountiful pussy.
Before I could figure out a way to avoid Drew’s question, the intercom on my desk buzzed. “Mr. Bohannon, Olivia Poole is here.”
“Right on time,” Drew said, checking his Apple watch. “Do you want me to hang around?”
“No. I got this,” I said. I got to my feet and pulled the black Armani jacket from the back of my chair and slid into it. I adjusted my lapels and nodded at the door. “Show her in, and then fuck off.”
“Yes, my lord,” he said, flipping me the bird as he opened the door to usher Olivia in. She was wearing a pair of tight black skinny jeans, high-heeled knee-high boots, and a white T-shirt under a black leather jacket. Her blond hair was in a tight ponytail at the crown of her head. She was wearing just enough makeup to enhance her features rather than hide them. She looked fucking hot as hell.
I came around the desk to greet her as she walked through the door. When our hands touched, it was like the air in the office filled with electricity. A trace of ozone wafted between us. I could feel it in my bones. And I could tell by the look in her eyes that she could, too.
“Liv, nice to see you. Thanks for coming in,” I said, guiding her to the sofa that sat in one corner of the office. She gave me a nervous smile as she sat down. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”
I sat in the chair across from her and rubbed my hands together. “So, first off, I loved your set. Great stuff. You really had the crowd rocking. Can I ask what inspired you to write that song?”